Re-live

By G. Miki Hayden

Steven is not your typical psychotherapist. Operating in the unique realm of Re-live therapy, a part of the treatments is The Slap, a controversial move Steven regrets after a session with a client. Grappling with the nuances of love, therapy, and self-development, Steven finds his life in New York City constantly changing in unexpected ways.

From the danger lurking in nearby Marcus Garvey Park to the contrasting worlds of the elite, middle-class, and those perpetually stalled in life, he navigates a full spectrum of human experience. On his journey, Steven encounters enigmatic figures like the radiant Eu-Mei and the menacing Mateo, each shaping his path. Alongside his martial arts grandmaster Jay, Steven learns lessons transcending mere technique--those of spirit, heart, and the subtleties of human connection. As the lines between therapist and savior blur, Steven realizes that his quests for love, professional success, and spiritual depth are more intertwined than he'd ever imagined.

G. Miki Hayden's RE-LIVE is a story of contemporary struggles punctuated with the ethereal mystique of martial arts, the challenges of helping desperate others, and the timeless search for love and meaning. Dive into a world where every encounter teaches a lesson and where, amid the chaos of life, moments of perfect clarity emerge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023

Book preview

Chapter 1

Steven slapped his client once across the face with conviction. He was pleased that the slap sound wasn’t too loud. Just right, perhaps, and he didn’t seem to leave much of a handprint.

Loren’s cheeks turned red, but Steven guessed the coloration was more from the emotion elicited rather than the slap itself. He studied his client with steady interest and watched a cascade of emotions cross the man’s face.

Jesus, after almost two months, said Loren, and then that. How is that supposed to help?

What are you feeling? asked Steven. But then he watched tears begin to form and Loren’s eyes turn red. Good, the Re-live therapist added in approval.

No, Loren countered. Totally stupid.

Steven toggled his head up and down in agreement. Actually he was conceding, and while observing Loren, was watching his own reaction. His client had been bound up tight, and Steven had only performed the slap in an effort to remove the strictures from the other man’s emotions. But at the moment, he didn’t like what he had done. The slap did feel like abuse. In the nearly five years he’d been working with clients doing this process, he had only used the slap on three other occasions. Had the violent action helped? Maybe, but now he saw slapping showed a weakness on his part.

Steven kept his eyes on Loren. Yes, you’re right—it wasn’t the best choice. But let’s make some use of the moment, anyway. Your father hit you. Quick. What are your thoughts?

No thoughts. I’m in my suit and I have to go to work. Get out of my house.

What do you feel? Steven persisted.

Loren had plucked a napkin from the table and he wiped the tears from his face. He leaned over and picked up a mirror and looked at himself. All right, he said. Now just go.

Steven stood up. What are you afraid of? he asked.

That someone will hit me, and I can’t retaliate. Loren looked as if he could spit some powerful corrosive acid.

You couldn’t hit your father back? But you wanted to?

Get out.

Steven picked up the trash from the celery juice and fruit salad he’d brought Loren and tucked it all in the brown paper bag he’d carried the breakfast in. I have to use your john. He took the bag and headed to the powder room in the hall. Not his best hour, but so life sometimes went.

That was Re-live for you, and as stated in the contract, a slap was legal tender in the work, so the only consequence to Steven was an emotion of regret, a moment of feeling inept. He’d bring the matter up with Vivica when he ran into her in the office for their sometimes Friday meeting, or he could schedule a phone call with her. Or better yet, he could just think it over and suck it up and not pay her for a consultation. He smiled at the thought.

Had the incident been without value, though? No. Loren had been shaken, and so had Steven, himself. He couldn’t know what would result from it. That was good.

He came out of the bathroom. I’m going, buddy, he called. See you tonight.

Loren appeared, his mouth forming a pout. I don’t know why I’m doing this, he said.

I know why, Steven answered. Think about it.

To feel better? Loren answered.

Steven nodded. In part. I’ll bring potatoes.

With butter, Loren insisted.

I’m not out to kill you. Steven smiled. How about some guacamole? He turned toward the door and waved over his shoulder. Closing the door behind, he went into the compactor room where he threw away the brown paper bag.

The first time he was here, he’d discarded the leftover food in Loren’s kitchen bin. The Monday after, when he’d reappeared, he’d smelled a rotten garbage smell. Loren hadn’t emptied the trash. That boggled Steven’s mind, threw off his sense of order. A million-dollar-plus apartment and the man didn’t think to empty the bin.

