Tiny, tiny, tiny.

Lucy’s therapist sat as she usually did, serene, neat, notebook perched on a crossed thigh, eyeglasses tucked on top of her heavily sprayed salt-and-pepper pageboy like a headband.

“Have you told him you find him attractive?”

“I can’t stop drooling long enough to form the words.”

“I see.”

“Besides, it’s the Brad Zirkle thing all over again, you know?” Lucy leaned forward and balanced her elbows on her knees. “Why do I always go for the ones who are out of my reach? Why do I set myself up like that?”

Doris smiled politely. “From how you’ve described him, it would seem Theo is much nicer than Brad Zirkle.”

“Yeah, Mr. Wonderful is still wonderful.” Lucy sighed, then snarled at the geisha girls, trying to picture how her size 22 hips would look in a kimono pulled that tight at the waist. If she had a waist. She used to have one, if she recalled correctly, but she couldn’t remember how it felt to walk around with an indentation somewhere near the center of her body.

“I sense some anger in how you describe him.”

Lucy had to laugh. “Not anger. I’m just kind of ashamed of myself for fantasizing about him the way I do-you know, him naked, feeding me Lorna Doone cookies while I watch Andy Griffith reruns.”

Doris began to scribble on her clipboard.

“Am I having a breakthrough?”

Doris grinned. “I’m not sure yet. Please go on.”

“Theo seems pretty shallow, but God is he hot, Doris. I’m talking perfect. Theo Redmond is perfect. He’s so perfect that it doesn’t even matter that he’s shallow. Did you know that most of his clients are models?”

“Shallow.”

“Yes.”

“And you know this how?”