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Jennifer meandered through the Cusamanos’ house, buzzed on Jeannie’s cranberry punch and drunk on the spirit of Christmas. A glass tumbler in her right hand contained the former; the latter was absolutely everywhere. White string lights shimmered like stars along the tops of the walls. The chandelier over the dining room table was festooned with red and green ribbons, and the table itself was piled with confections like something out of a storybook; she caught a potent double whiff of cinnamon and peppermint as she passed by. An orchestral arrangement of “Angels We Have Heard on High” rang out from the Cusamanos’ new stereo system, so infectiously jubilant that Jennifer couldn’t help but hum along. She made a mental note to commend Bruce and Jeannie on their work. This party of theirs had turned out radiant. But—and maybe this was just the punch talking, but if so, it was talking very loudly—Jennifer herself felt more radiant than the decor, the music, and the delicacies combined.
This dress had hung in her closet since October, waiting for its chance to shine. Now, at long last, the moment had come. Potential became reality; anticipation was converted into ecstasy. With every step of her kitten heels, the red satin brushed against her arms and legs, reminding her again and again how the sheath cut flattered her figure. The reminder never got old. She particularly liked stepping forward with her left foot, because that was when the slit in the skirt parted and her left thigh peeked out like a cuckoo from a cuckoo clock before disappearing back into the sheath. Peek, disappear. Peek, disappear. What a tease she was!
She glanced down to admire the dress, but her eyes fell instead on her necklace: a thin silver chain culminating in an elegant pearl pendant just above her cleavage. She stuck her chest out to show it off. (“It” referring to the pendant, of course. On second thought, no, she was showing her chest off, too.) Matching pearls dangled from her ears. Her freshly washed and blow-dried hair cascaded in waves around her glasses-free face, brushing lightly against her bare shoulders. She’d accentuated her eyes with mascara and her mouth with a glossy lipstick so red she’d felt almost sinful applying it. Good thing she didn’t believe in sin. She looked good, and she knew it, and that was just fine with her.
She wasn’t the only one who knew it, either. She drew plenty of glances as she drifted through the party. Randy Wagner, for example, broke off mid-sentence and gaped at her when she walked past. She flashed him a smile, then, as she walked away, she laughed quietly to hear him scramble to pick up where he’d left off.
She’d come here to socialize, not specifically to flirt. But nor was she opposed to flirting, if the opportunity arose (and it certainly looked like it might). Not with Randy, of course, since he was married, but the Cusamanos had attracted quite a large crowd to their party. There could very well be a man here who’d be interested in the woman in the red satin dress. That might just be the icing on the cake. The star on top of the Christmas tree.
It felt good to be here. It felt good to leave work outside the door and prioritize joy—her own joy—just for an evening. It felt good to let herself feel good.
She’d had a rough year. She deserved this.
Passing through a doorway into the living room, she encountered her friends, the Lillys.
“My God,” Pam Lilly said, pressing her hand to her heart. “Could this vision be Dr. Jennifer Melfi?”
Laughing, Jennifer curtsied as deeply as her skirt would allow. “I’m not a doctor this evening, though,” she said. “I’m just Jennifer.”
“Understood,” Pam said, leaning in to kiss Jennifer on the cheek. “‘Just Jennifer’ is nothing to scoff at. You look amazing.”
“Thank you. So do you. How are you, Steve?”
Pam’s husband, Steve, raised his own glass of punch. “Nice to see you, Jen. Is Nils here?”
“Oh, no, we’re not together anymore.”
“Sorry to hear it,” Pam said. “But look at you! You’ll find someone new in no time.”
Jennifer gave a modest wave of her hand, even though she fully agreed.
“I’d certainly be open to it,” she said. “It’s pretty quiet in my house these days.”
“Is Jason home from Bard yet?” Pam asked.
“No, he’s waiting till the last minute, just like he did last year. Guess he prefers cafeteria food to his mother’s cooking.” She rolled her eyes, sending her gaze across the room, where it landed on Tony Soprano.
Jennifer blinked, then blinked again. No, her eyes weren’t playing a trick on her. That was Tony, here in the Cusamanos’ living room, at their Christmas party. He had a boutonniere of fake holly on his jacket and a smile as jolly as Santa Claus’s on his face as he chatted with a couple of women, laying on the charm. (Carmela was nowhere in sight.) Did those women know who they were talking to?
Jennifer knew. She knew all too well. The sight of him shattered her festive stupor, like a glass ornament falling from its bough and breaking against the ground. Everything she thought she’d left outside the door now came rushing in. The guilt of abandoning him; the fear of treating him. The most agonizing professional dilemma of her life.
She’d resolved the dilemma. She’d followed her conscience and taken him back. Still, her inner conflict remained. It reared up and cast a shadow over the party.
