Tough Love

Saturday, September 02, 2006

The other night I went to the palatial estate of Dr. Robert J. Murk for my weekly therapy session. The door was opened by his Asian wife, respendent in a blue silk kimono patterned with tiny "good-luck" cats. “Welcome, Piper-san,” said she. “Please, come in.”

I did as she asked, removing my shoes within the doorway. She produced a pair of hard-soled slippers from beneath her kimono. “I took the liberty of keeping these warm against my body, Piper-san. Please put them on, as we are going outdoors. My honorable husband awaits you in the cherry orchard.”

She led me through a wing of the Doc’s mansion I had never seen, past framed original Hiroshige and Hokusai watercolors, past a set of full samurai armor—worth millions—from the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600; then outside, through the Doc’s personal kyudo range. Idly I noted the arrows protruding from the straw targets. One of the targets wore a kilt. It had more arrows in it than all the other targets combined. I swallowed hard.

The scent of cherry blossoms on the night wind informed me we had arrived at our destination.
“He awaits you,” said the Asian wife of my therapist, beckoning me onward with a sweep of her silken sleeve. “I will return shortly with tea.” She bowed slightly and made to depart.

“Make mine an extra-dry dirty martini with Beefeater gin—“ I began.

“Don’t push your luck, assbag.” With that, she left, and I watched her go.

I found Dr. Murk sitting in the relaxed lotus position atop a small dais set between two majestic cherry trees. In addition to his derby hat, which I have never seen him remove, he also wore a kimono, complete with haori to flare his shoulders. This, I knew, was designed to intimidate; but his eyes were closed, a look of complete serenity upon his face.

I knelt and touched my head to the ground. “Greetings, Doctor.”

His eyes opened. “You’re late, shithead. And I saw you checking out my wife just now.”

“A thousand apologies—“

“Shut up! You make me want to punch you in your fat, anonymous face. Where have you been?”

“I’m not sure what you—“

“Shut up! You know exactly what I mean. I’m so goddamn tired of listening to you whine about your problems. So you have a tough life and you don’t have a palatial estate and a smoking hot Asian wife like I do, so what? Nothing’s going to change if all you do is whine and cry,” he shouted.

“I hardly think that’s fair—“

“Shut up! Here, I do the talking, homo! Why haven’t you written any book reviews lately?”

“Because I—“

“Shut up!”

Here we were interrupted by Murk’s wife, bearing a tray with a teapot on it. Miserably I noticed there was only one cup. She placed it before the Doctor, and bowed reverently.

“Leave us, wife,” said Murk. “We are discussing man’s business.”

“But…he’s wearing a skirt,” said the wife.

“You know how he is, dear,” said Murk, patiently. “He is gay.”

She nodded her understanding and quietly left us. I was once again amazed at the strength of the Doc’s pimp hand.

He poured himself a cup of tea and resumed where he left off. “Shut up!” he said. “I know why you haven’t written any book reviews. Because you’re waiting for others to do it for you! Christ, you’re a lazy piece of shit, Piper. I don’t know why I tolerate you in my home.”

“But—“

“Shut up! I wrote one for you, for Christ’s sake. What more do you want? Who else is supposed to do a review? Malach? Do you really want to read anything he recommends?”

I winced at the thought.

“Mantodea?” he continued. “Please. That freak will only review a science book. And obviously, science is not his forte. Have you seen his head lately? He’s a bug! He was over here the other night. I had to watch him eat soup. Soup! Do you have any idea how disgusting that was? He has mandibles!”

I shuddered. Murk continued his tirade.

“The Angry Veteran? He can’t read. Hobbs? Are you kidding? That idiot thinks the Mayans are going to destroy the world in 2112.”

He stared hard at me. I remained silent.

“Stop remaining silent!” he said. What do you have to say for yourself?

“I—“

“Shut up! It has to be you, don’t you see that? Unless any of the other 20 or so contributors to the Wand of Wonder want to step up and visit your Submissions page.”

“But I can’t!” I blurted out. “I just can’t do it right now! I don’t know what I can do!”

“You can act like a man!” Dr. Murk shouted, leaping to his feet. He slapped me across the face. I hung my head in misery.

After a while, the Doctor lifted my head. “You know I love you, right? You’re like the son I never had but would have hated if I did.”

I nodded, ignoring the fact that I am older than Murk by 2 years.

“Now, do you wanna rock? he asked.

I blinked. "What?"

"I said, do you wanna rock?"

"Uh...yes?" I said.

"Hit it, wife!" he screamed. Instantly, the cherry orchard's serenity was shattered by Dr. Murk's favorite song blaring through concealed speakers. It just happens to be the music currently on my MySpace page.

Dr. Murk does a mean Robot.