Butterfield Institute - 01 - The Halo Effect Read Free

is nothing as sacred as one person reaching out to another with their body to offer connection, and I would never treat such a thing lightly. There was nothing sexual about the way she put her fingers on the back of my hand and exerted a small but real pressure, but it woke me up in a momentarily sexual way. It made me think about sex, not with her, not with a man, but just inside of myself. Two fingers on my skin and she made me crave something I couldn’t quite name.
    “I don’t meet many people willing to forgo making judgments about me,” she said.
    The current of connection between us was strong. It was not something I ignored with my patients. I intrinsically understood some better than others.
    “What do you think would make you feel good?”
    “Having my book published.”
    Cleo had just finished writing a memoir, a tell-all about what she had learned about men and sex, based on the clients she had worked with over the past five years. She’d submitted an outline and the first five chapters to a publisher and just two weeks ago had been offered a substantial six-figure deal.
    Now she was dealing with the reality of what she had signed on to do. Reveal secrets, albeit anonymously, about men, albeit disguised and not named, who had paid her and trusted her to never do exactly what she was doing.
    My phone rang and Cleo glanced at it with a slight frown, but not nearly with the consternation that some patients show. I don’t usually answer the telephone during sessions, but I do look at the caller ID in case it is Dulcie, or Dulcie’s school.
    It was neither, so I let the machine pick up, apologizing to Cleo.
    “That’s all right. But you asked me another question andI never answered it. What was it? I don’t like unanswered questions.”
    Her voice was soft with a faint hint of a Southern accent. Too soft to be talking about such hard facts and harsh realities.
    She sighed and crossed her ankles. It was a dainty movement. A woman sitting on a veranda sipping iced tea and wearing a flower-print summer dress would cross her ankles like that.
    “A patient after my own heart. I asked you what was wrong with being a good girl.”
    “Can you think of anything more boring?”
    “Can you?” I asked.
    “Okay. You don’t answer questions, I do. I forgot. So, no, I can’t think of anything more boring than being a good girl. They have no power, no clout. They are so easy to dismiss. Wives. Girlfriends. Sweethearts.” Cleo grimaced. “I know their husbands. I look into their lovers’ eyes.” She shook her head and her hair swung like golden silk. “You know, everyone talks about men having all the power, but it’s easy to take it away. Especially if you have the one thing they want so badly.”
    “What is the difference between you and those women? What do you know that they don’t?” I wanted to hear her answer as much to learn about her as to understand more about the men she serviced.
    “I know what they want and my entire energy is focused on giving it to them. And to make sure they don’t have any reason to fear me. I’m not about approval or disapproval. Men are scared, Dr. Snow. Some worse than others. Some men, who have trouble getting an erection, or who have trouble with premature ejaculation, are just scared of what is between a woman’s legs. Do you know that? Of course you do. You know even more than I do about all this. One man toldme that he imagined it as a big gaping hole with rows of tiny sharp teeth inside and he was worried that if he stayed inside me for too long, I’d bite him off. Have you ever heard that from a patient?”
    Not for the first time, I was reminded of how much Cleo and I had in common. In figuring out what her clients wanted, in satisfying them, she had to listen to their fears, which was exactly what I did with patients.
    I leaned forward just a little, to make the connection between us stronger. “Did it bother you when that man told you that?”
    “Bother