All That Was Happy (2 page)

“
Divorce threatens us at our core,”
Black said. “We fear that our need to be protected, nurtured,
touched, looked at, listened to--our need to belong to someone--has
been permanently taken away.”

“
It’s true,” Beckie said. “All of a
sudden I don’t feel safe--and I don’t mean from outer things, like
criminals and the like--I mean from myself--I don’t know what I
might do, or how I might be getting ready to react to all
this.”

“
Earlier you mentioned your desire to
shoot your husband,” Dr. Black said. “Tell me about the
gun.”

“
The gun is the one I keep in my glove
box,” Beckie said. “It’s a Charter Arms revolver--a policeman’s
special. It’s got a stainless steel frame and I had it fitted with
non-slip rubber combat grips. It’s loaded with four high-impact
hollowpoint shells. I keep the hammer on an empty
cylinder.”

“
Only four shots?”

“
That’s all I’ll need if ever I’m
hijacked,” Beckie said. “Because of the expensive car I drive,
Bernie felt I should be able to defend myself in case of an
attempted carjacking.”

“
Are you proficient in the use of the
gun?”

“
I’m an expert in personal firearms,”
Beckie said. “Bernie and I are charter members of the Beverly Hills
Gun Club. We joined back in ‘81 after it was first built. Bernie
loaned the founder some money to pay for some of the warehouse
conversion and was awarded a lifetime membership. Originally, I
became interested in carrying a gun because I used to take the cash
receipts bag to the bank every night after we closed our business
for the day. Because of Bernie’s connections with the Gun Club, I
was able to wrangle a carry permit. But after awhile, I really got
into it. Some of the other ladies and myself formed an informal
shooting club. It turned out I had a knack for target shooting.
I’ve competed in many competitions. I’ve got a garage full of
trophies. I’ve taken the official LAPD combat shooting course every
year since ‘81.”

Black walked to her desk, a neat-as-a-pin
chrome-and-glass affair whereupon she extracted a pad and began to
scribble. “I’m prescribing something for the stress,” she said. “I
want you to start on the medication immediately. Your experience
today has impacted your sense of wholeness--but you’ll want to keep
in mind that you’re going to find your safe space again--if you
find yourself experiencing strong feelings of violence towards
yourself or towards Bernie, I want you to call me right away. I
suggest we meet every day for the next week or so until we get you
stabilized.”

Beckie accepted the prescription. “What is
it?”

“
It’s just a little Tofranil,” Black
said. “And don’t infer from this that drugs are the answer--over
the next few days, we might try some biofeedback, or perhaps some
guided imagery to help you through. But for now, treating your
emotional pain is important. I want you to take the medicine
regularly. Don’t skip a dose or wait until you’re hurting before
taking it. By the way, you mentioned you drive an expensive
car--what type is it?”

“
A Mercedes SL600 convertible,” Beckie
said.

“
Is it fast?”

“
It’s got a V-12,” she answered. “It’ll
blow away almost anything out there.”

“
I want you to concentrate carefully on
your driving,” Dr. Black said. “Take lots of deep breaths and avoid
the temptation to speed. You’ve got a lot on your mind right now.
By the way, you might want to have a friend keep you company for
the next few days.”

“
I’ll think about it,” Beckie said.
“Leah can keep me company if I want her to. But right now I just
want to be alone.”

“
You’re lucky to have such a friend.
But doesn’t it bother you that she’s married to your husband’s
brother?”

“
She was my best friend all through
high school,” Beckie said. “In a way, she’s like my sister. Too bad
I married her brother-in-law. One of my fears is that it’s going to
strain things with Leah, then I’ll be completely alone. But to
answer your question, no it doesn’t bother me--Leah is my
lifeline--she’ll probably offer to mediate if Bernie and I decide
to communicate with each other.”

“
Bad things do happen,” Black said.
“And life does beat up on people at times. Nearly all newly
divorced women are convinced that they are facing some special,
awful truth about themselves--but the truth is, just because
another person has chosen to be cruel and thoughtless towards you,
it doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you.”

