Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife (33 page)

[Monday, November 17]

After making phone calls the last few days to find a good pulmonary doctor for my dad, I made an appointment.

“You’re going to see a pulmonary specialist tomorrow,” I told my father over the phone.

“Hmm,” my dad said, sounding concerned and depressed. “Is that what you’d do?”

“Yes,” I said. “You don’t want to screw around with this. The doctor wants to see your X-rays, he’ll probably schedule you for a needle biopsy. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”

“Let me think about it and I’ll call you back,” my dad said. He called back a little while later and said he’d go.

I sat down at my computer to work on a story I’m writing for the
Chicago Reader,
profiling the Healing Rooms of Zion. The Healing Rooms is a little storefront operation where evangelicals lay hands on sick people and ask God for healing. I’d thought about asking my father if he wanted to go, but I doubted its effectiveness. A Healing Rooms client I was featuring was dying of cancer, and she’d experienced no breakthroughs. I’d gone as a client myself to see if the Healing Rooms could get rid of my sinus infection before contacting them for this story. I’d wound up calling my doctor days later and getting a prescription for antibiotics. I asked the Healing Rooms healers about their less-than-stellar track record and they told me that doubt or a blockage in either the healer’s or patient’s connection with God could prevent healing.

The phone rang and it was Fay. There was a lot of noise in the background.

“Where are you?” I asked her.

“Where are you?” she shot back. “We’re at Fiona’s for breakfast, all except you.”

Fiona was having the book club over to have breakfast and donate books to a charity. I’d had it on my calendar for weeks but completely forgot. I didn’t want to go. I needed to work on my story, and I was worried sick about my father.

“I’ll pop by for an hour,” I told Fay.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and went to Fiona’s looking unkempt. I didn’t care. Tina was telling everyone how stressful it was working with an architect to come up with the perfect plans for her new house. Shelly was yammering on and on about the new granite countertops she was installing and how difficult it was to select a new faucet.

“I want a brushed silver finish, but the sprayer that matches the faucet only comes in a shiny finish.”

I wanted to scream.

[Tuesday, November 18]

My dad saw the lung doctor today. My mom called after his appointment, which I wasn’t at, and told me, “We really liked the doctor. He’s a young guy about your age. He has long hair. He looked at the X-rays and said it could be the prostate cancer or an infection. Whatever it is, his lungs are pretty spattered with it. Your father’s scheduled for a needle biopsy on Thursday.”

[Thursday, November 20]

It’s my sister’s birthday today. I’d planned to mail her a birthday card, but never got around to it. I’m terrible with cards. Paula and I usually celebrate each other’s birthdays by going out to dinner, so I called her to wish her a happy birthday and get a dinner date on the calendar. But as usual, Paula and I couldn’t agree on a date. I’d bought Paula a silver and turquoise cross pendant for her birthday when I was in South Beach with Abby. When it became clear dinner wasn’t going to happen any time soon, I told Paula I’d drop off her present at our parent’s house so she could pick it up on Thanksgiving. Charlie and the boys and I are spending Thanksgiving with Charlie’s family.

“I can’t talk to Dad,” Paula said. “He gets upset and yells at me. It seems like he doesn’t want to talk to me. I called him this morning and he was getting into the shower and said he couldn’t talk. I called last week and he picked up the phone and right away he said, ‘You want to talk to your mother?’ So screw it. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

I’d called Paula a couple of weeks ago when our father went back to Dr. Svengali, hoping to get her on my bandwagon and push Dad to see Dr. Benton. I’d called her yesterday as well to tell her about Dad’s lung consultation.

“You got him to see a different doctor?” Paula had said irritably. “That was quick.”

“He’s got to get on this,” I said.

“You couldn’t get him to go to Northwestern, though, huh? I mean, like you said, it’s a better hospital.”

“It’s a step in the right direction,” I said. “The lung doc he saw is affiliated with Northwestern and Dad said he liked him.”

