Adventures of Pebble Beach

by Berger, Barbara

  Pebble really didn’t know.

  When she didn’t reply he asked, “Are you still there?” It was as if he was trying to reach her all the way from Greenland. “My darling?”

  “Yes, Albert, I’m still here.”

  “How is your new job going?”

  “Oh great. Just great.”

  “Do you think you can take a week off?”

  “I don’t know, I guess so.” Her heart was torn in two.

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll order the tickets and pick you up when I get to Copenhagen on Friday.”

  Chapter 17

  “Why is it always me?” Pebble didn’t realize she was almost ranting and raving. “Why am I the one who has to pick up the pieces, and then get left holding the bag? I mean why me?” She was pacing up and down Irene’s office, gesturing helplessly in the air. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Why can’t things just work out? For once in my life. Why can’t they?”

  Irene didn’t reply.

  “It’s like I’m never in control of my life – it’s always somebody else.”

  “What do you mean, somebody else – like who?”

  Pebble felt fine when she arrived at Irene’s that grey, rainy morning for her weekly session, but, to her own surprise, halfway through recounting her conversation with Albert, she started crying. Irene just wouldn’t understand that Pebble wanted to love him. It was so frustrating trying to explain her life to Irene.

  “Well, take Albert.” Pebble was making a serious effort to calm down. “I really did want to love him. Now does that sound crazy?”

  “No…why should it sound crazy?”

  “Well, I mean, I wanted to love him and so I do. But now that I do, I don’t want to anymore.”

  “Well why not?” Irene was right there. She was almost beautiful today.

  “Well, he’s an alcoholic…Do you realize what a hopeless situation being in love with an alcoholic is? And I’m so mad at myself for accepting his invitation to go on vacation with him.” Pebble walked over to the window. It was still raining outside, a gentle early June rain; the kind that brings forth summer flowers in the Northern part of the world. “Why can’t I be strong like you – and live alone – without a man…?” She didn’t really know if Irene lived alone – she just kind of took it for granted. “Well, do you?” Irene was so masculine; Pebble couldn’t imagine her sharing her life with a man.

  “No, I don’t live alone. My husband’s a recovering alcoholic.”

  Pebble was stunned. Stunned. “Your husband was an alcoholic?”

  “Yes, he was. So I know how challenging and sad it can be.”

  Pebble couldn’t believe it – Irene – who she thought was so strong – who seemed so in control of her life, was married to an alcoholic!

  “Just because I’m a therapist, it doesn’t mean I don’t have problems of my own.”

  This was the first time Irene said anything about herself. Pebble sat down and stared at Irene. “Who knows, maybe I became interested in psychology because I was so fucked up myself. I mean look at me. I’m not the best-looking woman in the world.”

  “But you’re so in control of your life,” Pebble shot back.

  “That’s what you think, probably because that’s what you‘ve been fighting for your whole life. You know, Pebble, your problems are not so special. Most of the women I know, including myself, have the same feelings. We all feel like we’ve been put here on earth to take care of other people and then when we decide we want to start taking care of ourselves, we feel like we just got put in a meat-grinder.” Irene laughed. Pebble thought Irene had the kindest laugh she’d ever heard.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me about yourself before?”

  “That’s not what you’re paying me for, Pebble. You’re paying me to help you focus on your life. I’m supposed to help you get the right perspective, you know that.”

  “But maybe it would have been easier for me if I’d known you were just another woman like me.”

  “Are you sure?” Irene asked: she was wearing a faded sky-blue cowboy shirt with pearl buttons and blue jeans. She didn’t look feminine at all, but she looked grounded and whole. “You seemed to need somebody with authority, just to begin to open up. That’s how I read you anyway. But you’ve changed since then.”

  “Have I?” Pebble smiled.

  “Oh yes, pretty soon you’re not going to need me anymore. You’re doing very well, Pebble.”

  It was as if a loving mama had patted her gently on the head. Pebble wished she could hold onto this intimacy – wanted Irene to be her best friend for the rest of her life, but intuitively, she knew she couldn’t.

  After she held onto the moment for a while, she let it go. “You know, I feel like I’m on the verge of finding out something important. But it keeps eluding me.”

