Getting to Happy (41 page)

“We’re on the same page on that one,” I say. “How do you measure happiness?”

He thinks about this one. And as if he’s talking to himself, he says: “It’s a feeling of calm that comes from inside. When you figure out what’s important. When you have nothing to prove. Giving everything you do everything you’ve got and being satisfied, regardless of the outcome. What about you?”

I take a long sip of water. I hadn’t considered answering these questions when I was going through them. “When you’re willing to surrender to goodness and joy. Give yourself permission to feel it. Not holding yourself hostage for making mistakes. Doing what you love. Doing for others. Learning to cherish the beauty of right now. When you can make yourself smile and laugh without depending on anybody else.”

“I like yours. Maybe we can combine them.”

I look at him like, what?

“Come on, Savannah. You’re intelligent enough to know what I meant. So don’t even go there.”

“Your three worst qualities?”

“My three worst qualities? Hard to narrow it down to just three. Okay. One: I’m impatient. Two: I’m opinionated. And three: I’m a perfectionist. And I’m listening,” he says, putting his chin in his hands.

“I’m impatient, opinionated and I, too, am a perfectionist. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to add two more.”

“Be my guest. I could’ve kept going, too, you know. But I wouldn’t want to frighten you off.”

“I’m shaking like a leaf. I’m prone to gossip and sometimes I’m not as empathetic as I could be.”

“Who is?”

“What about your best qualities?” I ask.

“I’m not the one to answer that. Yours?”

“I’m brutally honest. I’m prone to gossip and I’m definitely opinionated. It’s how I know where I stand. Last one?”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No. I just have a million things I have to do today. I also have to be somewhere in less than an hour.”

“Did you have a time limit set for me? Tell the truth.”

“Of course not,” I say as I finish the last of my salad.

Jasper hasn’t touched his. I feel his eyes on me. I’m almost afraid to look up. “This was delicious,” I say. “Why aren’t you eating yours?”

“I seem to have lost my appetite, which is strange because I haven’t eaten since this morning. I loved those questions. I hope we can do this again one day?”

I look at my salad. One day? “Maybe we can, Jasper.”

“Once more with feeling,” he says. “Look, I’ll be frank. I know a lot about you, Savannah, which is why I wanted to meet you.”

“What is it you think you know about me?”

“You’re independent and smart and interesting. You know who you are. I respect the topics you explore on your shows. I know you collect black art—and so do I, by the way. You’re an avid reader. And from what I can tell, pretty open-minded. Did I mention that you’re also beautiful?”

“Thank you, Jasper. Especially for the nice things you said about my work.”

“How much time do we have?” He’s got a smirk on his face.

“About twenty minutes or so.”

“Tell me. What kinds of things do you like to do in your spare time? Was this question on that list?”

“No. You mean as in hobbies?”

He nods. Nibbles on a long leaf.

“I don’t really have any specific hobbies.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t.”

“Have you ever golfed?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about taking lessons. I take it you do?”

“Every chance I get. Maybe we could go out on the driving range one day. I could teach you a few things.”

“Wait! I do have a hobby. I love to travel.”

“I don’t know if traveling is what I’d call a hobby. I could be wrong. I’d like to hear about some of the places you’ve been. Maybe another time. For now, how about this: Where’s your next trip?”

“Paris. I leave in three days. For two weeks.”

His eyes widen and brighten. “Right on! Paris is probably my most favorite city in the world. In fact, I almost moved there. Have you been before?”

“Twice.”

“Do you speak French?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Neither do I. If you don’t mind my asking, are you going with someone?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good for you, Savannah! My kind of woman! Forgive me. I just haven’t met very many sisters who travel the world solo. That’s all I meant. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No offense taken.”

“God, I sure wish I could go. We could hang out in one of those fabulous lounges and have a drink and sit on a sofa and listen to live music and talk some and boogie some and then chase it with a few shots of espresso and maybe walk along the Seine . . .”

“Earth to Jasper. That sounds very intriguing but right now we’re here in Phoenix and it’s been very nice having brunch with you.”

