“You’ve been served,” he said pleasantly, and departed.
Her heart pounding, Addie sat on the couch, willing her sanity to return. It hadn’t been that long since she’d seen Mick. It had been what—eight years—a funeral, a brief conversation. He’d seemed still to care. He wasn’t twenty. She had loved him all his life. He seemed always to love her. If ever there was a chance of becoming number one with somebody, surely he had been it. But like those who had gone before him and the one who’d come after, he too was gone.
She ripped open the packet in her hands. Connor Books was suing her. “Good luck with that,” she said scornfully, tossing the legal papers into the trash. She no longer had dime one of the advance and she hadn’t written the book. So what. In the back of her head was the refrain she had heard for quite a while, long before it became a serious plan, before it became frequent and logical and imminent, soon I will die….
How could she write a suicide note which would adequately explain her feelings, the reason why she was taking this step? How do you say I’m killing myself because nobody ever made me their first choice? The irony of the situation was monumental. She was nobody’s number one and thus a note of any sort was probably unnecessary. Who would sit pondering her act once she was gone? Probably not a soul, at least not for very long. Why bother documenting her feelings at all?
Addie flipped open the laptop on which she had always made notes about her clients and their progress, and on which she had written one bestseller. She began typing, adding a phrase here, a modifier there, then sat back to read what she had written.
Obituary
Adrianna Schlumberger, PhD., born July 14, 1946, in Backwater, Alabama, has died. The former Adele Penny was a well-known psychologist whose convoluted personal life formed the basis for many of her therapy techniques. Schlumberger’s partially decomposed body was discovered in her office by a cleaning crew. Date and cause of death is still to be determined by the coroner’s office, but early reports indicate likelihood of foul play.
Schlumberger rose to fame in the 1980’s as the creator of The Bullshit Program, a group therapy system in which participants would bravely tell their truths as they saw them and members of the group who recognized the pandering, rationalizations, or inherent delusions within their speeches, would cry out “Bullshit!” That approach forced the speaker to reevaluate his or her life. The New York Times called it “more powerful than EST.” The Bullshit Program reached an international level of popularity, was held in huge auditoriums for sold-out audiences, and made its creator enormously wealthy.
Schlumberger is the author of a number of popular self-help books, although none touched a nerve as deep as did The Bullshit Program. Own Your Own Choices, published in 1985, sold over a million copies, and inspired numerous smaller workshops. Divorce Without Shame, a lesser success, was inspired by Schlumberger’s own marital woes, and was made into a TV movie.
In later years, Schlumberger concentrated on her private practice, offering counseling to legions of Hollywood celebrities and ordinary citizens of Los Angeles who found her take no prisoners therapy techniques ground breaking.
Schlumberger married for the first time in college, to Ted R. Schlumberger, M.D., a prominent child psychiatrist, and the ex-husband of her college mentor. That marriage lasted seven years and produced a daughter, Lissa Bartholomew, a nurse, who survives her.
Her second marriage, to celebrity divorce attorney, Arthur Bittman, lasted four years, and was written about bitterly by Schlumberger in her tell-all self-help book, When His Penis is Too Small. The couple remained in litigation over the work and a subsequent slander suit brought about by Bittman. The marriage produced twin sons, Barker and Randolph Bittman, from whom Schlumberger was estranged for many years.
At thirty-seven, Schlumberger shocked the world by wedding the teen-aged son of her childhood best friend. She remained married to Michael Hamilton for six years, writing prolifically about the joys of their partnership. Soulmate at Any Age, Don’t Apologize for Love, and Reinventing Your Sex Life, were published during that period. A bitter divorce followed, despite many legal maneuvers designed by Schlumberger to keep her youthful husband. Ultimately, a paternity suit brought about by another woman ended the marriage.
