What Looks Like Crazy

by Charlotte Hughes

  “Come in.”

  He stepped inside. “It’s about Thad. I know he’s concerned about me after I split up with Lucille, but he’s driving me crazy. He thinks he has to spend every minute with me. I need some time to myself, you know. I’m sort of trying to pursue a new relationship.”

  As I listened, I realized that human beings were incapable of living simple, uncomplicated lives and relationships were rife with misunderstandings. It was so much easier hanging out with a wiry-haired dog whose only hang-up was that she sometimes licked her butt. I suddenly understood why Thomas’s best friend had been a hog.

  “Oops, I forgot to tell you. Alice Smithers called earlier,” Mona said shortly after she returned from the chiropractor. I lay on my sofa with my eyes closed. “She wanted to see if you could work her in. You had a cancellation at two o’clock, so I put her down. Why are you lying down? Are you not feeling well? I knew you should have taken more time to heal before returning to work.”

  “I’m meditating,” I said.

  “Then it won’t bother you if I sit in here and talk, right?” She took the chair beside the sofa.

  “The object of meditation is to be silent,” I told her.

  “Oh, okay.”

  I took a deep calming breath.

  “For how long?” Mona asked after a few minutes.

  “However long it takes.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  A minute passed. Mona sighed.

  “Is there something you wanted to discuss with me?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you, but I’m afraid not to tell you. If I tell you, it’s just going to stress you out, and probably nothing will come of it—”

  I opened my eyes. “Mona?”

  “But then if something bad happened, I would never forgive myself.”

  “Would you just tell me, for Pete’s sake!”

  “That guy called,” she said. “The weird one,” she added.

  I just looked at her. “I know this sounds sad, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “The guy that accused you of being a troublemaker,” she said.

  “Just what I need.”

  “He got mad at me because I wouldn’t pass him through to you. I told him you were in a session.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said he was giving you one more chance, but if you didn’t stop making trouble, you were going to pay.”

  I felt the back of my neck prickle. “Did he have a speech impediment? A lisp?”

  “Yes. I told him I was going to have his call traced and report him to the police, but he laughed at me and hung up. He was probably calling from a pay phone.” She paused. “Do you think we should contact the police?”

  “And tell them what?” I asked. “We don’t know who the caller is.”

  “Of course we do. It’s some nut from Bitsy’s church,” she said. “Maybe if the police went over and questioned people, it would scare him and he’d stop.”

  “I’ll call Bitsy later and threaten to file a police report if she doesn’t stop harassing me,” I said. “For what it’s worth,” I added. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get any peace until the statue was gone.

  I was surprised and delighted to find Alice Smithers wearing a fashionable outfit when she arrived. She’d even used blush. I could tell Mona was impressed. Unfortunately Alice didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked mad as hell.

  “Look at this!” she said, yanking a slip of paper from her purse. “It’s my Visa bill.”

  I saw several charges for gasoline, one for books from a Barnes & Noble, and another for shoes. “Four hundred and fifty dollars for a pair of Prada high heels? Wow!” I said.

  “Wow is right!” Alice said. “Liz stole my credit card. Are you believing that?”

  “Actually, I’m stunned. Where on earth can you buy Prada heels for four hundred and fifty dollars?” I made a note of the store.

  “Naturally, my card is still missing,” Alice said.

  “Did you report it?”

  “Right away,” she said. “I reported it to the police as well. And guess what else? Liz hasn’t returned for her things. They were still sitting outside my door when I left for work this morning.”

  I was as surprised by Alice’s anger as I was by her attire. “Good for you,” I said, “for taking immediate action.”

  “I’m tired of people walking all over me, Kate. I can’t believe I allowed my boss and his wife to treat me like they did. I told them I was going to an attorney.”

  “Really? What did they say?”

  “They said I was making a serious mistake. They gave me this crap about how they have tried to be fair with me under the circumstances, whatever that means, but I didn’t fall for one word of it. They’re vultures, just like Liz and Roy.” She leaned closer. “Of course, I can’t really afford a lawyer, but they don’t know that. I figured it would keep them off my butt until I find the job I deserve.”

  I felt like applauding the change in Alice’s attitude. Gone was the doormat of a woman who had come to me previously. Even her posture had changed: shoulders thrown back, chin hitched high. “I’m so proud of you, Alice,” I said, and meant it. “I know anger feels uncomfortable, but sometimes you have to allow yourself to experience it.”

  “I’ve been angry for a very long time,” she said. “Maybe all my life. I feel like it has been sitting just under the surface waiting to come out. Like a ticking time bomb,” she added. “Oh, boy, I have to go,” she said, checking her wristwatch.

  “But you just got here.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been dealing with the police, and I need to get back to the office,” she said. “Besides, I’m done.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “There’s a reason you’ve had problems standing up for yourself most of your life, Alice. A reason you haven’t been able to set boundaries with people. It didn’t happen overnight.”

  “I don’t know why people like you try to make your patients feel bad about themselves,” she blurted.

