It's All Coming Back To Me

by Michelle Marra

  I look at my phone sitting on the table next to my chair and wonder what she’s doing right now. It’s been a couple months since I spoke to her and no matter what I do…what I try, I can’t stop fucking thinking about her. Maybe I should go for a visit. Go see my family. It’s been almost six months since I’ve been home and really if I’m totally honest with myself, I miss it…I miss them.

  Then I wonder if I did go for a visit, would I see Sam. I can only imagine I would since she and my mother are friends, surely they see each other a few times a week. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but they must see each other at least once a week, so I’m bound to run into her. The thought of seeing her, of looking into her blue eyes makes my heart start to pick up speed as well as causes the area between my legs to swell. I think maybe I could seduce her again, to sink into those arms and between those thighs. Just to feel her mouth against mine and to hear her voice…the way she says my name, the moans, and groans she emits when I touch her in a certain way.

  I shake my head, trying to rid myself of these thoughts because right now I’m heartsick. I never knew it was possible to long for someone like this. To eat my heart out. Then I think, why the hell am I not there? If I want her so much…if I can’t get rid of these feelings. Then I think how simple it would be to chuck this existence. To tell my producer to stick the show in his ass. To go into private practice and be with the woman I love. Yes, it would be so simple. That is until the cold reality slaps me in the face and fear takes over. No, this is how it has to be. I can’t do love…I don’t do love, and that is just the way it is.

  It’s 9:00 a.m. when my driver pulls up to the studio. Even though my doctor and my physical therapist have cleared me for driving, I’m still a little wary about it. I don’t trust my legs completely, and I don’t want to cause an accident. Driving in LA takes special training which I do have from the five years I’ve lived in this city, but I’m not willing to chance it just yet.

  It is everything I can do to step out of the car. I didn’t get much sleep last night and what I did manage to get was drunken-filled dreams of Sam, not the ‘now’ Sam…the ‘before’ Sam. The one who crushed my heart, who threw my love back in my face, and who destroyed my trust. And when I awoke to the sounds of my alarm this morning, I was in tears which continued post dream and into the shower.

  My head is pounding, and my eyes are stinging. God, how I hate hangovers. But I couldn’t stop drinking last night. I wanted just to drink that bitch off my brain. However, it seemed the more I drank…the more I pined.

  Now I’m sitting in the makeup chair where Gina is doing her best to make me beautiful for this afternoon’s show. I’m so not into this today, and I wish with everything that is in me right now there was a way I could push it off another day. But I know that’s a futile idea considering I’ll probably be just as hungover tomorrow.

  Gina grabs my chin for the tenth time, “Laurel, I need you to face straight ahead.”

  “I’m sorry, had a long night and I’m exhausted,” I say as I try to stifle a yawn.

  She sighs loudly and stares at me through the mirror with a look of disappointment on her face. She walks away shaking her head muttering something in Spanish, and I’m wondering if she’s done and I should go, or she is coming back to finish up. Because when I look at my face in the mirror, there are a couple things she hasn’t done yet. I need to meet with the producer and director at eleven, so I’m hoping she can wrap this up so I can catch a power nap in my dressing room before the meeting.

  She comes back with a bottle of water and hands it to me, I think it’s very sweet of her, but I don’t think water is going to make me suddenly spry. Then she takes my hand and drops two pills into it. I look into my hand then back at her with a questioning gaze.

  “These will perk you right up,” she says with a smile.

  “What are they?” I’m examining them closely, not sure I want to take them.

  “Just amphetamines. They won’t kill you, just put some pep in your step. You’ll be able to focus better too.”

  I shrug my shoulders, toss the pills into my mouth and swallow them with the aid of some water. I definitely need something to breathe some life back into me.

  Once she’s finished, I head to my dressing room. I need to change into my wardrobe which really just consists of some type of power suit. Each show is similar to a therapy session…I take forty-five minutes to try and help the guest with the situation he, she, or they’re facing, the rest of the hour is mainly commercials. However, we do have a period of introduction and narrative.