But the shadow didn’t last long. Tony was more than just a dilemma to her, and his face aroused more than just guilt and fear. Light after light flicked on inside her, chipping away at the darkness bit by bit. There was compassion for his struggles. Fondness for his little sparks of tenderness. Admiration for his courage in coming to therapy at all. Pride for his moments of genuine progress, and hope that such moments would keep coming.
She wasn’t pleased about all the stress he’d put her through and would surely continue to put her through.
She was, however, pleased to see him.
And why shouldn’t she be? She liked him, and it was okay that she liked him. Sympathy was the bedrock of the therapeutic alliance, after all. And yes, he was dangerous, of course he was—but not here. Not at the Cusamanos’ Christmas party. Her holiday joy rallied, reshaped itself, and attached itself to him.
He noticed her then, and his face brightened. But before she could smile and wave, another memory surfaced: the last time she’d encountered him outside of her office. Toodle-fucking-oo.
The embarrassment still haunted her, three months after the fact, but that wasn’t the worst part of the memory. The worst part was knowing what a massive breach of ethics she’d committed. She wasn’t supposed to approach any patient—current or former—in public, let alone one who’d nearly been killed for seeing her. It was that guilt, more than anything, that stopped her from smiling and waving. She would not make that mistake again.
This was her chance to redeem herself. She’d taken him back because she knew she was capable of dealing with him like the professional she was. Neither her stress nor her affection would control her behavior. Instead, she would let Tony take the reins. He could approach her as an acquaintance, or he could keep his distance. Up to him.
She turned back to Pam and Steve. “How’s Ashley?”
She kept her eyes on Steve as he talked about his daughter’s performance of The Nutcracker, but her mind was on the magnetic presence in her periphery. It drew closer and closer, and her heart beat faster and faster.
She waited until Steve finished his sentence. Then she turned. Tony stood beside her. She let loose her smile.
He nodded at her, his eyes gleaming in a way she couldn’t quite read. But she didn’t have to. They weren’t in her office. No need for analysis right now.
Tony turned to the Lillys. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tony. Bruce and Jeannie’s neighbor.”
“Steve Lilly. I work with Bruce. And this is my wife, Pam.”
Tony shook Steve’s hand, then Pam’s. Then he turned to Jennifer, who met him with a warm but wordless gaze.
This was her moment to prove herself. She wouldn’t even say hello; she would let him speak first. Tone, degree of familiarity, explanation (or lack thereof) of how they knew each other—he would make the rules for this interaction, and she would follow his lead.
She was so focused on professional ethics that it took her a moment to notice Tony’s outstretched hand. She stared at it as if she didn’t know what it meant.
“Tony,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
Approach her as an acquaintance, or keep his distance. It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be a third option. She’d been waiting at a crossroads, and he’d run her off the road entirely.
Okay. He wanted to say hi to her, without letting on that he already knew her. So what? No harm in that. She pulled herself together and grasped his hand.
“Jennifer.”
“Jennifer,” he echoed. Her first name sounded strange in his voice. Not in a bad way, though.
The gleam in his eyes sharpened. Its meaning, she felt, was just barely out of reach.
No need for analysis, she reminded herself. This isn’t therapy.
The reminder couldn’t quite find purchase in her brain. This was Tony Soprano she was dealing with, after all. She’d been glad to see him—she was still glad to see him—but a little wariness was warranted.
“How do you know the Cusamanos, Jennifer?”
Her forehead creased slightly, but she answered: “I know Bruce professionally.”
“Yeah? You work at the same practice, too?”
What on earth was he doing? “No. I’m a psychiatrist.”
His face lit up as if that was the most amazing thing he’d ever heard. Her fingers tightened around her punch glass. His eyes flicked to her fingers, then back to her blushing face. Was this the point? Did he just want to throw her off balance? She wouldn’t put it past him.
“You here with your husband?” he asked, and at that, she understood the gleam in his eyes. While Pam and Steve exchanged looks of delight, Jennifer’s stomach sank.
Her immediate reaction was a mixture of outrage and betrayal. But betrayal implied trust. Had she really trusted Tony Soprano not to do something outrageous? If anyone had betrayed her, it was herself, for not foreseeing this. Her affection for him seemed to have a mind of its own; once again, it had succeeded in making her stupid.
(And to make matters worse, the affection didn’t even have the decency to vanish after it had worked its mischief. No, it was still there, lingering at the edge of her mind, waiting to strike again.)
She should have warned him away with a glare before he could approach her. Too late now. Now the only option was to play along.
“No,” she said. “I’m not married.”
His jaw dropped. “Oh! My mistake. Looking at you, I just assumed...” He trailed off modestly. Modest? Tony Soprano? What a fucking lie.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Pam said. “I tell you, Jen, if I were Richard, I’d be kicking myself every single day.”
