Free Other Women by Lisa Alther Page A

feet, to the small gray stone Willendorf Venus on the windowsill, with its huge thighs and swollen belly.
    She’d bought it at a stall in Camden Lock the last time she was in London.
    As she studied a run in the foot of Hannah’s stocking, Caroline itemized her failings for the past week. She forgot a lunch date with Pam. She argued with Jackie over his messy room. He yelled, “I never asked to be born!” She yelled back, “And if you had, the answer would’ve been no!” She snapped at Diana about the electric bill when she stayed out until 3:00
    a.m. with Suzanne, leaving her lights blazCaroline knew she could pass herself off as polite and charming. But her true self was a raging virago. Harpy. She’d add that to her list.
    Diana had seen this true self often enough. It was probably what had driven her away. Diana said she was a taker. That was the least of it. She was a selfish, self-centered nightmare of a woman.
    Kind and gentle? It was what Hannah was being paid to say.
    “You wouldn’t think that if you really knew me,”
    Caroline said.
    It seemed to Hannah there were only two types of behavior in all the world. One said “come here,” and the other said “go away.” “All right,” she said with a smile, “reveal to me all your true flaws and failings.” You could go away angry, or you could go away amused.
    Caroline shook her head no. And studied the red tread on one white shoe, feeling irritated.
    “Nobody in this nation is entitled to see herself as kind and gentle,” she announced.
    “America is looting the world, and all Americans are beneficiaries.”
    Hannah studied Caroline. What a panicked reaction to hearing
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    something nice about yourself. “And you, of course, are personally in charge of American foreign policy?”
    Caroline looked up at Hannah. Then she looked back to the tread on her shoe. Her parents, David Michael, her comrades at the abortion referral center and in the hospitals where she’d worked had all taken for granted that they were responsible for their nation’s behavior, that collectively they were the nation. This woman was British, so maybe she didn’t understand democracy. But it did sound as though Hannah was on her side. She sat in silence for a long time, tracing the stitching on her shoe with her fingertips. Unfamiliar sensations having to do with relief and gratitude flickered on the horizon of her awareness like the northern lights over Lake Glass on a clear winter night.
    “What about transference?” Caroline finally asked.
    She knew from psychology courses at nursing school that this was how therapy worked. She recalled reading about it in her text. But then it had actually happened, with Arlene. The bland textbook description had very little to do with the real thing.
    “What about it?”
    “I don’t want to do it.”
    “If you don’t want to, you won’t.”
    Unfortunately, it had to happen for the process to work. Caroline had to accept Hannah as an authority figure so she could rehear things she’d misheard as a baby-such as the notion that she’d caused World War II.
    “I’ve already done it once, and that’s enough.” The last thing she needed right now was to lapse into that state of doglike devotion and dependency.
    “I didn’t know you’d done therapy before.” The fact that Caroline was bringing up transference probably meant it was happening. Hannah made a mental note to do what she could to undercut it, which usually involved telling lots of bad jokes.
    “I haven’t. I mean in my personal life.”
    “Well, what do you mean by transference?”
    “Turning someone into God.” She haunted Arlene’s office. Her every waking moment became devoted to Arlene’s service. She cleaned the windows in her office and waxed her VW, brought her sandwiches from the deli down the street and sharpened her pencils, took her uniforms to the laundry and typed up her reports. She copied
     
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    the angle at which Arlene wore her