“That’s illegal. You can’t divulge something I told you in therapy.”

“Quit telling me what’s illegal, Winston. I’m married to a lawyer.”

“I’d really rather not do this, Val. Can’t you send them down to the Thrifty Mart in San Junipero? I could say that I can’t get the pills anymore.”

“That wouldn’t work, would it, Winston? The people at the Thrifty Mart don’t have your little problem.”

“You’re going to have some withdrawal reactions. How are you going to explain that?”

“Let me worry about that. I’m quadrupling my sessions. I want to see these people get better, not mask their problems.”

“This is about Bess Leander’s suicide, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going to lose another one, Winston.”

“Antidepressants don’t increase the incidence of suicide or violence. Eli Lilly proved that in court.”

“Yes and O.J. walked. Court is one thing, Winston, the reality of losing a patient is another. I’m taking charge of my practice. Now order the pills. I’m sure the profit margin is going to be quite a bit higher on sugar pills than it is on Prozac.”

“I could go to the Florida Keys. There’s a place down there where they let you swim with bottlenose dolphins.”

“You can’t go, Winston. You can’t miss your therapy sessions. I want to see you at least once a week.”

“You bitch.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing. What day is good for you?”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Don’t push me, Winston.”

“I have to make this order,” he said. Then, after a second, he said, “Dr. Val?”

“What?”

“Do I have to go off the Serzone?”

“We’ll talk about it in therapy.” She hung up and pulled a Post-it out of Hippocrates’ chest.

“Now if I keep this oath, and break it not, may I enjoy honor, in my life and art, among all men for all time; but if I transgress and forswear myself, may the opposite befall me.”