I shifted my eyes over to the couch where Alexa sat. “I know.”
Barbara walked to the end of the hallway and knocked on the door. There was a nervousness to her, some kind of built-up franticness from living with her two grown daughters—an arrangement she probably would have never envisioned years ago when their baby teeth were still intact.
“Sophia, Wade Hampton is here to see you.”
Without hesitation or engaging in a dramatic waiting pause, Sophia opened the door and peered down the hallway. She approached me with no expression as I scanned her beautiful body covered with a black t-shirt and skin-hugging white bicycle shorts. Her black hair flowed across her breasts as if purposefully set there. Though she was clad in the most unassuming garb, the only thing I could think was how stunning she looked.
“Hi. I… brought you these.” I lifted the flowers.
“Thank you.”
It appeared she appreciated the gift, but her external reaction was hard to gauge. She walked into the small galley kitchen and grabbed a large-mouthed plastic cup out of the cabinet. With delicate care, she removed the rubber band holding the stems together and one at a time, placed each flower in the cup, arranging them to her liking before filling the makeshift vase with water.
As Barbara and I stood and watched Sophia tend to her flowers, Alexa sat up on the couch and grabbed a cigarette out of her purse.
“Alexa, I told you not to smoke in here,” Barbara scolded.
Alexa leaned back on the couch and flicked her lighter. “I can smoke in here if I want to. I pay a third of the rent.”
“No, you cannot smoke in here. You know Sophia and I don’t like the smoke.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Alexa shouted. “I’ll smoke in here if I want to.”
Barbara threw up her hands. “God in heaven, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
While Sophia walked back to her bedroom with the flowers, Barbara stormed over to the kitchen and started cleaning a sink full of dishes. She whispered to herself, obviously about the less than ideal living arrangements. Alexa remained on the couch puffing away on a Marlboro.
Sophia emerged from her room a moment later. I noticed she had tied her hair into a ponytail with the red bandana she wore the night at Fathom’s.
“Take me away from this,” she said with unruffled control as she walked past me.
I looked at Alexa, then Barbara. Both fixed their attention on me, waiting for a response.
“Okay. You want to go eat?” I asked.
“I’m not really hungry. But I’ll go with you to eat.”
“I would enjoy that.” I turned to Barbara. “Very nice to meet you.”
“You kids have a good time,” she said as I opened the front door.
I could feel the eyes of Barbara and Alexa watching us through the window as we walked to the car. I opened the door for Sophia, and with grace not common in women from her social standing, she settled into the car seat. I kept her door open and leaned over closer to Sophia.
“You know what kind of car this is?” I asked, giving her a little quiz to determine if she had any Pamela-like shallowness to her.
She looked around the inside of the car until she found the logo in the middle of the steering wheel. “It’s a BMW. At least that’s what the steering wheel says. I’m not much into cars.”
“Good.” I closed the door gently.
I got into the car and maneuvered out of the parallel parking space.
“How about Mexican food at Poquito Gato?” I asked.
“Sounds okay.”
“All right… I’ll have you there in a couple of minutes.”
The moment we walked into Poquito Gato, I recalled the last time I was there. It was the night I boarded the fateful flight to Vegas with Richard and Mundo. As Sophia and I sat across from each other in a secluded booth, my mind worked feverishly to overcome the pre-panic signals shooting throughout my body. The bar encounters didn’t bother me as much, but eating was different. Confined to a table and stuck for the whole meal was always a catalyst for distress. Two glasses of water were on the table and I immediately took a sip from one.
“So, you want a drink?” I asked.
“No, I’ll just have water. I really don’t drink much. Last week at Fathom’s was an exception.”
“Did you have a good time that night?”
Sophia’s eyes squinted. “You mean: Did I have a good time when we went back to your apartment?”
“Uh… yeah. Yeah, when we were at my apartment. That’s what I meant.”
“Yes, I did. You made me feel good,” she said, her poker face intact.
“Well, I heard you hadn’t done that for like eight years.”
“What?” Her poker face vanished. “Where did you hear that?”
“Alexa told me.”
“God, Alexa has an overactive mouth.”
“So, is it true?”
She took a calculated sip of her water, perhaps stalling before opening herself up.
“Yes, it’s true. When I was twenty, I went out with a guy who I thought I was going to marry. I went over to his apartment one day and he was in bed with one of his female neighbors. We broke up after that.”
“What about that guy at Fathom’s the other night—you said he was an old boyfriend?”
Sophia refolded her napkin before placing it on her lap. “He wasn’t really an old boyfriend.” She smiled and guided her eyes down to the pale yellow tablecloth. “We only went out on one date, but he kept calling and texting. I wasn’t interested in seeing him again. Nothing wrong with him, I just wasn’t attracted.”
“I’m glad you blew it out of proportion, it led to a very nice kiss—and a great night.”
“You got lucky, that’s all,” she said.
“I did? You were the one wearing your lucky red bandana.”
“True.” She turned her head and touched the bandana.
