Identity Thief (12 page)

Dear McShrink,

My mother-in-law hates me. She hates that I have an outside job, she hates how I care for our kids, she hates everything I do. My husband never stands up for me. He just sits there while she tells me that everything I do is wrong. Help!

Wit’s End

Dear Wit’s End,

How you choose to live your life is up to you and is nobody else’s business. If your husband can’t say at least that much to his mother, divorce the wimp, and find a husband who has balls. In the meantime, when your mother-in-law pulls her crap, do something harmless but effective, like throw a bucket of water over her head. Tell her you’ll be doing things like that from now on until she starts minding her own business.

Dear McShrink,

My live-in girlfriend insists that I support both of us, even though she makes as much as I do, and we have no kids. She says I’m not a real man unless I do this. Her paychecks go into a separate bank account I’m not allowed to touch. Is this normal?

Desperate Guy

Dear Desperate Guy,

It is far from normal. Insist on getting married, then immediately divorce her and sue her for alimony, since she makes more money.

PS: If it’s safe to assume you have a dick, you’re a “real man” in the eyes of the law.

Dear McShrink,

My ex-boyfriend has been diagnosed psychotic, but he’s gone off his meds and refuses to take them. He’s been acting very strange and keeps calling me. Please help.

Scared

Dear Scared,

Stop whatever you’re doing right now and do this instead: Change your phone number, report the ex-boyfriend to the cops, get a restraining order, move, if at all possible, (with no forwarding address), and get a license for a handgun and learn how to use it.

Dear McShrink,

My family is very close, but I’m gay, and at twenty-five, I’m still afraid to tell them. I think they’ll disown me. What should I do?

Closet Guy

Dear Closet Guy,

If your family isn’t even willing to talk about such a big part of your life, then you aren’t “close” in the first place. Turn the tables. If they disown you, hire a lawyer and sue them for psychic trauma.

These and other answers quickly garnered far more attention than I could’ve predicted. Very quickly, our advertisers reported significant increases in web hits and sales, and before long I was making much more money than I thought possible. Any number of blogs or magazine blurbs started speculating on who “McShrink” really was. There was even a joke on
The Tonight Show
about it. My anonymity remained integral to my mystique and popularity. Once, when I was buying flowers for Sequoia, the flower vendor laughed and said something like, “What happened, did McShrink tell you to make up with your girl?” I laughed back and said that was exactly what happened.

Soon, there came TV offers. Acting as my agent, Sequoia explained that my anonymity was key to my popularity. “Besides,” she added, “Dr. McShrink wants his advice to be received with no bias whatsoever. So that people learn to trust the truth.” Popular talk shows fell for the gimmick. I put lifts in my shoes to be taller than I was and padded my arms and stomach to seem huskier than I was. I’d arrive wearing a ski mask—a bit ironic, under the circumstances—and say nothing. They’d put a sack over my head and electronically disguise my voice, and in silhouette behind a curtain, I would field questions from the audience. I’d usually end with a standing ovation.

Book contracts were soon underway. I had money saved to start a new life, and I was approaching having enough money to pay back Jesse Falcon, which I still had every intention of doing. To keep things simple, I figured I’d do it in one lump sum.

I not only enjoyed the material success but the fact that I was having an impact on people’s lives. In a way, the gimmick wasn’t really a gimmick at all. I felt appreciated for who I truly was, without the paraphernalia of what I looked like, what I was wearing, or all the crap that was going on.

To find my true self, I had to make myself a total secret.

Ondine knew about McShrink and never told anyone due to attorney-client privilege. She was proud of me and told me so. Ondine never questioned why I chose to be an anonymous online shrink, she only cared that the idea worked. Nothing about Jesse Falcon ever came up with her. She got the judge to agree that all divorce proceedings would be sealed, since secrecy was integral to my livelihood. Further, Betsy would only be told I had a computer-related job of substantial income, given her likelihood of retaliation. I told Mom nothing about Sequoia or my specific website, only that I was doing well with “computer stuff” and hopefully could soon take custody of Scotty. I thought Scotty would love Sequoia, once I figured out how they could meet. Even though I’d promised Sequoia I’d never deceive her again, I realized that at some point I’d have to at least tell her my real name. Probably I could get away with it by saying it was part of my government cover.

In the meantime, Biff became an official missing person. His wealth worked against finding him. He had the money to be anywhere. And let us not forget his last alleged message to his parents—courtesy of me—stated that he needed to get away from Betsy. The police told Biff’s parents that as part of the investigation they needed to be told there were allegations that he was a pedophile. I would’ve expected his parents to at least feign outrage at the suggestion, but oddly they said something about how Biff was always a troubled boy and to please be gentle with him when he was found. As I thought more about it, I realized that keeping themselves utterly blameless in the eyes of public was more important than anything else. Even the
suspicion
of being a child molester branded someone for life. Or in death, for that matter.