  “Remember the last time you were here and I asked you what you really wanted to say to Peter Cato?”

  “Yeah, and I walked out…” Pebble laughed.

  “Well, not so much that…the walking out was fine…It was more…I’d like you to try to express what you really feel about the three men in your life who seem to be bugging you. Somehow, I think they’re some kind of symbols who represent something deep for you. As far as I can tell, there’s Peter Cato, and then there’s your ex-husband and now Albert. Einar doesn’t seem to be one of them, but maybe he is…Did you ever notice you never tell me about your women friends when you come here? I know you’re friendly with Clare…how come you never have any complaints about Clare?”

  “Oh, Clare’s different…she’s a woman!”

  They both laughed.

  “Well there you go…” Irene continued when their laughter died down. “What is it about your interactions with men that make you feel so weak and helpless? You don’t seem to feel that way about women…”

  Pebble knew Irene had touched a nerve. Men! Men!

  “I don’t know, I guess I never thought about it that way before…”

  “Well, maybe it’s about time you do.”

  “Yeah, well…” Pebble was trying to put her finger on what it was that always screwed up her relationships with men, “…it’s like I’m always arranging my life around pleasing them. It sounds so dumb when I say it that I hate to admit it…How come women are like that?”

  “Don’t you think it’s more important to figure out how come you’re like that?”

  Here she goes being pushy again. Pebble groped for words. “I seem to spend an awful lot of time and energy thinking about how things are going to affect them, I mean if it’s not my husband – or my ex-husband – then it’s my sons or my boyfriend or my boss. I don’t know why, but for some reason, they’re always more valuable or more important than I am. It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud…doesn’t it?”

  “Sort of…” Irene was kind again in blue. Today her steely grey hair was loose around her face. She wore no make-up.

  “Why can’t we just grow up?” I wonder if Irene has a little girl somewhere inside her, too.

  “We can,” Irene answered slowly, “but it’s hard. It’s a long difficult process, this process of growing, it doesn’t just happen overnight. It takes time and sometimes it’s painful, you know that.”

  “How am I ever going to thank you for helping me so much?”

  Irene laughed at Pebble’s sudden mood swing, “Being able to participate in your growth…do you have any idea what a privilege that is?”

  Pebble never thought of it that way. “No, I guess I don’t…I wish I was your friend.” When the words were out, Pebble was sorry she said them.

  “Well you can be, you know. In fact you already are, even if you are my client. You might be surprised, but I know you didn’t really like me very much before.”

  “How did you know?”

  “It happens all the time. Right now you’re fond of me, because you’re going through a period of rapid growth, but if you get stuck again and I push too hard, you might hate me aga
in.”

  This time Pebble laughed, too.

  “So why don’t we give it another try!” Irene got up and placed three chairs along the wall. “Now let’s imagine that Peter Cato is sitting here, and Slim is over here, and Albert’s right smack in the middle. I think it’s best we leave Einar out of this for the moment. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Pebble settled down in her chair – her friendship high with Irene was gone. This Irene is too much, first she gets me to fall in love with her and then she puts me through the wringer again…

  “There’s something about your interactions with these guys that’s bothering you…”

  “There sure is…”

  “Well what is it? Do you know?”

  “The three of them all have this picture of me as this helpless little girl…”

  “Are you sure that they’re the ones who have this picture of you as a helpless little girl? Are you sure you’re not the one who sees yourself as a little girl?”

  Pebble considered Irene’s question for a moment. “Then why do they make me feel like…like God’s sole purpose in putting me on this earth is to please them? Like I’m the guilty one if I don’t arrange my life to please them. It’s always their pleasure which comes first and I’m the one who’s supposed to adjust. It’s my job to support them.”

  “How do you know they feel like that? Did they ever tell you they did?”

  “No, I guess not, but you know what I mean, Irene. It’s always been like that. I’m not the only woman who feels this way. God, it makes me sick – sick!”

  “Why?” Irene was really pushing again.

  “Because I’ve got a right to my own life, too. I’ve got a right to my own feelings and needs and wishes. I’m not just here to please them.”

