“And do me a favor.”
“Hmm?”
“Get out and do some good.”
“Do some good? You mean feed starving orphans or something?”
She sniffles a laugh. “Do some good for you, for others… If you do good for others you’re automatically doing a bit of good for yourself. It can make you feel really positive.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
“But most importantly I want you to take care of yourself.” She touches my bare shoulder. “I don’t mean going to clubs and hitting the bottle and living up the single life. You’re not exactly a single woman.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Have some fun, yes, but take care of yourself. Do something real for yourself. For your life. This mess with Andrew could be the single greatest thing to happen to you.”
“Ha!” I throw my head down onto the pillow. “What sauce are you sipping, sister? Have you looked at my situation?” I shoot my head back up. “Have you taken a look at how screwed up my life and marriage are?”
“So your marriage is really on the rocks right now—”
“San Andreas Fault, is more like it!”
“Life isn’t so bad, Jack.” Her tone is stern. “Things are rough, yes, and I worry about you, yes, but you have a great group of friends. You have a therapist trying to help you. You are a strong person, deep down. You have youth, you have life!” She waves a hand about. “Life is the greatest gift we’re all given.”
“Here comes the hocus-pocus.”
“Listen to me. Life is a gift. Don’t squander it. It’s short, gone in a flash. What’s done is done.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I shriek, pulling myself up into a seated position. “Excitement! Thrills! Passion! Fun! Life is too short not to have fireworks in love!”
Emily sighs heavily. “Jackie, you’re a handful, babe. A total handful.”
“But I’m right.” I cross my arms over my chest pridefully.
“I think it’s time for bed.” She looks at her bright yellow sports watch. “Gatz and I have a big day tomorrow, and I’m exhausted.” She pulls herself up, flips off the radio, and saunters towards the bedroom where the low snores of Gatz can be heard, even through the slight cracks in the door.
“Emily,” I quickly call out, whipping my head around to her.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, any time.” She casually flicks her wrist. “Mi casa es tu casa.”
“No, not that.”
“Huh?”
“Well, yes that. But, no.” I pull myself up onto my knees and grip the side of the sofa with both hands. “Thank you for the talk, the encouragement. You’re a wise girl. I’d be a fool to ignore you.”
“Oh, Jack,” she says in a gentle tone. “Wisdom comes with age and experience. I’ve got some experience, but at twenty-eight I’d hardly say I’m wise.”
“I appreciate it, just the same. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I love you.” She tucks a thin braid behind her ear. “You get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Love you, too, Em.” I slink back into the sofa, smoothing the black armrest meditatively.
As Emily disappears into the darkness of her bedroom, I continue to rub my fingers along the fine fabric of the bed. My mind wanders to those dangerous places it likes to wander, usually at solo times like these, late at night. I remember how painful the words were that Andrew said to me during the Incident. I think about how I miss him, despite the abruptness with which he kicked me out, shutting the door on everything that we had. I wonder when we’ll see each other again—if we’ll see each other again.
Then, as is always the case, when I bite down on my bottom, quivering lip and consider the turning of these dreadful tables, I feel the familiar hot tears sting my eyes, run down my cheeks, and wet my pillow.
Sophie says time will heal, Emily tells me to be patient, Lara says it will get better… My best friends tell me I’ll be all right, but why is it so hard to believe them? How can things get better when, as each trying day passes and each teary night keeps me awake, they seem to be getting worse?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dr. Pierce clicks his pen and scrawls something down in his leather bound notebook. He clears his throat aggressively a few times, then in his calm tone and even demeanor, says, “Three weeks it’s been, correct?”
“Yup.” I turn the ringer off of my cell phone and toss it limply into the new salmon-colored bohemian bag I got in the upper Marais in Paris—NoMa, as Sophie called it. “Three long weeks since I last saw or talked to my husband.” I cross my legs. “Pathetic, huh?”
“No contact whatsoever?” Dr. Pierce looks up from his notebook for a moment. “Have you called him? Has he called you? An exchange of emails? Message passed through a mutual friend?”
“Ha!” I robustly shake my foot, clad in the new Lanvin ballet flat I scooped up in Paris. “Mutual friends? I don’t think so. I’ve got my friends, and Andrew’s got his business. His,” I make a snooty face, “colleagues.” I give an affected smile. “Although, he does have his stupid secretary. I’m sure they’re able to have their torrid love affair now that Andrew’s given me the boot.”
“Jackie,” Dr. Pierce says, his voice strong, demanding my attention, “we’ve been over this. It is unhealthy for you to continue to make assumptions that your husband is having an affair. A friend of yours said there was nothing between them.” He looks down at his notebook and scratches the back of his ear in an unsettling way. “Not that I necessarily condone that kind of behavior—spying.” He clears his throat loudly.
“But you have no evidence that this is the case—that they’re having an affair,” he presses on. “Do not borrow trouble, Jackie. This behavior will not help you.” We lock eyes. “At all.”
“I know,” I say reluctantly. “My imagination goes wild now that I’m home alone, nothing to do.”
“Staying at a friend’s still?”
