by Jayne Lind
Hi there T: Sorry about your dad; the records didn’t show that. In comparison, I guess I grew up in better circumstances than you. But you have really survived nicely, haven’t you—you escaped and made something of yourself. Tells me you have a core of inner strength. If you are serious, I’ll find out about your dad. Otherwise, I’ll leave it alone. So you went overseas to school and just stayed. I must confess I love that city, I’m from there, you know. Or maybe you don’t. Grew up in a good area in a nice, detached house. I can’t say where I went to school, but it was one of the two top, the one nearest to where you live. But as you could tell from my pronunciation, I wasn’t posh. My father just made money, his favourite thing to do. So my part was to make top marks and his part was to pay the way. Not because he wanted to please me, but because he could then boast to his colleagues about his son. I escaped as well, as you know. He couldn’t understand it; he thought I had failed in some way because I didn’t become a barrister making mega-pounds. I won’t be writing for a few days—big job coming up. But don’t worry, that is if you had planned to. I’m okay. Did I tell you about our constant training? We do lots of martial arts and I have a boxing bag in my room where I work out every day. We practice walking on ledges holding on with our fingertips. I’m wanting some praise, or at least admiration—typical guy thing. But we do train hard and constantly. What I’m trying to say in a roundabout way is that I know how to take care of myself. And it is sure helpful to be able to write to you, having someone listen. And, I hope, care. J.
She sat reading his email over and over, not wanting to let it go, not wanting to delete it. He sounded lonely, maybe as lonely as she was. As always, she wrote right back. She couldn’t seem to control her compulsion to write to him. Yet she knew that the best way to interest a man was to be elusive, to make him wonder how you felt about him. Trouble was, she didn’t know herself how she felt about him. All she knew was that, at the moment, he was her only source of companionship.
Dear J: Worried about my work, about the person I’m helping. Things are getting worse. I wish I could talk to you. Yes, I stayed there. I think from the moment I arrived there for graduate school I felt at home. I can’t explain it, but I just felt that was where I belonged. I love the fact that there are no guns, compared to this gun-toting culture over here. And while there are things wrong with every country, I think the one I live in just suits me, that’s all. I think it’s kinder and gentler there, to steal a phrase from a former occupant of this place. Have you been able to do any investigating about my room? And what about my outing in the park—any clues there? Take care of yourself. I do worry about you. T.
She’d noticed that he had stopped signing his emails with the neutral word cheers as he had previously. Did that mean anything? She sat at the computer for a long time, feeling very lonely, worried about Beth, wondering if someone really had been in her room, or if she was just becoming paranoid.
Meanwhile, the world outside this bubble continued. There were wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes, tsunamis, and drought, floods and poverty, one catastrophe after another. The President was frequently gone from the White House. There was seldom a day when he wasn’t making a speech somewhere.
At her request, Taylor had been delivered the entire series of West Wing on DVD. She’d only caught it every once in a while at home and now she averaged watching one an evening, fascinated, because if the series was accurate, it gave a sense of what the President’s life was like. Except that in this fictional account, the president’s wife was a physician, she had very strong opinions about social issues, and most importantly, she stood up to her husband. He couldn’t and didn’t control her.
President Carlson seemed to be on a constant campaign trail, unlike Jeb Bartlett, who always seemed to be either in the Oval Office or the Situation Room. Taylor wondered who was really running the government. She watched this real president a lot on television. He came across as caring, interested in others, interested in bringing justice to the world. There was no doubt about his intelligence. He never needed notes when speaking to the press. He displayed a keen grasp of all the current issues and he exuded charm, his perfectly coiffed thick hair always in place, his expensive looking suits fit perfectly to a lean body
Taylor could understand why Beth had given in to his charisma. It would have been hard for any young, romantically inclined woman to turn him down. Whether he was being interviewed by the press, or making a speech, or just seen out jogging, he seemed very personable. Yes, he was handsome, now in his mid-fifties, with just a touch of graying and slightly receding hair. He had a smile that would match Josh’s and he obviously knew how to use it. Taylor watched him working the crowds, most of whom were women, frantically reaching out a hand to touch him. One would never dream that he made those close to him miserable, that he was or had been, in complete control of Beth. It made her now doubt everyone’s public persona.
It was late afternoon when Taylor was called to see Beth. It was a gloomy day, all the lamps were turned on in this very blue room and the drapes were pulled back, but the room still didn’t look cheery. She was there before Beth arrived.
Looking around, she wished, not for the first time, that they could meet somewhere else. She honestly thought if she had to live in this room, she might become depressed. Jackie Kennedy had wanted to furnish the rooms authentically, but in Taylor’s opinion, if one wasn’t furnishing a museum, one should favor a more upbeat decorating style. The ceiling, the rug that covered the parquet floors, and the wainscoting were white, the only relief from the oppressive Wedgewood blue. She used to like that shade of blue, but now doubted she ever would again.
When Beth arrived, she seemed composed and smiled as she greeted Taylor “How are you today?” she asked.
