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‘Elizabeth? I’m Dana Shapiro. Come on through, please.’
The doctor was a petite woman wearing gold–framed spectacles and a helmet of iron–grey hair. She led Liz through into a wood–panelled office that reminded Liz of a professor’s study at Princeton. Liz sat on a plum leather chesterfield sofa while Dana took a seat in a red button–back chair opposite her.
‘Just relax,’ said Dana. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
Liz silently cursed Tess Garrett for putting her in this position. Still, as she was here, she was determined to deal with Dana Shapiro in the same way she dealt with everything: with brisk efficiency.
‘Well, doctor–’
‘Dana, please.’
‘Okay, Dana. The reason I am here is that I like sex,’ said Liz, meeting Shapiro’s gaze. ‘Personally, I don’t think it’s a problem, but a friend of mine wanted me to speak to somebody about it.’
‘Well, you’re right of course,’ said Dana. ‘An enjoyment of sex isn’t a problem; in many ways it’s essential. But something about your behaviour has obviously made your friend concerned.’
Liz shrugged. ‘I enjoy one–night stands. I have one or two sexual encounters a week.’
Dana made a steeple in front of her face with her fingers. ‘And who are these men? I assume they are men.’
Liz gave a nod of the head. ‘Usually I meet them in bars. Occasionally through the Internet.’
‘So you enjoy anonymous sex?’
‘I prefer to use the expression “uncomplicated sex”,’ said Liz tersely. ‘I am a very busy working woman. I run the best spa in the city and I have no time for a relationship. I have a healthy sex drive and I have found an outlet for it. If I was a man I’d be patted on the back, but because I’m a woman I’m a nymphomaniac.’
Liz had always enjoyed sex. She had always enjoyed the things she was good at: tennis, schoolwork, business. She had been sexually active since she had lost her virginity to the pool boy at Parklands when she was seventeen. Before her marriage to Walter five years earlier, she had taken around thirty lovers, which spread over sixteen years, barely worked out at two lovers every year. Was that excessive? Abnormal? Liz genuinely didn’t know the answer; it was something no one talked about.
‘Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet,’ said Dr Shapiro. ‘But from what you have described to me, your behaviour shows an addiction to sex as well as to risk.
Liz laughed. ‘I am not addicted.’
The doctor paused for a moment. ‘Sex of this nature can be highly addictive, Elizabeth. Do you drink?’
‘A little,’ shrugged Liz. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Often people come to me with more than one addiction: drink, drugs, gambling.’
‘I’ve told you I am not a
ddicted,’ said Liz, a little irritated.
‘Okay,’ smiled Dana. ‘Well, what we need to discover is why you indulge in this behaviour. Can you remember when it began?’
She looked towards the window beyond Dana. Liz could actually pinpoint the exact night. It had been three months after the death of her father and she had been feeling … not depressed, exactly, but melancholic. That had been the day of the Asgills board meeting; the day her mother had appointed William as chief executive. That evening Meredith had thrown a private dinner in the Orchid Room upstairs at 21 Club. Liz had been so angry she had barely spoken throughout the entire meal, and had left straight after dessert. Walter had been out of town on business so she had no reason to go home. She had simply walked and walked, straight down Fifty–Second Street until she found herself in Hell’s Kitchen. She knew better than to walk around those streets late at night, but she didn’t care. She had needed a drink. She sought out a bar and a good–looking musician had hit on her almost immediately. What had begun as a terrible, hateful night instantly turned into thrilling, uncharted night of adventure and possibility. He lived in a walk–up a block away and all her anger and frustration had been channelled into the most fantastic sex of her life.
‘So that first casual sexual encounter was retaliation?’ said Dr Shapiro. ‘You believe that you and not your brother should have been given the job.’
Liz frowned and kept silent.
‘How long was it before your second sexual encounter of this nature?’
‘A couple of weeks, I guess. My relationship with my husband was faltering; we both worked too hard. Sex was perfunctory.’
Now that was an understatement, thought Liz with a private smile. Liz had never really felt attracted to Walter and, now she could admit it, she had never really loved him either; but she’d seen something in him, a business brain as sharp as her own, a work ethic to rival hers. They were matched in many ways, but certainly not in the bedroom.
‘You might call my behaviour risky or addictive, Doctor,’ said Liz. ‘But to me, it’s a very considered way of fulfilling a need.’
‘And does it fulfil your emotional needs too?’
