by Max Hudson
Connie Miller was a short, middle-aged woman with long, wavy, brown hair streaked sporadically with grey and thick laugh lines surrounding her mouth. She was wearing a shiny cream-colored blouse which was tucked into a navy pencil skirt that perfectly matched her pointed high heels. There was a pen tucked behind her left ear and in her arms was an old-school yellow legal pad. Her eyes were slightly squinting as though she was meant to be wearing glasses but wasn't, for the sake of fashion. “Hi,” Oscar croaked, realizing too late that his mouth had gone dry. He held up one finger as he cleared his throat into his fist. “You must be Dr. Miller. Come in.”
Dr. Miller crossed the threshold, heels clip-clopping like a horse, and immediately held out her hand. Oscar gratefully noted that she had asked for the one that he had not just coughed into.
“Please,” she said mid-handshake. “Call me Connie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Oscar.”
Oscar tensed at the sound of his own name, and of course, Connie noticed. Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers twitched against his as if wanting to reach for her pen. Alas, she must have decided to wait until they officially got started to begin psychoanalyzing him. Oscar breathed deeply into his nose. This was going to be a long sixty minutes.
Oscar led Connie over to his newly formed therapy nook and let her pick which chair to sit in. She chose the one on the left and primly sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles. Oscar sat down across from her and watched her admire his records. He found her scrutiny of his decorating choices a little unnerving, but at least her piercing gaze was momentarily focused on something other than him.
“These are incredible,” she said at last. “Where did you get them?”
“I collected vinyl as a teenager,” he answered, already not liking where this conversation was going.
The pen came down and pressed against the legal pad with a definitive click. In Oscar’s brain, it sounded like a warning shot.
“What made you stop?” she asked.
Oscar’s brain flashed with an image of his father’s terrified face looking back at him through the rearview mirror. Oscar’s chest tightened and his throat constricted. He had to fight to keep his breathing under control.
“I lost interest,” he lied.
Connie looked at him skeptically but did not press the issue.
“Well,” she said, changing the subject. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself then?”
“What do you already know?”
Connie cocked her head to the side, considering.
“Well, I suppose I know about as much as anyone. That your name is Oscar Hernandez. You’re twenty-nine years old and you disappeared from the public eye twelve years ago after finishing up an incredibly successful run of your TV show. The information you provided me with over the phone seems to suggest that you’re suffering heavily from avoidance behavior.”
“Yeah,” Oscar said feebly. Hearing it stated so plainly made him feel like he’d just been punched in the gut. Connie gave him a kind smile.
“Don’t worry, Oscar. Not only am I legally not allowed to share anything we discuss under The HIPAA Privacy Rule, but your friend Jesse also made me sign a non-disclosure agreement upon referral.”
Oscar blinked.
“He did?”
“He did,” she said knowingly. Her green eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Let me guess. He’s the reason I’m here today, right?”
Oscar frowned.
“You’re here to help me,” he said.
Connie nodded.
“Oh I certainly am, but I can see that you’re a smart man, Oscar. I think if you truly wanted therapy, you would have looked into it a long time ago. Jesse Sugar is obviously very important to you if he can have this much influence.”
Oscar bristled. His nerves were quickly shifting into anger.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well,” Oscar hated how she started nearly every sentence with that word. “It seems as though you’ve not wanted a lot of outside contact in the last twelve years. I was wondering what made Jesse the exception.”
Oscar said nothing.
“Are the two of you in a romantic relationship?” Connie continued, unperturbed. She looked and sounded just like a story-hungry reporter. NDA or not, he still wasn’t one hundred percent sold on the idea of her good intentions.
Oscar crossed his arms.
“I still don’t see how that’s relevant to... whatever we’re trying to do here.”
“Well, Oscar,” she said like a lecturing school teacher. “I only know what I’m trying to do, which is to understand what makes you tick so that I can properly diagnose you and figure out why you haven’t left this building in twelve years. Based on the little information I know about you, I thought maybe internalized homophobia could be a factor.”
Oscar relaxed just a little bit. It was patronizing, sure, but at least her reasoning made sense.
“I’m not ashamed of being gay,” he said. “I’ve known since I was a little kid.”
“And are you out to your friends and family?”
Oscar sucked in a breath. Seconds ticked by. The sound of Connie’s pen scratching across the page returned with a vengeance.
“I don’t have any,” he said finally, looking down at his shoes.
He worried that Connie might try and argue the point, or even worse, ask him why, but she just stuck her pen back in her hair and said, “I see.”
“What do you see?” Oscar asked, curiosity winning out over his sadness and annoyance.
Connie gave him a crooked smile and said, “Do you want it in therapy terms or layman's terms?”
“Whichever you prefer.”
“Well, in patients who have limited or zero contact with their relatives, I often see them close themselves off to new people. Not usually to the extent that you have; you’ve managed to create a physical barrier to go along with the mental one, but the sentiment is still the same.
“These patients also have a tendency to cling tightly to their partners when and if they get into romantic relationships. It’s not always a negative thing, but it can be really harmful if the patient fears their partner leaving so much that they start lashing out in anger.
