Jean would like to see some follow-up of the psychiatric analysis of the Mounties made in ‘Strange Bedfellows”, and being the eternal Benny/Meggy shipper, she’d like to see it result in something between them. She said she wasn’t interested in Turnbull, but sorry, the Moo needs him to set it all up. (The Moo’s kind of repeating a theme-Turnbull-wise-as you will see but, dang, he’s handy when he’s smart.)
----------------------
Meggy and Benny Get Their Heads Shrunk
A Play In Four Scenes
Dramatis Personnae:
(in order of appearance)
Constable Turnbull
Doctor Tung (the psychiatrist in ‘Strange Bedfellows’)
Inspector Thatcher
Constable Fraser
(Turnbull’s office, shortly before Dr. Tung leaves the Consulate after examining the staff. The curtain opens to Turnbull working at his desk. Dr. Tung enters.)
Tung: Constable, may I have a word with you?
Turnbull: Doctor? Anything I can get you? Some tea?
Tung: Some answers.
Turnbull: Of course, Doctor. Anything at all. But Constable Fraser might be the better person if there’s something you need to know about . . . well . . . anything. Or the Inspector. Well, I don’t mean he knows about the Inspector, I mean . . .
Tung: I’ve been evaluating people for more than a generation now, Constable.
Turnbull: Oh.
Tung: My guess is you’ll want me to keep your secret. But your government’s paying me to report on all three of you. Persuade me why I shouldn’t tell them the truth.
(Turnbull goes to a drawer, takes out a plasticized card, shows it to Tung.)
Turnbull: Because they already know. One branch does, at any rate. But not the branch that is paying you, probably.
Tung: (looking at the card) Then, we have a situation here.
Turnbull: It would help me a great deal if you’d tell the Inspector I have the mentality of a block of Swiss cheese.
(Tung studies the card and then hands it back to Turnbull.)
Tung: Alright, considering.
Turnbull: I appreciate this, Doctor. While you are here, there’s something I’d like to ask you. (Motions Tung to his visitor’s chair.)
Tung: (sitting) Yes?
Turnbull: Would you allow me to buy some of your time?
Tung: You want to book an appointment? Certainly. All you have to do is call my receptionist. I believe your RCMP medical plan covers a certain number of sessions. You’d have to check. I imagine a man in your profession has to deal with a great deal of stress.
Turnbull: It’s not for myself. I’d like to buy a couple of sessions for Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher. But I’d like them to think Ottawa ordered it.
Tung: Why?
Turnbull: Because I like them. And they like each other.
Tung: And what would that have to do with buying them some therapy sessions?
Turnbull: A long shot. They’re both such troubled people, each in their own way. They’ll avoid getting together as they should. Maybe if even one confronted his or her issues, they might make a move.
Tung: You’re right, it’s a long shot. I won’t lie to them, Constable. If you can persuade them to call for an appointment, I’m willing to bill you for their time. But, I won’t take part in any further deception.
Turnbull: Doctor, you surprise me. I thought you’d storm out in righteous indignation.
Tung: Well, as I said, I know how to evaluate people. You don’t need any medical training to feel the tension in the air when they are both in the same room. And they would both benefit from some therapy. Troubled in their own ways, as you say. But once they are in my office, they are patients like any other. I’ll deal with them on that basis and as I see fit.
Turnbull: That’s already more than I was expecting. Doctor, I appreciate this.
Tung: (Rises to leave) I’ll leave it to you to arrange. It will be difficult, but I suppose you get paid to do what’s difficult.
Turnbull: I do indeed. And thanks again for keeping that particular fact to yourself.
(Dr. Tung exits, Turnbull returns to work. Curtain.)
Scene Two
(Doctor Tung’s office. Standard office stuff, to include at minimum: a door leading into the room, a chair for the doctor, a chair facing for the patient, a window, a telephone, a coat/hat stand. Curtain opens to Tung on his own chair studying some notes. Then he puts them down, picks up the telephone, dials.)
Tung: (into the phone) Alright, Jean. Send her in. (Thatcher enters, smartly. Doctor rises to greet her.) Good morning, Inspector. Please come in.
Thatcher: (extends her hand for a handshake. Very professionally.) Doctor. (They exchange a handshake.)
Tung: Please have a seat.
Thatcher: (She sits.) Thank you. (Pause) Doctor, I’m not sure I understand the necessity for this. I mean, if you found something wrong with me, wouldn’t it have been in your report?