He folds his hands, leans forward and looks directly into my eyes. “Before you go, can I ask you one last question just to satisfy my curiosity?”

“It depends on the question.”

“Of course Thora told me you’re a recent divorcee.”

“That I am.”

“I also understand we’re not supposed to talk about our divorces. Was this a no-no on the list?”

“It sure was.”

“If you don’t want to answer this, you can tell me to go to hell and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Okay.”

“So what made you want to divorce him? Unless it’s way too personal.”

“He bored me to death.”

“That’s the same reason my wife wanted to split! But she was right. I was boring as hell back then. I was working seventy, eighty hours a week. It’s one of the reasons I retired. I made a horrible husband. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“And he was a porn addict.”

“There’s that.”

“Are you on good terms with your ex-wife?”

“I would say so. After years of pure hell. Time does help you heal. What about you? We’re breaking the first-date rules, Savannah.”

“It’s okay. It’s not a date, remember?”

He hunches his shoulders. It is what it is.

“Anyway. We parted ways on pretty good terms. It’s his post-divorce actions that have gotten me a little pissed. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I hated my wife’s guts for years because it turned out she’d been having an affair with one of my best friends. End of divorce stories. Okay?”

I nod.

“Trust me. Pretty soon he’ll just be someone you used to love.”

“If only.”

“Well, whether you realize it or not, you’re already starting a new life, for lack of a better cliché.”

“You don’t know that, Jasper.”

“You’re on your way to Paris. Alone. And you’re here,” he says, tapping the table. ”On a blind date with me. No one twisted your arm—at least I don’t think Thora did, though she can be quite persuasive. Seriously, your willingness to meet me for a salad is a big deal. You have every right to be gun shy. However, should we end up becoming friends, I hope we can still meet in Paris for a drink one day. No strings attached. On the other hand, if you think I’m a complete jerk and you never want to see me again, I want you to know I give you a lot of credit for realizing what you can live with and what you can live without.”

Well, damn, since he put it like that.

Recovery Road

“So, what are you on?” Bernadine’s new roommate asked her.

“Nothing,” she said, and sat up in her twin-sized bed.

“Well, I can see you’re not wearing your purple wristband. And you’re in your own clothes, so you’ve already been through the hardest part. I’m Belinda,” she said, reaching out her shaking hand. “So, put another way. What
were
you on?”

“Xanax and Ambien.”

“Well, I’ve got you beat by a long shot, honey. What were your numbers?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many a day?”

“One or two Xanax. And—”

“Stop right there. Did you just say ‘one or two’?”

Bernadine nodded. “Sometimes two or three Ambien a week.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing in here? I’m sorry for swearing. You’re not one of those religious ones, are you?”

Bernadine shook her head. Belinda looked like she’d been on something for a long time. Her brown hair was greasy. Her skin was so pasty it looked like she never went outside. Her blue eyes looked like glass. The sockets under them were so swollen, Bernadine saw a freeway of veins. “What are you on?”

“Looks like that morphine drip got me again.”

“I’m confused.”

“Aren’t we all,” Belinda said. “I’m a nurse. Or I should say, I was a nurse. Thanks to my loving husband, who turned me in this time. Anyway, I cared for terminally ill patients and unfortunately, after some of them died, there was still a little of my drug of choice left, so I figured, what a waste to toss it.”

“Well, you couldn’t have had people dying every day.”

She pulled her hospital gown to cover her shoulders, then pointed her index finger at Bernadine. “You are correct. Which is why I started helping myself. Anyway, you may find this hard to believe, but I took Xanax and Vicodin to detox off morphine. To the tune of about ten or twenty a day. Don’t even ask how many milligrams. It’s a moot point.”

Bernadine swallowed hard. “Didn’t you ever worry about overdosing?”

Belinda just looked at her. “Haven’t you met any of the other honorary members at A New Day yet?”

“Yesterday was my first full day participating.”

