10 – Donnie & Heather
I’ve pulled into a parking garage and finally found a spot where I won’t get towed. Just a few moments ago I was outside Frida throwing up for no reason and some beat cop was eye-balling me all crazy-like along with all the typical Beverly Hills housewives and young fuck-twigs with their Channel purses and fucked up white hats and big sunglasses. I’ve been shaking out of control since taking Cal’s money earlier today (which by the way was twenty-five thousand in cash – twenty-five-thousand he’ll never see again) and seeing as I’m certain I’m not experiencing a DT or anything drug-related, I fear that this uncontrollable shaking may be something terminal. A cancer maybe?
The quiver in my stomach and need to vomit has long since passed, but now with this shaking and all these thoughts bombarding my mind I’m almost certain my grip on not only myself, but humanity and the world around me as well, has slipped. I fear I’ve lost all control and where to go from here is a total mystery.
With the car now parked and the ignition off I find myself breathing hard – like I’m hyperventilating or something of the like – and Jesus Christ is my heart beating fast – maybe the Adderall?
I rummage through the side console for something, anything to take to perhaps calm my nerves or the shaking or clear my head or (if by some miracle) provide a semblance of understanding and just let me be.
Maybe I should call Sonya and hang up again, I think to myself, and then immediately snuff the notion being as only three minutes have passed since I’ve last done that… and truth be told it’s really getting me nowhere.
The shaking is only getting worse and of all days I can’t find a fucking thing in way of pills in my side console… the glove box maybe? In the glove box I’m able to calm myself by the mere sight of a bottle of Xanax 1mg footballs I don’t remember having and wonder how long they’ve been in there? No matter… duty calls. Without thinking I take three, maybe four, pills and swallow them down with a struggle as not only do I have nothing to drink but my mouth is dry from all the vomiting. Somehow I manage to get the pills down and out of nowhere – but certainly not unexpected – the urge to vomit overwhelms me. Fearing that vomiting would guarantee the pills not working, I tough it out, grit my teeth, and clench the leather of my cars interior as tight as possible.
After a period of time I’m unable to register has passed, I’ve managed to get by without tossing up and the Xanax is clearly working its way through my bloodstream and life seems a little calmer… a little clearer. My mind still a fury of thoughts and fears and emotions, but my body no longer reacts as a stimuli to these mysteries and allows me to go through the motions required to perhaps ease myself of this side-winding enigmatic turmoil I find myself in.
The world seizes its spin around my peripheral vision and I’m able at long last to take a look around and soak in what surrounds me. I know there’s a reason I’ve chose to come to this place, it will just take a little information gathering to recall everything. Clearly I can tell I’m in a parking lot and within nanoseconds immediately rule out the parking lots of shopping centers or an apartment complex. This particular lot belongs to a business-type of building – more specifically a medical facility. And then it all becomes clear. This is a place I used to come to, stopped, and only show my face when it all becomes too hard to bear…
Do I really want to do this, I ask myself…
Will this really make things better?
Or will she only make matters worse…
Fuck it. What else am I going to do with my day?
I’m in the elevator heading to the eleventh floor and as nice as it would be to be to take this ride solo, I’m sad to report I’m not alone. Next to me is a smoking hot blonde in a tight-black Channel dress with a perfect tan and close to perfect teeth – I suspect veneers – and next to her, is some douche-bag who looks like a frat boy in cheap cargo shorts, a backwards ball-cap, and get this, sandals… He looks at blonde next to me and smiles and actually has the nerve to say what’s up to her – as if this is some sort of magic spell sure to unlock the mysteries of her panties. If I weren’t so shaken and nauseous I’d slap this tool in the back of the head and tell him to leave the poor girl alone, he doesn’t have a chance. The chick however is a pro and snuffs the guy accordingly by giving him the coldest of shoulders in our sunny city. This act of cruelty and blatant statement of superiority by blonde-chick only turns me on more, which I do nothing about given the circumstances I’m in.