  When I open the door to my dressing room, I’m immediately stunned by the presence who is sitting on the sofa. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

  “I got the note you left,” she says completely ignoring my questions. “Um, I’m sorry I passed out on you last night. I was hoping to send you off with a smile on your face this morning, but you left before I woke up.”

  I want to say because there was a reason for that. But I don’t, I don’t want to hurt this girl’s feelings. It’s not her fault I’m a complete asshole. Before I have an opportunity to say anything she approaches me. I step back with a smile.

  “That’s a very nice thought, but I have to take a rain check. I have a meeting in about twenty minutes.” There goes my power nap.

  “Aw, really?”

  I nod my head as I shuffle to the door and hold it open for her. “I really enjoyed last night,” I say, and I hope she takes that as her cue to lose my number.

  However, she doesn’t. She turns on her heel and smiles big as her gaze finds mine. “So did I, Laurel.” Then she captures my lips with hers. This wasn’t just a goodbye peck, this was a full-on, open mouth, tongues dancing, kiss.

  “I’ll call you.” Then she walks away as I close the door.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and headed for the conference room to see what the producer wants from me. Although, I’m pretty sure I already know…the show is tanking, and they’re either going to tell me to fix it or talk about ending it.

  As I cane my way down the corridor, I see Sasha again or is it, Tasha. I wish I could remember. She is talking with my producer Robert Newberry, and I’m wondering what the hell he’s doing talking to that young chippy. I certainly hope he’s not trying to pick her up because for one she’s half his age and for two, she’s gay.

  I narrow my eyes when I see her kiss his cheek and I can’t even tell you what thought entered my brain at that moment, because it was quickly pushed away when I heard her call him Dad.

  “Oh shit,” I mumble to myself. I shake my head in disbelief, how is it possible that I hooked up with Bob’s twenty-two-year-old daughter. Sasha Newberry just graduated from Brown University. The same Sasha Newberry that Bob told me in a very clear and concise manner ‘to stay away from his daughter.’ And I’m sure he won’t care that she came on to me.

  “Well…well, I see you made it on time,” Bob says as he eyes me suspiciously. I manage to maintain my poker face as I smile at him and ignore his asinine remark.

  Chapter Twenty

  I absolutely hate that these shows are live. Whatever happened to ‘tapped live in front of a studio audience’? This means no cuts, no pauses, and no redos. There is no script, there is just their problem and me. I guess that is what made it so exciting for everyone, never knowing what would come out of my mouth. It was always ‘shock and awe’ with me. But now that I’m spinning my wheels in this brain of mine, I can truly say, this on the spot thing is exhausting. Even though I know ahead of time what the topic will be and who will be on the show, I still have trouble getting my A game on.

  I’m introduced to the audience, and I cane my way onto the stage. I used to bounce out onto the stage, but now I just do a little shimmy and shake my ass. My happy-peppy pills have kicked in, and I feel the wide smile on my face and a tingling through my scalp. I bow and wave to the audience…the studio is packed today. This has been the most in attendance for q
uite a while. I’m stunned, to say the least, but I’m sure with yesterday’s announcement of the next guests, people were dying to see how I interacted with these lesbians. I’m anxious to see myself, especially the way my own relationship ended. I think this should be interesting, to put it mildly.

  Bailey and Margot are announced after I give the audience a brief description of why they have come seeking my help. I think ‘Bailey’ is an interesting name, but already this chick hocks me off. Maybe it’s because of the cocky way she is walking onto the stage with her wife ten steps behind. I can see the attitude in her, and guess she probably was the unfaithful one.

  It always seems that the one who did the cheating either doesn’t take the onus or has a limit on how long they should be sorry. These are the people I would love to punch in the face because they’re the ones who destroy trust. I take a deep breath, and I know this is going to take every ounce of patience I have and then some. I smile at them as I stand and give them both a quick hug.

