Tessa's Escape to Athena's Ground (3 page)

-5-

“I’ve heard about an institute that works only with women,” Shawntay said. “The institute doesn’t advertise, and it costs an arm, a leg and your first born child. It doesn’t take insurance and doesn’t accept new clients, except by referral. And I’d lose my job if I actually referred you to them, because my boss isn’t fond of this kind of therapy.”

Tessa was curious. What could be so revolutionary?

“From what I could find out,” Shawntay said, “their therapists are extremely well-trained, but they aren’t approved by the ABPN. In fact, they aren’t approved by anyone, except the women they’ve helped.”

Shawntay paused. When Tessa didn’t flinch, she continued. She told Tessa she had learned about the institute from two different women. Both credited it with turning their lives around and then quickly added that the institute’s methods were far from traditional, very ‘intimate’ and, one said, more than a little ‘scary.’

“Scary?” 

“Actually, she said it was
very
scary. Wanna forget it now?”

Tessa shook her head ‘no’ so hard she nearly dislocated her neck.

“Alright then. You ready to hear more about Athena’s Ground?”

“Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom,” Tessa said, feeling a little less queasy. How scary could a Peanut Butter Banana milkshake be if its goal was to lead you to wisdom?

Shawntay leaned forward and lowered her voice. As she spoke, Tessa felt the blood rushing to her face, setting her cheeks on fire. Her hands began to sweat and she held her chocolate milkshake, hoping the coolness of the glass would calm her racing heart. It didn’t.

“So, now that you’ve heard the details,” Shawntay said, after a thorough description of Athena’s Ground therapy, “would you like the name of another traditional therapist? I brought one with me.”

Tessa was pretty sure of two things. First, she could not do the things Athena’s Ground would require; hell, she could barely even stand to hear about them. But worse, by a long shot, was the second thing she knew: she would not find a path to wellness with a traditional therapist, no matter how many association letters they had after their name. Between her grief counselor and the two traditional therapists Shawntay had referred her to, Tessa had been to the plate three times and struck out each time. She had a choice: she would do the undoable or she would end up in the ER again. And next time, there would be no Maria-looking-for-her-wallet to save her.

Tessa nodded her head and Shawntay started to slide a business card across the table.

“No,” Tessa said. “Not that. I want to try Athena’s Ground.”

Shawntay Green had one of the best poker faces Tessa had ever seen. Until now.

“Remember, this is not a referral. I’m simply passing along information a couple women shared with me.”

“Got it,” Tessa said, feeling immense gratitude that Shawntay cared enough about her to risk getting in trouble with her boss. “Whatever I decide to do,
I
decide. I’ll tell Athena’s Ground I heard about them from you, but only as a point of information. No referral, per se. You have no part in this,” she said, waving the slip of paper Shawntay passed her.

***

AUGUST

Tessa,

The boss is sending me to New York again, the end of this month. Here’s your official rain check. Dinner? Or if that’s too much for a first face-to-face, there’s a great hotdog cart down the street from Patience and Fortitude. Can probably find some cold Gatorade around there too.

Tell me you’ll meet me there!

David

Tessa smiled as she read the email, and frowned when she thought of the timing. Using Shawntay’s name, Tessa had gotten an appointment with Athena’s Ground but it was still a week away. Besides, you didn’t magically get well by just making an appointment with a medical doctor, and the same was true for Athena’s Ground, no matter how good they might be.

Tessa hit ‘Reply,’ and typed:

Ohhh, mannnnnnnnnn, I am so sorry, but end of August I’ll be out of

Her fingers stopped moving and tears started to gather in her eyes
. I can’t say no again
, Tessa thought.
I’ll just have to keep it light until I get my head screwed on straight.
She erased her message and started again:

I love hotdogs! You spring for the dogs and I’ll bring the Gatorade. I hear this was a particularly good year for Orange, unless you only drink Blue, in which case I’m not sure if I can continue our friendship. Blue is just so…gauche.

Meet at the lions?

Tessa

Tessa hit send before she could chicken out and wished her appointment at Athena’s Ground would hurry up. She had a life to get to and every minute she remained broken was a minute she wasn’t really living.

***

The address was hard to read. The paper Shawntay had given her was wrinkled from too much fidgeting. The street number was barely legible, the ink a smear of blue, thanks to Tessa’s sweaty palms. To say she was nervous was an understatement bordering on the absurd. Tessa was terrified.