In the hallway I’m alone being as there aren’t many offices to a floor and en route to my destination I stop off in the lavatory to throw up. As I wash my mouth out in the sink I hoist up and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and am appalled by my appearance. My eyes are caved and my skin is gray – hardly the appearance one would expect from one who just came-up on twenty-five-thousand-dollars and subsequently, opened the door to a new phase of their lives. Judged by looks alone, I present myself off as the complete opposite – unattractive, not-confident, and falling rather than rising, with no sign of hope in sight.
I’m a mess, both emotional and physical, and I’m beyond the point of convincing myself everything will be alright tomorrow. As much as the question has beckoned, what am I doing here, the solution comes packed simply with a mere glance in the mirror.
This is where I come when all hope is lost…
To the one door never closed to me…
The one person obligated to care…
In the hallway I gather strength by way of deep breaths, face to face with my destination – a closed door with the following words inscribed: Office of Heather Hale, Doctor of Psychology.
After an insurmountable inner-struggle passes I at last manage to cross the threshold of her door only to find myself in an empty waiting room – having forgotten Heather operates sans secretary. I’m shook by another wave of panic, paranoia, and involuntary physical tremors once in the waiting room – as this situation becomes all the more real – and have to find a seat below me to keep from dropping to the carpet. Once in the chair the room around me begins to spin and I vow to myself I’ll get a grip on myself before she comes out and discovers my arrival. Accessing the little will-power left in my brain I manage to hold myself back from complete mental breakdown and without the aid of pills, by some miracle of the heavens, am able to focus and maintain a degree of inner dialogue.
Like Hick-Nascars on a track, thoughts and emotions zip by my mind’s eye – challenging me to recognize their presence if only for a brief moment… Cal and the hundreds of others I’ve fucked over in my life, my mother calling me, my father and I getting into it x amount of years ago, Sonya and I making love and feeling alive, snorting blow for the first time, snorting blow for breakfast, eating pills, throwing up in strange places, waking up in strange places, crying for no reason, losing my soul… and then from the other end, more thoughts drive by… me as a young boy in the back seat of my mother’s car, telling her I never want to grow up, that I’ll never leave home, that I’ll always have my mommy… my father and I watching a bears game together after the divorce and feeling as if we had only just begun getting along… the first day I met Sasha and she told me she loved me… the first day moving out to LA, wide-eyed and booming with optimism… the view from my apartment in Brentwood – carbon copy of the view of the city below of my dreams as a teenager, beckoning to find myself in the city… learning about writing in the libraries of Manhattan in the winters cold, listening to Tom Waits and living completely alone… Smiling… fucking… making love… everything bombards my soul under the warm, comforting lights of Heather’s office, and in seeing so much I’ve lost of myself I can’t help to wonder—
“Donnie?” the unmistakable voice of familiarity chimes in my background – bringing me back to the scene, “What are you doing here?”
I look up to find Heather in all her glory – blonde, tan, beautiful beyond just her physical features – possessing a pair of deep-ocean-blue eyes that wrinkle ever so slightly at the corners, radiating a state of knowingness and true individuality – the very image of a woman living by her own rules, asking nothing from no one, and taking only what she needs to get her to the next stage of her life… the type of woman I’d want to make a future with - a life with – and although in a totally different world (Heathers being the intellectual realm), I see Sonya as one that walks the same path. Polar opposites in every way, both externally and internally, but walking parallel paths, pulling at—
“Who is this?” a semi-hot, very over-tanned cougar asks Heather, annoying me to a level capable of bringing me back to scene and out of head yet again, “He couldn’t hear what we were saying in the hallway could he?”
“Of course not,” Heather comforts her patient – perhaps aware from previous sessions how much I despise people when they talk about others inhabiting the same space as if they’re not even there – “That’s what the waiting area is here for.”
“I specifically tailor my appointments as not to have any other patients following me. What we talk about here is very sensitive.” Cougar-patient who I could easily talk into bed under different circumstances says, completely oblivious to how lucky she is to have encountered me in such a safe haven.