  “Well, did you ever think about telling any of these people how you feel?”

  “No.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “I don’t know.” Pebble was mad and thought, Now she’s getting pushy again. Then she said, “Well, maybe I do have a problem. I mean, I know I have a problem, but it’s like even if I know it, I can’t help but let it happen anyway…”

  “What are you saying, Pebble?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I want you to tell me what’s really going on – okay?”

  Pebble still didn’t know what Irene meant.

  “Take a good look at those guys.” She pointed to the three empty chairs. “What’s really going on inside you when you meet them? Why are you so afraid of displeasing them? What kind of a hold do they have on you?”

  Pebble was silent for a while, not liking the thoughts in her head.

  “Come on, Pebble, tell me. Say it out loud…You’ll feel better if you do…”

  “If I don’t do what they want,” Pebble blurted out, “they won’t like me anymore, they won’t love me anymore. And if they don’t love me anymore, they’ll leave me…”

  “And…”

  “And…” Pebble started crying again. “And…and I’m so terrified of being alone…so terrified…” She hated herself for telling the truth and being so weak.

  Irene let her cry for a while.

  Then she said softly, “And what’s so terrible about being alone, Pebble?”

  “Well, who will take care of me?” It just flew out of Pebble’s mouth. “Who?” And she sobbed even more.

  “Well, what about you?” said Irene again, as soft as a feather.

  “Me?”

  “Yes you.”

  The room was very quiet. Very very quiet. You could have heard a pin drop.

  Irene must have thought that was enough for one day so she got up and walked over to Pebble’s chair and started massaging her shoulders. “You’re so tense, Pebble. So tense. Why don’t you let me give you a massage…” Part of Irene’s treatment was ‘healing massage’, but so far Pebble had only had talk sessions with Irene. She remembered the shiny brochure Clare gave her about Irene before she started going to therapy –A unique combination of gestalt therapy and intuitive massage.

  Pebble was so shaken that she crawled up on Irene’s massage table without the slightest protest. It was covered with dark green leather and raised high enough so Irene could walk around it easily.

  “I’m going to start with your head and neck – okay?” Pebble was lying on her back staring up at the painting Irene had hanging down from the ceiling. She hadn’t noticed it before. What a strange place for a picture! But actually it was rather nice. The splash of blue color on the huge piece of plexi-glass was suspended by four chains and the name of the leaping blue and silver tones was Magnificent Dream. Some name for a painting hanging over a massage table in the middle of the universe. Pebble felt she was somewhere she’d never been before. Everything felt strange, including herself.

  Irene quickly homed in to the points of tension in Pebble’s neck and shoulders. “I’m going to turn your neck very slowly. I don’t want you to do anything, just relax.”

  Irene lifted Pebble’s head between her hands and started turning her neck very carefully. It felt great, for a while. “Now I want you to try to imagine yourself sitting before this big screen – like you were sitting in a movie theater – and I just want you to let yourself watch all your thoughts passing before you on this big screen? Okay?”

  Pebble sighed.

  “I don’t want you to try to censor them or pass judgment on them or anything. Just let me massage you and try watching your thoughts as they pass before your eyes on this big screen…”

  Irene placed her hand on Pebble’s chest. “You’re breathing way up here…” She moved her hand to Pebble’s abdomen. “Now try to move your breathing down here…”

  Pebble tried, but it wasn’t easy. It was like something was blocking her breath, keeping it from going down there.

  “There’s no rush,” Irene said. “Just relax and try again.” Irene moved to the side of the massage table and held one hand over Pebble’s navel and the other over her solar plexus. Then she moved her hand again. “It’s here, isn’t it?” she asked, referring to the tightness in Pebble’s chest.

  How does she know? I didn’t even know – before now.

  “Just imagine…” Irene’s voice was soothing. “Just imagine there’s no rush…nobody is waiting for you…nobody’s expecting you to do anything…I just want you to relax as much as you can…and to breathe nice and easy…don’t worry about me, either.” Irene kept her hands on Pebble’s navel and solar plexus. They were warm through Pebble’s olive-green T-shirt. Pebble closed her eyes and breathed. It felt kind of nice but the tightness was still there. The tightness almost felt like a cry.

