by Kyra Davis
I took a deep breath. “Jeremiah, I’m fine…There’s just something I forgot I had to do. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah, all right, if you say so. Look, you call me if you need me, got it?”
“Got it.” I walked out to the living room and said my goodbyes to Dallas and Gary. Jeremiah escorted me to the door.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said definitively. He held the door for me and I forced myself to walk—not run—out of it.
When I got to my car I tried to figure out where to go next. Home was out of the question. What if Tad had left work early? How the hell was he going to explain that wall to his partners? I thought about his bizarre comments regarding Sean.
Suddenly I knew who I needed to talk to. I pulled the Club off my steering wheel and headed for Dawson’s.
When I got to the cosmetics department Caleb was finishing discussing something with the Clinique counter manager. I pretended to look at the items displayed at an adjacent counter until he eventually noticed me. I mouthed the words Need to talk.
He gave me a quick nod of acknowledgment before returning his attention to the manager. A few minutes later he was by my side.
He took a decorative bottle of eau de toilette out of my hand. “Don’t try this one, you’ll regret if for the rest of the day.” He regarded my still-damp wrists and lifted one up to his nose. “This is nice. L’eau de Cuervo, is it?”
“I’ve had a really bad day,” I answered. “Do you have time?”
“For you? Always.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t exactly a five-minute crisis. I need to unburden on you.” I moved my hands over my face and then pulled my skin back in a this-is-me-after-collagen kind of way. “I shouldn’t have come—you can’t deal with this at work. I can’t even deal with this at home.”
Caleb furrowed his brow before beckoning to one of the makeup artists behind the Estée Lauder counter. “Denise, spread the word that I’ll be in a meeting and am not to be disturbed unless there’s an emergency.”
“Got it.” Denise’s brown bob bounced as she vigorously nodded her head.
“I’m talking asteroid-hitting-the-earth kind of emergency, okay?”
Again Denise readily agreed and then scampered off to do Caleb’s bidding. He leaned over to me conspiratorially. “It’s good to be the king.” He then made a sweeping gesture in the direction of his office. “Shall we?”
We walked across the floor and stepped through an unobtrusive-looking door that led to the only Dawson’s manager’s office (outside of Liz’s) that actually looked like an office. Caleb had a real desk, with drawers and everything, and he even had space for two filing cabinets. He gestured for me to sit.
“You’re a mess,” he noted. “You didn’t style your hair, your long-sleeve tee might as well have a sign on it reading Time for Goodwill, and worse yet, you’re not wearing any makeup. What happened?”
“Something is wrong with my marriage. And something is very, very wrong with Tad.”
Caleb scooted his chair closer to mine. “Tell me.”
Where to start? “He scratches the walls.”
“Excuse me?”
“When he thinks I’m asleep he takes his nails to the walls and he scratches. It’s like a cat sharpening its claws, except cats are more…emotional about it. Tad just sort of—” I searched for the right words “—zones out. He zones out and he scratches.”
“Well,” said Caleb slowly, “maybe it’s just a nervous tic.”
“A nervous tic,” I repeated. “Right, that could be it.”
“Lots of people have them,” Caleb said.
“Like that thing Shelley Long did with her face while playing Diane on Cheers.”
“Exactly.”
“Or the way Julia Roberts was always fidgeting with her jewelry in Pretty Woman.”
“Another perfect example,” he agreed.
“Or that thing Jack Nicholson would do with his ax in The Shining.”
“Oh, come on…” Caleb rolled his eyes. “Unless rivers of blood have been running through your hallway, I think you can rule out the possibility of Tad being possessed.”
“He forged my name on a credit card application, had it sent to a P.O. Box, charged it up to eleven thousand some odd dollars and then didn’t pay it for two months.”
Caleb’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. For a full minute I waited while he struggled to come up with a response.
I buried my face in my hands. How bad was my life that its retelling left the master of witty repartee speechless?
