| OCR Text |
Show thing to do with dermatology." "How old does a woman have to be for you, Dublonsky?" "I can't help you." I was beside myself with anger. I would have spit at him but I was choking into my hand. He offered me a Kleenex. I pushed it away. He wasn't even looking at me, he was staring at that stupid photograph of him and his sailboat on the wall. I stood up. I stood in his line of vision. "You detest me," I said, "because I'm deformed. Admit it. You detest me because I have this hideous skin disease." "It's not your skin that's the problem, Jenny." "Then what is it?" I wanted to kill him. Then I would kill myself. "Just what ±s_ the goddamn problem?" "Hate, Jenny. It's eating you up. You even hate yourself." "Go to hell," I said. "It'll be hot enough in Haiti." I left then, stomped out of his office. I won't go back. I don't have to take that kind of crap from a lousy shrink who thinks he's a comedian. Owen's last name is Bacon, can you imagine that? When I heard it--overheard, I should say, from the nurses-I had to laugh. Imagine having a name like that. Anyway, this guy Owen Bacon will not leave me alone. This afternoon, in the garden, it was more of the same and the worst yet. |
