Chapter 12 12

"It's no joke! She must be hiding something from me." "And how is it according to your imagination?" asked the London doctor.I told him all my affairs in a down-to-earth manner, and never added oil and fat, but he always asked me to use my imagination unbelievably.imagine!imagine!There is even a concept of reality in Freud's theory. "Well, doctor, it's not my fantasy. Marcy Nash is really lying to me." "Oh?', He didn't ask me why I couldn't let go of someone I barely met for the first time.I have asked myself repeatedly, and the answer is that I am competitive and strong, and I will never lose to Marcy when I compete with her—no matter what she wants to compete with me, I will never lose to her.

So I took a deep breath and told the doctor in detail what I had discovered.I have an absolutely attentive secretary named Anita, and I asked her to put Marcie on the phone for me (actually, I just wanted to say, "It's nothing, I just wanted to say hello." ).Yes, the other party did not tell me what he was doing.But Anita has a natural ability to find people. She called the Binningdale company first, and the company said that there was no Marcie Nash among their employees.But Anita is not discouraged by this.She called Cleveland to look for it. She asked about every possible hotel in and outside Cleveland, including high-end residential areas in the suburbs.After asking, there was still no Marcie Nash, so she turned to motels and some lower-grade inns.Still no such person.Anyway, there's no such thing as Marcie Nash in this part of Cleveland, no miss, no lady, not even a lady.

That's clear, boy, she's lying to me.So she had gone elsewhere. But the doctor asked me calmly: "Then what do you think of your...conclusion?" "But it's not that I'm thinking about it!" I said hastily. Nor did he disagree.As soon as the case "opened for trial," my statement was well-reasoned.To be honest I've been thinking about it for a whole day. "First of all, it is clear that she must be cohabiting with some man. She will not give me her phone number or address, and there is no other reason to explain it. She may still be a married woman. identity."

"Then why did she ask you to meet again?" Oh, what a naivety the London doctor is!Or he just can't keep up with the times.If not, then he must have asked knowingly. "It's hard to say. I read some articles in the newspapers saying that our era is an era that breaks through the restraints. Maybe they both have an agreement, and they are willing to engage in an 'open' relationship." "If she's a 'breakout' type, as you say, why didn't she just tell you straight up?" "Well, that's where the secret lies. I reckon Marcie is about thirty years old—although her appearance doesn't seem to be that old. That said, she grew up in the early 1960s—" —It’s about the same as me. At that time, the atmosphere was not as loose and casual as it is now. Therefore, a girl of Marci’s age still has some old brains and old-fashioned rules, and she can’t do everything. Go happy, and she's going to cover it up and say she's gone to Cleveland."

"Is that what you imagined it to be?" "Of course, it may not be Bermuda, but Barbados," I didn't want to say too much, "but she must have gone on vacation with the man who lived with her. The guy may be living with her, or it may be her. s husband." "So you're angry. angry?My lungs are about to explode!Do you have to be a psychiatrist to see it? "Because she's not telling me the truth, you bastard!" I yelled out, and then I choked up: the waiting patient who was reading the old issue of "The New Yorker" magazine in the outhouse probably heard my scream.

I didn't make a sound for a while.I wanted to let the doctor believe that I was not excited, but why did I become so excited while talking? "My God, my God, it would be very pitiful for anyone to get involved with such a shrewd hypocrite." There was a silence. "Are you 'touching the edge'?" The London doctor caught my words and came to challenge me. "No way." I laughed. "I'm absolutely out of it. Seriously, I'm not only going to put her in the back of my mind--I'm going to send a telegram to this bitch and tell her to get the hell out of here."

There was another silence. "But I just can't do it," I said resignedly after a while. "I don't know her address."