Bond - Barbra Streisand: On the Couch

I had just finished with my last patient of the day. It happened to be my birthday, my 92nd, and I was in a hurry to get home to dress for a party given for the occasion by my friend, Pat LaMarche. My secretary, Rivka Ruben, had already left the office and I was about to close up shop when there was a loud thumping at the door.

Curious as to who might be calling at this late hour in the mugger-glutted city of New York, I looked out through the peephole on the door. There, I saw a frumpy-looking woman, a scarf wound around her head, and a face that seemed somewhat familiar. Who could that be, I wondered, and why was she bothering me on my birthday?

She knocked again, even louder this time, shouting, Open up, Doc! Youre supposed to be a doctor, arentcha? Well, I wanna see ya! A bit intimidated by her bluntness, but curious, I opened the door.

She put out her hand brusquely. Her hand and arm were graceful and lovely, with half-inch long fingernails manicured with blood-red polish.

Yes? I said. What can I do for you?

She answered in a heavy Brooklyn accent with a slight, open-mouthed pucker. I was drivin around the city and thought of ya. Until the day she died, Marilyn Monroe told everybody in Hollywood that you were a wonderful analyst. The scuttlebutt around town was that if she had continued her treatment with ya, she would still be alive. I might have just been a little kid starting to make the rounds back then, but I remembered your name and thought Id check to see if youre still kicking.

Thank you, I said. Im flattered. But who are you?

She continued as if she hadnt heard me, the words shooting out of her mouth as if fired by a machine gun. I was driving by your office and got this sudden urge to see if ya were here. So I parked my car by a fireplug. I wanna see ya. Knowing me, if I dont act on impulse, I probably wouldnt be here.

I hesitated. Well, its a bit unusual, but since you are here, lets talk briefly. But first tell me who you are.

She looked surprised that I didnt know. She pulled herself up to her full five feet five inches and said proudly, I am Barbra Streisand. Ya must be the only person in the world who doesnt recognize me. Can I sit down now?

Though accustomed to seeing celebrities, this one almost knocked me off my feet. I took a deep breath and said, Excuse me, Ms. Streisand. I wasnt expecting you. By all means, have a seat.

She took off her raggedy coat and scarf, which I now understood to be a disguise, and plopped herself down on Rivkas swivel chair. The next thing I knew, she was shouting, Whee, and rolling across the office floor. I feel like Miss Marmelstein again! Ya know, the part I played in I Can Get it for you Wholesale.

After shaking my head to recover from the shock, the likes of which I had never seen from an analytic patient or even a guest, I decided I was being tested. Back in the early 60s, I had actually seen the play, and Ill never forget Yetta Tessye Marmelstein, the bizarre, beehived, unloved child of nineteen, who swooped down and swiveled her chair around to ask why all the other girls got called by their first names right away. Oh, why is it always Miss Marmelstein? I remember thinking how talented this quirky, unknown actress who played the hilarious character was, and that we would be seeing more of her in the future. Little did I know how accurate my prediction would be!

Thus began the psychiatric interview to end all psychiatric interviews. Without her disguise, Barbra looked quite different. Her hair was straight, shoulder-length blonde, flecked with gray, and hung loosely down the sides of her face. She had a way of stroking her naturally shining hair with her long, pale, spiky fingers, as if she were soothing a crying child. She had azure-blue eyes that appeared to sparkle with amusement, a mouth with slow-curving rises and sudden soft valleys, and a startling promontory of a noseall in all, a dramatically distinctive face, with sculptured features that would attract any viewer like a magnet.

She wasnt pretty, I thought, but I had never seen anyone who looked so alive. When she talked, everything seemed to move together, her slightly crossed eyes, her sensitive, humorously curved mouth, her lengthy nose, her graceful hands. I felt exposed. Why did I feel the woman could see through my professional reserve, and knew everything about me? She must have extrasensory perception, I thought. I would bet no one ever got away with lying to her.

Well, Doctor Dale, she said, bringing her joyride to a stop, whatcha think? What about it?

What about what? I answered.

Will ya see me for analysis or not? Or are ya turned off by my impulsivity?

I hesitated. It was true that I was used to potential patients treating me with deference, and thus found her spontaneity in the present situation preposterous. And besides that, I wasnt sure I liked her. There was a grandiose, narcissistic, hostile quality about her that I found off-putting. But I know my job isnt to like people; its to help them, so I decided to give her a chance. And besides, her celebrity status did intrigue me. So I decided to briefly interview her, even if it was my birthday, and I really did need to get home.

Lets talk, I said, opening up my office door and beckoning her to enter.

Unlike most patients, she went through the door first.