The street surprised her. It was a tree-lined road, filled with what had once been large, stately homes. As the city had grown, residents moved aside and boutique businesses claimed the former homes. The one Tessa was interested in was in the middle of the block. It was a two-story, brick building with grass green window shutters and a wide front door, painted a rich cream. As a designer, Tessa approved of the aesthetic. As a potential patient, it reassured her…slightly.

A bronze plaque at the door said:

Welcome.

If you have an appointment, please ring the intercom.

If you do not, please call for an appointment.

No phone number was listed.

Tessa took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She’d done what every woman since Cleopatra had done in a crisis of courage; she’d dressed in ‘armor’: her best skinny jeans, a pink silk wrap-around blouse—one of her own designs, and her favorite Dolce and Gabbana jacket. She carried this season’s Prada over her shoulder and wore last season’s Jimmy Choo on her feet. And still she felt underdressed. Perhaps she’d have felt better in the Michelin Tire Boy suit.

Tessa pressed the intercom button and fought the urge to run.

“Good morning,” came a cool voice from the intercom speaker. It was female. “What is your name, please, and what time is your appointment?”

“My…” Tessa stopped to clear he throat. Her voice was shaking like a runaway train on very rough track. “My name is Tessa Donovan. My appointment is at 9:00.”

There was silence. An eternity passed—several seconds—and the intercom voice returned.

“Please come in,” the woman said. This time, her voice was melodious and warm. An obnoxious buzz signaled the front door was now unlocked. Tessa pushed herself through the door. The first thing she noticed was a large mahogany desk. It reminded her of the desk Mark had insisted they buy for the business. This desk was different though: it was staffed by a beautifully coiffed blonde.

The woman motioned for Tessa to sit. “That’s a lovely name, Tessa.” She said it with a warm smile and her soft green eyes sparkled.

Tessa realized every client must walk through that door petrified, and this woman, this receptionist, was doing her best to put the client at ease.

The receptionist, who introduced herself as Diane, offered Tessa a cup of tea. “We have herbal,” she said softly.

Tessa declined the tea but accepted the stack of forms Diane handed her.

“Please fill these out. There’s a desk in the sitting room. It’s private, and comfortable.”

Diane pointed to a small room painted in a soft shade of green, trimmed in the same cream as the front door. It held a plush cream loveseat and a small writing desk.

The first few forms were similar to what anyone would see at a new doctor’s office. They required a detailed health history and a medical record consent to release a copy of all of Tessa’s medical records to them. There was a statement of financial obligation, spelling out that Athena’s Ground did not accept any form of insurance. Shawntay had prepared Tessa for a major expense, and the About Costs handout was both cryptic and astonishing. Tessa would definitely need a more comprehensive explanation before she handed over her credit card.

If About Costs frightened Tessa, it was nothing compared to the next section of forms. They were a different color, pale green like the walls of the sweet little room she sat in now. But these forms were not just stapled together, they were also sealed. What could be so private that even the questions were sealed?

The cover sheet read:

Athena’s Ground Goal

To help you understand and let go of your past,

To fully experience the present—the good and the bad—as we work toward...

Your future, characterized by freedom, love, and peace.

At the bottom of the cover sheet, a disclaimer read:

Confidential and Binding:

Athena’s Ground holds ALL of the information you provide in strict confidence. Please be assured the information you provide on the following Green Sheets will be kept in utmost privacy and shared ONLY with those who will be working directly with you.

In order for Athena’s Ground therapy to be effective, it is vital that you complete these Green Sheets fully and honestly.

Athena’s Ground agrees to hold this information confident.

I _________________________ (sign here) agree to provide complete and honest answers.

Tessa looked at the Confidential and Binding notice, and wondered if it was too late to slip out the front door. Instead, she slid her pen under the seal, broke it, and turned to the first Green Sheet.

-6-

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Carmen.”

Tessa nodded but said nothing. Her face was pale and she entered the room with her arms folded across her chest, like a plate of armor.

“This probably is a bit overwhelming,” Carmen said, smiling. “Please, sit down.” She gestured at two lushly upholstered chairs. A small round coffee table sat between the chairs, and a silver tray with tea and scones provided an invitation to relax.

Tessa settled into a chair while Carmen poured two cups of tea. “Milk? Honey? Sugar?”

“Honey, thank you.” Tessa didn’t think her stomach could handle a scone, but some warm tea with sweet honey might be soothing.

After a few quiet sips, Carmen broke the silence.

“You read our Description of Services and Therapeutic Mission?”

It was the first page of the sealed green packet and Tessa had indeed read it. In fact, she’d almost grabbed her bag and run for the door. Only the thought of another trip, a final trip, to the ER stopped her from bolting.

“Yes.”

“What questions do you have?”