“However, you and Jesse came to meet each other, and whatever the nature of your relationship is, I can sense that you’re very afraid of losing him. Is that correct?”
Yes. Yes it was. She was hitting way too close to home already. Oscar felt the immediate need to deflect.
“I thought you were supposed to analyze my behavior, not my emotions.”
Connie waved a hand nonchalantly.
“We’ll get to that, but first it’s important that I get the right diagnosis. Besides, I’m a cognitive behavior therapist. I analyze both.”
“And… do you have one yet?” Oscar asked.
Connie shrugged. “I have some ideas.”
“And...do I get to know what those ideas are?”
Connie shook her head. “So you can look up the symptoms online and figure out how to convince me you don’t have them? Not a chance, kiddo. I may be old, but I still know how the internet works.”
Oscar sulked. The annoying part was that was exactly what he’d been planning to do. New theory. Psychics were all secretly psychologists who were just really good at reading people.
“Anyway,” Connie continued brightly. “Can you tell me something you used to like to do in the outside world?”
Oscar thought about it for a moment. There were so many things. Little dumb things that he’d completely taken for granted at the time. Things like being able to walk down a street with no purpose in mind and stepping into a random shop solely because something in the window caught your eye. Hearing the unified cacophony of voices that popped up in crowded shopping malls and feeling vindicated when your ears zoned in on one conversation in particular. The way a nice cool breeze felt on the back of your neck when it was hot out and you were really sweaty. The way t
hat small suburban neighborhoods suddenly came to life in the afternoon when all the kids got home from school.
“I liked going to the movies,” he said.
It was a lame thing to pick. Movies were something he could easily do from home. He didn’t need a big screen and some overpriced popcorn to enhance the experience, but Connie nodded anyway.
“And why don’t you go anymore?”
She asked as though it were a simple question, and by all means it should have been. But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been in a really long time.
Oscar could taste phantom blood on the back of his tongue. The horrid screeching of metal in his ears followed by the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor. The nurses standing in a gaggle around him, whispering. His feeble voice calling out for his mother only to be politely informed that she was no longer with them.
Oscar was completely lost in his memories. He could hear Connie’s voice somewhere in the distance. He knew she was asking him some questions, but he couldn’t decipher the words or make his mouth respond if his life depended on it. The loop of carnage played through his mind over and over again for what felt like days, until finally he snapped back into his body and opened his eyes.
He was no longer in his chair but crouched down on the floor with Connie kneeling at his side. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Eventually, once she realized he was lucid, Connie disappeared for a moment and returned with a bundle of rolled up toilet paper from the bathroom. Oscar blew his nose into it gratefully.
“That’s why I don’t go out anymore,” he whispered.
Connie didn’t seem to have anything more to say. She just patted him on the back and flipped to a new page in her notepad where she quickly wrote something down. When she tore out the page and handed it to him, he saw that there was a phone number written on it.
“My personal line,” Connie explained. “I’m going to temporarily refer as many of my patients out as I can so that I can focus on you. You need more intensive treatment than I thought. I’d like to come back every other day around the same time if that’s okay with you.”
Oscar wanted to say no. He wanted to so badly that his bones ached… he didn’t. He couldn’t. Deep down underneath the heartache and anger and sorrow was the ghost of who he had once been. That shell of a boy deserved a chance to live. There was no use denying it anymore. Oscar wanted to get better. Of course he did.
“I’ll see you on Wednesday,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
Jesse was having a bit of an identity crisis. He’d woken up at six AM on the dot and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. Oscar was having his first meeting with his new therapist today and Jesse was dying to know how it was going. It killed him that this wasn’t the kind of problem he could fix for him. Oscar had to figure this one out for himself.
Now he was standing in front of his bedroom mirror at Sugar Manor and contemplating how gay each of the random outfits he cobbled together made him look. This was a hobby he’d developed several years back when he was trying to be as obvious about his sexuality as possible to keep girls from hitting on him in clubs. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. Quite the opposite actually. The media took it as him being “super in touch with his feminine side!” Which alas, only made him more popular with the ladies; it was like a curse. Still, super “gayifying,” his wardrobe was something he liked to do from time to time, especially when he was feeling anxious.
And boy was he feeling anxious. It wasn’t just about Oscar either. He was having one of those days where the world around him didn’t feel quite real and the thoughts and secrets swirling around in his brain were threatening to take him over. His phone was resting on the nightstand next to the self-help book he was currently in the middle of, and despite his best efforts, he kept glancing over at it every couple of minutes. Sighing, Jesse snatched up the device and shoved it into the back pocket of his bright red skinny jeans. He swapped his fluffy oversized sweater for a tame regular T-shirt and padded downstairs.
In the kitchen, he rummaged around in the fridge to find something suitable to eat for breakfast. Besides Brianna, their private chef, and various caterers, Jesse was pretty much the only person who used this kitchen. It was a shame too, considering it was triple the size of a normal one. Oscar would absolutely love it.
