The Promise of a Lie [antikvár]

ONETJLo be perfectly blunt and unprofessional, my lineup that day read like the maladjusted all-star team of Manhattan.My nine o'clock was a bulimic, twice-divorced executive who was having an affair with her married boss.My ten o'clock was a guilt-ridden kleptomaniac who could never keep what he stole. He was always revisiting stores in order to put things back.Then came my eleven o'clock. So to speak. A sexually compulsive cellist who, among other things, liked to masturbate in the backseat of cabs. I suppose it goes without saying that she lived well beyond walking distance to my office.A couple of hours for lunch and paperwork, and it was time to reload.Two o'clock: a soap-opera actor who could no longer distinguish between himself and the character he played.Next up was my three o'clock. On second thought, don't get me started on my three o'clock.Finally, there was my last patient of the day. My four o'clock. The main reason I remember that day at all.His name was Kevin Daniels.* A struggling young writer who'd written seven spec screenplays and had yet to sell any of*In the interest of patient privacy, all names have been changed.