Most recently, Schlumberger was wed to promoter Oliver Hooks, and their partnership led to a brief resurgence in popularity of The Bullshit Program. Eventually she sued him for financial malfeasance, claiming he had plundered her bank account and destroyed her reputation. He is currently under indictment and being sought by local investigators who wish to question him about financial matters as well as Schlumberger’s death.
Toward the end of her life, Schlumberger found herself embroiled in many legal altercations, several of which were brought about by publishers who paid hefty advances for books only partially completed. The last one, a memoir, Rags to Rags, was supposed to detail her childhood in a southern shack, emotional and sexual abuse by her father, abandonment by her mother, who ran away with a local delivery man when Schlumberger was nine, followed by her stunning success as a psychologist, and the ultimate bankruptcy which left her in ruins.
It seemed to trail off, didn’t it? Perhaps she should add more to it. Addie wondered if the Times had something on file for her nearly as complete and accurate as what she’d written, but that was unlikely. Her real name and so many details of her past were known only to herself. Instinctively, she reached for the appointment book, ready to scribble “Complete Obit” in tomorrow’s entry, but she stopped herself. Soon I will die….
She responded tentatively to another knock at the door. Was there anyone left to sue her? Addie opened the door cautiously, ready to pretend she was other than herself, and there he was, this time it was Mick. She hesitated. Had she gone completely round the bend? Was she now Blanche DuBois, always seeing her young ex-husband in the face of any fellow to appear at her door?
“Addie,” he said warmly, stepping into the office and taking her into his arms. For a moment she stopped breathing, and just stood there, no thoughts, just emotion. He stepped back, glanced briefly at the chaos in her office, and said, “Are you all right?”
She looked at him, and knew that nothing had changed—nothing for her anyway. He was now at the age she had been when they married; that’s how long ago it had been. Grasping his hand tightly, she led him to the couch and they sat side by side, turning only their heads to face one another. “How are you, sweetie?” He didn’t flinch, not even at the endearment.
“I think Blinnie is cheating on me.” He was guarded, but clearly distraught. And he had come to her for help.
“Belinda Connors, that conniving little bitch.” She couldn’t help herself. If she could heap all the miseries of the earth on someone, it would be on this one woman. And if she could place Quatro in the room with her, that would make life once again worth living. “Did you finally have that DNA test?”
“On my thirteen year old son? Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
Addie took a breath and reined in her malice. She squeezed Mick’s hand and said in her most therapeutic voice, “Let me help you, hon.”
“I’ve seen signs is all. She’s out too many nights. Hang ups on the phone. Religious retreats—I mean religious retreats? C’mon.”
Addie would have queried a client if he had asked his wife about her behavior, if there were actual concrete evidence, if there had been a reasonable conversation. Instead she said, “Hunches are usually right, you know. Trusting your instincts is a good thing.”
“It’s been a long time since,” then Mick hesitated, looking at Addie, clearly wondering if he should go on, not wanting to hurt her feelings, something that touched her so deeply she had to blink back a tear.
“No more sex, huh? I always thought she was a tease.” In her mind, a ping pong game played, the thoughts of what she would say to a client, versus the comments actually coming out of her mouth. “That’s pretty much a tell-tale sign—i
t’s almost clinical.”
“Well, we don’t connect as well, that’s true. But life has its ups and downs, don’t you think—I mean relationships are complicated.”
Addie would have admired his perspective if he’d been a client. What he said showed wisdom and maturity. “But sometimes it’s just not meant to be, don’t you see—and sometimes you just have to stop and see the truth. Or else how can you change your life and find happiness?”
“But we have kids, a family, and so that’s more than just two people, and I’m responsible. I’ve been trying to be supportive, kind, not press her too much. Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis. You know.”
“You’re not that old, and neither is she.”
“Yes, but you forget how precocious I am.”
Addie smiled back at Mick. Nothing had changed about him. He was deep and wise and mature, and she knew without a doubt he belonged to her, with her, not with some conniving slut. Would she ever come closer to finding someone to be her number one? How long had she asked would anyone ever love her again? It had all seemed so bleak, but now the tide seemed to be turning, at last she was getting another chance, perhaps her last chance. She brushed her hand along his arm and said, “No, I haven’t forgotten anything.”
