All That Was Happy (7 page)

Beckie, her emotionally hammered pieces
scattered all over the floor of Black’s office, worked hard at
simply getting enough air in her lungs not to pass out. It was
awhile before she had anything to say, and during the silence, she
felt her mind attach itself to the white noise of the building hum,
keeping her seething emotions in check, keeping her urge to respond
violently to the Doctor’s lambasting to a minimum.

“
My favorite flower is white
chrysanthemums,” Beckie finally said. “My mother used to keep them
fresh on her dining table every spring. She once painted an old
hotel dresser green and then stenciled it with white chrysanthemums
for my room when I was growing up. She said that the flowers were a
symbol of the warmth she felt towards those who entered her home. I
guess, somewhere along the way, I never picked up what my mother
was trying to impart. Somehow, I went in another direction--a
direction without passion.”

“
It’s not too late,” Black
said.

“
People used to laugh that Mom bought
old hotel furniture and then refinished it,” Beckie said. “But she
used to tell me not to be afraid to buy what I loved, no matter
what anybody else thought. When I met Bernie, he was a fat little
guy with a big square head and big thick glasses trying to grow his
hair long and be hip--it was obvious he wasn’t ever going to be
attractive. And I came along, with my scoop-neck Granny dresses and
my long blonde hair and my dynamite figure and I knew that I could
make Bernie do anything I wanted him to do--I was very cruel to him
at first. When we started dating, I used to call him up at his
parents late at night and make him stop whatever he was doing and
go fetch something for me. If it was summer, I made him get me
Rocky Road ice cream. If it was winter, he had to bring me a
thermos of hot chocolate. When he’d arrive, I’d take it from him at
the doorway and not even let him come in.”

“
In other words, the exact opposite of
the warm friendship your mother had for people,” Black
said.

“
My mother used to tell me that I
should never pass up something I loved,” Beckie said. “She used to
tell me that regret is a terrible thing. She said if I passed
something up, I’d never find it again. Now I realize that she was
right--I passed up love, I never loved Bernie--I liked his fat,
froggy little self--but I never had the kind of romantic love for
him that a woman should have for her man. Now that I’ve lost
him--I’m filled with regret over what might have been.”

“
It’s always been your little party,”
Black said. “You’ve always been the center of attention in your
little world--well, now that the spotlight is off, what are you
going to do?”

“
The first thing I’m going to do is
stop trying to kill myself,” Beckie said. “And I guess I’m through
vilifying Bernie for something that’s not his fault. But as far as
the rest goes, I can see that this is not a job for your average,
ordinary selfish, manipulating female--if you’ll agree, I’d like to
keep working on myself.”

“
Once you seek a teacher,” Black said,
“you’ll find the Universe itself opening up to you--everything will
start to come into line.”

“
I’m a woman banished,” Beckie said.
“And in my new exile, I’m not all that sure of myself. It’s
funny--up to now, I’ve done whatever I pleased, whenever I wanted
to do it without a thought for the consequences--now I’m afraid to
do anything for fear it will be a huge mistake.”

“
Our time for today is almost up,”
Black said. “But there’s a few things I think we ought to
consider--I’ve heard a number of things today--one is, I’ve heard
that you ignored the wishes of your mother to adopt a compassionate
stance towards the people in your life. You also abandoned your
religion and forced Bernie to do likewise. You’ve also realized
that, deep down, you never loved Bernie. I’m going to ask you for a
moment, to think the unthinkable--to imagine reconciling with
Bernie.”

“
I can’t,” Beckie said. “The gulf
between us is simply too enormous--not only his sins against me,
but mine against him! As of yesterday, the marriage
died.”

“
You are both still alive,” Black said.
“Life is for the living, not for the dead. Life is for being with
the people you care about--it’s for tuning in and turning on to
what’s important. Your former basis for living has been an
unbalanced selfishness--I suggest to you that if you should ever
make up your mind to pursue a compassionate vision of life, that
all things would be possible to you. You could find it in your
heart to love Bernie if you tried. You can stop being an alien in
your own emotional life and become a lover and a
friend.”

