Sylvia

 by Octavia Kuransky

Sylvia had been lying to her therapist for weeks now. The agreement had been that she would tell her therapist everything and always the truth. But she – Sylvia – had set aside this agreement from the start. She had not only lied, she had also hid things. For example, there was the glass of wine she swallowed along with her antidepressant. Strictly warned against. Then there was the stealing which Sylvia had not copped to at all.

“How are the meds treating you?” the therapist asked. “You’re remembering not to take any alcohol with them right?”

“Right.” Sylvia nodded in confirmation.

“Good. What’s going on this week?” the therapist was asking now. There were no windows in the therapist’s office so Sylvia stared at a painting pretending to think about the question.

“I’ve decided to look for a new job.” Sylvia answered finally. This was kind of true because Sylvia was always looking for a new job.

 “What has brought this about? Did something happen at work?”

“ No nothing happened.” Suddenly inspired, Sylvia added. “And you know, that’s just it. Nothing ever happens. Every day. Nothing.” The scratch of the therapist’s pen on her pad was so satisfying, Sylvia squirmed at the warmth that spread in her belly.

“What would you like to happen?” the therapist asked.

“Well…” Later Sylvia felt satisfied with the bullshit she had fed the therapist. The nodding head, more scratching the pad assured her she had delivered the appropriate reply.

           At the receptionist’s desk, Sylvia signed for the session. She thought the cost – one hundred fifty dollars per session – was ridiculous and would not have gone except her insurance paid for it, and she enjoyed coming to the therapist’s office because it was a in a mall full of stores bloated with beautiful clothes and shoes and bags and scarves all of which she loved and none of which she could afford. But Sylvia had discovered she could try these things on, pretend and, when she wished, steal those items with particular appeal. Because the clerks never remembered her from week to week. She felt free to indulge regularly.

           The dressing rooms in these stores were nicer than her dowdy apartment and she would take her time in the dressing rooms posing on the velvet covered benches while brushing her hair and sashaying the length of the mirror. She held entire conversations sometimes at imaginary parties in a green silk dress, crossing her legs for an imaginary man, handsome and fascinated by her, sometimes in an imaginary restaurant full of yellow candlelight and murmuring. She felt the exorbitant payments to the therapist should include these escapades, including the appropriation of whatever she wanted without bothering to pay.  

She left the therapist’s office this particular day, indulging in a languorous stroll through the gallery of shops on the street level of the mall in which the therapist’s office was located. In the window of a specialty sweater shop was a young woman staging mannequins. She was wearing a bright pink sweater which Sylvia thought would be perfect with the brown slacks she herself was wearing that day. Sylvia went into the shop and sure enough there was a rack of the sweaters exactly like the one the window dresser was wearing. Sylvia took two from the rack and into the dressing room. She pulled the sweater over her head, pushing up the sleeves, pulling them back down, smiling coquettishly into the mirror and tossing her hair. The sweater, she decided, was flattering bringing out the red of her hair. Carefully she removed the tag, pulled her old sweater on over the pink one and buttoned her coat covering all. She stuck the tag to the back of the bench with chewing gum and took the second sweater out of the dressing room with her.

“Too small.” she said to the clerk and hung the one sweater on the returns rack. She spritzed herself with at the perfume counter and left the store. Late getting back to the office, she poured some coffee from the pot in the break room into an empty Starbucks cup from her desk and left it to heat in the microwave. Meanwhile, she removed her coat and the sweater she had on over the new pink one from the store. The microwave dinged just as she arrived back at the breakroom. She wrapped a stray Starbucks napkin around the cup and took it into her boss’s office. 

“Hey boss.” she said sitting the coffee on his desk. “Sorry I’m a little late. I stopped to get you a pick me up.” And set the coffee on his desk tossing her hair as she had practiced in the dressing room. “Careful.” she said as he picked up the cup. “It’s really hot.” 

“Umm” he said smiling with his first sip. “Nothing like a fresh hot cup of coffee in the afternoon.” 

“Did I miss anything? Did you need me for anything”?

“No. Well yes. Can you calendar in a few things for me next week?”

“Sure. Let me get my planner.”

“That’s a great color on you by the way.” her boss said as she was leaving. Sylvia practiced her sashay as she left the room.