“The nature of my work has to be taken into consideration to some degree,” Heather says calmly while masterfully handling the situation, “as much as we may prepare in the pursuit of discretion, we have to be aware of the elements of chance and…” Heather takes a beat, looks me dead in the eye and says, “surprise” – why she’s talking to this bitch like Mr. Miagi, I haven’t the slightest – probably part of her therapy.
“Believe me lady,” I say, “The last thing I care about is whatever dirty little secrets you’re trying so hard to keep under your skirt. I only came here to leave a note,” I lie, “Even if I could hear whatever you told Heather in the hall, I wouldn’t be able to muster up enough interest to try and listen… so you know, ease the fuck up.”
Cougar doesn’t know how to respond. Heather’s livid, fully aware of what I’m capable of – wants no more (I’m sure) than to end this situation as peacefully as possible.
“Again I do apologize, as much of a surprise this may be to you, I assure you, it’s the same to me and then some. I’ll see you again next week and if you find the need to do so, feel free to call me later tonight so we can discuss what’s gone on in private.” Heather says while rushing her patient out the door.
Before I can say anything else the ladies are out of the office and in the common hall. I can hear the muffled sounds of whispering but as stated before, hardly have enough energy to try and pick up any nuggets. Instead I think of how Heather looked when she saw me and curse myself for reaming the cougar out as I had, because apart from my surprise visit, my treatment of her patient is sure to be yet another reason for Heather to not speak to me. And given where I am right now mentally and physically, after a cold-shoulder from Heather, the only likely destination to follow is a padded fucking room.
I’m in a desperate situation and Heather is my only hope for salvation…
… and as I meditate on this subject for a minute, out of nowhere I realize where I recognize cougar from…
… and this is right when Heather comes back into the office – towering over where I sit in the waiting room.
“That was that weather-girl from Wake Up LA wasn’t it” I say, trying to ignore the fire in Heather’s eyes, “What’s her name? Gail something?”
For a moment Heather just stares at me – studies me – then after a beat says very calmly, as if she crafted the sentence just for me, “What the hell are you doing here Donnie?”
Doing my best to ignore her question and veer away from the obvious, I say playfully, “I was in the neighborhood and needed to talk.”
To this Heather responds, “I thought we made it clear the last time that you are to make appointments when you want to see me?”
“I know,” I say, picking up on her obvious yet intended patronizing tone, “I sort of had a… emergency”
Heather sighs. Closes her eyes. Says, “Emergencies Donnie, are something reserved to my patients only.”
“I’m your patient” I say.
“You were my patient, Donnie” She says while pacing calmly around the waiting area, “Back when you made appointments.”
“Well fuck,” I say, “I haven’t had an appointment in like, I don’t know, two years!”
“That’s exactly my point Donnie, these visits are inappropriate.”
“But you saw me like two months ago!”
“Under different circumstances,” she starts, crafts what’s to follow carefully and says, “Those visits were…”—
“Fucking emergencies!” I interrupt.
“Granted, but before we had laid down boundaries.”
“Please, don’t give me that shit!” I say, “I’ll pay you for a fucking session.”
“Money’s not the issue, Donnie!” Heather lets out a unexpected yelp of emotion – no doubt recalling the special flavor of all our sessions – then says, “I have a lot of patients… a schedule… you just can’t show up whenever the feeling is right…”
“Understandable” I say reflexively, not really listening to what she’s saying.
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying,” she says (damn she’s good), “The point is I follow a schedule. I could have had a patient waiting to see me.”
“But you don’t,” I interrupt again, “Wake Up LA just said a minute ago she reserves her appointments specifically to insure another patient won’t follow.”
“That’s not the point!” Heather blurts, obviously frustrated… I definitely have a leg to stand on here…
The room goes silent for a beat. I fake a smile. Heather composes herself. Then—
“What I’m trying to say is, you didn’t know I didn’t have another patient… not until you were here that is… you just…” she takes a beat, “Showed up!”
