Abigail's Case Fiction Concludes

Herewith the conclusion of Abigail’s case fiction.

Back in the day, when Freudian psychoanalysis ruled the mental health roost, an analyst would have wanted to uncover the desire that Abigail was repressing with her systematically bad behavior. He might have considered that she was punishing men for what one boy did to her during childhood. He might have wanted to suss out the hidden desire, that is, whether or not she really wanted to be sexually abused by the neighbor.

Seymour was aware of all this, but he was not in the psycho analysis business. Coaching was different. It involved changing behavior, changing the way one conducted one’s life. And it invited the client to follow instructions laid down by the coach, better to learn how to play the game. In this case, the game involved seduction and socialization. 

Whereas therapy sought the why, coaching looked for the how. Therapy, whether psycho analytic of otherwise, sought to provide the patient with an understanding of why she was doing what she was doing. Presumably, this insight would lead to  more constructive behaviors.

With coaching the question was how the client could learn to function differently. Clearly, Abigail’s behavior, her studied rudeness and her insistence of doing what she wanted when she wanted, was a way to manage the anxiety that attended her trauma. 

And yet, she believed that it was authentic. She believed that she would suffer if she repressed it. This meant that her path out of her dilemma would require her to listen carefully to Seymour. Her instincts were thoroughly embroiled with her childhood trauma. If she continued to follow their lead she would never overcome it. That is, she would never banish the ghost of Delbert.

At the least, Seymour wanted her to refrain from carnal relations for the time being. Admittedly, this would require something like repression, but being a hookup queen was obviously not doing her very much good.

Abigail complied, though she did not like complying. She was quickly losing her faith in Seymour. Nevertheless, refraining from sex did not feel all that bad after all. It required her to find other ways to connect.

When Bertram invited her to have dinner in Chinatown, at the Golden Unicorn, she bit her tongue and refrained from announcing that the place felt to her like a cafeteria. She merely asked him when he wanted to pick her up.

She was disconcerted at having manifested a compliance that she barely recognized as her own. Seymour, however, thought it a sign of progress. Refraining from insulting Bertram was precisely what he wanted her to do.

For her part Abigail had no real confidence in her ability to conduct the burgeoning relationship. All she really knew was her feelings. She believed that expressing them was the right thing to do. Seymour tried, with some success, to explain that she was really functioning like a character in a movie or play, someone who needed to express feelings more flagrantly because otherwise they would go unnoticed.

Besides making a spectacle of one’s feelings ignored the other person. How could she allow Bertram to tell her about himself if she was monopolizing the conversation with  dramatic display. Thereby, Seymour introduced the notion of moderation, of temperance. Rather than see the relationship as a way to learn about herself, she might consider it a way to connect with another human being.

So Seymour asked a series of questions about Bertram. “Tell me what you know about him. Who is he, where does he come from, what kind of family does he have, have you ever met his friends. 

And then there remained the question of what Abigail was looking for herself. She had declared herself opposed to marriage, and that was convenient if Bertram was just another hookup, but what if he wanted more. Would she need to overcome her compunctions about wifedom? 

Of course, Seymur wanted Abigail to be flexible. He did not want her wed to the no-marriage position, something that would almost guarantee that she would eventually be dumped.

Four days later Abigail returned to report on her date with Bertram. It had been something of a disappointment. She had learned that he was a distinguished member of his profession, that he liked mountain biking and basketball. 

Abigail had to strain to show any interest. Besides, the air conditioning at the restaurant was too cold and the service was slipshod. Yet, the food was very good.

She blamed Seymour for the dull date. “Were it not for you I would have been more spontaneous and more fiery.” Seymour replied glibly: “Sometimes one can be thankful for little things.”

Over the next few weeks Abigail found herself spending more time with Bertram. She liked him but she was far from enraptured. She was even enjoying conversation with him. On those few occasions when she came out with a gross insult, about the way he dressed, for example, he laughed it off.