I felt Caleb’s hand on my knee and I looked up at him pleadingly.
“How did you find out?” he asked.
I let it all spill—the phone call, the office visit, Tad’s weird remarks, Jeremiah’s account of Tad and Jackie’s dealings with him in the past, everything. I knew that it would skew Caleb’s view of Tad forever, but I needed to talk to someone who I knew would never steer me wrong or pull a punch.
Caleb listened intently. A few times during my account his phone rang but he just pressed a button and had the call forwarded to voice mail. It occurred to me that if Caleb would have had the decency to stay in the closet, I would have married him.
By the time I was done, Caleb was staring at the floor. When Caleb avoided eye contact it meant he had a big bomb to drop. Finally he took a deep breath. “April, is there any chance that Tad is doing drugs?”
I froze. Tad on drugs? I reviewed everything that had happened up to that point. The scratching, the erratic behavior and mood swings, the honeymoon, the money issues…drugs would explain all of it. Drug abuse was a serious problem, no question about it, but it also would mean…I felt a small twinge of hope fluttering in my belly; if Tad was using drugs his behavior would make sense! My problems would have a name and a solution!
I stood up, unable to contain my mounting excitement. “You’re right, of course, you’re right! He’s just been hiding it from me, that’s all.”
Caleb gave me a funny look but I think it was in response to my smile rather than my words. “Have you ever seen him do any?”
“No…well, that’s not true—once every blue moon he has a joint. I’ve seen him do that.” I shook my head. “God, how could I have been so blind?”
“April sweetie, contrary to what those public service ads say, a hash brownie does not a heroine addict make.” He swiveled back and forth in his chair. “However, the conduct you’ve described would be consistent with that of a cokehead. Have you noticed him sniffing a lot?”
I dug my teeth into my lip and tried to conjure up a helpful memory. “Oh!” I snapped my fingers in the air. “Two weeks ago we had dinner at Sean’s house—he’s one of the partners at SMB. Tad was sniffing the whole time. He blamed it on the cat. God, what an idiot I was to buy that one, huh?”
“Um, is he allergic to cats?”
“Well, he says he is, but addicts lie to cover for their habit. Come on, Caleb, I know you saw that episode of Oprah. Maybe…maybe he has been coordinating his drug use with the times he knew he would be in the presence of a cat! That would make sense, right?”
Caleb stared at me like I had begun to grow a second head.
I clapped my hands together impatiently, “Come on, Caleb, I like your explanation—help me make it work!”
He nodded solemnly and tapped his finger against his chin. “Maybe he’s not sniffing it. Maybe he’s smoking it instead.”
“Crack?” I asked doubtfully. Tad wouldn’t even touch a scotch that was less than thirty years old, so I had a hard time picturing him forsaking cocaine in order to indulge in a cheaper substitute.
“Who knows, I’m not exactly an expert,” Caleb sighed. “Drugs are one of the few vices that I’ve never really indulged in.” He met my eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, that’s the great thing about addiction.” I put my hands on my hips authoritatively. “There are steps I’m supposed to take. Steps that someon
e else has already thought up for me. First I confront him. He’ll probably respond by getting angry and defensive because that’s what addicts do…”
Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Oprah again?”
“No, that’s from Dr. Phil. But who knows, maybe Tad’s hit bottom and he’ll admit to having a problem immediately. If not, I stage an intervention.”
“Now, that’s Oprah, right?”
“The point is, I can handle this.” I leaned down and gave Caleb a tight embrace. “I can handle this, Caleb. It’s going to be rough but we’ll work it out.”
Caleb used the fact that I was precariously balanced to his advantage and pulled me down onto his lap. He wrapped an arm around my waist to help stabilize me. “Hon, you need to think this through a little more. People on drugs can be dangerous and it sounds like Tad is in a real bad place right now.”