He made his way out of the building and to the subway. Convenient enough for him to take the 2 or 3 up to Harlem, to the bargain, rent-stabilized apartment where he’d lived while earning his civil engineering degree, going on to work in the field, and then studying with Vivica. He’d soon begun to re-parent grown men as a therapist, a career that wasn’t exactly perhaps right for him either, he wryly thought now.

Maybe the slap was a good technique for Vivica. She seemed to believe in it. The smack was good enough, anyway, to earn a few articles in magazines that covered highbrow culture. An article in Tomorrow had highlighted the scandalous steps that the Re-live therapists might take. Vivica had been interviewed espousing the slap, sleeping with clients—just sleeping, no sex—feeding them, and so on. The article was titled One Step Beyond Primal Scream—comparing Re-live to a 1970s therapy most people had never even heard of

Steven hurried down the subway steps and put on his mask.

The magazines and newspapers had loved what seemed to them to be outrageous talk, and Steven himself had been interviewed for two dubious articles. Had he said all that? Had he played up the sensational? He hadn’t intended to.

That was what he’d meant by teasing Loren that the client had another reason for doing the therapy. He wanted to impress people who knew him. Steven had started to think his friends, but Loren didn’t seem to have actual friends. And until today, Steven hadn’t committed any extreme acts. Loren wouldn’t let him near enough. Wasn’t Freud the one who’d cautioned therapists to respect the defenses? Some well-known early psychotherapist had said it anyway, and now that Steven thought of it, this was another reason why a slap wasn’t a good idea.

Before this, he’d spent too long studying in the wrong field. Engineering, for goodness sake. But still. And later on, he’d taken a bunch of classes with Vivica, a full professor at NYU—and his personal therapist. Had he needed one?

He sat on the train and began reading where he’d left off in The Biology of Transcendence: A Blueprint of the Human Spirit, a super-amazing book that explained a lot not accepted in the current field of biology. Steven couldn’t follow parts, though he picked up the gist. Author Joseph Chilton Pearce clarified that his set-forth actually proven or brilliantly proposed theories weren’t espoused mainly due to a desperate attempt to cling to the status quo. The accepted beliefs kept their defenders earning better-than-good livings in medicine and at the universities.

Steven understood the problem, but the book revealed a whole other world of human possibilities. Was he shocked? No. That the framework maintained by those operating the old systems kept people sick and suffering, away from their divine potential, was a travesty, but thus was it ever. Burning the innovators at stake was traditional.

At his building, he guessed that the elevator was out as usual when it didn’t arrive—with no notice posted. He walked up. Inside, he chowed down on the fruit salad that he’d left for himself and lay on his bed to nap. While he waited for sleep, love filtered through Steven’s being. What could be more positive? He sent the love to Loren. Loren had paid for it. Quite a lot, in fact, though Vivica took a hefty chunk of the set-aside initial six-month fee.

Steven was soon out for the count.

Two days later, said Vivica called with another client for Steven to meet and evaluate. Vivica had talked to Nico’s father on the phone and judged him a fit with Steven, in terms of not just the client’s psychotherapy needs but seeing Nico’s schedule would mesh with the times Steven saw Loren. Steven knew Vivica otherwise trusted him to conduct the Re-live therapy in an effective, intuitive style. For Steven’s part, he had been needing a second client for a couple of months now. Running two clients at a time was optimal for earning a living.

Nico lived in Gramercy, across from the park, which meant he had a key to the green space, Steven had read. He’d looked up real estate for sale there and saw some totally modern apartments listed at high prices. Well, that was promising. But when he entered the lobby at Nico’s address, he noted that the building itself was from yesteryear. Still, he was sure the condos (he assumed they were) must be rather pricey.

A doorman rang up Nico to tell him he had a visitor and then indicated the elevator Steven should take.

The carpet in the hall was a little worn and Nico’s apartment was somewhat near the two elevators, a negative in terms of noise. Nico answered the door and Steven had to introduce himself and say a friendly word or two before Nico let him in, a little odd perhaps, Steven felt. But clients were odd. If they had good social manners, they generally didn’t see themselves as needing the intensive help of a Re-live therapist—or a paying family member didn’t.

Nico stood out of the way and Steven stepped in. The apartment smelled somewhat musty and looked a bit not kept up with, to go with that. But the few pieces of artwork on the walls were stunning, seemingly museum worthy, and the artists’ names came to mind. Was that a real Cassatt, honestly? A Degas, seriously? Steven went over and opened a blind to let in the light, then pulled up the blind halfway to crack the window. Let’s just let a little fresh air in. Such a nice day out. Have you been out? Nico hesitated. Do you go to the park? Quite a luxury for you to have a park right here. Let’s sit at the table. I’ve brought you a snack.