The only thing that was missing in this budding romance was the sex. By all evidence Bertram was not interested. Abigail knew how to seduce men; she was rather good at it; but for a time nothing worked on her new lover.

Since she had tried every way she knew to show she was ready, willing and able to have sex, none of it had worked. So she explained to Seymour that he had to find another ruse, or else, she would lose her mind.

Seymour was up to the task. He recommended that she try showing a studied disinterest in sex. Let him come to you, he offered, rather than making him feel that he is in pursuit.

Abigail had already concluded that Bertram had been injured by a previous relationship, but she willingly dialed down her interest.

Yet, Abigail liked to spend time with Bertram. She enjoyed his company and she liked the fact that he valued her opinions. She was thinking to herself that he would not be quite so accommodating if he knew what she was really thinking, but this new version of a relationship was not entirely unsatisfying, the absence of great sex notwithstanding.

Eventually, they did manage to do the deed. Abigail described it as “non-descript” whatever that meant. Bertram was not very passionate and did not seem to know how to please her. Following instructions, Abigail did not tell him how inadequate he was. She had learned that such criticisms were ultimately self-defeating.

Obviously, the more she told herself that she could do a lot worse than to spend her life with him, the less the less-than-passionate sex bothered her.

But then, three months into their relationship, they were just about to settle into dinner at his house, when the phone rang. Abigail was in his kitchen heating up the sauce for the poached salmon, but she overheard the conversation. 

When Bertram picked up the phone the tone of his voice changed. A warmth and intimacy suddenly appeared, different from the tone that she knew well. When they sat down to dinner she asked, innocently, “Who was that?” Bertram replied curtly, “an old friend.” She continued to pry: “Does the friend have a name?” Bertram replied, “It was Leda.” Abigail let slip that she had never heard the name before. And she added that she was surprised that he did not trust her enough to tell her about Leda. 

Finally, Bertram told her the story of Leda. Twelve years ago the two had been in love. They had known each other since their days at Princeton and had planned to marry after college. Leda wanted to finish her medical training, so they waited until she had passed her oncology boards before setting a date. 

It was going to be a large and very lavish wedding. And then,  two weeks before the wedding, Leda came to him and announced that she could not go through with it. She had fallen in love with someone else, her mentor in oncology, the sponsor of her fellowship, Dr. Wenkels.

Bertram had met the doctor, but had not given much thought to the prospect of a relationship with Leda. He was in his late forties, with wife and children. So far so good. Yet, he had recently separated from his wife and declared his love for Leda. She greeted the news with distress, because she became aware that she had long since longed for Dr. Wenkels. 

Bertram was crushed, and publicly humiliated. He had sworn off women until the moment when he met Abigail. 

And yet, Abigail was strangely consoled by this information. She now understood that Bertram’s reticence and detachment had a cause. She had learned enough to know not to confront him over his nostalgia, so she changed the subject to the fashion shows.

At her next appointment with Seymour, Abigail explained what had happened and asked, plaintively, “What do I do now?”

Seymour replied that it was not always necessary to do something. Perhaps the situation would resolve itself. 

Abigail was not pleased with that suggestion, so Seymour tried another. He suggested that Bertram was probably not trying to deceive her, but was not sharing a large scale public humiliation. On the other side, his friends and family must have known what happened with Leda, and thus, were looking at her in a context that she did not know about.

Working together Seymour and Abigail decided that it would be best if she considered Leda to be their, and not just his problem. She had the right to express anger at Leda for her perfidy, and she ought to suggest that Bertram do best to cease all communication with her. 

This brought them closer together and their sex life began to improve. Bertram was not going to be a world class lover, but he was becoming more than competent. Abigail found herself more capable of responding to him.

Fourteen months later Abigail and Bertram were married on St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue. In the weeks preceding the wedding they had only one dispute. Bertram wanted to invite Leda and her family. Abigail refused categorically. They both wanted Seymour to attend the ceremony, but he demurred. He did not feel it was his place.

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