I flashed back to the moment Tad had grabbed my arm, the fist through the wall, even the argument we had over the rent. I had seen the look in his eyes. He had wanted to hit me. But the important part was that he hadn’t. Even while I was threatening to cut off his penis Tad had still managed to control himself. That said something. Tad did pose a threat to me, but not the kind that Caleb was talking about. “Tad wouldn’t hurt me,” I said with more confidence than I had a right to. “On the other hand, if I don’t do something soon my credit might be put on death row.”
It was after six by the time I came home. One of the local radio stations was doing a “best of the ’80s” feature and “Purple Rain” started blasting through my speakers just as I pulled into the spot in front of our garage. I sat through the whole damn thing, including the two-minute guitar solo. That song did seem to speak to my situation, but I had learned early in life that when on the brink of depression pretty much every sad ballad seemed to be written specifically for me. Plus, I would have been willing to listen to an extended rendition of “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” performed by *NSYNC if that’s what it took to prolong the inevitable. I nibbled on my nails and looked at the front door.
“On the count of three,” I instructed myself. “One, two…” I got out of the car and went inside the house.
The first thing I noted was the sound of Mozart. I hung up my coat and took a moment to see if I could recognize the movement. I wasn’t very good at that kind of thing but Tad could name a composer, movement and symphony after hearing three notes. When we were first dating I had asked him what it was about classical music that spoke to him. His answer was that it centered him. I remember being struck by his choice of words; Tad wasn’t one of those people who went around trying to find his center. Now I was thrilled to hear the music; maybe it had brought him back from left field.
I found him in the kitchen. He sat at our small wood table with a half-filled glass and a quarter-filled wine bottle. My eyes zeroed in on the red liquid. Maybe the drug was alcohol. It didn’t fit as well as cocaine but anything was possible. I tried to envision a future filled with apple cider and near beer.
Tad looked up from his glass and offered me a somewhat apologetic grin. “I know it’s in bad taste to drink alone but I’m having a really bad day.”
I retrieved a glass for myself and emptied the rest of the bottle into it. “Bad day or bad trip?”
Tad looked genuinely confused. “I don’t understand.” He was slurring his words. One look at the empty whiskey glass by the sink told me that he had started with something harder than Merlot.
I took a long sip of wine from his glass. Tad would probably feel better about AA if I qualified for the codependents group. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to look at him. “Tad, have you been using drugs?”
Tad wrinkled his forehead. “Wha…?” Then shook his head.
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. You’ve been making a good income and yet we can’t seem to pay the bills. You basically stole money from me and your moods have been…all over the place.” He was no longer looking at me, which made it easier to press on. “Tad, if you have a problem, I’ll help you. I won’t leave, not as long as you tell me and take steps to effectively deal with it.”
He scoffed. “You didn’t look like a woman that was ready to stand by her man this morning.”
“That was because I was completely pissed off. And I still am, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Just…let me help, okay? Let’s find a way through this.”
Tad looked into my eyes and I could see the beginning of tears. “I’m not an addict, April. It’s been over four months since I’ve had any weed and I haven’t done anything harder since college…but…April, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I think we’ve established that.”
His mouth began to tremble and he dropped his head into his arms that were now folded onto the table. I felt an aching in my heart and I put a supportive hand on his shoulder. “I…I shouldn’t have interrupted,” I said. “You can talk to me.”
“I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have sent in that credit card application.”
I put down my wineglass and stroked his hair. “Is that an apology?”
Tad pulled himself up a little. “Please, April, if you interrupt me I’ll never get through this.” He wiped away his tears.
Some of my sympathy fell by the wayside.
“I have these plans for the business. I know where I want to take it. I can see it…in my head.” He tapped his forehead. “And once we get there we’ll have more money than we’ll know what to do with, but you have to spend money to make money and Eric and Sean just don’t get that.”
“You’re losing me. What do your plans for SMB have to do with your acting like a prick?”
