Lying Young Ch. 01

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Smokey Saga
4.1:
“Lying Young” (part one)

*****

Here is another dramedy that’s a little light on the sex, but heavy on the heart. I wrote an early version of it in 2008, changing a few things and improving it for the present. It stars a couple of girls who haven’t been together in any Sagas before, but one of them has appeared in two of my stories by herself. Her name is Lesley Walker. If you’ve read “Costly Confusion” or “Seize The Moments Of Your Life,” you’ve met her. Her girlfriend, who’s only been referenced, is named Dori Young. This story’s actually all about Dori. It takes place a few years ago, when the girls originally met, in their early 20s. This is what Lesley was doing before she became an office worker and a softballer. In this story, again, Dori’s the main protagonist—Lesley has a limited number of scenes, like the other supporting characters, but they are good and substantial. And that leads me into the next part of the intro.

We’re going to do here as we did with “Friends And Live-Ins,” and split this into two parts. Coincidentally, the main character in “Friends And Live-Ins” was named Dora, and this one’s name is Dori. That was not actually planned. And in this chapter, Dori is the only one having sex. I’m still putting it under the lesbian category, even if in this chapter, she’s technically jilling off to a fantasy. That’ll change in part two as well. Hope you enjoy it. Feedback’s welcome. Happy reading, Readers!

*****

Trousers Ablaze (Here’s The Dori, A Lovely Young Lady)

Thursday, March 22nd, 2012, 4:28 p.m.

“Miss?…You can go on back. End of the hall and to the right.”

Dori Nan Young tossed down the magazine she’d been leafing through and headed to see the psychiatrist. She poked her head in.

“‘Lo?”

Dr. Deborah Morelli glanced to see her, then to her clipboard. She laid it down, stood and offered her hand.

“Hi there. Dr. Deborah Morelli. Pleasure to meet you, Miss…Sutherton?”

Dori came in. She was a very young flax blonde, in a multicolored dress patterned with newspaper articles and travel decals, and flats to somehow match. She seemed just a little anxious to be here. Instead of shaking the doctor’s hand, she low-fived it.

“Hi, Debbie. Marla Sutherton. But my friends call me Nelly Nowadays.”

Dr. Morelli nodded, arching her eyebrows.

“Uh, yes. Well, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sutherton.”

“Oh, please—Marla,” Dori requested.

“Marla. Of course. And likewise, in my office, if you will, I’d like you to please call me Dr. Morelli.” She showed Dori to the couch.

“Sure thing, Dr. Debbie.” Dori sat.

Resuming her seat as well, the doctor picked the clipboard back up and readied her pen.

“Now, Miss Suth—oh, excuse me; Marla. What’ve you come to see me about today?”

Dori took a breath.

“Oh…well, it’s a long story, doc. Y’see, after the rollercoaster derailed…”

Dr. Morelli’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my goodness!”

“…I was never really the same,” Dori went on, as Deborah started writing. “My Mom died about three months back, and it just kinda set me off, y’know? After a while, I just didn’t feel like myself. I lost interest in things I used to like. Nothing was really that fun anymore. Some days it just…didn’t pay to get outta bed.”

The doctor nodded empathetically, finished her current note and looked up.

“I see, I see, yes. Well, Miss S—Marla, from what you’re describing so far, you’re exhibiting symptoms of classic depression. Tell me, exactly how long ago did your rollercoaster incident occur?”

Dori’s response was perfectly succinct, matter-of-fact and to the point.

“I never had a rollercoaster incident.”

Deborah’s arched brows furrowed in confusion.

“But, you just said someth—”

Dori stepped back in. “I never said that to you. You said that to me.”

Dr. Morelli was now lost. Fortunately, Dori spoke up again.

“I’m sorry. You know what, I should be straight with you. Even though I’m gay. To be completely honest, I’m a compulsive liar.”

The doctor nodded in revelation. She made a note of it as well.

“A-ha,” said Dr. Morelli. “And, is anything you just said true?”

Dori paused a beat.

“No.”

“I see,” Deborah nodded, adding two more words to her notes. “‘Compulsive…liar.’

“So, I would make the presumption that your mother’s not really dead either then?”

“It depends what you mean by ‘dead.'”

The doctor raised one curious eyebrow.

“All right, she’s not. I just wanted to prove that I can tell the truth if I really want to. Most times I just don’t.”

Deborah gave her an additional nod. “How interesting. So just how often do you voluntarily choose to lie, Marla?”

“What do you mean?” asked Dori, feigning indignance. “I’ve never told a lie in my life.”

A brief spell of silence followed. Dr. Morelli began to reply, but Dori hopped back in again. Her facial expression returned to normal.

