The Unbalancing Act (14 page)

“
You are late,” Dr. Ames says sternly when I walk into the room.

“Indeed I am.”

“Can you explain?”

“Of course I can explain. I was busy sleeping.”

“You aren’t committed to recovery, Vada.”

“You aren’t committed to your wife, sir.”

“Excuse me? I have no idea what you are talking about.” He looks guilty. I know he is, not only by what I witnessed, but just by the look on his face.

“You know
exactly
what I am talking about.”

I wasn’t going to say anything, but how dare he question me? I look at the picture of him and his wife on his desk. She’s a middle-aged woman with dark shoulder-length hair. She looks like a regular lady. Poor lamb probably doesn’t have a clue that her husband’s been getting some on the desk in his office. Oh well, at least his paychecks are probably good. He glances over at the photo and his face turns into a splotchy mess. Perhaps I have struck a nerve. Who would want to sleep with this guy anyway? Not even with the lights off and bag over his head. No way! Maybe Gerri’s eyes have been pulled back so tight, she can’t see properly.

Seriously, though, what is wrong with me?  Why am I saying this to this man?  This is not at all my personality. I am not the kind of person who says things like this or gets involved in other people’s business. I think maybe this place is making me mad, as in basket case mad.

“I
thought
that was you who sneez...umm…I don’t know what to say. I am your doctor and we need to continue. I believe it’s time to begin our session.” He looks at me like he’s got a rock about to be thrown at his head. He knows that I know something. This may work in my favor.

“Okay sir, let’s do this.”

Dr. Ames goes over the whole “find your happy place” crap and does the countdown. The next thing I know he is snapping his fingers and I’m looking at him like I just woke up naked with a guy after getting blackout drunk the night before.

“Are we done?”

“Vada, do you remember anything from hypnosis?”

“No.”

“Okay then, thank you for coming and I’ll talk to my colleagues this evening and we’ll see where we go from here.”

Okay, now I am freaking out. Why does he need to talk to his “colleagues”? I don’t like the fact that he knows I heard him sexing, this does not feel right. I’ve got to get out of this room. I can’t look at this cheating man’s chins any longer.

I know I am supposed to meet with these idiot therapists tonight, but I really need to be there for
Jessalyn and Sabrina. Surely, I’ll be back in time. I’ve been so busy that my escape plan has been put on the back burner. But I think I have an idea and it involves a certain janitor.

I head to Room 74. He’s not in there. I search up and down the halls and in the community bathrooms. I decide to check and see if he’s paying a visit to Bath Salts Mary. I knock only once and bingo, I find him...getting a little afternoon delight. The sounds coming from inside the room are making my mouth fill up with warm water and I can taste puke in the back of my throat. It sounds like they are going to be done soon—for crying out loud this has to be nearing the climax. This chick sounds like she’s getting a fully conscious colonoscopy, and he sounds like he is moving furniture. What the hell could they be doing in there?  Mental picture...go away! I wait patiently as I realize they probably can’t stop at this point. An elderly gal walks by me in a blue nightgown and slippers and growls at me. She was pleasant. Okay, I’m hearing a sound like a horse is giving birth...and now for the grand finale...Mary lets out a yelp like she just got her vaginal warts burned off with a lit cigarette. I wonder if it was as good for them as it was for me. I hate to be immature but all I can think is gonorrhea..cha cha cha.

The door finally opens and Jeremiah walks out grinning from ear to ear.

“Was Mary a dirty girl Jeremiah?’ I ask. “Because you seem to have forgotten your cleaning supplies. I guess you two are back to the sex thing.  Whatever.”

“Oh, hey there, crazy lady. Uh...I was just saying goodbye. I’m off in thirty minutes.”

“Really?  Hmm...Good to know. Do you have big plans for the night?”

“Aww...not really. Just goin’ home to drink beers and goin’ to sleep.”

“Jeremiah, I think I may have just changed your plans.”

“What in the hell are you talkin ‘bout?”

“You are going to get me out of here...just for a while. I need a ride and I have no one else that can do this for me.” He looks at me like he thinks I am messing with him. “I’m serious. Just drop me off somewhere. It’s not far, only about ten miles north and then bring me back. Only an hour tops. They won’t even know I’m gone. They’ll think I am resting.”

He starts chewing his fingernails. This makes me want to vomit because there is probably some type of bacteria-ridden body fluid hidden under the nail beds. I’m actually pretty sure of it. Eww...