Over the next few weeks, Sylvia picked up several more items on her way out of the therapist’s office including the bowl of chocolate kisses on the receptionist’s desk, dumping the contents into her handbag. She left the sweets in the break room at the office with a little card that said “Enjoy! Sylvia”. On another occasion, she picked up a thin gold bracelet from a kiosk for a co-worker’s birthday gift, a cigarette lighter for her neighbor whom she found attractive and a scarf to go with the previously acquired pink sweater. She stole a pen she had admired from her boss‘ desk. This she kept at home. She used it to write entries in the journal her therapist required for the insurance company. When she reached the end of her insurance coverage, the therapist let her know.  

“I’m afraid this is our last visit under your coverage.” the therapist informed her. “Would you like to continue and pay out of pocket?” Sylvia tried not to smile. One hundred and fifty dollars a week on her salary was a ridiculous notion. 

“Perhaps I could for a while.” Sylvia said. She made another appointment, showed up but told the receptionist she had left her wallet at the office and would have to pay next time, but never returned.  She wore a new bra out of the mall that day.

“I’ve been thinking.” her boss said not too long after that. “I’ve been thinking that you might be ready for a special assignment.

“Oh?” Sylvia said.

“Yes.” Her boss chewed on the end of the eraser of his pencil. “The board has been thinking of holding a charity fundraiser.” He got up from his desk and moved around to the window. He had the best view from any of the other offices. “You’re organized, detailed and responsible.” He patted his pants leg with the pencil he still held. He turned and looked at Sylvia. “How would you feel about taking the lead on this thing?”  

The charity was a local children’s home. Sylvia went to visit the site. Unwanted, abandoned, mentally challenged, physically disabled children made their home in the under heated, under cooled, generally broken facility home. She could tell the guide providing the tour around the home expected to a show shock or at least empathy for the situation, so several times she covered her eyes for a moment and hoped that that would do.

“Thank you for coming.” The tour guide said and took Sylvia’s hand. “Thank you for caring. “

“Of course. Of course” Sylvia – now sincerely shocked at being touched by the woman –said. In the parking lot, riddled with cracks and potholes, Sylvia’s car got stuck and she called a taxi not waiting for the tow to come.

The event was a success, raising much more money than the original goal. Sylvia’s boss was right. Her toolkit of organization and eye for detail carried the day. Also pictures of the blighted house and sad children’s faces plastered over the tv and websites helped a lot. She took pride in that she had done it alone. Co-workers had offered but she turned them down except for the guy in accounting whose wife happened to work for a certain news show.

“And you did it all alone!” her boss cooed. “Amazing! You’re amazing!” And then there came the offer from her boss about the directorship of a certain non-profit of which he knew. Would she be interested? “I hate to lose you but this is such an important cause. Would you consider it?” Sylvia wiggled her left foot which was clad in new Italian heels. She had bought them for the fundraising event along with a beautiful black silk dress fitted to her body with monies from the fundraiser. She thought it justified. After all, she had raised all that money and put in quite a few hours to get it done, smiled when she didn’t want to, been touched when she didn’t want to, laughed at jokes that weren’t funny.

“Sylvia?” She looked up at her boss, her eyes shining. It may have looked like tears to him.

“I’d love to.” She said. “I’d love to.”  

As director, she began interviewing advertising agencies. The representative from the Atlas Marketing Firm sitting in front of Sylvia now was of particular interest to her. Something about the slant of his eyes. The baritone of his voice was distracting her in a way she was unable to discount. She hired his firm and as a result, many meetings, some lunches and eventually dinners occurred. Then one night he did not drop her off but came inside.

In time, they were married and discovered more about each other as happens when people work together a lot and certainly when they marry. The couple had more in common than they realized. They both held a disdain for sports. The sex act – though cool, controlled and brief – was satisfying for both. Both wrestled a restlessness in themselves that acquiring nice things serviced to quell. Together, they made the non-profit and advertising relationship work to their advantage and soon they had a big house, accessorized with nice cars and clothes to wear in and out of both.

A baby came in the third year and this called for an even bigger house. They were in the car driving to see the new house now. Sylvia held the newborn, smiling and cooing and rubbing his nearly bald head.

“I’m so happy.” she said. They came to a stop sign. “I never thought I would get to say that.” Sylvia rearranged the infant’s blanket, fussed about it, the temperature in the car and her right shoe being too tight. She realized then they still sat at the stop sign. There were no other cars around. Sylvia looked at her husband. His eyes locked straight ahead into the distance.

“Darling, I think you can go now. I think it’s safe.” she said. He continued to stare into the distance saying nothing. “Are – are you alright.” she asked when the car still stood at the stop sign its engine purring beneath them. “Yes.” he said continuing to stare into the distance. “I was just thinking of something.”