Wanted: Psychologist/psychiatrist for primarily adolescent male population. Must be flexible and willing to work with super heroes and their specific issues. Contact with resume/CV via e-mail: mercenarysorcerer@yahoo.com
Mike had the worst headache. He had been interviewing psychologists all day and he had one more to go.
He used specific runes for each person, attempting to read them. He knew what he was looking for and found it in a few, but none of them seemed to strike him as perfect.
He pulled out the resume from the next person. Arthur Lenormand. According to his resume, he worked with members of the Air Force in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas for three years, his longest stint in one place. Although his resume was spotty –a year here, a couple of years there–it was pretty consistent. Technically, he hadn’t worked with adolescents, but he had worked for a year and a half with UNTIL a year ago.
The door to the bar opened and Mike looked up. He had chosen O’Keefe’s as his meeting place, even though Knight no longer worked there.
The man was dark haired with a goatee. He was dressed in a dark conservative suit, like most of the interviewees. He stood about Mike’s height, was broad and well-built. Yeah, Scott would do him, thought Mike, as he got up from the table.
“Mr. Lenormand?” he called. The man turned, smiled at Mike.
“Yes, Mr. Lebonte,” he said, and came over to the table. He shook hands with Mike; a firm, strong grip. Not nervous.
Mike motioned to the chair at the table, the chair where he had placed the rune underneath. The rune would read a few things: was he honest? Was he empathic? Did he have any powers?
Lenormand sat down, instinctively unbuttoning the bottom button of his jacket. “This is a first, an interview in a bar.”
“I don’t really have an office here. Our base is on the moon and it would be a pain in the ass to get you there.”
He laughed, “Yeah, I suppose it would be.”
Mike noted the accent, slightly Midwestern, Mike took out the resume from the folder. “I noticed you don’t seem to stay too long anywhere.”
“It’s easy in this position to get burnt out,” he said. “I would take six months off, tops, between employment, to recharge.”
Mike nodded. “I see you’ve worked with prisoners, and superheroes, and there was a year with the homeless for a non-profit.”
He nodded.
“Any kids?”
“What do you define as ‘kids’? Five years old and up? Or what you advertised as ‘adolescents’?”
“Adolescents. Male.”
“Yes, a lot of the homeless that I worked with were adolescents.”
Mike looked at the aura that the rune produced. It was pink, the color of someone empathic. Woven within the pink was yellow, that of knowledge and wisdom. “Do you have super powers?”
“I’m a sensitive, if that’s what you’re angling for. But very low-key. It’s not like I can read anyone’s mind or anything. More like body language, tone, that kind of thing.”
“Okay. What kind of therapy do you do?”
“Mostly CBT, DBT, ACT, the use of skills. I want people to have something to work on, something concrete, when they leave my couch.”
“What’s those acronyms?”
“Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. We use skills and worksheets, handouts, and concrete ideas to help people think about their thoughts, which influence their behaviors.”
“Think about their thoughts?”
He smiled. “I know that sounds weird, but it works for some people.”
“Is that all you do?”
“No, typical talk-therapy as well. Some people just need a sounding board for ideas.”
“Okay. Let me tell you, though: I have some kids–adolescents–who are really, um, who have issues.”
“That’s what I’d be there for.”
“How long do you think you’d stay? A year?”
He shrugged. “Possible. We’ll have to see how it goes, right?”
The pink aura attracted Mike. He was the most pink of all the men he’d interviewed. Mike looked at the man’s right earlobe. There was a hole there, available for an earring. Mike smiled. “You’re gay.”
Lenormand bristled. “Is that a problem?”
“Oh, no. It’s a definite plus. I couldn’t advertise this, but most of the adolescents are gay.”
Lenormand nodded, relaxing.
Mike said, “Okay. I’ll contact you if you get int the next round. You’ll have to meet my husband, who’s my partner in this.”
He laughed suddenly. “No strange Steve Jobs-like questions? Like how do I squeeze my toothpaste?”
Mike waved a hand. “I don’t need that.”
“You’re a sensitive?”
“No,” he said, and grinned. “I’m a mage.”
Lenormand patted himself down. “You put a spell on me?”
“No. On the chair.”
Lenormand laughed again. “Oh, I guess that’s better.” He stood up, and offered his hand. Mike rose and shook it. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Lebonte.”
“Same here, Mr. Lenormand.”
When he left, the waitress brought over a Diet Coke to Mike. “Any luck?” she asked.
“I think I got one,” he said, looking at the closing door.
