FIVE THOUSAND MILES AND THREE TIME ZONES AWAY, Ryan Bolt was fighting an anxiety attack.

"You've got to talk about Matthew eventually," Dr. Driekurs was saying.

Ryan was sitting in her beige-on-beige office, focusing intently on his Air Jordans, trying to keep from jumping up out of the reclining chair.

"He's been dead a year and you've barely said anything about it," Dr. Ellen Driekurs continued.

The neon red and green shoe colors strobed momentarily. He felt dizzy.

"Okay, let's talk about something else, then." She brought him back.

"Like what?" He looked at his gold Rolex… Shit, twenty-five more minutes. He was having his weekly fifty-minute hour. He knew he was wasting his time and money but he had to do something, because his life this last year had been a psychotic nightmare. It had started with Matt dying… And then Linda filing for divorce, and then the dreams that had scared him, keeping him up nights. And on top of that was all the career shit dragging him down, making him wonder if he really had it or had just bowled a few lucky frames.

"Let's talk about what happened at NBC. You said they asked you to leave?"

She had a stumpy build and kept her mid-brown hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She was beige, like her office… As if lack of color was what would soothe all the manic Hollywood head cases that paraded through, plunking their Gianni Versace asses on her beige sofa, unpacking emotional luggage, putting a good face on career hijackings and drive-by divorces.