Tung: There’s nothing wrong, Inspector. But even a well-adjusted person can benefit from a chance to . . .
Thatcher: Let off some steam?
Tung: Yes.
Thatcher: Deal with a few minor things? Minor. Nothing really important.
Tung: Exactly.
Thatcher: Even the best adjusted person – it wouldn’t do any harm. Even if some were ‘rock-solid’.
Tung: Even so.
Thatcher: Then, I agree to participate. I suppose you’ll want to start with some history.
Tung: We can begin however you like. I’m at your disposal for the next fifty minutes.
Thatcher: Well, there’s nothing I really NEED to discuss.
Tung: But, since you’re already here . . .
Thatcher: Since I’m already here, there’s no sense in wasting Ottawa’s money. (Fidgets a little. They sit in silence for a few beats.) I have been concerned about my mother. I suppose that would be appropriate to discuss here.
Tung: Of course.
Thatcher: Since she and Dad split up she depends on me for, well, emotional support. To be there for her. All the time. I’m happy to take care of Mother but sometimes it can be . . . I don’t know . . . taxing? Would that be a good word?
Tung: Would it?
Thatcher: I think so. Something that’s taken out of you, isn’t it, a tax. And it’s a duty. An obligation. I guess it’s a good word for it. It’s taxing. Very taxing. Anyway, Mother is used to having me around, or was. It was a hard decision to accept this post in Chicago. It’s something I’ve wanted to try, diplomatic work. But means leaving Mother on her own. She’s in Toronto, Mother is, and I could have easily stayed. There’s not shortage of assignments there. I was thinking I’d stay in Chicago maybe two years, three at most.
Tung: But . . .
Thatcher: Nothing. I’m definitely not planning to let anything keep me here longer than I have in mind. I have obligations at home and that’s that.
Tung: Obligations.
Thatcher: And if somebody want me to . . . well, never mind, it’s not important.
Tung: If somebody wants you to . . .
Thatcher: Okay, if you insist . . . take on new obligations, I’m not prepared to do that.
Tung: Understandable.
Thatcher: I mean, just because he’s . . . just because maybe hypothetically somebody . . . well, I just don’t have time for that. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of men I could have back home. I’m not a loner, Doctor. And I’ve been told . . . well . . . I don’t like to be the one to say it, but I suppose you’re supposed to be honest with a psychiatrist.
Tung: It does help.
Thatcher: Then, I have to admit that some people . . . some men . . . have told me I’m . . . I don’t know . . . attractive. So it’s not like I’d end up alone just because I don’t want to start up with one particular . . . I mean, if I know I’m leaving, wouldn’t it make sense to stay free?
Tung: Would it?
Thatcher: I think so. And it’s not as though he couldn’t have his pick of women if he were lonely. It’s not on my head.
Tung: On your head?
Thatcher: That he’s lonely. I’m not responsible for the emotions of my staff now, am I? (pause) How much time have we used up. Are we nearly finished?
Tung: We have more time.
Thatcher: I don’t see this is really going anywhere. There’s really not a lot of point in going on.
Tung: You were saying it was a difficult decision to leave Toronto.
Thatcher: I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to talk about my mother. You think I have some guilt feelings about leaving her. Well, I don’t. I’m totally aware of my own emotions.
Tung: Of course.
Thatcher: When I said I was concerned about her, that didn’t mean I regret my decision to leave in any way. It was the right thing to do, even if it was just a little selfish. I made a conscious decision. She’ll be okay for a few years while I get the experience I need for my career. I have this all planned out, Doctor.
Tung: Certainly.
Thatcher: I don’t need anybody disrupting my plans at this point, even if he is . . . (stops dead)
Tung: Even if he is . . .
Thatcher: Nothing. Nobody. A person. A hypothetical person.
Tung: (after a pause) You don’t like having your plans disturbed.
Thatcher: Does anyone?
Tung: You’d be surprised. I’d had patients that hate their own plans. I’ve had some that don’t even have plans.
Thatcher: That doesn’t make sense. How could a person live like that?
Tung: They do. Some of them.
Thatcher: Well in my opinion that’s just silly. (She thinks about it.) You can’t just drift through life. If you do, it may take you someplace you don’t want to be. You could end up trapped.
Tung: Trapped.
Thatcher: Exactly. Let’s take an example. Constable Fraser, let’s say. Just as an example. I studied his file when I arrived. Well, it would make sense for me to do that. He’s my deputy.
Tung: Perfect sense.
