Nothing General About It

by Maurice Benard

  “It’s okay.” She smiled without a trace of anger, and I believed her.

  I panicked a little bit then. “My friend Manny told me you were only sixteen,” I said, feeling like I had to fudge an explanation. How could I dare admit what was really going on—that I had slept with over twenty different women, won two male beauty contests, and had a nervous breakdown in the months since I first saw her? She’d bolt.

  “I was, but guess what, now I’m seventeen,” she teased.

  “Can I make it up to you?” I smiled, trying to melt any hesitation she might have with my dimples.

  She nodded shyly.

  “Would you come over to my place?” I asked.

  She searched my face a beat. I didn’t know it then, but Paula didn’t date boys from her high school. She didn’t really have any friends and no one knew anything about her because family drama and problems at home consumed her life.

  Paula told me months later she had seen a handsome guy walking around the mall every day eating yogurt but she never dreamed I would ask her out, stand her up, then a year later show up again. She thought when I did maybe for once something happy could transpire for the good girl who was trapped in a bad situation at home. She also thought I couldn’t bail this time if we were at my house.

  As we drove up, I neglected to tell her my parents owned the house. Since they were not home, Paula just assumed it was mine and was duly impressed. Once we were inside, she just looked around in awe. It seemed like a mansion to her, like something out of a magazine, with everything perfect and everything in its place.

  From the start, it was so easy to talk to Paula, really talk, because I could just be myself with her. What I didn’t know was that not only was she shy, but Paula didn’t drink, and had only sipped alcohol a few times in her life, but never on a date. She had also never kissed on the first date and she rarely had second dates. As we talked, I handed her a glass of wine, and she was thrown into a quandary because she was far too shy to say no to the drink. She later told me there was also more to it than that, because she was attracted to me and felt a strong connection that she had never felt with anyone else. It was probably a combination of that attraction, feeling so at ease with me, and the wine loosening her usual control over things, that changed the course of our evening, and for the first time Paula kissed a guy on the first date.

  We went out a few more times and usually I picked Paula up at the high school—I was the older man, driving a lime-green Volkswagen Rabbit, because by now I had lost the Alfa Romeo as I was unable to make the car payments. Every time I cruised into the parking lot, teachers gave me the evil eye and parents stared. The other girls didn’t know the shy loner girl they had passed a million times in the hallway, but were surprised because I was dark and mysterious and already out of school.

  Whenever we hung out, Paula never talked about her family, so when I finally pressed her about it, she explained that her father hadn’t been around her whole life and she lived with her mom—but then quickly changed the subject. I didn’t know anything about her family, but I did know that Paula was beautiful even if she didn’t realize it herself, she was a good girl, with a good heart, and although she was reserved with people, she was a friend to all animals.

  That was important to me, because I also had a thing for animals and my whole childhood I was always asking if I could bring one home and keep it. I had brought home so many pets, including a beautiful baby jackrabbit with big ears I’d found under a board once when I was snake-hunting, who I trained to jump on the bed. I also had a parakeet that I trained to come to me when I said, “Fly!” as well as a parrot named Paco and lizards and iguanas. I really wanted a raccoon, but that’s where my dad drew the line, so I never got one of those.

  Little did I know, but one day this woman who loved animals more than I did would be my wife and we would have a whole menagerie of creatures at home. At the time I just thought since Paula was always rescuing animals, maybe she would rescue me.

  No matter how many times I suggested it, Paula never wanted me to pick her up or drop her off at her house; instead, she always got out at the corner and stood there until I drove away, and each time I watched her in the rearview mirror, waving at me until I was gone. One day, however, I decided to just go over to her house and show up unexpectedly. How bad could it be? She wouldn’t be the first girl whose parents disapproved of me and, I thought, probably wouldn’t be the last. I always managed to charm the parents and I could charm her mother, too, so I drove over and knocked on the door and a heavyset lady with dark circles under her eyes, no teeth, and a heavy Texas twang opened it.

  “Help you?” she looked me up and down.

  For a moment I just stared and thought maybe I was at the wrong house. “Are you Paula’s mother?” I queried, and the woman stared suspiciously as suddenly I saw Paula scurry out of the bathroom behind her and disappear into the back of the house, embarrassed. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Mauricio,” I said, determined to get in the house.

  Paula’s mother reluctantly invited me inside, and as I looked around I saw what seemed like fifty people hanging out, crammed into the dimly lit interior of the dirty, crowded two-bedroom, one-bathroom house. Needles, spoons, and all sorts of drug paraphernalia were scattered on the floor, tables, counters, and the furniture was occupied by seemingly high inhabitants. I went to the hallway and talked to Paula through the bathroom door until I finally managed to coax her out to my car, where we sat in silence for a few moments.

  “Now you know,” she whispered. For the first time, Paula’s story spilled out. Paula’s mother was a drug addict, and when her mother wasn’t demoralizing Paula or beating her younger brother, John, Paula had watched her overdose many times on heroin. Her older sister, Stephanie, also lived there with her newborn baby, Vanessa, and there were never less than ten other people living there at any given time. Paula was torn; she knew she was living in a bad situation and desperately wanted to leave, but she also wanted to stay and protect her siblings. I listened, but to be honest, it threw me. I’d had no idea, and I felt bad for Paula, but it was a bit too much for me to handle because I was still pretty fragile inside. As much as I wished I could’ve handled it differently, what I did instead was continue to go out with other girls.