“Richard?” Tony echoed.
Jennifer clenched her jaw, then released it. “My ex-husband.”
Realistically, there was no harm in him knowing her ex-husband’s name. Still, watching him file away this kernel of knowledge, she felt maddeningly impotent.
“His loss,” Tony said. That, at least, was undoubtedly sincere.
“What about you?” she asked. “Are you married?” Two could play this game.
Tony grinned. “I’m here solo, just like you.”
That didn’t answer the question. But she couldn’t say so, because to the Lillys, it would look like she was accusing a stranger of infidelity based on nothing at all. She was trapped between ethics and appearances.
She glanced at his left hand. He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. God damn it. The nerve of this man.
She carefully maintained a smile that, she prayed, looked genuine to the Lillys. But as she stared with all her might into Tony’s eyes, she tried to emblazon her stare with a message: We will be talking about this in our next session.
He held her gaze, looking unbearably smug. He got the message. It didn’t deter him at all. Again: the nerve of this man.
“So, what do you do, Tony?” Steve asked.
“Oh, I’m in sanitation.” Steve had asked the question, but Tony delivered the answer to Jennifer. “Kind of embarrassing to admit in present company. Not nearly as noble as being a doctor.”
“I’m not sure it’s all that different,” she said drily. “I deal with a lot of shit in my work, too.”
Tony laughed at that, louder than she’d ever heard him laugh before, and she scolded herself, because from the Lillys’ perspective, it must look like she was flirting back.
At the same time, she felt a warm little thrill, at odds with her prevailing mood of icy annoyance. It was power, but power of a benevolent kind. She made him laugh. She did that.
She thought of the time, early in their acquaintance, when he’d made her belly-laugh like that. Was this how he’d felt?
It was fine for him to feel like that. Not her, though. She had to keep her distance. Maybe it was time to walk away.
Except she couldn’t do that. She’d told Pam and Steve she was open to finding someone new. Here was someone new: charming, genial, allegedly single, and obviously interested in her. What would they think if she just iced him out? No, that wasn’t an option. Instead, she had to make him walk away. Turn him off. Douse the conversation in cold water.
“So, Anth—um, Tony.” (Did the diminutive sound strange in her voice? Did he like the way it sounded? Forget that second question. She knew the answer.) “Do you have children?”
“Couple, yeah.”
“Sons? Daughters?”
“One of each.”
“How old are they?”
“Teenagers. You got any of your own?” He sounded like he truly wanted to know.
“One son,” she said reluctantly, as the Lillys exchanged another delighted look. “Sophomore in college.” This strategy was a disaster. Not only was Tony not remotely turned off by the discussion of children, now he and Jennifer appeared to have something in common. No, two things in common: if he was single with children, that implied divorce. Damn it! She hoped the music was loud enough that neither the Lillys nor Tony could hear her groan.
If she spoke amiably, she was flirting. If she spoke brusquely, she’d be rude. If she walked away, she’d be even ruder. If she dropped the façade and confronted him—no, that was unthinkable.
The only thing she could think of to do was gulp down the rest of her punch. If she couldn’t solve her problem, she could at least dull its edges.
Tony’s eyebrows rose a little as he watched her. Maybe he’d mistaken her for a teetotaler.
Yeah, that’s right, she thought. You found me out. Your shrink has her vices, just like you.
Maybe he’d be disappointed in her?
She met his eyes. They were softer now.
Disappointed in her? Not a chance. Wishful thinking on her part.
Warmth welled up under her skin, wrapping around her limbs. Warmth from his eyes? From the punch? From embarrassment? Something else? Her head felt hazy.
“What’s that up there?” Pam said.
Jennifer and Tony both tilted their chins up to see what Pam was pointing at.
The warmth under her skin turned cold. At the top of the doorway hung a cluster of thin green leaves and small white berries, bound with a red ribbon in a perfect bow.
Change of plans. Jennifer was not going to commend Bruce and Jeannie on their party. In fact, she might never speak to them again.
Her expression must have been blank, because Pam leaned toward her and muttered, “Jen, that’s mistletoe.”
“Yes,” Jennifer said quickly. “I know.”
Tony’s eyes flicked upwards again—maybe he was looking at the mistletoe, or maybe he was thanking God—then back to Jennifer.
“What d’you say?”
In the absence of a better idea, she fell back on therapeutic instinct. Direct the focus back to the patient. “What do you say?”
What a ridiculous question. His opinion was obvious. His eyes were no longer gleaming, but blazing. All because of her.
What a mistake this get-up was! The satin, the pearls, the lipstick, the soft waves of her hair. Looking gorgeous was not worth the price. She should have kept her hair straight and her makeup minimal. She shouldn’t have swapped her glasses for contacts. She should have worn—what was the opposite of a sexy red satin dress? A gray pantsuit?