“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I’ll casino şirketleri take the lie. I have a photographic memory, so I can remember everything. So the only way someone can catch me’s if they know the real story. The most effective lies are ones that aren’t tied to any definition. You can’t get too specific. If you do, you risk getting caught.”

The doctor thoughtfully looked back up at Dori’s innocent face.

“Fascinating. Marla, what do your parents say about this? How do they feel?”

Dori tossed her a look.

“I told you before, my parents are dead.”

“No, no no,” Deborah contradicted, pointing her pen. “You said that your mother was dead, and then you retracted it.”

“Of course I did!” Dori immediately agreed. “My parents dead, what a terrible thing to say! Don’t even think that, I’m terrified of death! It’s my worst fear! This was actually their idea, me coming here. For some reason, they think, like because I’m a liar, I have some kinda problem. It’s mostly made things rough between me and my Mom. Not that they were ever…eh. I’m sorry. I have some…mother issues.”

Aha, thought Dr. Morelli. The therapist’s mother lode. Literally.

“Okay. Well, then, Marla, th—”

Dori interrupted her. “Oh, my name’s not really Marla. It’s Rose. Rose Ryerson.”

Deborah blinked a couple of times, scratching out some more from what she’d written down.

“Um…okay, Rose…”

“Actually, that’s not true either,” Dori amended. “My name’s not Rose, it’s Dori. Really, I swear on that one. Dori, D-O-R-I. That’s the truth. Or may God strike me dead.”

Dr. Morelli took another few seconds to scratch the second false name as well. Her penstrokes became a bit deliberate and aggressive. “Very well…” She then proceeded to write over again, slowly and distinctly.

“…Dori…Sutherton.”

“Actua—”

Deborah put down the pen. “Okay, Miss? Whatever your real name might be, it’s all right. I’m not here to make you self-conscious or uncomfortable. If you don’t wanna say it here in session, that’s fine; you can let me get it from your insurance form instead.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s okay.” Dori took her purse and dug in. She produced and handed over her license. “It’s Dori Young. See?”

Dr. Morelli seemed reluctant at first, but accepted the license for a once-over. She waited a sec, then discreetly held it up to the light.

“Is this fake, Dori?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Deborah returned the license to her and picked up her pen. “Dori…Young.”

Dori searched for another document. Not to be sassy but merely helpful, she asked, “Want my birth certificate?”

“That’s quite all right, Dori. There’s no need to feel ashamed or embarrassed about using a false name. I’m not accusing you of feeling that way, just saying. Fact is, some prefer a nom de plume in therapy,” she told her, waving the pen. “They feel less than comfy opening up to someone all at once, so they take some sanctuary in anonymity.”

Dori nodded. “Okay.”

“Please stop me if I’m putting words in your mouth,” the doc added.

“No, not at all.”

“I am putting words in your mouth?”

“No, no, really, that’s true.”

“Good enough for now,” Deborah assessed. “So now, Mar—Dori…the next thing I’d like to ask you is if you can pinpoint the time in your life when your discovered your desire, need or compulsion to lie.”

Dori pursed her lips and darted her eyes about. Dr. Morelli gave her an additional little tip.

“Please keep in mind you reserve the right to plead the fifth.”

Dori waited another second and answered.

“I wanna plead the fifth.”

Deborah nodded. “That’s perfectly all ri—”

“I guess it all started when I was a kid, y’know?” Dori sighed. “I mean, it…it just seemed like I always got in trouble for telling the truth. Like, no one could handle it if it was bad. Even if it was an accident. ‘Yeah, Mom, I broke that dish, sorry.’ Boom: straight to my room. ‘Whoops, forgot my homework, Miss Larkin.’ Boom: dunce hat on my head. ‘Missed the deadline, boss.’ Boom: walking papers.”

“Deadline?”

“Yeah, for my column. I’m a journalist.”

“I see. Forgive me for saying so, but you seem a bit young to be a professional journalist.”

“Oh, I’m not a journalist. I’m a baker. I work at the Goodies Bakery on 33rd and Rochester.”

Dr. Morelli shot Dori a quick look.

“That’s true. Honest.”

“Hm,” said Deborah, placing the pen to her lips. “Y’know, Dori, I think I’m picking up a bit of a pattern here. It seems you’re perfectly capable of telling the truth, but, you kind of ‘have’ to tell a lie first. As if you want or need the security of nobody really knowing the real deal. Perhaps to sort of cushion whatever discomfort may be attached to the truth?”

Once more, Dori’s gut reaction was prompt and blunt.

“Oh, that’s just silly.”

“Well, it was only a theory, of course.”

“No, no, wait a minute, I think you’re onto something there,” said Dori, turning interested. “Keep going.”