  I was surprised by her words and tone. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

  “You want to know why I have so many problems with relationships, and you’re determined to dig and dig, and you don’t care how much it hurts. Well, let me give you the short version. My mother is a big fat drunk who was never there for me. Is that what you want to hear, Kate?”

  “I just want to help,” I said, realizing I had just pushed past Alice’s No Trespassing sign.

  “She’s in her late sixties now, and can’t understand why I don’t visit. If you want to find out what makes people do the things they do, call her.”

  I followed Alice into the reception area. She dropped a wad of cash onto Mona’s desk and left without a word. “Looks like you botched that one,” Mona said under her breath.

  I ignored her and turned to where Arnie Decker, the ex-Marine, was waiting. He wore sandals, and his toenails were painted.

  “I didn’t realize we had an appointment today, Mr. Decker,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m not here for therapy,” he said. “Nancy is giving me a manicure today.”

  I had just finished up with a patient and was going through my appointment book when Mona tapped on the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. She’d worn the neck brace all day and it was getting on my nerves, but, then, I was just having a bad day.

  “Your aunt Lou is here to see you,” she said. “And she’s wearing one hundred percent polyester.”

  “Did she say what she wanted?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  I gave a monumental sigh and followed Mona into the reception room with a large fake smile plastered to my face. “Aunt Lou, what a surprise,” I said.

  “I need to talk to you, Kate,” she said. Her smoker’s voice made her sound as though her larynx had been raked over gravel. “It’s personal.” She looked at Mona. “No offense.”


  Mona smiled. “No problem.”

  “Sure, Aunt Lou.” I motioned her inside my office and closed the door. I wondered whether Lucien had done something. He was always getting into some kind of trouble. Uncle Bump had called me for advice on more than one occasion. “Have a seat,” I said.

  She sat on my sofa. “This is very embarrassing. I hate going to doctors. I can’t remember the last time I did.”

  She wore no makeup and her face was leathery, but Aunt Lou did not strike me as a woman who would care about face moisturizer. “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’m miserable. I’ve got this damn itch inside my vagina.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Mostly I was sorry that I was forced to think about Aunt Lou’s vagina.

  “I’m sure it’s a blasted yeast infection, but I’ve tried everything and I can’t get rid of it. I’ve even tried yogurt.”

  “Did you say yogurt?”

  “It’s an old home remedy. Have you ever tried to scoop a whole container of yogurt into your vagina?”

  “No, Aunt Lou, I haven’t.”

  “Well, it’s a bitch keeping the stuff in, let me tell you.”

  It was not an image I wanted to wrap my mind around. “So, how can I help you? I mean, I’m more than happy to listen, but—”

  “I’d like for you to write me a prescription for something to stop this damn infernal itching.”

  “I can’t write prescriptions.”

  “You’re a doctor, for God’s sake. People call you Dr. Holly. I’ve heard them.”

  “We’ve had this talk before, Aunt Lou,” I said calmly, “when you had hemorrhoids.”

  “Yes, but that was before you got this fancy office and started seeing patients.”

  “You need an MD to prescribe medication.”

  “What the hell are you?”

  “I’m a Ph.D. I have a doctorate in clinical psychology. I’m not licensed to practice medicine or write prescriptions.”

  “I know what this is about. You’re thinking I don’t plan to pay you. You think I’m looking for a handout.”

  “That thought never crossed my mind, Aunt Lou, but it doesn’t change anything. You need a medical doctor. I’ll be glad to give you the name of mine, but that’s the best I can do.”

  She didn’t look happy. “I’m the one who talked Lucien into giving your mother a discount on her big party,” she said, “and this is the thanks I get?”

  She fumbled with the latch on her purse, and I feared she was reaching for her ice pick. Instead she pulled out her car keys. “I could maybe get you a free manicure while you’re here,” I said.

  She stood. “I don’t need a manicure. Sorry I bothered you,” she said with a huff.

  I walked her out. “How’s Uncle Bump?”

  She gave a grunt. “Don’t get me started. You’re lucky Jay left you when he did, because the older men get, the needier they get. Remember that the next time you start feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I will.”

  She looked at Mona. “I hope your neck gets better, young lady. Don’t forget what I told you about using kerosene.”

  Mona smiled and tapped the side of her head. “I’ve got it stored right up here.”

  Aunt Lou gave me a hard look. “Just so you know, I’m going to try not to hold this against you, but I’m not making any promises.” She opened the door and walked out.

  “Uh-oh,” Mona said. “What’s with her?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I started for my office and turned. “What’s with the kerosene?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  I figured we were both right.

  chapter 14

  Cynthia Reed and her father arrived at four thirty, wearing tense looks. As I greeted them, Mona handed me several phone messages.

  “Harold Fry called?” I asked before joining Cynthia and her father inside my office. “What did he say? Did he tell you where he was? Did he leave a number?”

  “No, but he promised to call back.”

  “If he does, put him through to me, even if I’m in a session.”

  Cynthia and her father took seats at opposite ends of the sofa. Mr. Reed was immaculately dressed in a formfitting suit, a white dress shirt, and a gray tie. “Thank you for joining us today, Mr. Reed,” I said, sitting in my usual chair. “Did Cynthia mention why she wanted you to be here?”