“Indefinitely, maybe.” I uncross my legs, adjust my miniskirt, then cross my legs in the other direction. “Emily’s out of town for the rest of the year, maybe two semesters. Who knows?” I breathe a hefty sigh. “But I get bored all the time, and my mind will concoct crazy scenarios.” I rest my upper body weight on my elbows, resting on my knees, and I say in a low tone, “Like maybe Nikki’s living with Andrew now. Moving all my stuff out, replacing me…”
“See, that’s dangerous behavior.” Dr. Pierce writes something down in his notebook. “You should be taking healing steps—steps to repair your relationship.”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“You know I’m not here to tell you what to do.”
“Ugh! Right! This again.” I lift off of my knees and slam my back into the plush chaise. “Well, give me some therapeutic tips or something. Suggestions!”
He closes his notebook, pen in between the pages, and sets it aside. He makes a loud clap with his hands, rubs them together, and says in an energetic vein, “You’re going to take your friend Emily’s advice. Do something good. Something for yourself, yes, but not something—something—some—”
“I get it,” I say sarcastically. “Not something selfish. Something good for me, but mainly good for someone else. So what do you suggest I do?”
“There are many things you can do to help you over this hurdle.”
“Like a lobotomy.” I chuckle at my attempt at levity.
“I stopped offering those services two years ago.”
I slowly pull myself up out of my slumped position, not really sure if I heard the doctor correctly, when his mouth turns up into a wide grin.
“I can make jokes too, Jackie,” he says with sharpness. “Come on. Get creative. You said one of your friends owns a café and that you help out sometimes—”
“I’m barely a help,” I interrupt.
“Maybe you could…ask about employment options? Be there m
ore often, get a routine down…”
Sophie did show Chad the door, and she is now short two sets of hands. I’ve only been over there a couple of times since Emily and Gatz left town and Chad was ousted. Each time it was pretty busy, and Sophie had zero time to chat. With only Evelyn to help her out, I saw Sophie go from regular-stressed-out-Sophie to over-the-top-mega-stress-mess-Sophie. I doubt she’ll want me around more routinely.
“It’s not exactly a welcoming atmosphere at The Cup and the Cake right now, Doc,” I say with a worried expression. “Sophie’s not really in a position to hear me complain, and I don’t think she’ll have the patience or time to offer up tips about how to help me get better.”
Dr. Pierce reaches for his notebook, and as he pries it open, heaving a sigh, he says, “Jackie, I’m not suggesting you go to the café as a second set of therapy sessions. I’m talking about getting yourself a part-time job to keep your mind busy, keep your options open, have a greater sense of purpose. And, if I’m judging accurately, what with what happened in Paris, I take it you’re going to need a financial resources soon.”
“Please, Doc.” I hold up a halting hand. “I’m not exactly His Girl Friday.”
He looks on at me, slightly befuddled.
“I don’t do work,” I say insistently. “No offices, no bakeries, no cafés… Now, if Sophie had a clothing store or a designer boutique or something. Now then maybe I could help out, offer my fashion know-how.”
“There’s an idea!” Dr. Pierce enthusiastically sets down his pen. “How about you look into a job where you can utilize those skills, those talents? Where you can do something that’ll help get you out of the house, help cure the boredom. Like your friend Emily said, you’d be doing something valuable for yourself and for someone needing the help.”
“Doc.” I laugh in mirth and adjust my miniskirt as I slip one foot underneath my rear. “Listen to me. I don’t work. I don’t know how. I’m helpless without Andrew! It’s so pathetic.” I cover my face with my hands in shame. “I’ve been fired from every job I’ve ever had,” my muffled voice sounds from behind my hands. “It just won’t work. Besides, I’ve got free rent, I don’t really eat that much, and I’ve still got a car. I’ll be fine.”
“Until you need gasoline for the car.” He looks at me with an expecting expression.
“I’ve got friends. Lara’s well-off,” I add simply. “She’s always gotten me out of pickles. With Em’s apartment so long as she’s gone and doesn’t mind—and she doesn’t—and Lara who will lend me money if I really need it, I’ll be fine. I can do this.”
“I appreciate your positive approach and determined will.” Dr. Pierce clears his throat and uncomfortably moves in his seat. “I have to level with you, however. You are either going to have a slamming wake-up call right now, or much later, and quite frankly it will be much harder if it’s later.”
“Wake-up call?”
“Eventually you’re going to realize, Jackie, that you may just have to face the world on your own, without a husband. At least for a while, until you and your husband patch things up.”
“If we do,” I say bitterly.
“Precisely! If. And if you don’t?” He looks exasperated. “If you don’t, that’ll be the much harder, slamming wake-up call that you won’t like. Right now this situation is all very new to you, and you’re feeling very out of sorts. But as time goes on, and if no reconciliation between you and Andrew is made, you may find yourself having to rely on your own efforts.”
“I have good friends,” I cut in.
“The best of friends can be supportive, but at some point you will have to stand on your own two feet. That’s a fact of life, Jackie. Most everyone, barring some over-privileged elite, have to go through this experience.”