“
Dr. Black,” Beckie said. “This is
going to sound crazy, and maybe I shouldn’t bring it up now, but
last night I met a guy.”

Black never blinked, but her mouth worked and
no words came out--Beckie had succeeded in shocking the doctor with
the news.

“
That’s an earthy choice,” Black
said.

“
He’s younger by a dozen years, and he
claims to be rich,” she said. “We’re having dinner together
tonight.”

“
My mother always used to tell me,”
Black said, “to butter my toast at the counter before I brought it
to the table.”

“
What’s that mean?” Beckie
said.

“
You figure it out,” Black said. “Our
time is up for today.”

Chapter
11

“
What do you mean my car’s not here?”
Beckie said.

“
It was picked up by an agency,” the
attendant said. “I’ve got a copy of the paperwork right here giving
them authority to take it.”

“
You jerk!” Beckie said. “That car’s
worth over a hundred and fifty grand--you just let somebody drive
out of here with it?”

Having left Black’s office and once again run
the gauntlet of well-dressed people staring at her like she was
crazy for still being in her bathrobe and clutching a tiny dog,
Beckie, upon handing her ticket to the parking attendant, was
stunned to learn that the car was gone.

“
I don’t think you’re the one to be
arguing with me, lady,” the man said. “You being in your bathrobe,
and with the little dog, and all--it doesn’t present a good case
for your credibility. The paperwork here has a copy of the pink
slip to the car. Maybe you had a fight with your husband,
huh?”

“
My husband,” Beckie said, “is
divorcing me--but it was my car--he gave it to me for a Christmas
present only six months ago.”

“
You two having a little trouble?
Perhaps he got tired of making the payments.”

“
Do you see a bank’s name on that pink
slip?”

“
No, I guess I don’t.”

“
Why are we standing here discussing
this? I’m freezing in this wind. I need you to call me a cab.
That’s the least you can do. And don’t expect a tip. If you don’t
hurry it up, I’m complaining to the building
management.”

“
Complain all you want,” he said. “My
cousin owns this building--how do you think I got the job
here?”

“
Forget the cab,” Beckie said. “Call a
limo service--get me a big one--a stretch Lincoln if they have
it--and make it white. White’s my favorite color.”

“
You sure you got that kind of cash on
you, lady? If you ask me, you look like you’re a few tacos short of
a combination plate.”

“
There’s a gun in my bag,” she said.
“It’s loaded with four hollow-point bullets. Now you can either
call me a limo or you can make the 5 o’clock news on
KTLA.”

“
Sure thing lady,” the man said,
hurriedly dialing the number. He was used to dealing with strange
people, what with his position as gatekeeper to the important
building. He’d learned the importance of looking at things from the
other person’s point of view--especially if they looked a little
crazy, their favorite color was white, they had a stupid little dog
in a bag, and claimed to be carrying a gun.

Chapter
12

“
Where to lady?” the driver
said.

“
Run me over to Nordy’s,” Beckie said.
“And step on it.”

The sparkling white stretch Lincoln caught
the first of the late morning sun as the haze burned off enough to
impart a hopeful cast over the hard-charging river of traffic on
the Wilshire/405 overpass. Fed up with hearing about her
imperfections, and pestered by a bad bout of worry regarding
Bernie’s seizure of her car, Beckie had decided to clarify her
anxieties about her tatty appearance with a trip to Nordstrom’s,
the store which made it possible not only to climb any social
mountain, but to purchase it, if one desired to, and have it
delivered anywhere at any time of day or night. This service was
routinely provided and each shopper had come to expect, upon
entering the sacred shopping spaces, to find themselves the focus
of the sort of highly focused, personal attention which rivaled
that which a U.S. First Lady might expect to receive from her
personal aide when choosing what to wear for an important night of
diplomatic revelry in the Lincoln bedroom.