“You talked to Dad?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Later, I went to a meeting. As I was leaving, my cell phone rang, and it was Eliza, a young woman I’d met at a meeting a couple weeks ago. She was sobbing hysterically. Eliza called me earlier this afternoon. She told me she’d been living at the shelter for seven months, got on a waiting list for a subsidized apartment where she’d be monitored, but when she became friends with another young woman at the shelter named Dashawna, she moved in with her instead.

“We jumped the gun,” Eliza told me earlier this afternoon. “Dashawna said she knew some good people we could move in with and save money for our own place.”

Those “good” people were a woman and her two twenty-something-year-old sons, one a registered sex offender.

As Eliza cried hysterically, I stood near the doorway of the meeting I was leaving and pressed my cell phone closer to my head.

“You need to calm down,” I told her. “I can’t understand you.”

In between sobs, Eliza choked out that she was calling me from a gas station near my house. “I need a place to stay tonight,” she cried. “Can I stay at your house?”

“Uh, hmm, um, yeah, sure,” I told her. “I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

Shit,
I thought to myself. I hadn’t given Eliza my cell phone number. I’d only given her the number to my house. She must have talked to Charlie. I called Charlie.

“What the hell’s going on?” Charlie yelled.

I told Charlie.

“I don’t want you bringing this into my house,” he growled.

“I’ve got to help her out,” I said. “It’s just for one night. It’ll be all right. I think the pie house is still open. I’ll take her there and calm her down before we come home. She’s going to her sponsor’s house tomorrow. Put the kids to bed and don’t tell them anything. They won’t see her until morning. Put sheets and a blanket on the living room couch. She’ll sleep there.”

Eliza was still sobbing when I pulled into the gas station. She plopped her 250-pound butt onto my car seat, and we drove to the pie house.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

Eliza nodded; her chest heaved as she tried to stifle sobs.

“I’m going to buy you some dinner or pie or whatever, and you’ll stay at my house tonight,” I said. “You’re going to be okay. Tomorrow, we’ll get you to your sponsor’s house, and you two will figure things out.”

Eliza nodded. We pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and sat there for several minutes, so Eliza could compose herself enough to walk into the restaurant. At the table, we sipped coffee and Eliza ordered dinner.

“I fucked Germaine, one of the guys I’ve been living with,” Eliza said. “Now I’m pregnant, about a month-and-a-half pregnant. I’m working two jobs, and I’m the only one working in the house. I’m paying for everything: their food stamps and everything public aid don’t cover. I’m supporting everyone and not saving a dime. My sponsor gave me nuts, oatmeal, rice crackers, a bag of stuff to keep in my room so I have something to eat. Now my wallet’s missing along with my ID and Social Security card. My bank was supposed to send me a new ATM card because mine was missing, and I called the bank today to find out if they sent it. They told me they sent it two weeks ago.

“I came home from work today, and Germaine was outside. He said, ‘Hey, what’s up, nigger?’ I told him not to call me that. It’s disrespectful. He started screaming at me. I walked into the house and as we were walking up the stairs to the apartment, he pushed past me and called me a white bitch fat ass. He went into the apartment and slammed the door in my face.” Eliza started crying again. “He wouldn’t let me in. He locked me out. I’ve been locked out for hours and no one will let me in.” She began sobbing. “He’s been getting ugly and scary ever since he found out I was pregnant.”

“Here,” I said, sliding a glass of water in front of Eliza. She drank some water and began calming down. “How do you feel about being pregnant?”

“I’m happy I’m having a baby,” she said, brightening up. “I know how to raise kids because I raised my nephew for three years while my sister was in jail. My whole family is happy for me and wants me to move back home. They’ll help me. I just don’t have the financial part of it worked out.

“I’d like to move back home to be with my mom,” she continued. “My mom’s dying of AIDS. She’s been clean for twenty years and they don’t know how she got it because she was diagnosed with HIV when I was seven and the last day she got high was the day I was born. My mom only slept with two guys, my dad and this other guy. I’m not sure which one is my dad, but the other guy is dead, so I don’t care.”

