know," I said as I sat, "I'd heard this room was a big painting of a cemetery."
"And you came anyway? You're a brave fellow."
"It isn't a cemetery, is it?"
"Nope. Paris. It's just a view of Paris I happen to like."
"I don't see the Eiffel Tower."
She smiled. "It's Paris circa 1843."
"Ah."
She had a strangely, wondrously cherubic face: Put a long face on a tall woman and you have either a disaster or a supermodel. Put a round face on a tall woman and you have Carissa Lake.
"Your niece says hi," I said when she did nothing to fill the quiet between us.
"Are you and Whitney friends?"
"Whitney can't be half my age. Maybe half. Maybe even sixty percent. But she's much younger than I am."
"I guess that means no."
"I'm sure she's a terrific person, but I really just know her from the health-food store."
"Oh, she's a delight. She's more like a younger sister than a niece. She goes to college in upstate New York, but she's home for a while."
"Taking a year off?"
"A semester," she said, as she sat in the chair across a mirrored glass table from the couch. "Now, I'm going to take my shoes off and relax. You're welcome to do the same," she went on, as she slipped off her loafers to expose a pair of thin pearl-colored socks dotted with tiny red flowers. She then curled one leg beneath her, and I noticed that her blue jeans were almost white at the knees.
I looked down at my wingtips. I couldn't imagine taking them off at that moment, because I had a pretty good idea of the smells that might emerge after almost a full day in Courtroom 3A. Felony status conferences. Arraignments. A public defender's appalling motion to suppress, coupled with a cop who couldn't keep his facts straight.
"I think I'm a shoes-on kind of guy," I said.
"Your jacket?"
"I can do my jacket, sure."
"Maybe even loosen your tie?"
"Maybe."
"Wish I had gowns?" Her tone was light, just this side of flirtatious.
"I've just never been to a female doctor before," I said, hoping this explained my unease.
"You still haven't. At least technically. But I am a licensed psychologist. I don't know if that matters to you."
"Should it?"
"It matters to some patients. It's how I backed into homeopathy."
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter."
I looked around and noticed that only two of her walls were actually a part of the skyline of Paris: Another was lined floor to ceiling with books, and the fourth--the one with the westerly windows--had small prints of wildflowers hung in an arc.
"Usually I like to begin by asking if there's anything you'd like to know about homeopathy. Or the process," she said, massaging the spot on her nose where her eyeglasses usually rested, before lowering those eyeglasses into place. Tortoiseshell ovals with just a hint of black. "Have you done any homework since Whitney suggested we visit?"
"A little. I read some magazines at a bookstore in Burlington."
She wrapped her hands around her knee and let a pad of paper rest in her lap. "Good for you. What do you think?"
"I haven't read that much. I learned belladonna has a cameo in Little Women. That's about it."
Carissa smiled. "Louisa May Alcott had a homeopath."
"Yeah, but I probably wouldn't advertise that. I think the article said she died of mercury poisoning."
"Administered by a physician. Traditionally. Not homeopathically."
"Oh."
"It was during the Civil War. She didn't die for another two decades."
"I see."
"You're a lawyer, Leland. I'm sure you took the time to learn more about homeopathy than the fact that Louisa May Alcott had a homeopath. Why don't you tell me a little about what drew you here?"
Although the notion passed through my mind to begin with a pair of women I had found erotic, one who was older than I was and one who was younger, I wanted to make a good impression, and decided almost instantly that lust probably wasn't a particularly savvy way to curry favor with my homeopath--especially since one of those two women was Carissa Lake's niece.
And so I started