Dream On: A Rom Com

Dating Expert

DEON

Deon doodles on a pad as Chip Weinstein, second client of the day, bounces a leg, repeating himself.

"I've lost fifteen pounds. Fifteen pounds. Feel so much better." Chip pulls and snaps the waistband to his trousers, adding an exclamation point.

Deon shifts in his chair, crosses a leg over his knee. Chip has been coming for therapy for a month, and on his initial visit, explained he wanted to figure out if he was ready to date.

"Last week I went for coffee with a woman I see at the gym almost every day. We had plenty to talk about, but I turned chicken and couldn't ask her out."

He gives Deon a look that makes him feel he needs to live up to the faith Chip has in him as a practitioner of shrinkage. "Divorced two years, it's about time," Chip says.

Deon takes his time answering, offers a calm, level gaze instead of words. Chip is a forty-five-year-old Yale physics professor with a sixteen-year-old son at Choate, so he is a smart guy. Unfortunately, he wears dorky pants that graze his ankles and colorful, short-sleeved dress shirts that make his arms look like pasty noodles.

Deon hasn't yet expanded his practice to offer the client a complete makeover along with therapy. And some would question Deon's taste. Today he wears an orange shirt and cobalt blue tie, one of Melinda's old favorites.

"Doc, don't you think it's about time?" Chip says. "I've got to get out there."

Why come to me with these questions? Deon wonders. How can he keep taking this man's money when he has no idea what to tell him. His mind claws for an idea.

"Look, Chip," he says, "I have the same problem."

"You do?" Chip gazes at Deon sideways, like a curious horse. "You're the therapist. Aren't you married?"

"My wife––we're not here to talk about me. All I'm saying is that relationships are a universal problem. A challenge. Keep talking to this woman. You like her?"

Chip nods.

"Go slowly. Ask her if you can work out together. That way you'll get to know a few things about her, no muss, no fuss."

"What does that mean?" Chips expression shows he hasn't a clue to what Deon is getting at.

"Oh, don't complicate things by proceeding...uh...going too quickly. Get to know her."

Too bad his father's old No muss, no fuss didn't go over that well. Even so, there's nothing wrong with appropriating an occasional cliché for the benefit of his client.

Chip's face lights up suddenly, as if he relates to the whole concept now that it's been clarified.

"Here's a suggestion," Deon says after they set up the next appointment. "Go shopping. Get your son to tag along, help you out."

"Shopping? Usually his mom takes him. Why?"

"He's young, he knows what's cool. Get him to help you pick out a couple of...trousers, shirts, workout duds." Deon stops, wondering if he's gone too far.

Chip looks down at his shirt, limp and baggy. When he looks up, it's as if a buzzer went off in his brain. "Oh, Doc. That's a stroke of brilliance, a stroke of brilliance." His face changes, the wide smile reflecting his appreciation of Deon's idea. He's moving toward the door, saying to Deon over his shoulder, "Robby will be totally into––" Without finishing his sentence, he sashays out of the room.

The door closes after him. Deon can't help thinking he got lucky, struck exactly the right note with Chip.

He looks over his calendar. A mother and daughter coming in a half-hour. Later, a single guy in his thirties, complaining of getting cold feet before his wedding. This will be the guy's second session. His fiancée is appalled by his attitude. Appalled is the word she used, according to the client.