“What makes you think that I’m gonna risk my job to take you outta here?”

“Well, lover boy, if you don’t...then I’ll tell the administration that you are fucking Mary Weaverton and to prove it, I have a note from her saying how you guys are quite the happy couple.”

“She said that?” He blushes like an idiot. I wish he’d quit licking the secretions under his fingernails.

“Yes! Now, I’ll meet you by the employee exit in thirty minutes. We have to walk out like it’s no big deal. If we just blend in, they’ll never know.”

“I guess if I have to. But just this one time, crazy lady. And only an hour.” He knows he has no choice. I don’t know why he’s bothering with conditions.

“Okay,” I say. “See ya in thirty...and knock off the crazy lady shit, I already told you once. And Jeremiah, wash your hands and then use hand sanitizer, twice!”

I go and put on the nicest pair of insane asylum fashion that I have with me. I brought along a black dress. Not a fancy dress, but one of those comfortable cotton sleeveless dresses, the kind I would wear to run errands in. It’s not exactly country club material, but it will have to do. I have to wear my flip flops, because it’s the best I’ve got. My Nike’s would look a little odd. Finally, I see him coming down the hall with his goofy looking smile. He doesn’t say a word. He swipes a card on an electronic panel on the side of the door. It beeps and I hear it unlock. The next thing I know...we are free; at least free to walk through the parking lot.

I can spot Jeremiah’s car not because I have ever seen or heard what he drives, but because it looks like Jeremiah, if he were a car. Let me explain. It’s an early 80’s white Pontiac station wagon with a red hood and red and orange flames on both sides. The windows are already rolled down and there is a bumper sticker that reads, “Balls.” I can’t help but laugh on the inside, because it just works for him. I walk around to the passenger side and he immediately stops me.

“Uhh...sorry ‘bout that, but that door got busted and it don’t open, ‘fraid you gonna have to crawl through my side.”

Charming. I crawl through and am already regretting my choice of chauffeur. The car reeks of cigarette smoke and the seats are vinyl and sticky. I try my best not to touch anything with my hands and crawl in as quickly as I can, so that I can breathe out the open window. There is a smell coming from the back seat. It’s either a dead body or rotten meat of some kind. Probably a dead body. I try to be nice and hope I am wrong.

“Nice car,” I say. “You know where we are headed?”

“Uh…thanks and not a damn clue, lady.”

“Okay, it’s the Bristol Glenn Country Club just north of here.”

“Oh yep, I know where that is. My twin brother used to caddie there.”

Oh my! There are two of these mutants. I can’t imagine another Jeremiah. But he’s out there somewhere, probably just mixing up more stupid into the world. We are on our way and I glance in the mirror on the visor and put on some lip gloss and fix my hair. I am going to a country club after all.

It doesn’t take long and I am dropped off in style, super awesome station wagon-valet style. I see Sabrina’s car in the parking lot, which is a huge relief. I tell my driver to be back to get me in an hour. He agrees. I walk in nervous, but I’m glad I made it. It’s a beautiful swanky place with cherry wood paneling and circular tables with white tablecloths. There is a slide show playing and pictures are flying across the screen to some old time songs I am not familiar with. I spot the head table where the old man sits as the guest of honor. He looks larger than I expected and very “with it.” He sure doesn’t look ninety to me. He’s no spring chicken, but doesn’t look like he just crawled out of a grave or anything. Jessalyn and Sabrina are sitting at a round table just to the left. I am not even kind of dressed appropriately, but what do you do?

The girls see me and immediately smile and wave. I wish I looked as cute as Sabrina in her flowy green top and brown pants, and Jessalyn, who is still rocking her black and white skirt and top combo. They can’t believe I actually made it and truthfully, I can’t either. I am officially an escapee from the psych ward. They are both so excited to see me, and I am glad for that. I know it’s a nervous night for Jessalyn. I’m grateful to Sabrina for coming to meet a total stranger for moral support. But that’s kind of our rule. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine and vice versa. That is...unless the friend tries to take either one of our places and then we ditch the bitch.

“May as well eat something while the food’s out,” Jessalyn says. “May as well grab a cocktail too. You are going to need one.”