Nico didn’t look as if he’d been out, but then maybe not yet at only four in the afternoon.

I do go to the park once in a while. We pay for it. That is, the building pays a fee.

As Steven unpacked the celery juice and large papaya slice he’d brought his prospective client, the client himself reluctantly wended his way across the room to take a chair at the table. Steven had brought a plastic fork and napkins. The papaya was in a fresh plastic container.

May I take your hand for a moment? he asked as Nico looked askance at the snack. Steven got it. Nico already appeared overwhelmed by the multiple stimuli Steven had brought into the room, and he was most likely dehydrated.

Steven took the soft, sweating hand and lightly tested some acupressure points. I can help you, he said. Together, we can change your life. If you’d like. Then he gave back the hand, smiled, and pointed at the cup of juice he’d brought. Celery juice. Electrolytes. He broke his eye contact and looked around the room, didn’t speak, to give Nico a chance to collect himself if such was possible.

But the space he had given the man was a yawning gap. Drink a little, he suggested. What do you ordinarily eat?

He’d expected to see expired cans of soda here and there on the floor, but such wasn’t the case. You have someone come in to straighten for you?

Ye… ye… yes. Once a week. Not quite a stutter.

Steven nodded. Have you had a lot of previous therapies? He could practically write the whole story of the still youngish man’s life. In his thirties. Either he earned his living at an esoteric but well-paying occupation, maybe in the sciences, or this was family money here—maybe the condo had been inherited from a grandmother, a widow, who had lived here alone after inheriting it from her husband, and who had died a few years before.

Steven still waited for an answer.

Usually I’ve gone to someone’s office. The voice wasn’t weak, exactly, but it was hesitant.

Yes, said Steven. But Re-live is different. It’s dynamic and it’s effective. It’s about helping you transform. If he went too far, he’d scare away the Nico who stood on the side of the life he knew, the failures and faults he was well acquainted with. But if Steven didn’t present the promise of a fresh new world, then why bother?

Have some juice, he said. You’ll feel better. He went to the window and then looked out, across to the park. They could go there a couple of times a week when the weather was nice. Some things they couldn’t do there, but the greenery and flowers would make up for it. Nature’s breath, birds and squirrels.

We could go to the park, he blurted out.

What? Now? asked Nico, sounding surprised.

Steven was surprised, too. He glanced at his humble Citizen watch. Well, we could if you like. Eat your papaya and I’ll use your bathroom and then we can go. The day is nice. He closed the window.

In the elevator, Nico cleared his throat. I’m gay, he announced, pretty much spitting out the information.

Steven looked at him, reading, always reading the client, his client’s barely muffled embarrassment. I’m not, he said, to be clear. But you can say whatever you like and raise any issues. They arrived at the main floor and the elevator door opened. Steven put his hand on Nico’s back and encouraged him to move out, well, mostly to simply acknowledge the situation. How hard life must be when always feeling self-conscious about who you were. He added a pat on the back, and they left the building, crossing the street to the park.

What does your family do? Nico asked Steven, as if a family were united in doing one thing, such as ‘we’re in politics’ or philanthropy or ‘we’re in the oil business.’

My parents are painters.

Nico struggled with the key—hmm not a task he was used to. Steven took the old metal key and opened the door, letting Nico in first, then returning the key. The park was beautifully kept, as Marcus Garvey Park, half a block from where Steven lived, only sometimes was. The air was redolent, not of the wealth tucked in around the square, but of the greater, perennial (one hoped) holdings of nature.

What do you mean, painters? House painters?

Steven laughed softly. My father paints portraits and such and my mother paints landscapes. They both teach at the University of Miami.

Oh, I see. Nico brightened as if art had a meaning for him, which thank goodness it must have, living face to face as he was with brush strokes of the familiar past.

Steven walked the two halfway or so around the deserted park, Nico seeming to head toward a bench when they passed one. Steven let him have his way.

The thing is, my father will pay for this. But he’s the one who suggested you. Nico did look a bit concerned.

I understand, agreed Steven. He did understand. The father. He just about always blamed the fathers. Until now, in reading the Joseph Chilton Pearce book and coming to understand that the fault wasn’t the father’s exactly, but the mostly medical system that had minimized the mother’s role in infant progression, the new, improved system constructed by men, yes, surely, that had led to…a mess. Science had upended Mother Nature’s own scheme to give all generations everything needed to have dominion over the Earth.

This weak man sitting next to Steven had been deprived of some necessary step in his development. But Steven could help fix it. The two sat enjoying the sun for a while, and Steven no longer pressed for answers.