After a few minutes of cluelessly staring at the contents of the refrigerator, Jesse decided to make a BLT, with turkey bacon of course, since it was the only kind his dad would allow them to keep in the house. As he dug around for a frying pan he could hear the telltale signs of Isabel giving a camera confessional in the living room. She was talking about something their dad had said to her last week that got on her nerves, but they kept having to cut and start the whole thing over again thanks to Katelyn’s daughters screaming at each other upstairs. It was actually pretty funny. Jesse wouldn’t be surprised if a reel of the failed attempts somehow made it onto the show. The producers had a knack for making their lives seem even louder and more chaotic than they actually were.
Jesse finished frying his bacon and assembled two mediocre sandwiches. He cut them diagonally and placed them side by side on the same plate to make them easier to carry. He left the greasy pan out on the stove to cool off and then headed back upstairs.
In the parlor there were a handful of crew members setting up equipment and getting themselves ready for an exciting day full of following the Sugar family around. Among these crewmembers was Amal, who in addition to recording audio for Spoonful of Sugar, was also doing double duty as the boom operator for Jesse’s solo project. Jesse plopped down next to him and offered him one of the sandwiches. Amal took it gratefully.
Sure, the Sugars liked everyone on their crew; it was stupid not to since these were the people in charge of making them look good, but Amal was different. Jesse actually considered him a friend. His best friend, at that.
Amal had started working on the show during its second season when he was only twenty years old, just a year or so older than Jesse. On his first day on the job, he’d gotten so nervous that his boom kept slipping from his hands and bobbing into the shot. The supervising producer had gotten so mad that he started yelling at Amal and cussing him out in front of everybody.
Even though he was way more of a pushover back in those days, Jesse couldn’t stomach the yelling. He stood up to the producer and told him to back off. Then, when said producer transferred his anger onto Jesse, his sisters intervened. They used their combined power to complain to the network and get the man fired. Afterward, Jesse had invited Amal out to a private club to celebrate. Amal was like a cute little puppy running around and mingling with different celebrities. There was even this group of pretty runway models that had taken a particular liking to him, but he didn’t try and hook up with any of them because he didn’t want to leave Jesse behind.
It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
“That actually wasn’t half bad,” Amal remarked, finishing his sandwich.
Despite being in Los Angeles for nearly sixteen years, he still had the slightest New Jersey accent, which was something that drove him nuts if you teased him about it.
Jesse rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll give my regards to the chef.”
Amal wasn’t fazed by Jesse’s sarcasm. He never was.
“Do you need me today, boss?” he asked, wiping crumbs onto his black pants.
Jesse realized for the first time that they were now alone in the room. Everyone else had taken their rigs downstairs where all the glorious Sugar action was underway. He supposed he could probably find something for him and Amal to do, but then he thought of his phone in his pocket and how Oscar could call for emotional support at any time.
Jesse shook his head.
“Nah. You can go ahead and chill, or see if anyone else needs audio support.”
Amal nodded and rested his head on his hands. He was looking at Jesse a bit challengingly with his bushy eyebrows furrowed.
“Hey man, what’s got
you so distracted? Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
Jesse sighed. Twenty-five years of being gay and nobody could tell he was hiding something, but one secret boyfriend and suddenly everyone was an expert in Jesse-ology.
He knew it was really dumb to share secrets with a guy whose sole job was to record everything he ever said for posterity, but Jesse was dying to tell someone, and Amal was one of the very few people he actually trusted. Plus, he was still stuck in that hazy, dreamy part of his mind where big things didn’t seem to matter quite as much as they should. Jesse did a quick glance around the room to make sure they were alone and then turned back to face his friend.
“Okay,” he said. “I do have something to tell you, but it’s a huge secret. You can’t tell anyone.”
Amal’s playful demeanor suddenly turned serious.
“Of course, Jess. What’s going on?”
Jesse took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he blurted, “Amal, I’m gay.”
Chapter Thirteen
“So how are things going with Jesse?” Connie asked. She followed the question by taking a small sip of the coffee Oscar had offered her. Oscar felt like rolling his eyes.
“Why are you so interested in my relationship?” he asked. This was only their second session together and so far Jesse was their only source of meaningful conversation.
Connie folded her hands on her lap. “Would you rather I ask you about your panic attacks and why the idea of leaving your house seems to trigger them?”
“Um, pass.”
“Well in that case,” Connie elaborated. “Your relationship seems like a great place to start.”
So Oscar talked about Jesse. He told her about the lasagna he made for him last night and how he’d spent hours slow roasting garlic for some delicious homemade garlic bread because he knew it was Jesse’s favorite food, and that he rarely got to eat it during filming season because of his father’s extreme health consciousness. He told her about the makeshift beach in his living room and the phone conversations they had late at night, the kind that felt like they were happening in another dimension because they were both so sleepy and completely unfiltered. He talked about how Jesse’s snorting, overly loud laughter was so at odds with his beautiful exterior and how good it felt to make someone laugh like that. He talked about how much Jesse loved his family, especially his nieces, despite the fact that they rarely ever gave him as much credit as he deserved. He talked about how Jesse saw things in people that others didn’t and went out of his way to help them.