“I’m not a prick,” he snapped, and I instantly regretted my choice of words. I was going to have to do a better job of balancing my wifely support with my righteous fury.
“Eric and Sean just won’t listen—they’re ruining everything—and I just feel…anxious. I keep coming up with plans that will make the business better and they thwart me every time. Now I’m at the point that I’m beyond angry. It’s like something dangerous inside me is about to be cracked open.”
I swallowed and pushed aside images of the Incredible Hulk. “So you ran out of money while trying to advance your business and that’s when you opened a credit card under my name—to pay for the things in your personal life.” Who would have thought that of all the issues that needed to be addressed, credit fraud would end up being the easier one to deal with?
“I was going to pay it off,” he moaned. “I still am…It’s just going to take longer than I thought. But I have a large commission check coming in soon that should wipe out everything.”
“Why did we have a wedding at the Ritz if the money wasn’t there? I swear, Tad, if you had asked me to hightail it to Vegas to be married by an Elvis impersonator I would have been all over it.”
“I didn’t want that for us.” He pounded his fist for emphasis. “We deserve better, and soon the money thing won’t even be an issue. I swear to you, April, we are going to be rolling in it.”
“You need help. We need help.”
Tad nodded. “If you want me to go to counseling with you I will.”
“Don’t you want to?”
He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and pleading. “I want you. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you with me.”
The next morning I had what Caleb would call an emotional hangover, which is five times worse than a hangover induced by alcohol because it takes five times longer to go away. I had resisted the temptation to make Tad sleep on the couch and I even let him hold me through the night, but his hands felt uncomfortable against my skin. I had this sinking feeling that nothing had been resolved. But I wanted to believe differently. As I watched Tad pour coffee into two cheery-looking mugs, I decided that I would have to work on my ability to live in denial.
Judging from Tad’s careful movements and whispered words, I assessed that his
hangover was of the traditional sort. That wasn’t such a bad thing since it provided us with an excuse to keep the talking to a minimum. My mind traveled back to his slurred speech of the night before. It was foolish to rule out the addiction possibility so early on in the game, but it was beginning to seem unlikely. Not that he didn’t drink too much at times, but I suspected that the drinking was just a symptom of a much bigger problem. Plus, when I had asked him about drugs he didn’t get defensive. Not only was that the MO of most addicts, but it was also Tad’s personal M.O. He hadn’t even tried to turn the argument around and make everything my fault. And he had been so emotionally raw. I had felt for him, but not enough to really forgive him.
By the time we were standing in the threshold of our front door, I was able to muster up the strength to say something marginally meaningful. “Tad, I need you to tell me if there’s anything else.”
Tad blanched. He had his briefcase in hand and one arm inside his overcoat. “Anything else?” he repeated.
“I’m going to work really hard on the forgiveness thing but I can’t take any more surprises. If there’s more that you’re hiding from me I need you to tell me now…Otherwise…” I swallowed and looked down at my ring. For the first time I saw it as garish rather than simply extravagant. “If you continue to lie to me and keep secrets, I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
Tad slowly put his other arm in his coat, then after putting down his briefcase he drew me forward, putting his hands on either side of my waist. “There’s nothing else. I will never lie to you again, April. I promise.”
This was one of those times when it didn’t make sense to trust my husband. Even at that moment I knew it…but I really, really didn’t want to know it. I pulled back and transferred my keys from hand to hand. “I believe you, Tad.” But my inner voice was talking to me now. Screaming, in fact, and the unspoken words reverberated through my head. You’re a fool.
Work was hell. Allie called down from her department; she was angry at me beyond words. She kept sputtering that by not interrupting her little lovefest in order to tell her I was leaving I had broken the girlfriend’s code of etiquette. Maybe she was right, but I hadn’t been in a state of mind that was conducive to hearing her gush about her musician’s fine instrument. I apologized and pled a migraine. I simply couldn’t tell her the truth over the phone.