She was about to offer him the name of her lawyer, to encourage him to move out, to stay with her here in the office if necessary, when his cell phone rang and he whispered, “Blinnie,” and began speaking to his wife. Addie started making lists in her mind: revive clientele, set up meeting with publicist to revamp The Bullshit Program, call publishers for a second advance and settle lawsuit, get a new line of credit and rent a house for Mick and herself.
“She wants to talk,” he said, flipping the cell phone closed.
Addie knew what that meant. We have to talk, the most significant phrase in the history of relationships. In fact, she could write a book entitled We Have to Talk, and it would probably be an instant best seller. Her voice was calm, though, and she did not betray the exuberance she felt. “Still have the same number?”
Mick nodded and stood, holding Addie briefly before walking to the door. “Thank you so much. I know I can always count on you to be there for me. I love you, Addie.”
This time she didn’t hide the tears in her eyes. “I love you too.”
“Dr. Adrianna Schlumberger for Detective Boni,” she said calmly into the speakerphone. She wandered purposefully around the office, restoring as much order as possible in advance of Mick’s return. At last her life was coming to a positive turning point; after all her suffering, something good was about to happen, and it would finally be all right. She would have another chance.
“Boni,” replied the gruff voice.
“Hello, Detective,” she answered. “What’s the progress in locating Oliver Hooks? I can’t divorce him until you locate—and indict—him.” Quatro was an egomaniac. Why hadn’t she recognized that earlier? He’d surely do something to trip himself up.
“No progress yet, Ma’am. Like I told you last time—these investigations can go on a long time. It’s a big world, and he has plenty of money.”
“Yes, my money.”
“You have a P.I. on the case, don’t you?”
“It’s a good thing he didn’t murder me instead of just stealing all my assets. You’d probably expect me to hire someone to solve my own murder!”
“We’ll call you as soon as we know something, ma’am. Have a good day.”
Addie didn’t even stop to curse at the phone. There wasn’t enough time. Who knew how long it would take for Mick to end that disastrous marriage and return to her? She dialed the phone.
“Dr. Adrianna Schlumberger for Mr. Levy, please.”
Her attorney’s voice was breathy and hesitant, and she wondered each time they spoke why she continued to use him, but she also remembered that she had no resources to pay an advance to a new guy. “Adrianna, how are you?”
“Not good, Hal, what do you think? Is there any progress recovering my money?”
“It’s very hard when they wire it offshore, hon, but we have notified the IRS, the police, and so on, but you knew that.”
“What about suing the banks?”
“We’re still pursuing that, but it’s iffy at best. He had power of attorney, so they have a good case—better than we do.”
“So I have to remain a dupe forever—and what—can’t divorce that fucker—excuse me—scum—oh hell—fucker—what—never?”
“Seven years, hon, I told you. The thing to do now is rebuild, start again, remake your fortune, and don’t give anyone your account numbers.”
“Gee, I never would have thought of that, Hal!”
She smashed her fist on the phone, disconnecting the call, then began dialing the PI she’d hired months ago. A recording played, but she spoke over it, expecting to be transferred, “Mr. Purdy are you there? It’s Dr. Schlumberger. Dick?”
“Doc, what’s happening? Any news?” Finally he had answered the phone.
“That’s a question for me to ask you. What’s the progress?”
“I’ve been working on this online, hoping to get a good enough lead to track him in person and we do have some progress, but last time you said hold off on booking flights.”
“Progress, what are you waiting for? Go bring the son of a bitch back!”
“I need another 5k for that, Doc, you know that.”
“How about you bring him back and I make it 10k when the case is resolved.”
“Sorry, Doc, I ain’t no lawyer, can’t work on contingencies. Too many of ‘em.”
