Author’s note: Thanks very much for the reviews

Author’s note: Thanks very much for the reviews! I would like to stress once again that I

did not copy from Mr. and Mrs. Smith (kudos to Mr. Doug Liman anyhow), and, once again, enjoy this chappie!

Chapter 4: They’re Better Off Interviewed Alone, Really.

But I’m Not Giving Up Just Yet

After one one-on-one sessions each with Mr. and Mrs. Jansen, it’s time for a double interview! Har-har, I laughed dryly to myself after I had gotten off the phone with Mrs. Jansen. Before calling her, I had placed a similar-sounding call to Mr. Jansen. He had sounded okay-yeah-whatever while she had sounded, almost predictably, miserable-but-it’s-okay-I-can-handle-anything-you-throw-at-me.

Lucky me, they’re free tomorrow.

I crumpled a scribbled paper in my fist and aimed at the wastebasket.

“Score!”

I hoped that I’d be able to score one with them tomorrow.

The telephone rang. Before I answered the phone, I stole a glance at the clock and turned towards the receiver with a smile which I think was rather maniacal.

They’re here.

But I picked the phone up anyway. I’d hate to piss Lindsay off.

“Yeah, Lindsay?”

“They’re here.”

I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Do they look happy? Are they talking to each other, or, you know, something like that?”

Lindsay laughed, a short, gruff one. “Actually, they look pretty stiff to me. They’re just sitting there in front of me, drilling holes into your office door.”

“You’re just making that up.”

She laughed again. “Suit yourself, Dr. Cooke.”

They did look stiff. Stiff as cardboard.

Now, as I sat behind my desk, pretending to be arranging my papers while secretly observing them, I wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. They both looked ready to spring up from the chair and jump at each other, which was kind of surprising to me. In their previous session together, they had looked calm and okay with each other.

My best guess was that inside in their heads, they were silently cursing each other.

But what was really running through their heads, it was up to me to figure out.

“So,” I cleared my throat and gave them an assuring smile. “Let’s begin.”

They murmured a string of incomprehensible words, but I figured I could let it pass.

“First things first. What do each of you think is wrong with your marriage?” I looked at Mr. Jansen, prompting him to start talking.

He caught my look, and shifted uneasily in his chair. I checked out Mrs. Jansen, and found her shooting daggers at her husband. Talk about pressure.

Finally, after a few seconds, he shrugged, then he said slowly, “I don’t really see the flaws.” Then just to cement his answer, he flashed a somewhat confident and happy smile at me.

I smiled back. Being a husband myself, I could tell that he was lying. Ah, Mr. Jansen, no marriage is flawless.

I looked at Mrs. Jansen. “What about you, Mrs. Jansen?”

She flashed a tight smile at me. “I, well, I can’t really point it out . . . but, you know, maybe it’s because we don’t . . . well, we . . .”

We . . . ?

“. . . don’t have any children,” she nodded. “Yes, that’s it.”

I felt like laughing. Translation: their sex life was horrible. Mrs. Jansen was obviously a conservative woman. I looked at the effect this had on Mr. Jansen.

The result was quite remarkable. Mr. Jansen looked at Mrs. Jansen with a shocked, but angry look on his face. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault, okay?”

“What do you mean it wasn’t your fault? I did all the homework, I’m the one who put so much effort – and you have the nerve to say, ‘Not now, honey. I’m beat.’ What was that all about?”

“I really was beat! I work!”

“And you think I don’t?”

“I had to travel around town, I had to see construction sites, I had to talk to convince both customers and developers; all you had to do was paperwork!”

“I not only have paperwork but also meetings, market surveys, and I had to deal with customers and vendors.”

“All in an air-conditioned room.”

“What?”

Whoa! Time out! “Hey, that’s enough!”

They seemed to have come to their senses, then they sniffed and went all moody. Whoa, talking ‘bout time bombs! They had been waiting to explode, and they have. But now they took deep breaths together, and calmed down.

“Sorry,” they murmured together.

One thing that I noticed was, despite giving me different answers concerning years of marriage, and despite the differences in what they thought was wrong with their relationship, there was a consistency in them. They say ‘sorry’ together, strive to think that their marriage was the happiest in the world in hopes that it would truly be the happiest marriage in the world, and are simultaneously stiff.

Lovely.