Taylor laughed, “Well, that’s always a sign a client is getting better, when they start asking about the therapist.”
“Really? Have I not asked you before?”
Taylor smiled, “No, but don’t worry, Beth—I’m just happy you’ve reached that point so soon. I remember being taught that when a client begins to notice the pictures on the wall in your office, you know he or she is feeling better.
”Beth looked around the room with a frown, “Is it because we’re self-centered?”
“No, of course not,” Taylor replied. “It’s just that depression or anxiety, or whatever the problem is, takes precedence over anything else. And when a person comes to your office for help, that’s what he or she is there for. It’s perfectly natural.”
Beth seemed to relax at this and once more looked around the room. “This isn’t a very cheerful room, is it?”
“I was just thinking that before you came in. It seems rather oppressive to me.”
“I’ll speak to Lillian. Maybe we can find another place. Yes, I think we definitely should.”
All this conversation had taken up some of their time, but if it meant they were going to begin meeting somewhere else, Taylor thought it worth it. “So, how are you today?” she asked.
Beth smiled softly before she spoke. “All right. Sam didn’t drink as much last evening. Even though he has a supply of liquor in his office, he usually seems to wait until he’s in the residence to do any heavy drinking. So it’s been peaceful, I would say.”
Taylor was relieved. “Have you spoken to Ben?”
Beth nodded, “Yes, I phoned him last night. He was with friends, so we didn’t talk long.”
“Is he okay?”
“He says he is. He’s worried about me, but other than that, he says he’s happy about his decision, and even said he’s relieved—relieved because he doesn’t have to face his dad anymore.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m afraid,” Beth blurted out. “I’m afraid of Sam’s reaction when he finds out. He will be furious.”
“And he’ll take it out on you?”
She nodded. �
��Sure, Ben won’t be around, so of course he’ll take it out on me.”
Taylor thought this over for a moment before she said, “Do you actually have to tell him? I mean, couldn’t you just wait until it comes up, till he notices that Ben hasn’t been around for awhile?”
Beth gazed at Taylor with a winsome look on her face. “I guess so. I guess I could postpone it, wait until it actually happens. Thanks, that helps me, to realize I don’t have to say anything anytime soon.”
“Good. I want you to get stronger before there is a confrontation like that, at least I hope there will be time for you to get better. It seems with the Prozac and with the therapy, your depression has lifted quite a bit. What do you think?”
Beth nodded enthusiastically. ”Oh, yes Taylor, I really am beginning to feel like my old self. It’s amazing—I had lost hope, you know? I didn’t think there was any way out of all this, but now I seem to be thinking clearly. Nothing has changed. I’m still trapped here, I still have to perform, I still have to smile all the time and Sam is still like he is.”
“Well, I’m sure the Prozac is really working now, and maybe having me to talk to has helped a bit as well.”
Beth’s eyes grew wide, “Oh, Taylor, I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” she laughed, “I know what you meant—the antidepressant doesn’t solve all your problems. What it does do is enable you to cope better.”
“How does it work?” Beth asked.
“Well, we all have neurotransmitters,” Taylor replied, “chemicals, in our brain. These are like messengers, going between the synapses, firing off when there are messages to be sent. I like to think of the brain as a factory, a factory that produces the chemicals. One particular chemical, serotonin, makes us feel good.”
Beth nodded, attentive.
“When a person is depressed, not enough serotonin is being produced, so an antidepressant kick starts the factory, gets it going again.”
“So then does it, the brain then begin producing on its own?”
“Sometimes. It depends upon the type of depression. If a depression is caused by genetics, if a person has been chronically depressed, maybe for years, then that person probably will always need an antidepressant.”
“And in my case?”
“Well, Beth, you weren’t ever depressed before were you? You weren’t happy in your marriage, but it wasn’t until you moved into this place, this cage as you call it, and by the way I’ve begun to think of it that way as well, you weren’t depressed. So in your case, after all this is over,” Taylor gestured around the room with one hand, “you probably will be able to go off of them.” With an ordinary client, Taylor would have given her the same depression test she would have used in the beginning. That way she would have proof of the extent of the lifting of her mood. Instead, everything had to be done verbally. “Are you sleeping well?”
“Yes, most of the time,” Beth replied, “except for Saturday night after the terrible weekend at Camp David.”
“What about your appetite? You were eating less when I first began to see you.”
“Um, yes—I do seem to have more of a normal appetite. I had lost ten pounds before you came and before I began taking Prozac.” She laughed, “I’d actually like to keep those ten pounds off—will I?”
Taylor smiled as she replied, “I don’t know Beth, I can’t answer that, but wouldn’t you rather put those ten pounds back on than be depressed?”
“Oh, yes, I don’t ever want to go back to feeling that way again.”
“Remember, antidepressants don’t solve your problems. They simply allow you to cope better in the midst of the problems.”
“Are they addictive? Am I always going to have to take them in order to cope?” Beth asked, in an anxious tone of voice.