Thatcher: He’s just drifted from one assignment to another, all over the north, no pattern, no plan, just drifting. And now look where he is. In Chicago, where he doesn’t belong, where he has no business being, not suited for urban living, not suited for diplomatic work. Completely out of place. Completely alone. I mean, it’s no business of mine, but he must be perfectly miserable. (Pause) Why are we talking about Fraser? This has nothing to do with Fraser. We were talking about plans.
Tung: And we were also talking about feeling trapped.
Thatcher: I see what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to admit I feel trapped. Well, I don’t. I was explaining to you the importance of having direction in your life. I’ll bet that’s what a lot of our patients need. Direction. When people have direction, they don’t end up places they don’t want to be. You see how important that is? Of course you do. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be patronizing or anything.
Tung: You weren’t.
Thatcher: I get like that sometimes. Bossy. I guess I overdo it sometimes. Of course you really can’t get anywhere on the Force, as a woman, unless you’re seen to be tough. I guess women in authority have to overdo it a little. The men don’t respect you, otherwise. Sorry, you’re a man. I didn’t mean all men, I meant Mountie men. Although, come to think of it, don’t most men admire strong women? Look at my namesake, for example. Iron Lady. That’s what they used to call her. Vecchio used to call me ‘Dragon Lady’. Now the new guy . . . I mean, now his new name for me is ‘Ice Queen’. That’s a compliment to me in a way, isn’t it? That they respect me so much. Of course it never quite loses its sting. I’m not a cruel person, Doctor. Am I? Wouldn’t your tests have shown if I were a cruel person?
Tung: They would. And you’re not.
Thatcher: But I have to pretend to be! Don’t they see that? I mean, are they really that stupid, to think that I LIKE being the Dragon Lady? I’m a nice person, outside of the Force. I’m a kind person. I take care of my mother. I devote myself to her. Nobody seems to understand that I have to . . . (Pause) Sorry, I’m getting carried away. I’m . . . just give me a minute. (Long pause) Are we finished with this yet?
Tung: This?
Thatcher: The session. Do I really have to stay the whole time?
Tung: You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Inspector. But one thing I’d like to bring to your attention. Sometimes I’ve noticed with my patients that the most productive sessions aren’t always the most pleasant ones.
Thatcher: If I’m uncomfortable with something, it means it’s important?
Tung: It’s not a fixed rule, but sometimes it happens. And feeling trapped is also pretty common these days.
Thatcher: Really?
Tung: Very much so.
Thatcher: Some people are so messed up. (Small laugh) I guess I don’t have to tell YOU that. All the better for you.
Tung: I’m a doctor, Inspector. I like to see people well.
Thatcher: I never thought about that. (She thinks) I’m a policewoman. Maybe that’s why I like to see order. (Thinks more) Could it be the other way around?
Tung: I don’t know. Could it?
Thatcher: That’s called ‘reflecting’ right? (Doctor smiles) See, I’m onto you, Doctor. I know your tricks. You’re trying to trap me.
Tung: I assure you, I’m not trying to do that.
Thatcher: Well it’s not going to work on me. So guess there’s not much point in going on with this. Would it be alright if I just left now?
Tung: If that’s what you would like to do.
Thatcher: Am I supposed to sign something?
Tung: No, everything is arranged.
Thatcher: Then, I guess I’ll just be on my way. (She rises. Dignified. Professional. Extends hand again, Tung shakes it.) Good-bye Doctor. Thank you, this has been very helpful. (Exits)
(Curtain)
Scene Three
(Same setup, Tung alone reading first, then calling receptionist)
Tung: Alright, Jean, send him in. (Gets up and opens door to Fraser. Fraser enters, ‘marches’ to the patient’s chair and stands beside it, at attention, his hat under his arm. Tung extends his hand for a handshake. Fraser takes it, formally.) Good afternoon, Constable.
Fraser: Good afternoon, Doctor. (As if reporting to a superior)
Tung: You can leave your hat over there if you like. (Points to the coat/hat stand. Fraser hangs up his hat and then returns to his position.) Make yourself comfortable. (Fraser shifts to ‘at ease’.) Please take a seat.
Fraser: Thank you kindly, Doctor. (Sits, stiffly, awaiting further instructions.)
Tung: Well, Constable, this session is really yours to do with whatever you wish. In case there are any topics, issues, you wanted to discuss.
Fraser: I was given to understand that I was supposed to report for therapy.
Tung: ‘Report’ isn’t exactly the word I would use. My services are being made available to you to use however you like.