“Lawyers?”
“No,” he laughed, “Contingencies.”
She shook her head, trying to come up with something plausible to make him do what she wanted. “I’ve already paid you 10k—and it’s not like I’ve seen any results. So how about a little professional courtesy.”
“Hey Doc, we ain’t in the same profession. Besides, spending 10k with no results in your field don’t exactly raise eyebrows, right?”
“Okay whatever. I’ll get back to you.”
Intensely frustrated, Addie paced the overcrowded room. Cracking her ankle on a carton, she yelped, cursed, kicked the box, then resumed pacing. She had a thought. Lissa. Her daughter had some money; her son-in-law had some money. She began dialing.
“Sweetheart,” she purred, “How are you?”
“Mother,” Lissa spoke coldly, “Getting remarried yet again?”
“No, why on earth would you say that?”
“No reason.”
“You know I can’t do anything until the cops haul Oliver’s ass back here and my money is recovered.”
“Get used to being single—and broke then. You know how many guys like that get caught? In round numbers? Goose egg, Mom, none.”
“You could be a little nicer. You know what I’ve been through.”
“Not to change the subject, but we’re thinking of getting pregnant. We might have to go in-vitro, it’s expensive, but we have some savings.”
Addie caught her breath. Herself a grandmother. How would Mick feel about that? She replied cautiously, “How exciting. When did you decide this?”
“Last week—nothing special—on my birthday.”
“Oh hon, I’m sorry, I forgot—I’ve been so caught up, losing the house, I don’t even know what day it is any more. I promise to get you something very special very soon. Guess who dropped by today?”
“Sigmund Freud?”
“Michael Hamilton. Can you believe it?”
“Yeah, great, actually I was on my way out the door.”
“Wait hon, I need to ask you something. Could you possibly loan me some money? I need to give that PI…” Addie hesitated, mentally calculating, increasing her estimate, and said “Another ten thousand dollars—but he’s sure he can bring Oliver in.”
“Are you nuts? Cut your losses, move on, get back to work.”
Addie’s breath caught in her throat. She heard the anger and resent
ment in her daughter’s voice. It never seemed to improve between them. “I’m planning to reintroduce The Bullshit Program. That’s how serious I am, but right now I’m in a pretty big hole and it’s going to be hard to get out. And I need to get out pronto—because—and Lissa, don’t repeat this to anyone—but Mick is coming back to me—I’m sure of it.”
“You never change, do you, Mother.”
“You haven’t seen me in a while—I look older—stress.”
Lissa sounded so exasperated, “Five hundred bucks—that’s it. I’ll deposit it later today.”
“Listen, forget it. I can’t believe you’re so ungenerous. I bought you that house.”
At the same moment, they both slammed down the phone and disconnected from each other, their usual way of saying goodbye.
Addie sat dejectedly at her desk. Lissa was her first child, her only daughter. She was so special, but she had never made Addie her number one. Lissa had preferred her father, then her stepfather, even her father’s first wife. Addie barely made it into her top ten. Long ago, Addie believed her mother was her number one. Girls always love their moms, don’t they? And Addie thought her mother had loved her too. But Mom had run off, had ruined Addie’s life and all her chances, had turned her father into a monster who tried to destroy her.
Why was it always so hard? Why was there so much pain with the people she loved? Why did nobody really love her back? She thought about calling the twins, but knew it would do no good. They hadn’t spoken in several years and the boys always sided with their dad instead of her. It was supremely unfair. Addie pressed the first button on her speed dial.
“Lucie, it’s Addie. Do you have time for me?” Lucie was the one person to whom Addie would never bounce a check or give a cancelled credit card. Lucie was her psychic.
“I see many angels around you today, Addie. Have you been meditating more? It’s working! Your guides are all over the place, sending so much love to you. You’re going to feel their presence much more deeply. And your psychic ability is going to improve. Soon you will be reading for me!”
The Sportin' Life Page 19