Chapter 11
Instead of going to Miami, Lena Troy headed for the West Coast of Florida, stopped at a small beach resort town north of St. Petersburg, fell in love with the place and decided to stay there, for awhile, at least. She found the weather warm, especially in the sun but not unbearably so. There was always a breeze blowing in off the blue-green waters of the Gulf and if you stayed in the shade it was quite comfortable.
The first day, she phoned her lawyers and learned that the sale of her business was progressing. She cautioned the lawyers about giving her address to anybody else. She didn't want anyone, yet, to know where she was. She was shocked when the lawyer told her about the death of Harry Fields and wondered briefly if it could have had any connection with her. Instantly she dismissed that thought. It was ridiculous.
The third day there, Lena forced herself to go see a psychiatrist in Clearwater. She had to force herself because under the clean, lazy spell of this little Florida resort town on the beach, all that other began to seem unreal, as though it had never happened. But she knew that it was something the would eventually have to do, so she might just as well get started.
Dr. Kleaver was a small, quiet, self contained man, partially bald and with a small, clipped mustache. He had a level, cool, impersonal expression in his gray eyes that somehow made it easier to come right out with what she thought of as her horrible problem. When she had finally blurted out the ugly facts, Dr. Kleaver merely steepled his fingers together on the desk and said: T see. How frequently has this happened?"
She told him. He nodded again, then said: "Miss Troy, a lot of people expect instant miracles from psychotherapy. They don't happen." He smiled, gently. "Except, perhaps on TV. I believe I can help you, but it might take a considerable length of time. I would want you to see me for an hour, twice a week, beginning the day after tomorrow. Would you be willing to do that?"
Lena thought about it. Then she said. T guess I don't really have much choice, do I?"
"Not if you want to get well."
They talked some more and he gave her some forms to fill out and some tests to take, after she left his office and then that session was all over. In his reception room, where she sat at a desk, doing the tests, so that when she was finished she could turn them over to the doctor's receptionist, Lena noticed a funny question on one of the forms. At least it struck her as strange; particularly her own reaction to it
The question stated: Starting at age I, if possible, right up to the present year, opposite the list of numbers sc-companying this question, put down in one word the first word that comes to mind, no matter how silly it may sound at the moment what you remember about that particular year of your life.
Lena started on the question. She couldn't remember anything before she was three years old. Opposite three, she wrote doll at 4, she wrote, Christmas at 5, she wrote, School at 6, dog and so on, until she came to the 13th year. Then her pencil paused. (She had been writing quite rapidly, before.) For some reason, she couldn't think of anything connected with her thirteenth year; no word at all, would come in fact, search her mind as she could, she had no memory at all of that year. So she left it blank. The rest of the years, right up to the present, a descriptive or associative word camc readily to mind again.
A few minutes later, she was finished with the tests, turned the papers over to Dr. Kleaver's pretty little receptionist and left.
The following day, Lena Troy was forced to leave the motel where she'd been staying. She got into a big argument with one of the owners. The motel was run by a rather plain young woman and her husband, who was a veritable Apollo of a young man, physically. Mentally, he had the IQ of a 12 year old. Rather than being attracted to the man, Lena found his corny, juvenile remarks to her, the leering way he looked at her, repulsive. She practically told him so, several times, hoping that he'd take the hint and wouldn't even bother speaking to her. Then suddenly, his wife braced Lena and accused her of flirting with her Tom and making passes at him.
This amused Lena at first but then when she saw how serious and angry the woman was, it enraged her. They had a big name-calling argument and an hour later, Lena was packed and checked out. She soon found another motel at the other end of the beach, that was even nicer, if anything. This one was run by two women. One of them was a statuesque but well proportioned and well-preserved woman of forty. She was red-haired and pleasant-faced, though not quite pretty. Her name was Emmy Johns. Her partner was a small, dark-haired little woman, named Anita, who was quite pretty, with a soft, gentle smile. She was about ten years younger than Emmy and had a terrific figure. They both welcomed Lena to their Tarry-Ho Motel and hoped she'd have a long and pleasant stay with them.