  After the niceties, we all sit, and I begin to listen to the story and the timeline of how it all when awry. Margot is trying to tell the story, but Bailey keeps cutting her off with flippant, disrespectful comments. There are even times she is talking over Margot, telling her to shut up.

  “Bailey, please let Margot finish,” I say for what seems like the twentieth time.

  Margot continues, “This last time I caught her with another woman was in our home. I’d just walked in with the kids, we were at my mother’s house for dinner. The dinner Bailey didn’t go to because she had to work late.”

  “Which I do have to work late…a lot. It comes with being a mortgage broker.”

  Margot rolls her eyes, and so do I. If I have to tell this bitch to shut up again, I might lose it. I think my happy-peppy pills are messing with my mood because right now I feel irritated beyond a level I think I should be…so much so that I’m ready to choke someone, namely Bailey. I look at her smug face with contempt which I know isn’t professional. I can only imagine the facial expression visible on my face because my jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. I make a mental note NOT to take amphetamines again when I’m on live TV.

  During the quick commercial break, I visit the bar cart and throw back a few shots of vodka. I need to offset this irritation, and I hope the vodka will help me loosen up. Hopefully, it will kick in soon because I need something to alleviate this growing frustration before I punch this chick in her stupid fucking face.

  As soon as I return to my seat and we’re back on the air, the crowd applauds. I give a quick recap in case anyone has just tuned in. I look over at my guests, and I can see by the red hue on Bailey’s face and the tears in Margot’s eyes that they must have been arguing during the break. However, I won’t mention it because I need to stay on the topic at hand. So after I’m done with the recap, I turn to Margot and ask her to continue her story.

  She starts with, “Anyway, I know she’s home because I saw her car in the driveway. I hear music upstairs and figure she’s up there listening to music and ironing,”

  “Which is something I always do…”

  “Bailey, please. I’m not gonna ask you again,” I say as I shoot her a look that makes the audience go ‘ooooo’ in unison.

  “I leave the kids downstairs and head up. The music is coming from the guest room and as soon as I near the room I can hear the other noises. The door is wide open. I see them…going at it.”

  I watch as Margot’s eyes fill up, her hand instinctively finds her stomach as if it is some type of nausea remedy.

  “I cleared my throat, so she knew that I saw her, then I went back downstairs, put the kids in the car and went back to my mother’s.” Her voice breaks and the tears really start flowing.

  “She didn’t even have the decency to close the door. What if one of the kids had seen that?”

  I look over at Bailey who is wearing a smug ‘so what’ look on her face. I try not to focus on her because I’m getting angrier by the minute.

  I place my hand over Margot’s and find her eyes, “Are you still at your mother’s house?”

  She nods her head and says in a whisper, “Yes.”

  I hand her the box of tissues on the table next to us. I pause for a moment because I’m doing everything I can to keep my temper at bay. Usually, in this situation, I try to remain neutral. Try to asses their relationship and give them the benefit of my training. Which would usually be ‘love should never be measured by mistakes’ and ‘lapse in judgment happens’ rigmarole. But now that is out the window because this chick enjoys hurting her partner. I can see that plain as day. She doesn’t care how much sleeping with another woman is hurting Margot or her family because she is expressing her power and dominance by doing so. She knows that Margot will continue to cower, will continue to look past it and forgive. These kinds of people, men and women alike, they’re bullies, predators, and abusers.

  And now Margot is crying in her hands while Bailey is snickering, “Look, I said I was sorry about a hundred times. I don’t think I should be persecuted here. It was just sex. I might add, sex that I haven’t been getting from you.”

  My face grows hot with anger, and I’m ready to rip this chick’s head off, “You can’t make it’s someone else’s fault you cheated. There is no excuse for it, and frankly…your reason of ‘no sex’ is bullshit. If you feel something is lacking in the bedroom why don’t you trying communicating about it instead of cheating.”