Fraser: (Clearly at a loss. Sits considering what to say next for an uncomfortable period of time.) I should tell you, Doctor, I’ve never actually taken part in a psychotherapy session. I don’t really know the correct way to begin. I’ve read about a number of therapeutic approaches. Perhaps if you told me your orientation. Are you a Freudian? Adlerian? Do you perhaps do Cognitive Therapy?
Tung: Would it matter?
Fraser: That you do Cognitive Therapy?
Tung: That I prefer any particular kind of approach. I just do and say whatever seems right in each case.
Fraser: Oh, the Eclectic Approach, then. (Relaxes) But, as I said, I just don’t know the correct way to begin. My reading hasn’t included transcripts of actual sessions, at least any in this century. I don’t think anything earlier would really be an appropriate model, would it?
Tung: You’re read a lot about psychotherapy?
Fraser: I’ve read a lot about everything. (His first smile. A small one.) My grandparents operated a library.
Tung: Really? Where was this?
Fraser: We travelled a great deal. All around the north, parts of China.
Tung: You travelled with them.
Fraser: My grandparents raised me. My father’s parents. Dad was on the trail most of the time. He was a Mountie.
Tung: Retired?
Fraser: Murdered.
Tung: And your mother?
Fraser: Also murdered. But much earlier. When I was six. (Pause) You would probably find that significant, psychologically.
Tung: I find it horrible!
Fraser: There were aspects that were indeed horrible, in both cases.
Tung: And you never had any counselling for any of it? Either as a child or later? (Shocked and honestly affected)
Fraser: No.
Tung: Horrible!
Fraser: Not really. You have to understand the way things are in the far north. There aren’t many therapists around, perhaps in the large cities like Yellowknife or Whitehorse, there are some. But there’s also the mentality of the people. They like to think of themselves as self-reliant. Not needing help. Particularly not psychological help. I guess I’m guilty of that, too.
Tung: I wouldn’t use the word ‘guilty’.
Fraser: Part of the culture, then. I like to think I’ve adjusted fairly well to the various things that have happened to me in my life.
Tung: Various things?
Fraser: (Pronounces this next with finality) Let’s just say it hasn’t been entirely uneventful, all things considered.
(There is a pause while Tung thinks over what to do next.)
Tung: You’re not married, Constable?
Fraser: No sir.
Tung: Engaged?
Fraser: No.
Tung: Ever been? Married or engaged?
Fraser: No. Neither.
Tung: Long term relationship of any kind?
Fraser: (Sheepishly) I guess that seems strange to you. A man my age, good health, stable job, looking the way I do. I guess people expect me to at least have a girlfriend.
Tung: Then, you are aware of your looks.
Fraser: How could I not be?
Tung: I’ve had patients that were very handsome but didn’t seem to be aware of it. Only men. Women always seem to know.
Fraser: Oh, I know, alright.
Tung: It bothers you.
Fraser: (After a pause) You’re very good at active listening, Doctor.
Tung: Thank you. And you’re evading the comment. I said it seems to bother you that you are good-looking.
Fraser: When I was in my teens, they used to call me ‘pretty’.
Tung: I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.
Fraser: When you grow up in isolated communities, in a culture of , um, silence, there are disadvantages to being, um, male and pretty.
(Very long pause)
Tung: How old were you when you were raped?
(Fraser laughs. A whole range of different laughs: chuckles, guffaws, sniggers, chortles, tears in the eyes, wipes eyes, more kinds of laughs. A veritable symphony of mirth. Should end off with his head down, then raise head and look right at Tung.)
Fraser: Which time?
Tung: Dear God!
Fraser: Distinct disadvantages.
Tung: And no counselling.
Fraser: As I said before.
Tung: Constable, you should be talking to someone about this.
Fraser: I’m talking to you.
Tung: You know what I mean.
Fraser: Yes, of course. But I’m fine. There’s really no more need to discuss it.
Tung: (Again considers. Picks another direction) Getting back to women.
Fraser: I guess I haven’t had good luck with women. Most of the time I feel like I’m being hunted. It’s not pleasant. There was a woman once, that I loved. But it ended badly. She framed me for murder. Since then it seems all the women I’m attracted to are somehow, um, . . . And the one’s that do want to settle down, well, I can’t really explain it. They’re just so, I don’t know. Relentless. It frightens me.
Tung: It’s called the ‘second wave of assault’.
Fraser: Excuse me?
Tung: Very common in victims of abuse.
Fraser: (genuinely curious) Go on.