A gray pantsuit was exactly what she was wearing the last time he kissed her. And what about the night when they talked in her car, after he got shot at? Jeans, a sweatshirt, no makeup. He’d still caressed her bare face. What he liked wasn’t her dress, her jewelry, her makeup, her hairstyle. What he liked was something she couldn’t ever get away from: herself.
She knew that already. This was just transference. She was supposed to be able to handle transference. Except transference didn’t usually lead to her standing under the mistletoe, buzzed on holiday punch, while her patient took a step toward her, then another, then paused, his face inches from hers, waiting to see what she would do.
As if she had any choice! She’d played along with his flirtations, never thinking it would lead to this. How would it look if she suddenly rejected him? She’d followed his lead, and now she was backed into a corner.
The realization was strangely freeing. If she was trapped, then she didn’t have to fight. She was free to let Tony’s lips draw closer, closer, then land on her own.
She didn’t mean to close her eyes, but they fluttered shut of their own accord. She didn’t mean to lean into the kiss, but her sternum fell victim to his gravity. And she definitely didn’t mean to kiss him back. But that’s exactly what she did.
Only for a second. Then Pam and Steve cheered, and she remembered that she wasn’t dreaming, and she pulled away with a gasp.
Tony didn’t try to stop her. He just grinned as if to say, I win. Her lipstick gleamed on his mouth like a trophy.
“Nice meeting you, Jennifer, Pam, Steve,” he said. “Merry Christmas.” With that, he sauntered away.
Jennifer watched him go, her stomach twisting, her face burning, her feet frozen in place—until he said something to Bruce and Jeannie and then headed for the back door.
“Hold this,” she heard herself say, thrusting her punch glass into Pam’s hand. She rushed through the house as fast as her kitten heels would take her, weaving through the crowd, and caught the door just before it fell shut behind him. She pushed it open and stumbled onto the back porch.
“Anthony!”
He looked over his shoulder, and she braced herself for another smug grin, but he only looked surprised and a little concerned.
“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you? Coming outside dressed like that. Aren’t you freezing?”
It was night in December. Of course she was freezing. She rubbed her bare arms.
“I think you should go back inside,” he said gently, but she shook her head.
“Just a minute.”
He faced her head-on. “What’s going on? I thought you’d wait for our next session to tear me a new one.”
That had been her plan, yes. He’d forced her to choose between flirting with him and looking bad in front of her friends. She could have reamed him out for that, and she could have done it with a clear conscience.
But then Pam had pointed out the mistletoe. That was the inflection point, when the lines of right and wrong bent and blurred. It hadn’t been obvious in the moment, but it was obvious now, because the part of her that was worthy of being called Dr. Melfi had emerged at last from under the layers of punch and holiday cheer and something that felt alarmingly like desire. Hindsight and the midwinter night air had cleared the haze from her head, and now she could see what had really happened.
She’d convinced herself that saying no wasn’t an option. No, deluded would be the more accurate verb. Her friends wouldn’t have judged her for saying no. And if they would judge her, then they weren’t worthy of her friendship. Jennifer was no doormat. She, no one else, was in charge of who she did or didn’t kiss.
She didn’t kiss him because she had to. No, unfortunately, she did that of her own free will.
Later, when she was fully sober, she would reckon with that choice. She’d deal with the guilt, and she’d also deal with the fact that she didn’t feel quite as guilty as she should. She’d deal with all of that on her own. She couldn’t possibly make it Tony’s problem. She’d surrendered the high ground.
Still, she couldn’t just let this slide. She was his doctor and he was her patient. It needed to be addressed.
Instead of reaming him out, she kept it simple and impersonal: “This shouldn’t have happened.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not. But it did.”
It certainly did.
His eyes narrowed. “Is there something else?”
She inhaled through her mouth. The air hurt her lungs. God, it was really cold. She rubbed her arms faster. Meanwhile, he waited.
“Why are you here?” She spoke quietly, but the words landed loud against the backdrop of the silent December night.
“Why am I here?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this doesn’t really seem like your kind of scene. And you had such an unpleasant experience last time you spent time with Dr. Cusamano and his friends. I’d imagine you’re not eager to go through that again. Carmela isn’t here, so she clearly didn’t make you come. And you’re leaving early. Why did you come at all? What was the point?”
As she spoke, his eyes took on a soft, ember-like glow. They roamed slowly over her: her hair, her lips, her necklace, her dress, her arms, her legs, her shoes. Back to her eyes.
“C’mon, Doc,” he said. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Her hands stilled. For a moment, she didn’t feel cold.
He smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
She nodded, then watched him descend from the porch and stroll off into the darkness, towards his own house.
Change of plans, once again. She would congratulate Bruce and Jeannie on throwing such a great party, after all.