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“Before we end for today,” Dr. Melfi says, “there’s one thing I’d like to bring up.”
Something in her tone makes Tony feel like he’s in trouble, though he doesn’t know why he would be. It’s been a while since he yelled at her or stormed out on her.
“What’s up?” he asks.
She folds her hands in her lap. “I spoke with Dr. Cusamano about you the other day.”
Tony frowns. “Yeah? So?”
“He reached out to me because he was concerned. To put it lightly.”
It dawns on Tony what this is about. He feels an anticipatory spark of glee.
“He mentioned that you recently left something in his care,” Dr. Melfi continues. “A package.”
There it is. Tony lights up inside, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he decides to give the doctor a taste of her own medicine.
“What if I did?” he asks, trying to imitate her closed-book manner. (It’s hard. She makes it look so easy.) “I mean, I don’t really see how that concerns you.”
She folds her arms, her gaze locked on him.
“What’s in the package, Anthony?”
He wags his finger. “Hey, I thought I wasn’t supposed to tell you the details of my work.”
Her eyes narrow just a smidgen. Just enough to say that she sees right through him. She knows that the contents of the package have nothing to do with his work.
Well, in that case, he can give up the façade. He lets loose a smile.
“Sand,” he says.
“Sand,” she repeats.
“Yeah.” His smile is now a grin. “That’s right.”
She’s got all the information she needs. Surely she can imagine the comedy that played out at the boundary between the Soprano and Cusamano properties. He waits for the hilarious image to come together in her head, but her face remains stony.
“And why did you give him a box of sand?”
If she’s so fucking smart—which she is—she’s got to know the answer. He searches for a trace of laughter in her voice, for a glimmer of a smile on her face—but no. Nothing. A curtain of disapproval, and behind it, nothing but the same old tranquil opacity.
He sighs. “’Cause I was pissed at him, that’s why.”
She sighs, too, much more gracefully than he does. “Because of what happened when you went golfing with him and his friends?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” She understands. He feels affirmed, and that fuels his fire. “I mean, I told you how they made me feel. Like a circus freak. A dancing bear. You really gonna blame me for wanting a little payback?”
“Your feeling of resentment is not the problem. But when you express that resentment by terrorizing others—”
“Aw, Jesus, listen to you! ‘Terrorizing.’ It’s a harmless fucking prank.”
“All right, well, you’ve had your fun. Don’t you think it’s time to go to him and get the package back?”
“No. No, I don’t fucking think that. And if he disagrees, he can bring the fucking thing back to me himself instead of hiding behind you.”
She doesn’t immediately respond to that, and Tony puts the pieces together.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. He didn’t ask you to do this, did he? No, he didn't. Bringing this up with me, you’re going behind his back.”
Dr. Melfi falters, much to Tony’s gratification.
“He asked me if you’d said anything that might indicate either what the package contained, or when you might be back for it. I told him I had nothing to offer at the moment, but that I’d let him know if that changed.”
Yes, she’s uncomfortable. The closed book has cracked open. His gratification grows. At the same time, it’s got a streak of something else in it. Admiration for her shrewdness.
She musters her composure. “You need to take the package back, Anthony.”
“When did you become my mother? Telling me what to do, all high and mighty, like you got any kind of leverage over me. Let me remind you, I’m the one who voluntarily shells out a fortune to come here and get nagged every week, like I don’t get enough of that at home.”
But even as he rants at her, the streak of admiration doubles. She’s got brains and balls. The fact that the latter are merely figurative makes them all the more impressive. Cooze could never do what she’s doing.
He knows she’s got a third virtue: a sense of humor. Why is she so dead set on hiding it?
“You’re going to take the package back before our next session,” she states.
“Oh, I am, am I? What makes you so sure about that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to tell Dr. Cusamano what’s in it.”
Tony snorts. “Come on. No way you’re gonna do that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really. You’re not gonna do that, ‘cause then you’d have to tell him that you snitched on him.”
He expects that this will make her falter again. He’s ready to enjoy another round of her discomfort. But she just shrugs and says, “Do you really want to test that theory?”
Fuck. Why does she have to be so tough?
Tony groans. “Fine. You fucking win. I’ll go over this weekend and take it back.”
She nods. “Thank you.” She can’t even gloat like a normal person.
“I was gonna get it back eventually, you know,” he insists. “I told him so.”
She nods again, wordlessly this time. Okay. She’s not going to argue with him, and she’s not going to gloat. But there’s still one thing she could do for him. She could laugh.
Tony grins slyly. “You shoulda seen it, though.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Seen what?”
“His face.” He chuckles, losing himself in the memory. “I mean, he was just raking the leaves, not a care in the world, then I call him over to the fence. But I keep my voice down low, like this whole thing’s gotta be a secret. He comes over, all friendly and smiling like that shit at the country club never even happened. So I play along, smile back like I got no hard feelings. Then I tell him I need him to hang onto this package for a little while. Just a friend asking his friend a favor. He asks me how long, obviously hoping I’m gonna say just a couple days, but I tell him, I don’t know, a month, maybe more, maybe less. Keep him on his toes, you know? I say it like I’m taking it for granted that he’s gonna agree. And sure enough, he does. I mean, you shoulda seen him!” He widens his eyes, hunches his shoulders, and mimics holding a box with trembling hands. “S-sure, Tony. W-whatever you need. Your wish is my command.”
(Like all good comedy, it’s fiction in the service of truth.)
“Then I leave him standing there and go on my merry way like I’m the one without a care in the world. I tell you, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when he showed it to Jeannie. Can you imagine? The two of them, working each other up, trying to guess what’s in there, what they should do about it, should they call the cops, should they be scared for their lives—and all the while it’s just a box of fucking sand?”
He's gasping now, thinking with each guffaw that this will be the one that finally infects her.
There—was that it? A sparkle in her eye, a quiver of her lip, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it contraction of her stomach?
No. Nothing. She’s like a statue. A statue with all the humor of a hall monitor.
Tony deflates. His laughter trails off into a sigh.
Smoothing her skirt, Dr. Melfi stands. “I’ll check in with Dr. Cusamano shortly before our next session. I expect to hear that you’ve come back for the box.”
“Yeah, all right, all right. I get the fucking point.” He stands, too.
She smiles. “Thank you, Anthony. I’ll see you next week.”
He acknowledges this with a grunt.
She opens the door for him, still smiling. Her smile is beautiful, and even though he’s very annoyed at her, he can’t help but remember that her laugh is beautiful, too. So, just before he passes through the doorway, he shoots her one more sly grin.
Her smile doesn’t change. It’s professional. It’s proper. It’s humorless.
Tony shakes his head in disbelief. He gives her a cursory wave and trudges away.
Dr. Melfi peers out of her office. She watches Tony exit the waiting room. She listens to his footsteps fade down the hall. She hears another door open and close. He’s left the building.
Still, she remains in the doorway. She counts to five. No—ten, just to be safe.
Then she ducks back into her office, shuts the door, and explodes into laughter.