The waitress came by to take our order. Sophia didn’t order any food. I was surprised because most women I had dated, either to be fashionable or out of some updated rule of etiquette, always claimed they weren’t hungry before going to a restaurant. Yet when they got there, suddenly they acquired a pang for some exotic appetizer or a super-sized salad. I ordered a gringo burrito. My stomach started to rumble as I handed the menu back to the waitress. The feeling was familiar. It was a panic attack waiting to mushroom throughout my body. Fear mode immediately initiated.
“Uh… so how do you like living with your mom and sister?” I managed to ask despite the increased thumping in my head. It was so irritating knowing what was going to happen. My panic was tenacious, tedious and frustratingly predictable.
“It’s tolerable for now. My mom and Alexa argue almost constantly, but they’re family and I can deal with it. It helps with the bills since none of us make much money.”
I put my right palm to my forehead and rubbed it across the top of my head, making my hair stand up for a moment. As panic poked at my skin, I repeated the stroke across the top of my head.
“Uh… I’m sorry about your father. Your mom told me,” I said, as air chopped its way down my throat. Hyperventilation was commencing.
“I was too young to remember him. I feel sorry for my mother, though. She never really recovered after—” She looked at me with puzzlement as I plunged half my napkin in a glass of water and wiped my face. “Are you all right?” she asked.
My deep breathing made it difficult to speak. “I don’t feel very good.”
“Are you sick?” she asked in a soothing, unthreatening way.
“You… could say that. But not in the traditional sense.”
Sophia rose from her side of the booth and sat next to me. I could feel the warmth of her hips touching mine. “Do you have some kind of condition—seizures, heart trouble or some
thing?” She gripped my hand. Her soft skin caressed the tops of my fingers.
“No.” I gulped in a short breath. “It’s different, not physical. I don’t know how to explain it.”
She softened her grip on my hand as I closed my eyes and tried to get my heart rate down. I opened my eyes a crack and saw Sophia studying me with concern.
“Look at me,” Sophia instructed.
I turned to her and looked in the way a frightened little boy would when seeking comfort from his mother. She squeezed my hand.
“I’m with you, everything will be fine,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I moaned.
“Yes. We’re just eating in a restaurant, having a good time. If you really get sick, I can go get help. But for now, I’ll be here next to you.”
Those simple words flourished two or three times in my mind. Her calmness brought me to a state of reality, to the juncture of the legitimate safety of the here and now. No one had ever quieted my mind with such understated passion—and such speed. It was as though Sophia understood what I was experiencing, despite the fact she had absolutely no knowledge of my condition. As we sat next to each other waiting for my burrito, it felt like most of the negative weight vaporized out the top of my head, leaving room for repressed enjoyment to fill the space. I glanced apprehensively at Sophia and could see nothing but composed confidence in her eyes. She was the first person to ever get through to me, and she did it so effortlessly˗˗almost as if Sophia had talents in some unpracticed, yet graceful psychology. My mind automatically tried to force the panic back in, but it halted abruptly. I didn’t know what had just happened, but the only words that flashed in my mind were: Dr. Crouch, I’ve found my mulch.
18. The Apron
“So… how is it going with the Nardil?” Dr. Crouch asked.
“I haven’t started taking it yet.”
He twirled his mustache for a moment and followed it with a gentle circular rub on his temple.
“Why haven’t you taken it yet?”
“Well, I’m having a problem with taking another drug. I mean, I’m already on Xanax.”
“Have you been experiencing panic attacks in the past month?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I had one in a restaurant while on a date. I had one while driving over the Vincent Thomas Bridge in the harbor, I had one while lying on my bed, I even had one on the freeway when I was coming here. I wish your office was closer than Beverly Hills.”
“You mean, you wish it was in your safety zone so you wouldn’t have to face the challenge,” Dr. Crouch stated.
I sat in silence, examining my knees. Dr. Crouch shifted his slender frame in his chair, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees.
“Look, Wade, I know you don’t like coming here, or psychiatrists in general, but you need to change your behavior, break the cycle of panic and depressed states. If you’re not willing to take the medication as prescribed, I don’t know what else I can do. You don’t want to attend endless therapy sessions, and frankly you’re such a hardened case that medication is not only needed, but it’s also almost mandatory if you’re going to lead a normal life again.”
“Well, I carry a stock of Xanax and Nardil with me at all times.” I pulled out a small weatherproof wallet out of my left front pocket. “But I just haven’t taken the Nardil yet.”
Dr. Crouch inspected the wallet from across the office as I opened the Velcro-protected pouch to reveal the pills.
“You always carry that with you?”
“Yes, always.”
“A safety net,” Dr. Crouch noted.
“Sometimes I’m not at home when it’s time to take the Xanax, so I found this much easier.”
“Does it make you feel better to carry the pills with you at all times?”
I nodded my head sheepishly. “I guess so.”
“If you carry it around with you, why don’t you take the Nardil?”