  “Oh, I have talked to her about it…pretty much until I’m blue in the face. She doesn’t care, it always the kids this and the kids that.”

  “No…that is not true,” Margot says, “I’m sorry, but I’m not having sex with someone that treats me like shit all day long. She talks to me like I’m garbage. Yells at me, belittles me. She calls me stupid, rolls her eyes when I talk…she treats me like I’m a nuisance.”

  “Oh my God…here we go again,” Bailey says as she leers toward Margot clearly trying to intimidate her. “I told you, I’m only teasing. Try having a sense of humor for once. It’s no wonder I need another woman. You’re such a whining, complaining bitch.”

  “Okay…okay. Enough of the name calling. This seems pretty cut and dry to me, but I’m having trouble believing that you want to salvage this relationship. Is this what both of you want?”

  “Yes…despite all her flaws I do still love her,” Bailey says as she flashes a wide smile at Margot.

  “And Margot, do you still want to work it all out?” I try to ignore Bailey’s cocky facial expression.

  She shrugs her shoulders, “Um…I don’t know. I did in the beginning. I always believed what she said in all those arguments. ‘No one will love you like I do,’ ‘No one will take care of you like I do.’ But I want something better for my life. I want someone to value me, to respect me, and to love me. And right now I don’t believe she does.”

  I can see Bailey in my peripheral vision, the look on her face is priceless. I don’t think she believed her wife would actually be saying this.

  “Do you want the separation to be permanent?” I ask Margot as I eye the woman to her right.

  Margot looks over at her wife who now has wide-eye, puppy dog expression on her face. She looks back at me, with her chin quivering, and tears are streaming down her cheeks, she nods.

  I see Bailey’s face drop, her head snaps to Margot and before I know what’s happening. Bailey stands, pulls Margot up by the arm, and begins to scream into her face.

  My heart starts to pound hard and fast. The screaming and crying are ripping through me like lightning. I just want it to stop. Then I feel as though I’m transported back to that bookstore witnessing the pandemonium before I was shot. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until security pulls me off of Bailey.

  “You don’t deserve a family…you piece of shit,” I yell while being restrained by a large man.

  “I’m gonna sue you, you crazy bitch,” Bailey yells out as she tries to free herself from the other secu
rity man.

  “Ha, you threw the first punch. I’m just defending myself.” I can feel the blood from my nose trickling down as the metallic taste fills my mouth.

  It was true, as soon as I intervened trying to get Margot out of Bailey’s grip, she sucker punched me square in the face. Well, that was all the ammunition I needed to unleash the beast that has been bottled up in me since I was shot. I look over at Margot who is sitting back down and cowering like a frightened child.

  “Get her the fuck out of here,” I scream over to the guard who is trying to subdue Bailey.

  The audience is going crazy. Clapping, yelling out to me. It is pandemonium in here right now.

  She is dragged away while the other guard releases his grip on me and hurries off stage. I’m sure the police have been called in, and it won’t be long before the camera’s stop rolling, and I’m being escorted off for questioning.

  I kneel down next to Margot. My heart is beating a mile a minute, and the audience is still fired up. I have to raise my voice over the applause so Margot can hear me.

  “When relationships are toxic it seems like there is one partner that still thinks it can be salvaged…that the other person will change. But in most abusive relationships that is never the case. The abusive partner is always going to be abusive and controlling.” I place my hand over hers, she looks into my eyes, “This will never get any better, I think you know this.”

  She nods and looks away.

  “I’m truly sorry Margot. I know how much it hurts to let go of someone you love. I know that you feel betrayed and confused. I know it’s hard not to believe everything she has ground into your brain for years…but for your sake and your children, you have to make the right decision.”

  She looks back at me, “You’re right Dr. Laurel. I think I knew it all along. I guess I just needed confirmation.”

  I stand up on shaky legs and reach for my desk. I’m not used to running, nor fist-fighting, and now the adrenaline is wearing off…I need my cane.