The Creep Read Free

himself, Bill Harvey.
    "Give clients time to assimilate what you have told them," said Harvey as he loosened his loud Disney-imaged tie.
    "Let me give you an example. If I said to you first kiss , then stopped to pause, you'd immediately conjure up images of your first kiss. You'd go into great detail, in your imagination, about the time, place, person, perfume, your feelings. Not because I said two words, first kiss , but because I paused and allowed you time to assimilate the information. If I said first kiss and kept right on talking, I'd have you thinking about the next subject. Giving people time to assimilate what you have just told them is crucial."
    "It allows you to mentally transport your client from where they are now to where you want them to be."
    Harvey deliberately allowed them time to assimilate what he had just told them.
     

     
    "Bill, you remember about two weeks back I told you about a Mr. Bob Bishman calling a number of times? Well, I did put him onto Max as you suggested but he's here right now, in the waiting room. He says he won't go until he speaks to you. He's extremely insistent."
    "OK Jai, bring him in." Harvey put down the phone, and thought. He really didn't want to take on private clients in Ame rica. He'd done years of practice and was feeling drained. But he knew persistent behavior when he saw it and he knew that if he refused to see this Mr. Bob Bishman that wouldn't be the end of it.
    Jai knocked on the office door and entered.
    "Mr. Harvey, this is Mr. Bishman whom I told you about." Jai showed Bishman into the wainscoted consultancy room.
    "Is there anything else I can get you? Coffee perhaps?"
    "No it's all right Jai, we'll fix our own coffees, thanks. Please hold all calls, no interruptions whatsoever. You know what to do." Jai smiled and left without saying anything.
    "Make yourself comfortable. What can I do to help?" Harvey motioned Bishman to pull up a chair to the extravagant Australian Walnut desk where he was sitting and they shook hands over it.
    Harvey found himself looking at a man five feet seven inches tall and what you would call broad-shouldered and trim. He had a carefully clipped moustache, short brownish hair and the coldest expression you've ever seen. Sort of intense. He wore brown corduroy trousers, a light-blue sweatshirt and sneakers. He looked nondescript, an ordinary guy. He was smoking.
    "Can I call you Dr. Bill? I know from what I've read in all the magazines that everyone does. I need your help." Bishman was not backward in coming forward.
    "Well, I must tell you, as you probably know already, I'm not really in the States to take on private clients. I'm here to make sure the training programs for our franchisees are in place and working properly, that sort of thing. All somewhat boring really. I even have a business manager, Max Hatfield, who does all the day-to-day running of the business and sells the franchises."
    Harvey got up and filled two mugs with coffee from the hissing Cona machine. "Cream, sugar?"
    "Yeah, cream and four sugars. Thanks." Bishman took the coffee and lit another cigarette. Harvey pushed a heavy glass ashtray towards him.
    "Yes I know that - I've already spoken with Max - but what I have is something a little different. I know I need help and I also know you're the only one who can help me."
    "How do you know that?" Harvey said in amazement. He was trying to elicit a response.
    "Well I've read some of your articles in various magazines, and lots of the things you write about and do for druggies and alkies, like me, make a lot of sense. I've done a lot'a bad things to a lot'a people. You know, really bad. I've done a lot of Mario's bananas and cannibal's resin, speed, LSD and booze. Huh. Boogaloo. I've been in and out of detox, mental institutions, I've had electric shock treatments and a frontal lobotomy. I've had all sorts of medication. I was well fucked-up, but I'm all right now. All I have now are these terrible depressions,