“All right. I’ll do this again. What do you think is wrong with your marriage? Mrs. Jansen?”

She took a deep sigh and tried not to look at her husband. Bravo, I wished her silently, because, even though Mr. Jansen was trying his best not to look at her too, it was just as well. One look at the spouse could cause one’s judgment to be clouded.

“Not enough effort and response from the other party,” she replied, as if I was her boss demanding a reason why the market survey showed very little response from the prospective customer pool. I was beginning to feel a teensy bit frustrated myself. “No, Mrs. Jansen, I want an earnest answer from you, not an automated one. What’s wrong?”

She bit her lip and huffed ever so slightly before answering, “I want kids. He doesn’t. It’s always ‘not the right time’ for him.”

Mr. Jansen opened his mouth to protest but I held up a hand to stop him. “Have you ever discussed with him about having kids?”

“Yes.”

“And when was it?”

She paused, then replied in a muted voice, “Before we married.”

I resisted the urge to sigh triumphantly. As a man myself, I know and acknowledge it most humbly and honestly that a man’s perspective on marriage and family change once the knot was tied. But for Mr. Jansen, it seemed to have done a backflip.

“What did you respond to her then, Mr. Jansen?”

I expected a stereotypical answer, perhaps just to please her. Any response along the lines of: “Yeah, and we agreed that we would do it after…”

But his reply was to her, not me: “You did?”

Not only Mrs. Jansen was appalled. I was too.

“Yes, we did!” she hissed back at him. “Don’t you remember? You’d just proposed to me after sex, then after another round, I asked you about how many kids you would like to have, and you said you didn’t care, as long as they were ours, REMEMBER?”

A scoff escaped his mouth. “You of all people should know that I’m hopeless when I’m exhausted. Anything I say when I’m half-asleep or drunk can’t be trusted.”

“Oh, and how was I to know then, I wonder?”

“How many times have we slept together before that?”

“It doesn’t matter! What’s important now is that I remember that you said you would like to have kids, regardless of amount, as long as – no – what matters now is that do you want any children of your own or not?”

“How do you expect us to have kids successfully when you don’t even know me in and out? Look at us! We’re too tired to even try. If we have kids, we’re gonna be too tired for them as well and if they end up taking crystal meth and robbing convenience stores then we’ll know who to blame, won’t we?”

“How would we know if we didn’t even try? And you’re in this as much as I am, Andrew, so stop making me sound like the culprit here!”

“Okay first things first!” I lunged in just as Mr. Jansen had just opened his mouth for another furious protest. They glared at me, but I held my ground. I reckoned I must have looked like the perfect referee, with my butt halfway out of my chair, one finger in the air, and eyes wide as Frisbees. “First things first, let’s take a deep breath.”

They did as they were told, and I was beginning to feel assertive. “Now that’s done, let me point out that in a marriage, there is no such thing as culprits and victims. Marriage is all about give and take. Heck, any relationship is. But you’ve got to know what to give from yourself and what to receive. If one partner gives nothing but excuses,” I looked pointedly at Mr. Jansen, who hung his head, “and the other gives no tolerance about his shortcomings,” I turned to Mrs. Jansen, whose icy glare softened somewhat, “then I’m sorry but you’re better off with a divorce.”

Both Jansens looked at each other. I waited with bated breath for the outcome.

“And waste these expensive counseling sessions?” said Mr. Jansen first, looking back at me.

“Not a chance,” muttered Mrs. Jansen with a sweet smile for me as well. Something stirred in my stomach at the thought of my own clients plotting some sort of evil revenge plan against me but I dismissed with a laugh, because I had something… special in mind for them. And mind you, I am not known for being the most ethical counselor in the field.

Because the hour for my next clients were nigh, I dismissed them both with promises of arranging two more sessions. Mr. Jansen seemed a bit reluctant about them until I reminded them that they had had the first few sessions free of charge. Anyhow, both, I’m sure, earn more than enough to put two children through college every year. It appeared to be that both have, for now, only one thing in common: thriftiness.

So in order to avoid them falling into the terrible cliché of lonely-old-couple-with-loads-of-money-but-no-children-so-their-wealth-becomes-disputed-by-their-nephews-and-nieces (and I remembered the sister of Mrs. Jansen with nine children), a lot of hardwork needs to be put in here.