Where to begin? Should she start alphabetically, with ‘Are you freaking kidding me?’ or cut right to the chase, with ‘Is sex therapy even legal?’ Tessa opted to cut to the chase.

“Is what you do here legal?”

Carmen sat her tea cup down and looked into Tessa’s eyes: direct, unwavering and serious. “Nearly all of our clients ask us this, so forgive me if my response seems a little practiced.” Carmen leaned back into the plush cushion of her lavender chair and began the story of Athena’s Ground. She told Tessa that it was established by two women whose lives were both very unlike each other’s and also, very much the same. Like Tessa, they had crushing emotional and sexual experiences and found traditional counseling less than effective. “Our founders were women of financial substance, and they used their resources to create a safe place for women to explore their emotional and sexual needs.”

It sounded wonderful, to Tessa, but it didn’t answer the question, and she softly said as much to Carmen, who smiled in response.

“You would be paying for talk therapy, some held in a clinical setting and some not. You would be paying for transportation, accommodations and miscellaneous costs, such as food and entertainment. You would be paying for the
time
our field therapists spend with you. No one, not you and not any Athena’s Ground client, ever pays for sexual activity per se. While we encourage sexual activity, we charge the client for the time spent, not the activity that occurs: if our client declines to participate in the sexual aspects of therapy, that has no effect on the costs incurred.”

Carmen locked eyes with Tessa. “Let me be very clear. Our field therapists are not prostitutes. They offer their physical expertise and their emotional intelligence as part of a therapeutic plan to help our women overcome sexual issues. Clients are free to take advantage of it, or not.” Carmen’s voice was calm, but stern. Tessa thought,
part mother and part drill sergeant
.

“I meant no insult,” Tessa said, surprised that her voice no longer shook. “I understand, then, that my field therapy may become physical, if I allow it to be. Otherwise…”

Carmen nodded. “Before that point, we’ll have spent a good amount of time in a more traditional therapeutic setting and mode. You and I, if you decide to join us, will spend time, right here in this office. I’ll get to know you, and you’ll learn about me. You’ll come to understand what makes Tessa tick, emotionally and sexually. I’ll learn the same, and with that knowledge I will design a field therapy plan.” Carmen’s eyes softened, and the part mother emerged. “Tessa, I will assign field therapists that have the skills and personality best suited to challenge, but not overwhelm, you. The goal is to push you to discover your emotional self and physical sexuality, in a healthy way.”

Tessa had spent months with a grief counselor and had several sessions with various psychiatrists. She understood traditional talk therapy. What she didn’t understand, and what still scared the bejeezus out of her, was ‘field therapy.’

“Okay, but I’m not completely clear about the field therapy part.”

Carmen explained after their office sessions Tessa would be sent on a trip. To Tessa’s friends, family and co-workers, it would look exactly like a vacation at some fabulous resort, and in some ways, that is what it would be. However, during this ‘vacation’ Tessa would have sessions with several different field therapists. Those sessions would target specific sexual issues and, if successful, Tessa would leave with positive sexual experiences and, more important, more freedom from her painful past.

Tessa thought it all still sounded scary, but the last part was the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. If she could be free of her past trauma and hang-ups, she could be free to find love again, with someone who honored her in a way that even Mark had not. With David, perhaps, or if not him, someone else. And even if she never found love, she would at least be at peace.

But Carmen brought up an interesting question.

“You said therapists, plural. Why more than one?” Tessa asked.

“At this stage clients are still discovering themselves, and therefore still quite vulnerable. We learned that it is too easy for a client to become emotionally attached to the field therapist, so we limit exposure to one set of sessions.”

“Set of sessions?”

Carmen smiled again. “Think of a set of sessions as a prolonged date. Maybe you meet for breakfast, then again for an afternoon at the beach, then again for a late evening dinner. Like that.”

When put that way, it didn’t sound so intimidating. “If I choose to have sexual activity with field therapists, how can I be assured there is no danger of sexually transmitted disease?”

“Immediately prior to your field therapy, all parties will be tested. This will include you. Although you didn’t mention it, we will also ensure you are protected against pregnancy. You signed a medical records release, but I won’t have them for a few days.”

“I don’t currently take the pill,” Tessa offered. “It seems pointless.”

Carmen nodded. “We’ll address a mode of birth control for you during our clinical sessions in the office. Additionally, our field therapists are prepared to use condoms unless exempted by you and by the field therapy plan.”

The whole thing was cosmic stupidity. Possibly immoral. Legally tenuous.

“When do we start?” Tessa said. And her voice was clear and strong.