Love and Death in the Afternoon

Ernesto, a single 39-year-old architect, comes with Cero, his 17-year-old-retriever. We explore his search for the right woman. Ernesto searches in restaurants. He searches in subways. Waiting for movie tickets, he leaves his girlfriend, Dian, to accost a woman. He reschedules weekends to meet a new face. He sees Dian for half an evening, and then trolls at a jazz club later that night.

 “Dian knows you see other women?” I ask.

“I don't explicitly tell her, Doc.”

“Why?”

“If she asked me, I would tell her the truth.”

I have my analytic practice on the second floor of an old Toronto brownstone. Max Gold is on the first floor, a bearded middle-aged veterinary. Cero goes to Gold's for a wash, nail clippings, and checkup. Max refers Ernesto to me: “His dad died in Havana; he was two, mother remarried, he's alone.” Weekly Max and I discuss cases at the corner Starbucks.

“My patients are neurotic,” Max says, dumping three sugars in his coffee.

“The cats, the dogs, or the owners?”