I guess I may as well. It’s a buffet dinner set up with all sorts of different food. Chicken spiedini, some sort of meatballs, pastas and sauces, dips, bread, salads, desserts, and they seem to all end up somewhere on my plate, except the red sauce. Then I head to the bar for a vodka&7 and go back and sit down with the girls. I notice that Jessalyn is not eating, but she does have a glass of red wine. She probably
is
going to need it. We are at a table set for eight people, but it’s just the three of us plus two men in brown suits who look like they must be old friends of Jessalyn’s grandfather. They are watching the slideshow and sipping on drinks. They are both old and have kind-looking faces. I bet they have lots of grandkids and would be appalled to know what their dear old friend did to one of his own. I look around the room and notice a banner that reads, “Happy Birthday Wallace!” There is also a stand with a guest book that I do not plan on signing.

Many of the guests are finishing dinner and are up mingling and making small talk. This is quite a nice party actually. By the looks of this group, old man Wallace has many friends and lots of family. The one guest that strikes my fancy is a very drunk old lady on a Hover Round Scooter. I’ve seen her run into two tables already and she keeps yelling out, “Play Brickhouse!” I like her. What a fun gal. She has short gray hair that is sprayed into a perfect sphere. She is rocking a gold dress with white lace-up orthopedic shoes. She’s like an elderly fashionista on wheels. She keeps riding her scooter up to the bar and says, “One more to keep me young!” That will be me someday. I just know it. Oh damn…she just ran over a woman’s toe. That had to hurt. It’s a good thing there are no cops here, or she would get a DUI on that scooter.

There are not many children here that I can see, but I do see one little girl in a cream dress with black polka-dots, and she is hanging on her mother’s leg. My mother antennae suddenly go up and I can’t help but keep my eye on her and make sure she doesn’t leave my sight with a pedophile in the room.

“Tell me, who is who,” I say to Jessalyn, “at least the important people.”

“Okay, see that older lady over there with the gray roots and reddish hair?  That’s my aunt who raised me after my mother died. Her name is Katherine. Over in the corner, the pretty girl with the man candy is my cousin Erin, Katherine’s daughter and that is her daughter, Maggie.” I realize she is talking about the little girl in polka-dots.

“How old is your cousin? Were you raised in the same house together?”

“She’s five years older than me, and yes we were raised together with my grandfather and my aunt after my mom died. We were never that close. She was always just interested in boys and just enough older than me that we had nothing in common. She moved out when she was seventeen, she got pregnant with a son, but lost custody of that child. Who knows where he is now…so sad. See that guy she’s with?  That’s not Maggie’s father. She doesn’t even know who the father is…”

I notice that Jessalyn’s eyes are not with us, she’s off in deep thought somewhere.

‘Well,” she says “I’ll go get us some more drinks!” She quickly trots off to the bar leaving me and Sabrina sitting with our hot dates in the brown suits. I claim dibs on the one with the curly mustache.

“Holy crap, Vadie, what the hell have you gotten us into?” Sabrina is giving me that look.

“I don’t know, but thank you for coming bestie,” I say.

“I think she’s going to chicken out.”

“So what if she does,” I say, “at least she tried.”

Jessalyn comes over and drops off more drinks and sits down. Sabrina and I quiet down and a voice comes over a microphone. It’s her aunt, Katherine.

“Good evening everyone.” The music is cut and the room is silent. “I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight to celebrate this wonderful occasion. Today as you know marks the ninetieth birthday of my amazing beloved father, Wallace Dickey.” Wallace sits in his chair soaking up the attention like a sponge.

Sabrina and I immediately shoot each other a look. Is his last name seriously Dickey? Jessalyn starts laughing when she sees us looking at each other and the brown-suited silver foxes glare at us like we are hoodlums. We are.

“As you know, my father Wallace is a war veteran, a member of the Rivergate Society for a Greener Community, an entrepreneur, a retired school board member, (I gasp) a political activist, and the most gentle and kind-hearted man I have ever known. And as many of you know he lost a daughter many years ago and found the strength in his heart to help me raise his orphaned granddaughter. He’s a true hero.”

(applause)

I swallow the rest of my drink. I can’t believe that this woman is saying this into a microphone, like Jessalyn is not sitting in the room. Many guests glance at our table and nod, as if oh yes, this burden on him sitting here at this table should entitle him to such praise. What a joke.

Katherine keeps going as if she has just introduced the president. “Happy Birthday to you, sweet Daddy. I will always love you and I hope we are here to celebrate twenty more birthdays for you.” She raises her glass and so does the rest of the room. I look at Jess, to see her reaction but she is back at the bar ordering another round. If this man is still celebrating another birthday in twenty years I’m afraid I’ll have to attend along with the people from the
Guinness Book of World Records
.