“Wasn’t it fun? Especially the meet and greet. ‘Hi, I’m Belinda and I’m a drug addict from San Bernardino.’ So you got the addiction-is-a-
disease
lecture and you have to find your Higher Power or you’re doomed. Right?”

“Somewhat. I learned a lot.”

“Oh, they’re just warming up, honey bunny. Take a look at the schedule of lectures and movies. You’ll be able to run your own facility by the time you’re ready to go home.”

There were about thirty people there. Some were there because it was either rehab or jail. Some were there due to intervention. Addiction certainly didn’t discriminate. There was a judge, a schoolteacher, a college professor, at least three doctors, a couple of lawyers, housewives, musicians, an accountant, a model Bernadine had never seen anywhere, a vineyard manager, a few local politicians and even a police chief. Bernadine was the only black person. Not that it bothered her. She just couldn’t help noticing.

“Who’s your counselor? You better pray you get Mignon. She’s the only one around here who has a soft heart. Her approach isn’t from some rehab bible. She looks at your situation as yours. Don’t judge her by those Hush Puppies. Check your paperwork over there.”

Bernadine walked over to their shared dresser. “Yep. It is Mignon.”

“Have you been to group yet?”

“You mean group therapy?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow.”

“You’ll be able to get up close and personal with a few of your fellow alcoholics and druggies. It’s quite intimate. You’re going to hear some horror stories that’ll make your mouth drop. Lots of tears. So be prepared. And believe everything you hear so you don’t ever come back to one of these fucking places.”

“So, you’ve obviously been here before.”

She holds up three fingers. “They say five is the magic number. This is my second stint at A New Day. I like this place better than the others. Anyway, you’re gonna have to pour your heart out in group, you know. Right before you split, they make you write this dreadful letter to explain how and why you think you got here and how you plan to stay sober. Plead the fifth when they start badgering you afterward.”

“Will you be there?”

“Honey, I’m just getting started. In a matter of hours I’ll be in a coma. I’m just kidding. Seriously, I probably won’t leave this room for at least a week. They have to give me the hard stuff to keep me from jumping out the window. But may I ask you a big favor?”

“It depends.”

“First, I should warn you. Watch out for Nurse Ratched. Her real name is Mary. She’s the one who dispenses all the meds at night. She’s just like the nurse from
Cuckoo’s Nest.
I kid you not. She’s on a power trip. Everybody hates her. If you tell her you’re in pain or hyper or can’t sleep, she won’t give you any more meds. She likes watching us suffer. Are you taking any of yours?”

“No. They told me I could refuse them. Since everything is out of my system now, popping another pill doesn’t make any sense to me. The only thing I’m taking is a multivitamin, iron and a new antidepressant they put me on until I see my doctor when I get home.”

“May I have yours, then? All you have to do is tell Nurse Ratched you’ve changed your mind.”

“But won’t she be suspicious?”

“They have your stats behind that desk. They know you’re a kindergartener, that you might be a little scared being in here for the first time. Anyway, if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, I understand.”

“I’ll see.”

“Well, I’ve said more than I thought I could. Good luck to you. Bernadine, wasn’t it?”

“You sound like you’re going somewhere.”

“It’s gonna be lights out in the reptile house for me in a matter of minutes, that’s why I’m chattering away now.”

“Did they give you something to help you?”

“Of course. Otherwise I could go through hell at home. Oh, a few more pieces of advice from an alumna. Do all the physical stuff. The walks. The yoga. Pick up those weights. Good luck trying to meditate. Some people swear it helps them relax. One last thing: don’t fall for the guilt trips they try to lay on you doing those Steps. I’m not kidding. I think the people who run AA and NA are all part of one big cult. They want you to drink the Kool-Aid. Just go along with them until you get back to your real life. After you see some of the folks in here, myself included, you should never want to pop anything heavier than an Advil, sister. End of rehab lecture. I’m headed for a comfort zone.”

“Thanks for the insight. Get some rest.”

Belinda pulled the covers over her head. “You seem like you’re going to be a cool roommate,” she said. “I need a friend.”