“I am privileged. My husband is extremely wealthy—”
“And you’ve said it before.” His face is drawn in a serious pose, his words sharp. “You and Andrew may not work things out, and then what? Best case in a divorce situation is you get a settlement to keep yourself comfortable, but in the meantime? Accounts frozen? Time on your hands to fritter away? Think about your options. The possibilities. Think about what you can do to help yourself. I’m your therapist and I’m here to help, but I can only counsel you. I can’t force you to do anything.”
“So you’re saying I get a job?”
“That could be a good start.”
“Yeah, well…” I say, my tone and intention empty.
“Employment will certainly help with your boredom, your depression,” he says calmly. “You’re still taking the Prozac?”
I nod, very grateful that the rather low dosage I’ve recently been prescribed is helping curb the pain, the rage, the depression.
“There’s a very good reason to look into employment,” Dr. Pierce says. “In the interim, waiting to hear from your husband’s attorney about divorce, maybe a legal separation, or if you two make amends and you move back in, having some employment could help you out mentally, emotionally, and financially. Please seriously consider it.”
“Fine.”
He scribbles in his notebook and tells me he’ll refill my prescription.
“And,” he says, “though your finances are not really any of my business, I might as well point out…” He closes the notebook and looks at me with kind and sensitive eyes. “Your prescription, your therapy sessions… What happens when you can no longer afford those?”
Aggravated, I say, “Auto-pay, Doc. Therapy, medical expenses… As long as Andrew’s still paying, just keep on charging.”
I can’t help but wonder, though, when Andrew will realize he’s still footing the bill for my therapeutic help…and now my pills. When he does, what will I do then? Will Lara and Emily be there to help me when I fall, as they always have? Will even the best of friends eventually make me stand on my own two feet? I have no idea, and I hope to god I don’t have to find out.
“All right, then,” Dr. Pierce says. “I’ll call in this prescription, and you’ll maybe ask your friend about working at her café? Or finding a job in an area of interest?”
“Eh. I guess.”
“Do you have a hobby or something you can spend your time with, say…for the rest of the afternoon? This upcoming weekend? Give yourself a goal…”
I blow out a long, hearty breath of air. “Hmmm.”
“A project?”
“Actually, Doc,” I blurt out as my mind wanders to Emily and her own similar advice. “I think I can do something with my time. Something good for someone else, too! I’ve been so caught up in my drams I totally forgot!”
Emily’s left me some cash to play around with after I bugged her relentlessly for weeks about sprucing up her rather drab-looking apartment. I had such a blast getting to buy her some living room furniture last winter.
Since I’m living there now and always finding something to complain about in her tight and poorly decorated quarters, I’ve been wanting to take the sprucing up to the next level. Her place could definitely do with a new entertainment center. Hell, she could use some entertainment. Her bunny-ear solution for TV time is a joke, she has no proper console, her DVD player has a short, and don’t get me started on the lighting in that place. It could really use some new furnishings and low light, a multiple-setting feature for all of the lights in the apartment, in fact. Romantic for the bedroom, perfect for movie night in the living room, flattering in the bathroom when I’m applying my gobs of makeup.
Yes, Emily’s place needs a major facelift, but as she says, she’s never really there for too long—never in one place long enough to spend the time, energy, or money making it more than a temporary place to hang the camera, toss the backpack, and kick up her feet for a while.
After I begged and pleaded, saying it’d be something to perk me up given my sad state of affairs, Emily finally conceded. She left me a few hundred bucks in a mason jar atop the thick pile of silver bus change that’s always filling half of the darned thing.
“Decorating your friend’s apartment would definitely be a great start, Jackie,” Dr. Pierce says with a satisfied smile.
“Of course how I’ll be able to afford anything great for so cheap!” I yank open my bag and withdraw my cell phone, half expecting to see that I have no service. I wave it at the doctor. “Shocked I even have a functioning phone still. Probably not for long, once Andrew forgets all about me and shacks up with Ni—”
“Jackie,” Dr. Pierce says, warningly.
“Yeah, yeah,” I brush off.
Noticing I don’t have any missed calls, I drop the phone back in my colorful summer bag. “Session’s almost up, Doc, and I’m pooped. I’m ready to call it early.” I slip my bag on my shoulder. “If that’s all right with you?”
“Whatever you want, Jackie.” He claps his notebook shut, stands, and sets it on his desk. “Same time next week?”
“Sure.” I stand up and smooth the back of my skirt. “So long as Andrew’s still paying.” I cackle, and Dr. Pierce just looks at me like I’m half a step away from crazy.
“Good luck with the decorating.” He takes long strides to the door. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
“Thanks. We’ll see what pitiful magic I can do with the pennies I was left.” I hike my heavy bag further up onto my shoulder. “It’s so dumb, really. Em’s a trust-fund kid, and she’s so not materialistic. Probably doesn’t even realize what furniture and redecorating a whole apartment costs.”
“There’s always that job to help pay…” Dr. Pierce looks at me with a stupid grin.
“Please, Doc.” I step closer to the door. “One step at a time.”
“All right,” he says in a reassuring tone. “You take on your design project, stay positive, and if you need an emergency session, you have my number.”
When Girlfriends Let Go Page 27