Chapter 2

Vivica had called for Steven to come right over, kind of muddling his schedule for the late afternoon and evening, meaning he might not be able to bring Loren a proper dinner. Well, surprise would be good—he’d bring something nice though. He walked crosstown from Nico’s and shopped in Whole Foods along the way.

Loren had been cool the last couple of times Steven had been with him—they’d lost ground, maybe. But why should Steven believe they had? He preferred to feel some breakthrough was immanent. He’d bring a treat—a squid and seaweed salad along with a salad bar salad. Nothing too terrible, though not strictly vegan, which Steven liked to follow, and with citric acid and natural flavors (MSG) being a big no-no. He shrugged.

Timing was everything in having a few minutes with Vivica, who was always booked. She had both an entrance to her private office and an exit. Steven couldn’t stand in the hallway and wait because he’d run into the exiting client, and of course he couldn’t enter the waiting room and run into the client who was next. Vivica saw famous clients as well as moneyed nobodies.

When Steven came upstairs, Vivica was waiting in the back hallway, and, no smile on her face, beckoned for him to enter her consultation room. He sat in the client’s chair and slumped.

You didn’t tell me you’d slapped Loren, she said.

I thought we’d worked that out. This was an awkward moment—as apparently they hadn’t worked things through.

He’s withdrawing from the therapy. You really should have brought the matter to me last week. I’m your supervisor. She wasn’t too huffy at least, not that he’d ever known her to be. And that’s why we have a contract with our clients, Vivica added. We’ll both be paid from the escrow account for four more months.

Steven shook his head. I’ve seen him three times since then. Not that he was in a forgiving mood. I tried to discuss why he couldn’t let go of the ‘offenses’ of others, but, well, there you are.

You had a good reason for slapping him, I presume.

We had just discussed how his father used to hit him, but he wasn’t really connecting with it. I couldn’t get the feeling out of him. The slap was a nice one, very well-modulated if I do say so myself, but I also realized a second later that hitting’s not my thing.

Vivica looked at her watch, then Steven looked at his.

How did it go with the new potential client?

I like him. He’s messed up, doesn’t function well, I think. Probably on the spectrum. In the elevator he told me he’s gay.

And what did you say.

I said, ‘I’m not gay.’ But I patted him on the back to apologize for not being gay.

They both laughed.

You’re not going to try to cure him of his homosexuality?

Oh God, Vivica, Steven said.

She stood and he followed suit. He’s going to ask his father for the deposit, but it is quite a chunk of cash.

Still, the father seems invested, she countered. Call me later and sum up. Or I’ll call you.

Steven went out the exit into the hall and waited until he heard the entry door open and a low murmur of greeting. He went through the entry using the keycode, sat, and took out his phone. Vivica opened her door into the waiting room, saw him, nodded, and closed her door.

He called Loren and left a message, telling him that should Loren change his mind, Steven would be accessible, though not for sessions until after two weeks. We have a lot to work on, he said. No reason to be so angry that you lose money on the emotion. He wished Loren the best.

Then he sat for a couple of minutes, holding the phone and considering his next call. You’re making a mistake, he told himself. He didn’t often give in to his worst impulses. He considered further. He felt bruised. He wasn’t bruised, though. What did that mean? His pride had been wounded. So what? What was the value of pride in any sense? He sat and ate half of the seaweed and squid salad, then put the container back in his bag. He dialed the phone.

Oh, Baba. I didn’t really expect you to pick up. But I just wanted to check in. He felt embarrassed because neither one of them thought he just wanted to check in. Jesus. I’ve been thinking of you and it’s been a while. I guess you’ve been busy. Usually the contact went the other way—she’d call him to come over there.

Now, she invited him over. He hung up. He took the seaweed and squid salad out of his bag and finished it quickly, then left to grab a cab while walking west.

Baba, or Barbara as she had been named at birth, greeted him warmly in a blue knee-length shift that immediately raised the question of what she might have on underneath.

Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me? she said, making the old joke. But, thank goodness he didn’t have an erection. He opened his bag and brought out a banana he’d bought earlier and presented it to her. She found that laugh-out-loud hysterical.

I’m glad to see you, he said.

You’re such a fruit, she answered.

I’m feeling bad because a client of mine dumped me.

Always glad to have you stop by. She pulled up the shift, answering the question of what she had on underneath. Nothing. Well? she said leading the way into the bedroom, where she jumped on the bed, waiting for him to take off his own more complicated garments.

I thought you’d never ask, he muttered, relieved he needn’t have felt like such a putz.

Of course she understood why he had come, and she didn’t mind. He minded somewhat on her behalf and was thinking he should make it up to her somehow.