“Oh…oh, right!” Dr. Morelli remembered. “Well, casino firmaları Dori, it’s evident to me you’re completely in control of what you say to other people. You said yourself you simply choose to be dishonest, is that right?”

Dori waited just a beat to answer. She then inscrutably rejoined—

“Absolutely not.”

Deborah Morelli raised her face and eyebrows, as if to prod her. Dori smiled a bit sheepishly, as if caught in the lie.

“Yes.”

The good doctor had an idea. “Y’know what, Dori, I’d like to try a little experiment with you. I wanna ask you a question, and I’d like you—if you can—to skip the lie and go straight to the truth. Would you like to try that, and just…you know, see what happens?”

“Oh, I…no, I-I don’t really think so,” Dori shook her head.

“Oh, well, all right, maybe we could try it another time.”

“No, no, I just said I’d like to try it!” said Dori. “Sure, go ahead. Fire away.”

Dr. Morelli’s eyes lit up as she once more recalled the pattern.

“Right! Of course. Okay, well, then, Dori, here’s my question.

“What happens, inside, when you tell a lie? Tell me your innermost feelings. Don’t be afraid to dig deep; there’s no need to hold back. You’re in a safe space. I’m not here to judge, just to get to know you, and get you to reach out to me. How does lying feel?”

Dori reflexively began, as her mind wanted, to go to the lie. Complete with her artificially normal face and tone of voice.

“Oh, it’s just horrib—”

She stopped herself, shutting her mouth, and taking a deep breath through the nose.

“It feels awf—”

She halted again, this time muffling herself with one hand. The doctor gazed at her. Dori thought she heard her quietly, inquisitively say her name. She took one more deep, difficult breath.

“It’s…wonderful.”

Her voice quivered just a smidgen.

“Everything. Just…I-I love knowing how the truth doesn’t belong to anyone but me. That it’s…it’s private, and just mine. I…”

She breathed uneasily a bit more. “I love the high that comes when you pull it off. With no effort at all. You pause just long enough—not too short, not too long—and you say it in exactly the same normal voice. And…and the other person just believes you! Like there was nothing to it. Like it was just…the truth!”

She took time out for another anxious breath. “It makes me feel so…so powerful, I can’t even tell you. And most of all, it relaxes me. Really, I don’t even know why, but…nothing calms me down like a big ol’ fat lie.”

Dr. Morelli alternated between focusing on her and writing. Finally, she nodded.

“Thank you, Dori.”

She noticed Dori begin breathing yet heavier and less easy.

“Oh! You can go back to the lie now.”

Dori seized the relief, as her mind was granted it. “Oh, thank God. I hate lying! It sucks! It’s horrible! I wish I never had to lie again for the rest of my life!” She promptly started breathing easy again. “Whew. Thanks, Dr. Debbie.”

“Just for my own information, Dori, may I ask your age?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be 44 in February.”

“Okay, Dori, without even knowing you’re a compulsive liar, I can tell that’s false. You hardly look a day older than my teenage nephew.”

“Close enough; I’ll be 21 in July.”

“Now that’s more like it. I’ve gotta say, Dori, I find it remarkable how eloquent and articulate you are for a 20-year-old.”

“I dunno what that means.”

“Well, it means being able to find and arrange just the most effective words to communicate your feelings and explain things.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Well, I’ve gotta be,” the 20-year-old in question elaborated. “I have to be confident and convincing, so people believe me. Of course, I always tell the truth after that. But it’s those few seconds in between—that’s the real high for me. It’s like my own personal drug. That’s why I don’t do real drugs; I don’t need them.”

Dr. Debbie gave a hint of a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, as I’m sure are your friends and those close to you. You know something, Dori…

“I do believe we’ve progressed nicely so far.”

“Really?”

“Really. I dare say that we have just established your phobia and anxiety of airtight honesty. And furthermore, we’re one step closer to our ultimate goal together—should you decide to continue your journey with me. Do you know what that goal is?”

Dori thought for just a second. “Yes!”

“You do?”

“…No. Sorry. No clue.”

Deborah glanced back at the clock to see the digits change.

“Oh, Dori, I’m sorry. As much as I’d like to go on exploring this with you, this is just an introductory interview, not an official session. And I’m afraid our time’s up for today.”

“…Oh.”

“But please don’t be discouraged. We can meet weekly, or bi-weekly, if you prefer. Eh…” She stopped to consider.

“Should I ask how often you’d like to meet?”

“…Yeah. Six days a week, morning and afternoon?” she proposed.

Dr. Morelli’s eyes jumped open. “Um, Dori, are you, eh…i-is that…”

“I güvenilir casino think once a week’s fine.”