  Then I heard that Paula had gone out with another guy—my friend Randy. He had asked her out and she’d accompanied him to a big Halloween costume party dressed as a sexy cat. I, of course, heard about it from my friends and wasn’t happy about it at all, and the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me, and I started to wonder, Why does it bug me so much, Randy competing for this girl? After stewing for a few days, unable to shake thinking about Paula, it dawned on me that maybe this wasn’t about Randy, maybe I really did like Paula more than I was willing to admit. I started taking Paula out regularly after that and she stopped seeing other guys, even though I still went out with other girls occasionally. Paula told me later that she liked me a lot but since I clearly wanted my freedom, when another guy asked her out, she accepted; however, she’d had no idea it was a friend of mine from high school or she would never have said yes. I believed her, because Paula was different than any girl I had ever known, she wasn’t the type to play games.

  Not long after, Paula and I went to a party with my parents and it would be the beginning of one of many episodes that would really test how much she cared about me. There were a lot of people having a good time talking, drinking, and a few were engrossed in a Jimmy Stewart movie playing on TV. My father was drinking and flirting like he usually did, and when I confronted him about his alcoholic tendency, a loud argument ensued; however, it wasn’t an ordinary argument, it was unusual because during the course of the heated exchange, my speech became affected and my father watched as I seemed to transform into Jimmy Stewart in front of his eyes. Everyone thought I was doing an impersonation, except my mother, who recognized something was terribly wrong.

  The next day, as I sat eating with
my parents and Paula, my tongue started to swell and burst out of my mouth while the orange juice I was drinking started gushing out, dripping down my entire body. It was scary because I had no control over my tongue and thought I was possessed. Paula was terrified, too. Although anyone else would have cut and run, that didn’t even occur to her; she’d already seen so much in her own life.

  I was convinced I needed an exorcism, but my parents and Paula took me to the emergency room, where the doctors immediately determined I was not possessed and, in fact, had an earthly scientific explanation—I was having an allergic reaction. My mother had realized the past couple of weeks were probably another manic episode and asked for a prescription to calm me, so the doctor prescribed Norpramin and Haldol. I had taken Haldol the day earlier for anxiety.

  But, in a paranoid state, I was not making much sense and, still sure something more was going on, insisted on stopping at a church near my school on the way home from the hospital. Unfortunately, the church was locked, but I refused to leave and got more and more agitated as I told Paula and my mother I absolutely had to talk to a priest. They agreed to stay and help me get inside the church, checking doors and windows for an unlocked entry until finally the monsignor came out to see what was going on. Paula explained the emotional distress I was exhibiting and the monsignor took pity and let us in but warned us not to approach the altar or the night alarm would trigger. The monsignor left us praying in a pew and I started crying for a while, but when I finally looked up at the crucifix hanging from the wall—encased with blood and thorns—and gazed into Jesus’s face, I had an overpowering sensation that God wanted to tell me something.

  Although the monsignor had warned us about the alarm, I was so drawn to the altar I couldn’t stay in the pew as directed and I had to have a conversation with God to confess my sins and hear what He had to tell me. The monsignor returned to see me standing at the altar reaching out to Jesus, but miraculously the alarm never went off. I was convinced God was present there with me and unburdened my soul, and once I did, I felt the weight and darkness lift from my shoulders.

  After this episode, I stopped taking everything but the lithium and the doctor adjusted the dose for it because I clearly needed more to keep balanced.

  Once that happened, things seemed to return to normal but another drama would unfold, only this time it wouldn’t be mine. A few weeks later, I came home to find Paula crying at the table with my mother and relating the terrible events that had brought her to our house, starting with the heroin binge her mom had been on for three days. Her mother had overdosed before, and this time, when Paula thought she had overdosed again and tried to revive her, her mother started going off on her terrified daughter. Paula ran out of the house to find a pay phone to call me because she just wanted to get away from the abuse and chaos, but I wasn’t home. My mom, who picked up, brought Paula home to our house and told her she should spend the night. Paula, ever the good girl, called her mother to tell her where she was and that she was staying over. Her mother immediately started screaming and ranting on the phone in a rage.

  “Don’t you dare! You think you’re better than we are? If you stay, don’t ever come home!” she threatened.

  Before I could say a word, my mother announced that Paula was staying with us as long as she wanted, because we had plenty of room, since my brother H.J. had moved out. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she couldn’t stay, but when I complained to my mother later that I didn’t want a girlfriend and to be tied down, she looked at me matter-of-factly.

  “Hijo, I am not bringing you a woman, I am giving Paula an escape from her dangerous situation,” she explained, and that was that. Paula moved in that night and never went back.