There was nothing she could do about her
initial appearance as she made her entrance into the store, but,
once inside the safety of its doors, she was absolutely certain
that she could effect a transformation which could range anywhere
from the predictable to the sublime, depending on her whim. That,
plus perhaps a little champagne and a cheese Danish or two, might
help to offset the dark clouds of emotions hovering just offshore
of her soul.

“
Not the front entrance,” Beckie said.
“Let me off around back. I don’t want the whole world seeing me
like this.”

Once inside, Beckie was immediately hailed by
an attractive young Asian woman who called herself Virginia and
blinked not at any suggestion of Beckie’s apparel that she was
perhaps less than in her right mind. At Nordstrom’s, a customer was
a customer, and as such, considering they drew as their clientele
from among the wealthiest residents on the planet, were accustomed
to the noble practice of treating every customer as a potential
Queen.

“
I need a whole new me,” Beckie
explained. “I just got served my divorce papers and I’m still
struggling for air--I’ve got a date tonight with a much younger
man. We’re probably going into the Valley for Mexican food. What do
you suggest?”

“
With your figure,” Virginia said, “we
can go hot or cold--we can go backless, or go with a big slit up
the side of the skirt, or whatever you want--we can have you
looking like a school girl or like Sharon Stone. You tell me. Do
you feel hot or cold about tonight? It’s whatever you want--come
this way and I’ll show you. Do you want some champagne?”

“
Please,” Beckie said. “And whatever
you’ve got for a snack. You still serving those little cheese
Danish's?”

“
We’ve got a great chocolate eclair,
everything low-fat,” Virginia said, “or you can have some macadamia
nuts--everybody is on the Atkins diet and they’re all eating
macadamia nuts and fried pork skins.” Virginia pointed to the
comfortable chair where Beckie should sit, and left her there, like
a queen on a throne, waiting for the presentation of the outfits by
Virginia and her support staff.

A helper brought the crystal flute of
champagne along with a silver dish of miniature, bite-size eclairs,
a couple of which Beckie stuffed into her mouth before sipping
eagerly of the champagne, noticing the way the chocolatey creamery
of the pastry, aided by the acidic but fruity bubbles seemed to
sweep away the unpleasant taste left in her mouth by recent
events.

“
Do you like the champagne?” the helper
said.

“
Mmmph!” Beckie said, nodding her head
vigorously up and down.

Virginia returned with a rack containing
several choices. “What are you going to do with your hair?” she
asked.

“
I really don’t know,” Beckie said.
“I’m working on building my confidence and self-esteem ever since I
got served my divorce papers yesterday--I’m actually just trying to
learn to relax enough so I don’t go insane. I mean, take last
night, for example--I met a new guy and he came over and we talked
and everything, so I agreed to see him again tonight, but
meanwhile, my husband just repossessed my Mercedes, and I was
stranded right there on Wilshire and Barrington in my
bathrobe.”

Virginia did not attempt to reply to this,
but instead chose from the rack a beautiful, port-colored silk
camisole top.

“
I can’t do this,” Beckie said. “I
can’t shop for clothes right now. Look, Virginia, here’s my
Platinum card. I’m going to grab a plate of these eclairs and I’m
getting out of here. I thought coming here would help me to relax,
but the harder I try to relax, the more tense I feel. Here’s what I
need you to do--I need you to put together a half-dozen outfits for
me, everything from red-hot to ice-cold. I mean, shoes and
everything. I’m leaving it all up to you. The main thing is, I need
a whole new look, my favorite color is white, and I’m not sure I
trust my own judgment any more--just keep in mind that tonight I’m
seeing a guy who’s about twelve years younger than I am, and
tomorrow I have to attend a meeting with my husband’s lawyers--the
main thing is, I don’t want my husband to see me wearing anything
he’s ever seen me wear before.”