Tung: I’ve seen it a number of times. The shame and anger take control. Years after the actual events have stopped, people avoid healthy relationships. They feel that somehow they don’t deserve them.
Fraser: Wait a minute. Let me understand this. (Gets to his feet. Starts pacing.) You’re saying . . . oh, is it alright if I stand up?
Tung: Whatever makes you comfortable.
Fraser: (resumes pacing, goes over to the window, looks out, comes back, all through these next exchanges) You’re saying Francesca . . . the others . . . what happened to me before . . . and that’s why I can’t . . . (Considers) You know, you’d think that would be obvious. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
Tung: It’s not obvious when you’re in it, Constable.
Fraser: Apparently not . . . but I . . . I think I feel a little foolish. I’m not considered a stupid man . . .
Tung: Your IQ is quite high. I’m sure you’re aware of that.
Fraser: I am. So why I have I never considered . . . all that anger . . . all that shame . . . I thought I had come to terms with it. But perhaps I’ve just suppressed it.
Tung: Suppressing is one way of ‘coming to terms’ as you say.
Fraser: But not as efficient as I thought, it seems. You see, I always figured . . .
(the lights fall low to just the point where Fraser can still be seen pacing and gesturing, while Tung listens. Fraser’s words are indistinct. After several beats the light comes back up.)
Tung: Constable, I’m afraid our time is up.
Fraser: So soon?
Tung: You might want to consider some kind of therapy. Not necessarily with me. In a city like Chicago there are a number of possibilities: private counselling, group . . .
Fraser: I know, I know. I’ve just never thought of myself as a candidate for it. Doctor, you’ve given me a lot to think about.
Tung: Thinking is what you’ve been doing.
Fraser: That’s true. You’re right. But it just seems to me that . . . Oh, I’m sorry. You said time was up.
Tung: That’s alright. Finish your sentence.
Fraser: (Thinks hard). That’s just it. I just . . . I can’t . . . Oh dear. I must seem so confused. Is that good?
Tung: It’s not bad. (Gets up. Fraser is still on his feet. Tung extends his hand.) Take care, Constable. If you’d like a referral somewhere, I can give you a few suggestions.
Fraser: (Takes his hand.) Thank you kindly, Doctor. I just might take you up on that.
(Curtain)
Scene Four
(Inspector Thatcher’s office in the Consulate. Thatcher is seated at her desk. Fraser is standing over her, they are both looking at her computer screen. Fraser’s hand is on the mouse, causing him to have to stand very close to her.)
Thatcher: See, shouldn’t that number (points to screen) be the same as that number? (points again).
Fraser: Yes sir, but you appear to have . . . (moves the mouse and studies the screen) Sir, may I . . .
Thatcher: May you what? Oh, here. (She gets up and lets him sit down to the keyboard)
Fraser: See, this cell isn’t part of the sum over here. Did you add this column later?
Thatcher: Yes. I forgot the spring meeting budget. So I put it in after.
Fraser: That’s the problem, then, sir. You have to either redefine the formula or else add the new data inside the range. Not on one of the ends.
Thatcher: Oh, I see. (She obviously doesn’t see.) I’ve done this on all the spreadsheets, Fraser. And Ottawa wants these budgets by tomorrow. I’ll never get them all corrected in time.
Fraser: It really shouldn’t take all that long, sir. If you’d like me to help I’m sure we could finish them tonight.
Thatcher: Thank you, Constable.
Fraser: (To himself) Second wave of assault.
Thatcher: I beg your pardon.
Fraser: Nothing. Sir, if we’re going to work late, perhaps we should have some dinner.
Thatcher: Well, Fraser, of course if I make you work late, I’m going to feed you. I’m not cruel, you know.
Fraser: I know. Actually, sir, what I had in mind was going out for dinner.
Thatcher: Out?
Fraser: For dinner.
Thatcher: Out, as in . . .
Fraser: Out. For dinner.
Thatcher: Oh.
Fraser: If it’s not too forward of me, sir. I mean if you think it would be . . .
Thatcher: No, no, no. I mean, yes.
Fraser: Yes, it’s too forward?
Thatcher: Damn it. You’re confusing me, Constable.
Fraser: I’m sorry, sir.
Thatcher: (to herself) Some people hate their plans.
Fraser: Then you don’t want to work late. Understood.
Thatcher: No, Fraser. I want to work late.
Fraser: Alright.
Thatcher: And I do want to go to dinner.
(Final curtain.)
