“Nah, basic teenage garbage.” Another look at his wife, this time seeking confirmation.
She said, “Lauren’s a good girl.”
Lyle Teague laughed threateningly. “Then why the hell are we here?”
“Honey—”
“Yeah, yeah, fine.”
He tried to tune out, but I stuck with him, finally got him talking about Lauren, how different she was from the “cute little kid” he’d once taken to job sites in his truck. As he reminisced, his face darkened and his speech got choppy, and by the end of the speech he pronounced his daughter “a real hassle. Hope to hell you can do something with her.”
Two days later Lauren showed up in my waiting room, alone, five minutes late. A tall, slender, conspicuously busted, brown-haired girl, treated kindly by puberty.
Fifteen, but she could’ve passed for twenty. She wore a white jersey tank top, skimpy, snug blue-denim shorts, and ludicrously high-heeled white sandals. Smooth, tan arms and long, tan legs were showcased by the minimal clothing. Pink-polished toes glinted at the tips of her sandals. The strap of a small black patent leather purse striped a bare shoulder. If she’d been studying the hookers on Sunset for fashion tips, she’d learned well.
When young girls flaunt, the result is often a comic loss of equilibrium. Lauren Teague seemed perfectly at ease advertising her body—like father, like daughter?
She favored her father in coloring, her mother in structure, but bore no striking resemblance to either. The brown hair was burnt umber sparked with rust, thick and straight, hanging halfway down her back, parted dead center and flipped into extravagant wings at the temples. High cheekbones, wide mouth glossed pink, dominant but perfectly proportioned cleft chin, heavily lined, azure-shadowed blue eyes—mocking eyes. A strong, straight, uptilted nose was dashed by freckles she’d tried to obliterate with makeup. Lots of makeup. It stuccoed her from brow to jaw, creating a too-beige mask.
As I introduced myself she breezed past me into the office, taking long, easy strides on the impossible heels. None of the usual teenage slump— she held her back straight, thrust out her chest. A strikingly good-looking girl, made less attractive by cosmetics and blatancy.
Selecting the chair closest to mine, she sat down as if she’d been there a hundred times before. “Cool furniture.”
“Thank you.”
“Like one of those libraries in an old movie.” She batted her lashes, crossed and recrossed her legs, threw out her chest again, yawned, stretched, folded her arms across her torso, dropped them to her sides suddenly, a cartoon of vulnerability.
I asked why she thought she was there.
“My parents think I’m a loser.”
“A loser.”
“Yup.”
“What do you think of that?”
Derisive laugh, toss of hair. Her tongue tip skated across her lower lip. “May-be.” Shrug. Yawn. “So . . . time to talk about my head problems, huh?”
Jane and Lyle Teague had denied previous therapy, but Lauren’s glib-ness made me wonder. I asked her about it.
“Nope, never. The school counselor tried to talk to me a couple of times.”
“About?”
“My grades.”
“Did it help?”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. Okay, ready for my neurosis?”
“Neurosis,” I said.
“We have psych this year. Stupid class. Ready?”
“If you are.”
“Sure. I mean—that’s the point, right? I’m supposed to spit out all my deep, dark secrets.”
“It’s not a matter of supposed to—”
“I know, I know,” she said. “That’s what shrinks always say—no one’s gonna force you to do anything.”
“You know about shrinks.”
“I know enough. Some of my friends have seen ’em. One of them had a shrink give her that shi— That stuff about never forcing her, then the next week he committed her to a mental ward.”
“Why?”
“She tried to kill herself.”
“Sounds like a good reason,” I said.
Shrug.
“How’s your friend doing?”
“Fine—like you really care.” Her eyes rolled.
I said nothing.
“That, too,” she said. “That’s the other shrink thing—just sitting there and staring. Saying ‘Ah-ah’ and ‘Uh-huh.’ Answering questions with questions. Right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Very funny,” she said. “At what you charge, I’m not coming here forever. And he’s probably gonna call to make sure I showed up and did a good job so let’s get going.”