“I know,” I say, now shaking again (I’m sure Heather sees this), and realizing this is hardly the time to front myself as being in control, I give off a part of my struggle through my eyes and say as genuinely as possible, “But I’m really dealing with something here… in the past we’ve set down rules… but I’ve been getting on a track… but like…” I can’t think of how to say it, “I’m not sure what that track is. I seriously need help here… and like” I shutter to realize what I’m about to say is a hundred-percent genuine, “You’re the only person I have to turn to… you’re the only person that knows me… even more than myself.”
The therapist in her can’t help but to be warmed by my statement of true need – yet given our past is understandably on the defensive – “I just need to know you are capable of respecting other people’s needs… You can’t just show up whenever you need help, do you understand? It doesn’t work that way.” She sits down beside me, locks eyes with me, digging deep into the black regions of my soul, “Therapy is a process. It’s not like one of those, I don’t know, pay as you go cell phones… you have to commit. And as much as I want to help, it’s very hard for me both professionally and personally to involve myself with your affairs, and not know if you’ll be here the next week… do you understand the position you’re putting me in?”
“Yes,” I say, this time really meaning it and listening, “I’m sorry my visits are such a wrecking ball for you.”
“It’s not like that,” she says with a giggle, “I just can’t give you all of what I have available without a commitment on your end.”
“Things have changed,” I say, “Since when we last talked. I’m at like a whole new phase, and I’m scared shitless… seriously” she can see the truth behind my words that are surprising me as I’m not sure where they’re coming from (and this I think she can see), “Before I was a mess… and I’m still a mess now – difference is, before I had an idea of where I was going… and this is it. This point I’m in, this juncture of my life, this is where I was heading. And now that I’m here I don’t know where to go…”
I mean every single word despite not knowing where the words come from. I can see clearly now the truth behind my words, that this moment with Heather is where I need to be. With Cal’s money in the bank, I’m fresh out of excuses. Today is the tomorrow that’s taken so long to come. And Heather’s the only candidate to steer me in the right direction.
“What I’m saying is,” I begin, “if what you need from me is a commitment, a true need to better myself by any means necessary, I’m telling you now I’m ready to make that commitment…” I now entertain the notion of actually coming here once a week every week, “and truth be told, given where I am now, I couldn’t think of anything that sounds more appealing to me…” I break off for a second, now realizing my intended point, “I just need you to give me a little time, not even an hour, to give you an idea of where I am right now…”
To this Heather says nothing… a lot to take in for her I’m sure.
“And from there,” I say, “I’m up for whatever you suggest. I just need you to listen to where I am now… I promise I won’t hold anything back.”
“Oh I know you won’t” Heather says confidently – well aware she’s the only person in my life I’ve been completely honest with, “That’s why you like coming to me.”
“And now I’m ready to grow from that” I say, ready to close the deal, “I just need you to commit to me… I’m ready to commit to you.”
To this she takes a moment to study me. I’m sure I’m shaking. She sees what I think are tears coming from my eyes. Actually looks at me with pity and says, “If you’re conning me Donnie…”
“I have nothing to gain from that” I interrupt.
“I know,” she snaps back quickly, “but if you are conning me, realize you’re hurting no one but yourself. If you’re using the false pretense of genuinely wanting change to weasel an hour of my time I’ll refuse to see you. No questions asked.”
“I can understand and live with that,” I say, “I’m over that, trust me… I’m so fucked up I need way more than an hour… Difference is I can actually see that now…”
She sees that I mean it and says, much to her dismay I imagine, “If I do this, if I give you an hour, you have to commit to therapy. We’ll schedule you in and go from there. With that commitment,” she says passionately, “I’ll listen to whatever it is you have to say for as long as you need right now. But only with that commitment… without it, as much as I don’t want to, I’ll have to close my door on you.”
I take it all in. Let it soak…
Then I think to myself, what’s the worst that can happen? Either way I get to vent. Best case I come back weekly and move on…
Worst case…
This won’t be the first time I’ve lied to a woman to get what I need…