Deborah gave a cordial laugh. “Oh! Okay, good, so we’ll stick with Thursdays at 4:30 then?”

“Sure.”

“Terrific.” She retrieved a business card, marked it accordingly, and passed it to Dori. “And there’re my work and cell numbers, in case I’m not in the office. If there’s anything you need to talk about, don’t hesitate to call day or night.”

Dori took the card. “Day or night?”

“Well…yes, but if you call me at 3:00 in the morning, I can’t promise I’ll be in the cheeriest mood.”

Dori giggled. “Okay, thanks.”

Dr. Deborah Morelli went to shake her hand, but then remembered. “Oh, right.”

She held it up for a high-five. Dori slapped her the requested digits and started out.

“See you tomorrow, doc.”

Deborah gave her an amused sigh. “Dori?”

“See you next Thursday, doc.”

Left alone in her office, Dr. Morelli sat again. She reviewed what she’d written with Dori, thinking back on their unusual preliminary session. And how all her scratching had almost made holes through the paper. Finally, she let the clipboard drop on the desk.

“Ah…last one.”

She waited a few beats, letting a pensive look cross her face. She picked up the clipboard and studied the notes one more time.

*****

Educated Guest

Saturday, March 24th, 2012, 10:13 a.m.

The Goodies Bakery opened at 10:00 on Saturdays, but lucky Dori had today off. She resided on her own in a comfy Statler County apartment. She did okay at the bakery salary-wise. But she came into a surplus of funds when a somewhat distant relative left her his estate. Dori didn’t know the relative very well, or why she’d been the one to inherit his assets. But from what her parents told her, the man was an elderly uncle a few generations removed. He’d few loved ones to put in his will, and Dori was youngest by far. It really was just that simple. And while Dori’d rather have the uncle than the estate, the choice wasn’t hers to make. So she deposited the money, placed his investments in capable hands, moved into her unit, and otherwise did as she’d been doing. She couldn’t deny being a trifle spooked over the decession, however. As she’d told Dr. Morelli, facing her own or anyone else’s mortality truly frightened her.

Most innocent days like today, she focused on lighter, more pleasant things. She shuffled into the john in her jammies, relieved herself, then it was to the living room to flip on the TV. The next stop was the kitchen for a bowl of Golden Grahams and a glass of grape juice. She sat in front of the TV with breakfast, pawed at her eyes and tousled her mussed hair. She tuned the TV to the Boomerang network, put one hand to her temple, shook out and knocked back a few Ibuprofen tablets.

Her cell rang. She pushed herself up and sauntered across the room to get it.

“‘Lo?…Uhhhhm, I think Dori’s in the kitchen, just a sec.” She covered the mouthpiece, yawned, and spoke again.

“This is Dori…oh, hey…oh, yeah, yeah, of course I remember: Tuesday at 1:00.

“…W—…Wednesday at 2:30?…R-right, right…okay, yes, I’ll be there. See ya then. Buh-bye.”

She hung up, slipped again between her sofa and coffee table, and sat all but completely back down.

A knock came at the door.

“Oh, heck’s sake.” Right back up she got, muting the TV in the process, and took a peep through the appropriately named hole. On the other side stood a chestnut brunette holding something under her arm. Dori opened it.

“Good morning!” the girl waved with a smile, toting a stack of catalogues. “Allow me to please introduce myself. My name’s Lesley Walker. And I’m a proud representative of the recently founded Cliegman Academy. I’m not selling anything; I come spreading word of the mystical and wonderful quest for knowledge. May I ask you, my friend, do you happen to be a college student?”

Dori nodded matter-of-factly. “Five years and counting. I graduated high school at 15.”

A look of utter astonishment hit Lesley’s face.

“My gosh! You’ve gotta be highly advanced. May I inquire as to your fields of study? Or your sought profession?”

“I’m a baker,” Dori told her. “And I’m not in college. I went for a semester or two, but my grades were lousy.”

Lesley’s brows lowered in bewilderment. Dori opened her door a little wider.

“But maybe we could talk some more over a bowl of Golden Grahams?”

Dori didn’t make a habit out of inviting unknown visitors to breakfast. And actually, whether selling something or not, services weren’t supposed to be solicited at this complex. But when the unknown visitor happened to be a lovely brunette with a pretty, bespectacled face and a charming smile, her rules changed a bit. Lesley, on the other hand—and side of the door—was at something of a loss between the two contradicting statements this lady’d just made. But she did seem to be asking her inside. And there was a nice cordial smile on her own kisser. Lesley didn’t usually get this far; most folks just dismissed her. And even if her hostess wasn’t in college herself—if that was in fact what she was saying—she was the right age. And might know others that were interested. She took a first small step.

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