May 21, 1986
Maris did call. I was shocked. I had written her off almost as soon as I'd dropped her off, as I do with every woman. This is the first time I've been wrong. At any rate, she wanted me to bring her Mercedes to the mechanic's. She said her chauffeur had unwisely attempted to aid one of her grooms in grooming down a stallion at her stables and had been trampled and severely injured. I was a bit confused at first, that she was calling on me as a substitute chauffeur. Then I remembered that, of course, I had told her to call me if she needed any help. She'd taken that quite literally, apparently.
Frasier's been gone for years, and yet his voice still rings so clearly in my head. I can just hear him explaining to me patiently but firmly that this woman is trouble, a high- society snob who will use me as long as I let her...
Would it be terrible if I said I don't particularly care?
She is high society. The highest of high society. That mansion she lives in - oh, to glimpse the inside, just once... And isn't it possible that she's calling on me to assist her in menial tasks because it's the only way she knows to open a relationship? To invite me to a ball (a ball! a Seattle society ball - the very word!) or some such would of course be quite forward. And that would also mean that she would be making the first move, so to speak. The first important move. Giving her my number was merely a preliminary action. In all honesty, as I think about it, I am convinced that she asked me to bring her car to the mechanic's simply as a way of opening the door for me to ask her out. Traditional gender roles are, of course, important. The fact that she called me at all indicates that she's interested. It's up to me to ask her on a first date.
But how am I to do that? Of course I'm not poor, no psychiatrist truly is. But I only left medical school a few years ago, and my earnings are really only middle-of-the-road compared with what my better-known colleagues make. And I suspect that that woman will settle for nothing but the best in cuisine and entertainment. I would adore a fine gourmet meal - I'm thoroughly sick of dining at mediocre restaurants, when I dine out at all - but I don't know how I'll afford it.
Well, I'll just have to save. This woman could be my ticket to - to everything. I mustn't let her slip away.
I should have mentioned that I agreed to take her car to the mechanic's when she called me. Actually, it might be fun, driving a Mercedes even briefly. It is, of course, my dream car. Someday...
Maris did call. I was shocked. I had written her off almost as soon as I'd dropped her off, as I do with every woman. This is the first time I've been wrong. At any rate, she wanted me to bring her Mercedes to the mechanic's. She said her chauffeur had unwisely attempted to aid one of her grooms in grooming down a stallion at her stables and had been trampled and severely injured. I was a bit confused at first, that she was calling on me as a substitute chauffeur. Then I remembered that, of course, I had told her to call me if she needed any help. She'd taken that quite literally, apparently.
Frasier's been gone for years, and yet his voice still rings so clearly in my head. I can just hear him explaining to me patiently but firmly that this woman is trouble, a high- society snob who will use me as long as I let her...
Would it be terrible if I said I don't particularly care?
She is high society. The highest of high society. That mansion she lives in - oh, to glimpse the inside, just once... And isn't it possible that she's calling on me to assist her in menial tasks because it's the only way she knows to open a relationship? To invite me to a ball (a ball! a Seattle society ball - the very word!) or some such would of course be quite forward. And that would also mean that she would be making the first move, so to speak. The first important move. Giving her my number was merely a preliminary action. In all honesty, as I think about it, I am convinced that she asked me to bring her car to the mechanic's simply as a way of opening the door for me to ask her out. Traditional gender roles are, of course, important. The fact that she called me at all indicates that she's interested. It's up to me to ask her on a first date.
But how am I to do that? Of course I'm not poor, no psychiatrist truly is. But I only left medical school a few years ago, and my earnings are really only middle-of-the-road compared with what my better-known colleagues make. And I suspect that that woman will settle for nothing but the best in cuisine and entertainment. I would adore a fine gourmet meal - I'm thoroughly sick of dining at mediocre restaurants, when I dine out at all - but I don't know how I'll afford it.
Well, I'll just have to save. This woman could be my ticket to - to everything. I mustn't let her slip away.
I should have mentioned that I agreed to take her car to the mechanic's when she called me. Actually, it might be fun, driving a Mercedes even briefly. It is, of course, my dream car. Someday...