Three Fates

exercises.”
    “Of course.” She picked up her purse, walked to the door. And there, turned. “Everything I just told you is a hallucination?”
    “No, Tia, of course not. I believe it’s all very real to you, and a combination of actual events and your very creative imagination. We’ll explore it. In the meantime, I’d like you to consider why you find living inside your head more comfortable than living outside it. We’ll talk about it during our next session.”
    “It’s not comfortable inside my head,” she said quietly. She stepped into his outer office. And kept on going.
    He hadn’t believed a word she’d said. And worse, she discovered as she rode the elevator down to the lobby, he’d stirred up doubts so she wasn’t sure she believed herself.
    It had happened. She was not crazy, damn it. She wasn’t some sort of loony who wore aluminum foil on her head to keep out the alien voices, for God’s sake. She was a mythologist, a successful author, a functioning adult. And, she added as temper began to rise, she was sane. Felt saner, steadier, stronger than she’d ever felt in her life.
    She wasn’t hiding in her apartment. She was working there. She had a goal, a fascinating one. She would prove she wasn’t delusional. She’d prove she could stand on her own two feet, that she was a healthy—well, moderately healthy—woman with a good brain and a strong will.
    As she strode out on the street, she whipped out her cell phone, punched in a number. “Carrie? It’s Tia. Get me an emergency appointment at your salon. When? Now. Right now. It’s coming off.”
     
     
    “ARE YOU SURE about this?” Carrie was still winded from her six-block dash from her Wall Street offices to Bella Donna.
    “Yes. No.”
    Tia clutched Carrie’s hand as they sat in two of the streamlined leather chairs in the salon’s waiting area. There was loud techno-rock blaring, and one of the stylists, a rail-thin woman dressed all in black, had her hair arranged in a terrifying magenta cloud.
    Already she could feel her air passages shutting down as they were assaulted with the beauty shop scents of peroxide and polish remover and overheated perfume.
    The sound of hair dryers blowing was like plane engines. She was going to get a migraine, hives, respiratory arrest. What was she doing here?
    “I’d better go. I’d better go right now.” She fumbled in her bag for her inhaler.
    “I’m going to stay with you, Tia. I’m going to see you through this every step of the way.” Carrie had canceled two meetings to see to it. “Julian’s a genius. I swear it.” She squeezed Tia’s free hand as Tia sucked on the inhaler. “You’re going to feel like a new woman. What?” she asked when Tia mumbled.
    Removing the inhaler, Tia tried again. “I said, I’m just getting used to the old one. This is a mistake. I only did it because I was so upset with Dr. Lowenstein. Look, I’ll pay for the appointment, but I—”
    “Julian’s ready for you, Dr. Marsh.” Another wand-slim, black-clad female came out.
    Didn’t anyone here weigh over a hundred pounds? Tia thought frantically. Wasn’t anyone over twenty-three?
    “I’ll take her back, Miranda.” In the bright, cheerful voice mothers use when they drag their children to the dentist chair, Carrie hauled Tia to her feet. “You’re going to thank me for this. Trust me.”
    Tia’s vision blurred as they walked past operators, customers, past gleaming black shampoo bowls and sparkling glass displays holding dozens and dozens of sleekly packaged products. Dimly she heard overlapping chatter and a cackle of laughter that sounded just a bit insane.
    “Carrie.”
    “Be brave. Be strong.” She steered Tia toward a large cubical done in dazzling black and silver. The man who stood by the big leather chair was short, sleek as a grey-hound, with white-blond hair cut like a skullcap.
    For some reason, he made her think of a very hip Eros and that didn’t comfort her a bit.
    “So,” he began in a voice that bit down on vowels with the teeth of a native New Yorker, “this is Tia, at last.” He took one look at her pale face and judged his quarry. “Louise! Some wine here. Sit.”
    “I was just thinking that maybe—”
    “Sit,” he interrupted Tia, then leaned over to kiss Carrie’s cheek. “Moral support?”
    “You bet.”
    “Carrie and I have been plotting endlessly on how to get you in my chair.” He got her there, finally, by simply nudging her backward.