Eventually, after sex, they were talking again. Do you ever want to get married and have children? he asked. That’s what he’d been thinking about since Loren had dumped him—having real children, that was.

Just then her upstairs doorbell sounded. Completely naked through she was, he could see she was pulling on the shift in the next room and he pulled on his black low-rise organic cotton briefs and then his sweat pants. He stepped out into the kitchen, t-shirt in hand.

Steven, have you met my fiancé, Mark? she asked.

Hi, Mark. I’ve heard so much about you. Like nothing.

Steven was just about to propose to me, Baba added.

No, not really, he said. He pulled on his shirt.

He was about to say he’d spilled some lemonade on his shirt, when she continued. Steven wants a recommendation to my agency, and having seen the pecs and abs and whatever else, I’m going to do that for him.

I lost my one client today, and I need some paying work, Steven interjected. Barb was kind enough to suggest she could help me out.

Mark nodded.

Steven couldn’t tell exactly what other thoughts the fiancé might have.

Baba picked up the banana Steven had presented her with and started to peel it. Steven brought me this, she told her husband-to-be.

I’m a vegan, Steven quickly said. A fruits and veggies guy all the way. He was dying on the vine here.

Who was the client? Mark asked. Yes, a good-looking guy. Must be a model himself.

Steven couldn’t think. No, no, it’s not that. I’m actually a civil engineer. But I modeled for catalog stuff when I was a student. He found his bag. I’ve know Barb forever, he added as if now all must make sense. I’d better go and let you guys…go out to dinner.

I’m early, Mark explained.

I’ll call you, Baba said, eating the banana, something Steven found a bit too stirring.

I’m flying to Miami tomorrow, he countered.

Have fun, Mark told him.

Thank you. Thanks, Barb.

Thanks for the banana. She was halfway done with the snack.

Well, she didn’t seem worried, so why should he fuss? Because the poor guy, Mark, was making some mistake? And maybe Steven had been about to suggest Baba and he should get married. Good lord.

I told you not to call her, he scolded himself on the street. Then catching himself trying to ruminate, he added, Drop it. He did feel better after all was said and mostly done, and he had to laugh at the ridiculous, but perfectly timed scene. She was shameless, which he admittedly admired about her. So long as they weren’t married to one another.

He didn’t call, but went straight up to the dojo. No use going home—he’d just lie down and take a nap and never make it for a workout. So he rang the buzzer and was let in. He climbed the stairs, and Jay, the grandmaster, was standing at the door. They went into the office, and Jay made for his desk—Sensei’s desk, as Steven thought of it, as he was sure Jay did as well. But Sensei was in Japan these days.

Jay picked The New York Times and The Economist from his chair and sat, putting them on his lap. Steven stood in the doorway. May I take a quick shower? he asked humbly. Jay’s eyes shifted to him and he could feel Jay looking straight into him, reading everything there as easily as he read the pages of the newspaper and magazine.

I wish you would, Jay answered, not unkindly, smelling whatever Steven had on him now. Steven blushed.

And then sweep the floor, Jay added.

Steven went out into the men’s narrow changing/shower room across the hall where he washed his and Baba’s bodily fluids off himself and took a somewhat fresh towel from his bag. Hardly anyone showered here, but some did because the sweat had poured off of them during the workout.

He put on his clothes again, the t-shirt calling for folks to support no-kill shelters and displaying an adorable puppy who was buddy-buddy with an awe-inspiring kitten.

Then he found the pristine broom in the corner of the classroom and began to sweep. Nothing to sweep up, honestly, but he scoured the place three times and collected a few scraps in the spotless dustpan then pulled a couple of hairs out of the broom and washed the dustpan in the men’s bathroom. When he returned to the classroom, he found Jay, the grandmaster, sitting on a bench.

Did you find anything on the floor? Jay asked him.

A couple of hairs, a single dust bunny.

Well, damn, I just swept. I’m more of a slob than I thought. Jay smiled.

Come sit, Jay invited. Steven joined him. What’s going on?

I didn’t know she had a fiancé. Steven thought Jay was zeroing in on that.

Jay shrugged. Otherwise?

My one client dumped me.

Do you need money? Jay asked, as if offering.

No. Thanks for asking. The money is in escrow and a month’s worth of what I earn goes into my bank account on the first of the month for four more months. Only people hot for what’s said about us and desperate due to dysfunction will sign up to go the whole route.

We’ll find you something good if nothing else pops up, Jay told him.

I suppose I’m humiliated, Steven said. "I messed up, but I’m coming to understand the dynamic better. Better than Vivica in a certain respect. I’m reading this book… I’ve gotten to the heart of what my clients are suffering from. They’ve been