Now Judd switched on the tape recorder. “What would you like to talk about?” he asked.
“Fucking,” she said. “Why don’t we psychoanalyze you and find out why you’re so straight?”
He ignored it. “Why did you think Carol’s death might have something to do with a sexual attack?”
“Because everything reminds me of sex, honey.” She squirmed and her skirt rode a little higher.
“Pull your skirt down, Teri.”
She gave him an innocent look. “Sorry…You missed a great birthday party Saturday night, Doc.”
“Tell me about it.”
She hesitated, an unaccustomed note of concern in her voice. “You won’t hate me?”
“I’ve told you that you don’t need my approval. The only one whose approval you need is you. Right and wrong are the rules we make up ourselves so that we can play in the game with other people. Without rules, there can’t be a game. But never forget—the rules are artificial.”
There was a silence. Then she spoke. “It was a swinging party. My husband hired a six-piece band.”
He waited.
She twisted around to look at him. “Are you sure you won’t lose respect for me?”
“I want to help you. We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of, but that does not signify that we have to continue doing them.”
She studied him a moment, then lay back on the couch. “Did I ever tell you I suspected my husband, Harry, is impotent?”
“Yes.” She talked of it constantly.
“He hasn’t really done it to me since we’ve been married. He always has some goddam excuse… Well…” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “Well…Saturday night I fucked the band while Harry watched.” She began to cry.
Judd handed her some kleenex and sat there, watching her.
No one had ever given Teri Washburn anything in her life that she had not been overcharged for. When she had first gone to Hollywood, she had landed a job as a waitress in a drive-in and used most of her wages to go to a third-rate dramatic coach. Within a week the coach had her move in with him, doing all his household chores and confining her coaching to the bedroom. A few weeks later, when she realized that he could not have gotten her an acting job even if he had wanted to, she had walked out on him and taken a job as a cashier in a Beverly Hills hotel drugstore. A movie executive had appeared on Christmas Eve to buy a last-minute gift for his wife. He had given Teri his card and told her to call him. Teri had made a screen test a week later. She was awkward and untrained, but she had three things going for her. She had a sensational face and figure, the camera loved her, and the studio executive was keeping her.
Teri Washburn appeared in bit parts in a dozen pictures the first year. She began to get fan mail. Her parts grew larger. At the end of a year her benefactor died of a heart attack, and Teri was afraid the studio would fire her. Instead, the new executive called her in and told her that he had big plans for her. She got a new contract, a raise, and a larger apartment with a mirrored bedroom. Teri’s roles gradually grew to leads in B pictures, and finally, as the public showed their adoration by putting down their money at the box office to see each new Teri Washburn picture, she began to star in A pictures.
All that had been a long time ago, and Judd felt sorry for her as she lay on his couch, trying to control her sobs.
“Would you like some water?” he asked.
“N-no,” she said. “I’m f-fine.” She took a handkerchief out of her purse and blew her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said, “for be-having like a goddam idiot.” She sat up.
Judd sat there quietly, waiting for her to get control of herself.
“Why do I marry men like Harry?”
“That’s an important question. Do you have any idea why?”
“How the hell should I know!” screamed Teri. “You’re the psychiatrist. If I knew they were like that, you don’t think I’d marry those creeps, do you?”