“
Oh,” Beckie said. “You aren’t going to
say Don’t Take It Personally, are you?”

“
I’m not saying that,” Black said. “But
I am saying if you learn to look at it right, you can come through
this not only in one piece, but maybe better than you ever were
before.”

Beckie left the room and was escorted out by
Leah, who’d been thumbing through a venerable stack of old National
Geographics.

“
These older issues are incredibly
sexist,” Leah said. “How’d you like Dr. Black?”

“
She thinks my problems with feeling
depressed and discouraged are normal, considering the
circumstances,” Beckie said. “But what does she know--the truth is,
I’m a loser. I found myself sitting in there trying to be the
perfect patient--all the while, my guts were screaming.”

“
That’s normal,” Leah said. “It takes a
few sessions before you start letting it all hang out. Dr. Black is
not your usual shrink. She's a Navajo Indian. I think she trained
in magic on the reservation as a child.”

"That's just perfect," Beckie said. "A
shaman. Only in Los Angeles."

They elevator'd down to the parking lot and
entered Beckie’s silver Mercedes, pulling out into the pre-rush
hour Wilshire Boulevard traffic, the convertible allowing a full
bask of the April sun, hot on their skin, as they made their way
through the peculiar pack of low and medium-rise construction
densities, where the packing, shipping and handling of the wealthy
populace was performed expertly inside the exotic mini-environs of
accountants, lawyers, doctors, and others who understood the
importance of practical pizzazz and its applications to the dried
souls pressed beneath their stacks of money.

Beckie turned off Wilshire and entered the
cusp of a district of older homes, choosing a country-style white
brick mini-manse, pulling into the driveway, the car gliding
underneath a canopy of acacia trees and into a surrounding
garden--a woodland cocoon which sheltered the entrance from the
intrusions of the urban neighborhood, a garden which, with
splashing fountain muting the roar from the nearby Wilshire, lent
an atmosphere of shaded solitude to the place. She turned off the
car and stepped out.

“
Home sweet home,” she said. “It’s
strange. I haven’t really heard that fountain since we installed it
over five years ago. Now I can hear it clearly. At the time, Bernie
didn’t want to buy it--but I wanted to make a strong, simple
statement for guests. I wanted a bright spot in the middle of the
shade--a place for birds to bathe and squirrels to
drink.”

They crossed the wide, covered porch and
entered the residence, making their way past the huge living
room--filled with comfortable couches, happy pictures, antique
lamps and artful placements of candles--to the tiny, cramped
kitchen whereupon Leah set about making a pot of coffee.

“
There’s some crumb cake in the
cupboard,” Beckie said. “It’s funny, we were going to remodel this
kitchen to better accommodate our plans for entertaining. We were
going to draw some extra space from the living room and go with
multiple work centers--I had a contractor plan out the island as a
staging area which also housed the oven and the microwave. We were
going for clean lines and a lot of wicker.”

“
You still can,” Leah said, setting out
the crumb cake and a couple of plates.

“
How do I do that?” Beckie said. “How
do I just keep on going with my so-called life? How do I learn to
think for myself after twenty-nine years of thinking the way Bernie
wanted me to? It’s just inconceivable that there’s going to be a
life after this divorce. I’m going to die alone in this
house--alone and friendless.”

“
I’m calling the pharmacy,” Leah said.
“They’ll deliver your medicine and you’ll feel better.”

“
I don’t want to feel anything,” Beckie
said. “Not now. Not ever again.”

“
Eat your crumb cake,” Leah said. “You
need some sugar in your blood.”

“
You’re right,” Beckie said. “And I
shouldn’t even be thinking about the future. I need to keep my mind
on where things are right now. If I could simply do that, then I
wouldn’t feel such a sense of overwhelming evil. But you know what
really hurts, right now? It’s knowing that when it’s time to go to
bed tonight, for the first time in twenty-nine years, I’ll be
getting in that bed by myself--and it’ll be that way for the rest
of my life.”

“
The prescription will be delivered in
about an hour,” Leah said, hanging up the phone. “And you should
try to eat something.”