“I would, but things are changing for me. You know that body mulching thing you told me about last time?”
“Have you tried it?”
“Well no, not exactly. But the exercise did come to me when I was out on a date. And now I feel much better. I think I’m in love.”
Dr. Crouch’s head jolted back. “In love? Weren’t you supposed to get married just a couple of months ago?”
“Yeah, but I’m realizing that was a fluke. This woman is wonderful and I’m feeling better—at least when I’m around her.”
“How long have you been going out with this woman?”
“Steadily, about a month now.”
“That’s a pretty short time frame, though I’m happy for you, Wade. But a woman, or love, won’t solve your problems. This is a medical disease you have. And even if you do feel better with her, what are you going to do when she’s not around?”
“I don’t know. But I think things are changing,” I said.
“Well by all means change. But go through the change with the help of the medication, along with your new love.” Dr. Crouch lifted out of his seat. “Our time is up. But promise me you’ll take the Nardil.”
“I’ll try.”
Going back to my office after the appointment, I hit some construction on the 405 Freeway just south of Culver City. I didn’t like getting stuck in traffic, there was nowhere to escape. Guiding my car to the right-hand lane in case I wanted to make a quick exit down the emergency lane, I realized that Dr. Crouch was probably correct in his assessment. I needed to go through the change. As my breathing got heavier, I put down my window to squeeze additional air into the car. I tried to envision some fresh shredded cedar mulch covering my body. The feeling made me itch, all that splintery wood stuck on me, suffocating my pores. I imagined my shirt and pants getting all crumpled from the ensuing wood chips. As my breathing increased, the wood chips felt as if they were covering my lips. I started spitting as I exhaled, trying to imagine the mulch breaking free from my lips and airway. I crammed my hand into my left front pocket to fetch a Nardil from the protective pill-holding wallet.
The sweat from my hand began to smudge the pill coating immediately. I closed my eyes tightly as the traffic in front of me went from a slow crawl to a dead stop. After thirty motionless seconds, I heard the courteous toot of a car horn from behind and I opened my eyes slowly. Cars in other lanes were moving ahead as the bottleneck of metal and plastic had come to an end. I wanted the panic to swirl out the window as I pushed on the gas pedal, but it wasn’t abating. I looked down at the Nardil in my hand, accumulated some spit in my mouth, and swallowed the orange pill.
* * * *
When I arrived back at the office in the late afternoon after my appointment with Dr. Crouch, my phone rang just as I collapsed my legs to sit down.
“I’ll have dinner waiting for you when you get home,” Sophia said in a deep, measured voice. “And I’m going to serve it to you wearing only an apron.”
“In that case, I’m glad I gave you a key to the place.”
“When are you going to be here?”
“When do you want me?” I asked.
“I want you right now.” The double entendre was not lost on her. “But the earlier you get home, the better it’ll taste.”
“What’ll taste better?”
“The dinner and me.”
“Ohhhhh.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s just after four. Will everything still taste good at the late hour of five?”
“I’ll make sure it’ll be even better by then.”
As I hung up the receiver, Richard popped his head through the doorway.
“Hey Wade, did you open pension accounts for those new employees?”
“Yeah, I did that yesterday. They’re all set up with the benefits package.”
“Good.” Richard entered the room and sat down on the chair across from me. “What else i
s going on?”
“Sophia just called. She cooked dinner and is going to serve it to me wearing only an apron.”
Richard laughed while giving his knee a hard slap. “I don’t know how you do that. Can I come over?”
“Sure, join us.”
“No, that’s all right. I’d have to ask my wife for permission first.”
We both chuckled for a moment, Richard a little longer than I did, tipping me off he had something on his mind. He swung his chair to face me directly.
“Wade, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself and have a woman. I don’t know Sophia personally, but she’s Alexa’s sister and all—”
“I know what you’re thinking, but she’s not the least bit like Alexa.”
“Yeah, she’s a hell of a lot better looking,” Richard said.
“That, for one thing. But she’s also very smart—she’s totally different from Alexa. They had different fathers, so actually they’re half-sisters. I know she doesn’t have the social graces of the girls we grew up with, but that’s because she was never exposed to that world—maybe for the better.”
“Maybe.”
Richard leaned back in the chair and folded his hands atop his head. I mimicked the same pose.
“You know,” Richard said, “I always dreamed of being with a girl who came from nothing, and how I’d be able to give her more than she ever imagined. Kind of like a fairytale story. And here I ended up with a wife from a super-wealthy family. She was used to a certain standard of living. It worried me at first if I would be able to provide the kind of life for her that she grew up with. But looking back, it’s turned out better than I could have ever imagined.”
I thought back to his wisdom on the drive from Las Vegas. “Is this another one of those ‘doily’ speeches?”
“In a way, yes. Make sure you don’t shit on your doily by getting overly involved with women from the wrong side of town.”
“Does it matter which side of town she comes from? Sounds a little prejudicial.”
Life Unbothered Page 13