The waitress came by and set a hamburger and fries in front of Eliza. Eliza took a huge bite of her burger and, with her mouth full, said, “When my dad found out my mom slept with someone else, he got so mad he slept with three other women and got them all pregnant. I have two older sisters by my mom and dad, and I have two younger half-sisters and a half-brother by my dad and those women. I didn’t even know about my younger sisters and brother until I was in junior high and high school. I found out about one of my sisters after I fooled around with her. My dad felt really bad about that. When he found out we were fooling around, he told me we were sisters.”

My mouth was hanging open and I shut it.

“My dad is a great guy,” Eliza continued between bites of food. “He’s a lot of fun and everyone thinks he’s the coolest dad. But I don’t think I can go back home because of him. He still smokes pot and PCP. I’ve been sober since December eleventh, and I’m really trying hard. And that fat ass name. He calls me fat ass, and I don’t take that well.”

Eliza put her hamburger down. “He’s going to court, my dad. He says he didn’t sexually molest that girl, but I don’t know if I believe him after what he did to me.”

“Did he molest you?” I asked.

“Yeah. But it was mostly physical and psychological abuse.” Eliza had the shittiest life and didn’t even know it. Her phone rang.

“Finally, it’s my sponsor,” she said.

Eliza snapped her phone shut. “May says I can live with her temporarily until other arrangements can be worked out.”

“Should I take you there now?” I asked hopefully. “May probably has a guest room where you’d be more comfortable. I only have a couch.”

“Are you kidding?” Eliza laughed. “I’ve slept in cars. I can sleep anywhere.”

I took Eliza home with me. It was eleven o’clock, and Charlie was still up watching the Blackhawks game. I introduced Charlie and Eliza.

“I’m sorry about freaking you out earlier,” Eliza told Charlie.

“That’s okay,” Charlie said. “Well, I’m going to bed now.”

I made up Eliza’s bed on the couch, said goodnight, and went upstairs with my purse, which I usually leave downstairs.

[Friday, November 21]

I got up early and was surprised to see Eliza sitting on the couch reading a magazine.

“You want some coffee?” I asked.

“I’d really like to take a bath,” Eliza said. “I’ve always wanted to take a bath in a bathtub like that.” We have a huge claw-foot, cast-iron tub.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I’ll run the water for you. You have to start the water really hot to warm up the tub.” I filled the bath, adjusted the water temperature a couple of times, and estimated how much water Eliza would displace before I filled the tub to a fairly low level and handed Eliza a towel.

As I spooned coffee into the coffee maker, I recalled Eliza telling me how she’s been super horny since her pregnancy. A picture of her masturbating in my tub floated into my head, and I quickly banished it. I went upstairs to get Max ready for school.

“You let your friend Eliza sleep here last night?” Max asked.

Charlie must have told Max about Eliza.

Max had met Eliza exactly a week before. Eliza had called and asked me to take Dashawna to the ER because they thought Dashawna had food poisoning from eating bad mayonnaise. I drove up to the crappy two-flat around the corner that the neighbors all want razed and stopped. “They live here?” Max asked. Max had been advised to steer clear of this building.

“Go up and ring the second-floor doorbell,” I told Max.

“If I go up, they’re not going to know who I am,” Max said.

“You’re not going all the way up,” I said. “Walk up the front steps, ring the doorbell, and get back in the car. They’ll come out.”

Max rang the bell and, instead of getting into the car, stood outside trying to get a peek inside the off-limits building. His mouth dropped open when Eliza and Dashawna, who is as overweight as Eliza, waddled out. Eliza squeezed into the back seat and Dashawna, who smelled like a dirty ashtray and ass, plopped into the front seat next to me. I dropped off Dashawna at the hospital, then drove Eliza to the shopping mall where she works. Before she got out, Eliza leaned over and told Max that he looks like Harry Potter, which he hears a lot.

“Thanks,” Max said politely.

“How do you know them?” Max asked after Eliza got out of the car.

“They go to the No Alcohol Club,” I said. “Oh. Well, they seem really nice.”