“No, definitely not,” Taylor responded. “One can become psychologically addicted, you can think you need them to cope, but they are not physically addictive. If you stop taking the Prozac, you need to withdraw gradually, because your brain is used to them and you may have some physical side effects if you stop suddenly, such as headaches.”
“So what do you think?” Beth asked. “Do you think I will eventually be able to do without them? I’m not a person who likes to take pills.”
“I don’t know the future, Beth. I don’t know what will happen with you and your marriage and your family. One thing you do know for sure is that you won’t be living here forever.”
“Yes, that’s what I keep telling myself. There will be an end some day to this place which I’ve grown to hate.”
“Where do you think you’ll go after this?”
Beth was silent for a moment. She sat back and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “I don’t know where Sam will go, where he will live, but as for me, I’m going to go back to Vermont, to live with my mother, to take care of her as she ages.”
Taylor was more than a little surprised at this announcement and also with the certainty in Beth’s voice. “Do you mean you’re going to separate from Sam?”
Beth nodded, “Yes. I’ve decided I can no longer live with him, that I won’t live with him.”
She certainly was different than when Taylor first saw her, Taylor thought, when the depression was deep. “Divorce?” she queried.
“I don’t know. If he wants to divorce me, it’s fine. I won’t instigate it. I know I sure don’t want to ever get married again, so it really doesn’t matter to me if we are divorced or not. But I can’t, I won’t live with him any longer.”
Taylor was happy that Beth seemed to be stronger now. She definitely didn’t seem as depressed as before, yet she could have as much as five more years here with Sam and in the White House. “When did this happen? When did you make this decision?” she asked.
“After our last session, after the weekend, after seeing that look on Sam’s face, and how he treated Ben. And you know, Taylor, when I decided that, I suddenly felt so much better. Even if we do have to stay here another five years, at least I now know I won’t live with him forever.”
“And that brings you hope....”
“Yes! It’s amazing! As soon as I made that decision, I felt somehow lighter, you know? Like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.”
“I’m relieved for you and I can certainly understand why that would make you feel better, but five years is a long time. Do you think you can cope that long?”
Beth looked at Taylor a few moments before she said, “I’ve also made another decision. I’m going to move out of the bedroom.”
Move out of the bedroom, that was liable to set the President off big-time. In most men’s eyes, that was tantamount to separating. While Taylor wanted Beth to be an individual, while as her therapist she wanted her to get completely well, she was still concerned about Sam’s reaction to this decision. “How, I mean, how will you physically do this, move to another bedroom?”
Beth was silent for a moment and then with a serious look said, “You know you once asked me if I had read about other first ladies. I have and there were some here and there who had their own bedroom. Whether they ever slept with their husband, I don’t know, but at least they had a choice.”
“What do you think Sam’s reaction will be?”
“I think he will be furious.”
“Does that frighten you?”
“Yes and no. I guess I’m getting so used to his being angry at me all the time that it will just be one more thing.”
They both sat without speaking for a moment. Taylor wanted Beth to have the freedom of her own room, a room where she could lock the door if she needed to, a place of retreat, a place to be herself, but she was worried about the President’s temper. This might be the final straw that would pitch him over the edge.
Beth seemed in no hurry today though and surprised Taylor by saying, “I don’t know if this is allowed.
I haven’t ever been in therapy before, but I keep wondering how this is for you, being here in the White House, being restricted, and having left your life behind in London.”
Taylor smiled, “Of course, it’s allowed, as you put it.” Actually, it wasn’t good therapy to talk about yourself in sessions, unless something from your own life would bring a point home. However, she often self-revealed, the technical term. She really didn’t know how much other therapists did, but it always seemed unnatural to her to have such an intimate relationship be totally one-sided. After all, she wasn’t going to tell her about her love life or her childhood, was she? Taylor went on, “Well, since you asked, I can certainly understand why you call it a cage. I do miss my freedom and frankly, I’m already homesick.”
“I’ve wondered if it wasn’t true for you also. Hopefully, I’ll get better soon and you can go back to your life.”
Taylor nodded in agreement, “Yes, when you’re well we will both be happier. You’ve sacrificed a lot living here, being the First Lady.”
Beth’s head rose up and she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, not any more than others have. Except..”
“Yes?” Taylor asked.
“Except that some of them must have either enjoyed the trappings of this place….”
“The trappings of power…” Taylor finished her sentence for her as she hesitated.
“Yes, that’s the right word. And the trappings of wealth. I mean I’ve never had servants before, other than a cleaning lady once a week. Here, everyone is at your beck and call. I don’t have to lift a finger. And that’s not me—it just isn’t me, Taylor. I’ve read books written by other first ladies, but I wondered if they were telling the whole truth, you know? I mean, if I wrote a book after I left here, I still probably wouldn’t want to tell the world how he really is.”
“You would want to protect him,” Taylor said.
Beth looked at her with a steady gaze. Finally, she spoke quietly, “I think that being here, in this position of power, one falls under some kind of curse.”