  Living under the same roof with Paula was different than it had been with Kelly, because Paula was different. We had a connection and bond I hadn’t really felt with anyone else, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself and wasn’t even conscious of the magnitude of it yet. She needed a safe home, but I was only twenty-two, had just come out of a nervous breakdown and hadn’t yet healed, so I could hardly figure out my own way, let alone one for a girl with her own problems. I didn’t want Paula to misunderstand and get hurt, so we talked about it and set some boundaries. I was honest with her and told her I wasn’t ready to settle down and this wasn’t yet exclusive.

  It was a complicated situation and none of us had an easy time figuring out how to deal with it. Paula had no expectations; she needed a place to live and was willing to let me do my own thing when I wanted to. Still, it was an unconventional relationship and jealousy was bound to resurface. There’s no way to sugarcoat it—I went out and did what I wanted, whenever I wanted, with whomever I wanted. I even hooked up with girls in acting class, and I didn’t make it easy for Paula on any level. It was hard for her, and she had nowhere else to go, but at the time I was more focused on what I wanted than on what she needed.

  The sound she hated most was the garage door opening, because our room was over the garage, and at night, when I went out drinking, she would lie in bed and wait into the wee hours for the garage door rumble to signal that I was back home. When I came home, more often than not I’d had too much to drink and wanted to be with Paula. Paula could always smell the liquor on my skin—and whoever it was I had already been with that night—even though she had no idea where I’d been or who had caught my eye.

  But, like my own mother, Paula didn’t say anything, because she was intent on being good and doing everything my mother and father or I expected of her. She went to high school all day, then worked and came home and cooked dinner for the family, and after the meal she would go to my room and if I was gone, study or count the minutes until she heard the garage door open to know I had gotten home. She helped my mother and father clean the house, and she kept our room tidy and neat, and thought as long as she obeyed my parents and did what she was supposed to do, she would be able to stay.

  I had no clue what she was going through because I didn’t want to know; like my dad, I wanted to do my thing and thought the world revolved around me. I didn’t know what—if anything—our future could hold, and I wasn’t planning my life around Paula. In fact, I was convinced I was going to move to Los Angeles with Manny and Jeff. I hadn’t even invited her along to Hawaii with me on the trip I had won for becoming America’s Most Watchable Man. Instead, I took Manny with me first-class, all expenses paid, to the island where my ex-girlfriend, Kelly, lived. I was unaware or too selfish to understand how much it hurt Paula for me to leave her at home, while going on this very public trip.

  The trip included a promotional stunt, a contest in which one person would win a date with me. The event was a throwback to the old TV show The Dating Game where the bachelor sat on one side of a wall and interested ladies sat on the other side answering questions, and the winner won a date with the bachelor. I wouldn’t be able to see the women, so that’s where Manny came in; I needed Manny’s help to pick out the best-looking girl. I had not seen Kelly since we had broken up, but once I was in Waikiki, I decided to call her for old times’ sake and she took the call but said she was working and sent a friend of hers to show us around. The friend also took part in helping me with the contest, sitting in the audience where she could see the girls, and signaling to Manny, who was watching her from backstage, who in turn signaled to me. Somehow, there was a communication snafu and the wrong signals led to the wrong girl winning the date. However, after I had dinner with the winner, I went out with the other girl anyway.

  After the contest, I went to see Kelly for a week because I found out she had broken up with her boyfriend. I wanted to have sex with her and I tried my damnedest. But Kelly knew about Paula, and I think Kelly always felt her in the room with us and flat-out refused my advances.

  “No. You have a girlfriend.”

  She was adamant, and although I knew sex wasn’t going to happen, I did convince her to help me out in other ways in that department. I didn’t tell Paula about this whe
n I came home, but I’m sure she knew something had transpired.

  After my big win, I thought my life would dramatically change, and when someone at NBC asked me for a meeting, I showed up with high hopes, which were dashed when the project went nowhere. I couldn’t seem to get my life going again, I couldn’t get traction.

  One day not long after winning the contest, I looked at my bottle of lithium pills and then studied my reflection. I was only twenty-three. Did I really need these meds? I had won a major contest, and I was feeling fine except for how I felt on these pills. It took away the edge and I thought I needed that edge, thought that the creative highs and lows and dramatic emotions were tools for my profession. That young macho part of me felt I didn’t need a crutch and blamed the lithium for everything I hadn’t yet achieved. It convinced me I could do it by myself. And so I put the pill bottle down without opening it. The next day I still felt good, and so I did the same thing. And the next day. And the next.

  Soon, the days turned into a few months.

  Meanwhile, things were as normal in the house as they could be given our unusual arrangement, and Paula continued to accompany me to parties and events when I asked her, often with my parents. One night we all went to a Bar Mitzvah and the entire night girls were coming up to me and flirting, right in front of Paula, which frustrated her because I didn’t stop them and didn’t make her feel any better about it.

  After the party, we all got in the car and the lid blew when I asked Paula, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “That wasn’t very nice, flirting with all those girls,” she answered.

  My father did what he wanted in his marriage, and had his own opinion on the matter and let her know it. “So what if they love him, Paula, you have to respect Mauricio. You have to respect him or you’re going to be crying tears of blood!” he declared with his thick accent and usual flair.