  He looked at his daughter. “Only that she needed to talk to me with her therapist present. I didn’t know she was seeing a therapist. Just plastic surgeons,” he added with a sigh.

  “Dad, don’t start giving me a hard time, okay? It’s my money.” She crossed her arms. “That’s not why I asked you to come.”

  “I’m concerned that you’re getting obsessed, Doodlebug.”

  Cynthia threw up her arms in disgust and looked at me. “Did you hear what he just called me?”

  Mr. Reed smacked his forehead. “I’m sorry, Cynthia.” He looked at me. “I’ve been calling her that since, well, since she was an infant.”

  “Why did you choose that particular nickname for your daughter?” I asked.

  He paused in thought. “Let me think.” He suddenly smiled. “Now I remember. When Cynthia was a newborn, she used to draw her legs to her chest and curl into a tight ball.” He chuckled. “We later learned it was gas, but she reminded me of a little doodlebug.”

  I saw that he had Cindy’s undivided attention.

  “Why did you wait until now to tell me that?” she demanded.

  He looked confused. “You never asked.”

  “Dammit, Dad!” she said.

  “What? It was a silly nickname. It made you giggle when you were a little girl. Then you turned twelve years old and hated it.”

  “When I was twelve, I was fat and wearing braces!” she said, picking up a throw pillow and hitting him with it.

  Startled, he jumped. “You weren’t fat! What has gotten into you?”

  “I think we need to call a time-out,” I said.

  “Doodlebugs are fat,” Cynthia said. “You made me feel fat. Why else would you have put everybody on a strict diet and exercise regimen if you didn’t think I was fat?” She hit him with the pillow again. “You became a fanatic, insisting we watch everything we put in our mouths. Then every Monday we had to weigh in so you could record it.”

  “Cynthia, please don’t hit your father with the pillow. Otherwise we’re going to have to stop the session.”

  She ignored me and hit him again. “You were like a drill instructor!” she said. “I became so self-conscious, I started skipping lunch at school. I was starving myself! Starving!” she shouted. She hit him in the head, and his glasses flew off.

  “Stop it, Cynthia!” I said loudly. “Hitting is not permitted.”

  I heard a knock at my door. Mona looked in. “Is everything okay?”

  Cynthia burst into tears.

  Her father reached for her. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Should I call security?” Mona asked me.

  I shook my head, but I was perched on the edge of my seat, not knowing what to expect next. I knew I was close to losing control of the session. In her pain, Cynthia seemed to be regressing, as though she were twelve years old again. I could tell Mona was concerned.

  Cynthia glared at her father, even though the tears flowed freely. “How can you be sorry when you’re still doing it? You’re driving Mom crazy, and for what? She’s going through menopause, and her body is going wacko on her. She gained thirty pounds. The woman is having mood swings and hot flashes, but instead of supporting her, you hound her night and day about her weight. That sucks! She’s starving herself, just like I did when I was twelve years old!”

  Mr. Reed reached for her again. She pushed him away again. “Besides, who are you to judge Mother, when you used to have a weight problem yourself?”

  “That’s precisely why I did it,” he said. “Because I started putting on weight
,” he added. “Both of my parents had weight problems. My father died of a heart attack when he was only forty-two. My mother became diabetic.” He paused and clasped his hands together and stared at them while his daughter cried.

  “I was two years younger than my father when I had my heart attack,” he said.

  Cynthia snapped her head up. “What?”

  Sudden tears filled his eyes. “That’s right, Cynthia. You were ten years old at the time, and I was forty years old, forty pounds overweight, and smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. I was on the golf course when it happened.”

  “You never told me that!”

  “I didn’t tell anyone. Not even your mother.”

  Cynthia just looked at him, her mouth agape.

  “It’s true, honey. I didn’t want to worry her. But it was a wake-up call for me.” He wiped his eyes. “I was very scared for a long time. I guess I became irrational. A fanatic, like you said.” He looked away, as if embarrassed.

  Cynthia scooted closer and took his hand. “Oh, Daddy, I wish you had told us. All this time I thought you were ashamed of us. Of me,” she added. “Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a fat girl. A fat girl who never measured up. Why do you think I’ve had all these damned surgeries? I mean, just look at me!”

  “Look at her lips,” Mona mumbled. I shot her a glare. Fortunately Cynthia was trying to comfort her father and didn’t seem to hear.

  Cynthia’s father looked at her. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  They embraced. Cynthia looked up suddenly. “Are you okay now? I mean, is your heart okay?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  Mona sniffed and reached for a tissue and sat on the arm of the sofa. “This is so beautiful. I feel so lucky to have been a part of this.”

  I was touched as well.

  “Please don’t have any more surgery,” Mr. Reed said to Cynthia.

  “I promise,” she said. “But we have to tell Mom the truth. We have to get things out in the open, Daddy.”

  “We’ll tell her together, Cynthia.”

  “Doodlebug,” she corrected with a tearful smile. “From now on, I want you to call me Doodlebug.”

  Mona and I slipped from the room, as though we both understood the two needed a moment alone.