  “Just let it go…just let it all go…It’s quite okay.”

  Pebble sighed, a long, slow sigh. She was breathing easier now.

  “Good, very good.” Irene lifted her hands from Pebble’s abdomen and stomach and went back to her head. “Now just keep on breathing deeply and slowly.” She didn’t do much except turn Pebble’s head very slowly – first all the way to the right, and then all the way to the left. The funny thing was it made Pebble feel like crying. There was something about the slowness and the gentleness of Irene’s movements that touched Pebble deeply.

  What’s wrong with me? Pebble fought back the tears until she realized that she couldn’t cry because she was lying on her back – and crying, lying on your back, is pretty difficult to do. But mainly, because the tears weren’t in her eyes, but in her soul. Irene is giving me something wonderful. Up until now I’ve spent my whole life doing for everybody else – for my husband and my parents and my kids and God knows who else. But right now Irene’s doing something for me. She wanted to embrace Irene, but knew she shouldn’t. She knew the most important thing about this moment was to allow herself to receive from another human being. I’ve been tense my whole life, trying to please others.

  “Now, remember what I said about the big screen. While I’m massaging you, I just want you to relax and let all your thou
ghts flow through you – just let them go – just like you were watching them up on the big screen…” Irene kept moving Pebble’s head very gently.

  Pebble let herself go and saw herself schlepping four plastic bags stuffed with groceries up the two flights of stairs to her apartment across from the park. Adam and Jon always manage to disappear miraculously when I need help – the funny thing is they have no problem emptying the refrigerator…Kids are so…well my kids are so…I guess I raised them to be just like everybody else I know who’s male…or is it just because I’m… Pebble had almost forgotten Irene’s touch. She felt safe now. Can’t you just see me winning The Mother of the Century Award? She smiled, watching the pictures flashing rapidly on the big screen in her head. I’ll get the award from the local supermarket, and it will be a gold medal with the following citation engraved on it – FOR BRAVERY BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY. Or something like that. Something which conveys all the effort involved in schlepping all those grocery bags up all those flights of stairs…”In honor of this major, lifetime effort”. The big screen was chock full of plastic grocery bags filled to the brim with cheese and milk and orange juice and potato chips and bread. Lots of bread. Especially the healthy kind. Good old-fashioned (and heavy) Danish rye bread, the kind growing boys are supposed to eat if they want to become movie stars or soccer players with MBAs. And tomatoes, too. Don’t forget the tomatoes, or the lettuce or the mustard and mayonnaise for all those wonderful sandwiches that helpless teenaged boys are so good at fixing and eating when they get home from school and at all times of the night and all weekend long. (Without cleaning up afterwards either!) And what about spaghetti? And pizza, of course pizza! How can you raise teenagers without pizza? No wonder my arms hurt. It’s all these groceries I schlep up the stairs every other day. I must be qualified for The Mother of the Century Award…

  She saw herself standing on the podium, the band playing bright inspiring music while the most incredible commotion was going on around her. The red and white Danish national colors were flying – even Queen Margrethe was there. But where’s the American flag? Where’s the president? No president? At least his wife ought to be there…We’re not talking small potatoes…We’re talking Mother of the Century here. The whole ceremony was being transmitted live worldwide and online so that no matter where you lived in the world, no matter what your race, religion, sex, age or country, you could be a part of this wonderful ceremony. And here she is…Da, da, da, DA! …SUPERWOMAN! Pebble was shocked – at cross-purposes with herself. But I don’t want to be SuperWoman anymore. The bright, inspiring music seemed to fade. Being SuperWoman sucks! “Ladies and gentlemen, announcing the winner of The Mother of the Century Award, the SuperWoman of all times…” But being SuperWoman not only sucks – being SuperWoman is a real drag. I hate baking homemade cookies and being the perfect wife and mother. Am I going to eat humble pie all my life and accept this shit? Why am I allowing this to happen? I don’t want to be Mother of the Century ever again. What about Pebble Beach for Pebble Beach? Isn’t that a better award? Pebble Beach for Pebble Beach!!