Betsy told Biff’s parents about his being the real father of Scotty. They wrote her a check—for a hundred grand, I think— and had her escorted out of their house. Betsy being Betsy, she yelled and screamed that Biff couldn’t possibly have wanted to get away from her, and why would anyone be afraid of her because she certainly was no monster. Her anger turned to self-pitying nobility before long, as though she were Penelope waiting for Odysseus to return. The reason was obvious. She needed to behave in ways that did not make the cops suspect her of bumping off Biff for dumping her. Mom, for her part, was sure that Betsy had knocked off Biff. But it was Mom’s nature to sit back, amused, and let the cops figure it out for themselves. Ondine thought it was funny that Betsy had been jilted.

So, with head held high, Betsy kept fighting for sole custody of Scotty.

As for me, I briefly appeared at the cop station to be interviewed about Biff. They only asked me questions about Betsy. I told them that Betsy was crazy but surely not capable of murder, if that’s what they were getting at. Besides, Biff had always been a coward, so it didn’t surprise me that he disappeared. I added that I doubted he was dead. I offered to give them my DNA. They said it wasn’t necessary for now. That “for now” did a number on my nerves. It told me I wasn’t totally ruled out. Still, I tried not to let it show. Nothing came up about the last time I saw Biff, or what might’ve happened to Scotty. Was it police incompetence or part of a master plan? It was impossible to know.

I was not surprised when Betsy asked to meet me at a trendy coffee house and when I agreed to do so, that she’d discuss reconciliation. The notion of having a career never occurred to her. She took it for granted that she would spend all her days being pampered by a man.

“It’s best for Scotty,” Betsy said to me, with a big smile, as though everything was great between us. “He needs
both
his parents.” She took a loud sip of her upscale latte; one thing about Betsy was that she made no apologies when she liked something.

Scotty already told the judge that he’d rather live with me, and Betsy knew this. I decided to be a gentleman and not remind her. She may not have been Mother of the Year, but it must’ve hurt her deeply to hear what Scotty said.

I stared into the steam of my unadorned cup of decaf. “Betsy, please. Don’t insult my intelligence. Or yours.”

“A child needs a mother.”

“A child needs
love
.” I stared at her without any fear of her temper.

She threw her gourmet oatmeal cookie at me. “Now you’re saying I don’t love my son. Daddy is always nice, while Mommy is . . . ” She paused, as if unable to continue.

“A selfish bitch?”

“Bitch—I mean
Biff
is his father. I wanted to right a wrong. What’s so selfish about that?” Now she was practically screaming.

“And get laid in the bargain.”

She smiled with superiority. “How dare you! I cheated with Biff for
years.
If I only wanted sex, I could’ve kept doing what I always did.”

You’d have to know Betsy to understand she was dead serious in defending her morality thusly. It dawned on me that what made her more irritable when I lost my job was that I was around the house during the day. There was less opportunity to cheat on me.

“Well, maybe you should’ve kept fucking Biff, instead of trying to live with him. I’m sure he’s not dead. He wanted to get away from you.” Just when I was feeling that for once I was winning the unspecified contest between us, I clumsily spilled my coffee on the table.

As I reached for a bunch of paper napkins, Betsy said, “Ha! Good one. You’ve always been such a . . . such a loser.”

“Then why want me back?” I shoved the coffee-stained napkins to the corner of the table.

“I told you. For Scotty.”

“Okay, let me make sure I have this straight. First you sacrificed yourself so that Scotty would have Biff, his biological father. Now you’re sacrificing yourself so that Scotty has me, his non-biological father that he had in the first place. Is that about right?”

She slammed her hands on the table, utterly out of patience. “Biff is gone, remember? Look, I thought I could go about this in a nice way. We’re getting back together, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Not in a million years.” Damn, it felt good to say that. I only wished I could tell Sequoia about it.

“You’re right. It’ll be more like five seconds from now.” She looked as if she could kill me with a snap of her fingers. Maybe that she already had. “You’ll be moving back in today. I have all sorts of plans for you,
Dr. Jesse Falcon
.”

My insides fell into the soles of my feet. I couldn’t even speak.

“At a loss for words? Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say when I tell you how the rest of your life will be lived. After all, I
know
you have lots of money, Dr. Falcon.” She stood up and grabbed my necktie as that bank robber did, like I was a dog on a leash. “You think you’re such a good person, and I’m some piece of shit. Well, if I’m a piece of shit, so are you. It’s like you’re St. Bernard shit, while I’m one of whose—whatdoyoucallits? You know, those yappy little dogs? Anyway, your shit is tons bigger than mine.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I carefully disengaged from her grip. It occurred to me she might be taping the conversation, so I was careful to say nothing incriminating. “I’m not moving in with you, I’m getting custody of my son, and I don’t know why you keep calling me Dr. Fallon.” I made a point of mispronouncing the last name.