“
The problem is,” Beckie said,
“nowadays we all live too long. If we died when we were supposed
to, Bernie wouldn’t have divorced me--he would have died by now.
Instead, he did die--he died to me--he ended his life with me, but
instead of going to his grave, where I could at least grieve over
him, and respect him, he’s divorced me and is starting another
life--he’s going to have a child! The child I could never give
him!”

Beckie’s tears, no longer held in check by
the earlier shockwave of the serving of the papers, began to
copiously flow.

“
It’s going to be okay,” Leah said.
“What’s done is done--you can’t turn back the clock and do it
over--but the future still belongs to you.”

“
We had a pleasant home,” Beckie said.
“It just doesn’t seem fair. Yesterday, I was a wife, with a place
in this community. Today, I’m a pariah. All our friends are going
to treat me like a second class citizen. I’m so ashamed. I’m so
alone.”

Leah held her until the tears ran their
course, tears which, like lava from a volcano, burned their
traceways across the landscape of her soul, and of which there were
plenty more where they came from.

Chapter
3

“
Even allowing that you’ve been in the
face of great frustration,” Leah said, “what you’re doing doesn’t
make a lot of sense.”

“
Why should anything I do from here on
out make sense?” Beckie said. “All I’ve done my whole life is make
sense, and what’s it got me? It’s got me replaced by a younger
female of child-bearing age, that’s what.”

Beckie, glaring venomously at the world
through the windshield of the Mercedes Roadster, was bidding
good-bye to Leah for the moment, and preparing to depart for places
unknown. She’d changed from her pantsuit into a scoop-neck, pale
pink camisole and jeans, setoff by a pair of white platform
wedgies. The cool of a spring evening was setting in; the
convertible top whined into place.

“
I just think it would be better if you
waited until tomorrow,” Leah said. “Especially since you’re new to
the medication you just took. It says right on the label that
drowsiness can occur. C’mon back in, Beckie. You can wait a few
more hours.”

“
Wait for what? For more punishment?
I’ve already been found guilty on all counts of being a bad wife.
Maybe I’ll feel differently later, but for right now, the thought
of sleeping in that bed tonight is just too much for me. I can’t
even face the thought of lying there alone in the darkness. I need
some time alone to think. I’m going to take a drive, and then I’ll
get a hotel room someplace.”

“
I don’t think you should be alone
tonight,” Leah said.

“
I can’t face anybody right now,”
Beckie said. “Not even you. I really need to be alone.”

“
You’ll wind up in a bar someplace,”
Leah said. “A hotel will be too lonely--you’ll wind up drinking
yourself into a coma. Or worse, dressed like that, you’ll get
picked up by some creep--I can see it clear as day. Don’t forget,
that guy who cuts off women’s arms is out again.”

“
I’m forty-nine years old,” Beckie
said. “I don’t think I’ll be cruising the bars the day I get served
my divorce. But if you’re right, if I do go to a bar, I’ll call you
and you can join me.” She hit the gas and the powerful car skewed
sideways before straightening out and exiting the driveway, heading
back to Wilshire, turning east towards the 405 freeway and the
Valley. The traffic was thick and barbaric in the thin, cooling,
early evening light. It took her the better part of an hour to make
her way north over the pass and back down into the San Fernando
Valley. The light had faded into an urban glare by the time she
turned off Sepulveda onto Saticoy and arrived at the single story
Argon Tools warehouse, the business she and Bernie had built almost
from scratch, slowly and painfully over the past twenty-nine years,
the building she had spent most of her life working in, answering
the phones and keeping the books until six months ago, when Bernie
told her she could retire, that he would hire an office manager to
replace her, one who was better trained on computers.

She cruised slowly into the parking lot.
Bernie’s car, his new silver Jag sedan, was parked in front. It was
approaching 7 p.m. He normally knocked off at 7, she knew, and
would be coming out soon. She parked beside the jag and opened her
glove box and removed the Charter Arms revolver, keeping it gripped
in her right hand. She put the seat back, closed her eyes and
waited.