Lisa, nose-deep in our conversation, dropped the set of markers, sending them skittering across the floor. “Damn.”
“OK, then.” I said, easing toward the door. I could feel cracks fissuring across my lips. “But thanks, though.”
“My pleasure,” he said and winked at me, alligator lips and all.
I liked it better than Regina had.
CHAPTER NINTEEN
Tuesday officially started when I pulled into the highly coveted, close-to-the-front-door parking space. It was the last nice thing to happen all day.
Lisa greeted me with a stack of mail and another magazine subscription as soon as I walked in the door. This one featured a parody of an all-grown-up Heidi, breasts mimicking the mighty Alps she frolicked across, being chased by a herd of wild “goats.” A half-dozen men with fake horns and swatches of goat hair leaped after her in (apparently) full-rut. A second glance made me realize it wasn’t horns plastered to their foreheads. Eww. Swearing off cashmere for life, I dropped it in the trash.
Before I could check my schedule, the phone rang. Standing next to Lisa’s desk while she rescheduled the caller, I flipped through the real mail. Most was junk— circulars for continuing education training and an interoffice memo that I’d already read. I almost tossed them on top of the porn mag, until one near the bottom caught my attention. The return address read: Department of Regulation and Licensing.
I’d already paid the yearly fee for license renewal a few months ago. Hoping there hadn’t been an oversight, I slit the envelope and read the enclosed notice.
My heart pumped wildly, sweat beading on my forehead.
“Letty?” Lisa’s worried voice pierced the drumming in my ears. I looked at her, blankly. Her concern had driven her to her feet; she clutched my arm. “Letty, are you all right?”
“I need to see Marshall.”
“I’ll see what’s available.” She sat down at the computer to check his calendar, but I was already heading down the hall to his office.
He jumped when I banged through the door. “What’s wrong?”
Fighting tears, I handed him the letter. He scanned it quickly, then sat back, looking strained.
“Can he do this?” My voice rasped like sandpaper.
Marshall shrugged. “He already has. Look, Letty… We know this is bogus, and so will the department as soon as they dig a little deeper.”
“Dig a little deeper? What does that mean?”
“It means they’re going to need access to your client file on Wayne, or whatever he called himself at the time. You’ll have to send in your response to these allegations of sexual misconduct. Plus, they’ll need to get the police report on the break-in incident. But that’s all in your favor. He was obviously seeing you under false pretenses and there were only two sessions. Not to mention, we have the picture I took of the rat.”
“We can’t prove that Wayne had anything to do with the rat,” I pointed out.
“No, but we can prove that a number of mysterious incidents have occurred since he busted in and threatened you. It shows a pattern of harassment, even if it’s coincidental.”
“Mary Kate is a witness, too.”
Marshall looked confused. “To what?”
“She sat in the last time I met with Carrie. She can testify that I told Carrie about Wayne’s allegations.”
“Unfortunately, she can’t, even if it concerns Wayne. We have no right to breach Carrie’s confidentiality. Unless she agrees to waive it, that is. Would she be willing?”
“I don’t even know where Carrie is. But at least Mary Kate can testify to what she heard when Wayne was holding me at knife-point! She can say that he never once mentioned any sexual contact, because there wasn’t any. It was all about Carrie, and how Wayne thought—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Marshall held a hand up and abruptly sat forward. “She heard what?”
Oh, yeah.
I’d neglected to mention Mary Kate’s eavesdropping behavior. It took a few minutes to explain how Mary Kate had snuck back to Regina’s office to satisfy her curiosity—or prepare my eulogy, whichever came first. By the time I’d finished, Marshall had his head buried in his hands, groaning.
“That’s bad, huh?” As an attempt at levity, it failed.
“Why haven’t I heard about this until now?”
“Well, I had a few things on my mind, Marshall.” Defensive and sarcastic—not attractive.
Marshall gave an exasperated sigh. “Letty—”
“Wait!” My turn to raise a STOP hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you, and I should have addressed it in more detail with Mary Kate. I just … I guess with everything going on, I dropped the ball.”
He squinched his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t say that I blame you. We just need to figure out where to go from here.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what exactly needed to be figured out, but I was willing to turn the problem over to him. My mind was on overload from Alpine pornography and Wayne’s latest sneak attack.
“OK, here’s what I’m going to do,” Marshall eventually said. “I’m going to reassign Mary Kate to Regina. If anyone can teach her about boundaries, it’s Regina.
“And, for you—I think we need to increase your supervision for the duration of Wayne’s acting out. What do you think?” His eyes smiled into mine.
Talk about boundaries. I couldn’t meet regularly to discuss my clients’ treatment progress with a guy I was having naughty lumberjack fantasies about. Damn that flannel jacket. Ever decisive, I broached the issue.
“Umm…”
“I know you enjoy working with Mary Kate, but—”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, I do enjoy working with Mary Kate, but I understand. Her internship’s almost over anyway. I’m not sure I’d assign her to Regina, but that’s up to you.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
I gave myself a mini-pep talk. I was a professional. I was a therapist, experienced in dealing with tense and embarrassing subjects. I was a grown-up, for pity’s sake. Took a deep breath…
“I think it would be better if I met with someone else. Someone… not you.”
A flash of something—irritation? Hurt?—crossed his face, but too quickly for me to identify. I braced for an argument.
A knock at the door interrupted, and Lisa poked her head in. My mind skittered back to the day after Wayne’s attack when Marshall and I had shared that intense is-he-going-to-kiss-me? moment and only Lisa’s entrance had stopped us from answering that question. Remembering, and not wanting to know if Marshall was also, I kept my eyes glued to Lisa.
“Letty, your first appointment is here.”
“I’ll just be a moment.”
Lisa grinned as she shut the door. When I turned back to Marshall, his expression had softened, leading me to believe that he’d had his own déjà vu moment.
“Maybe it would be good for you to meet with someone ‘not me.’” He crooked an eyebrow. “But it would need to be someone with a bit more experience than Carol or Hannah.”
“Not Regina.” That got a smile. An evil one. “You’re already assigning Mary Kate to her; we don’t want Regina overburdened! She’s cranky enough as it is.”
“That’s true.” He rocked back in his chair, steepling his hands before his face. He still smiled.
“I suppose,” he drawled, “we’ll have to assign Mary Kate to Hannah. They should do well together. And that will free up Regina for you.”
“Oh goody,” I said. All he did was laugh.
I spent the next fifty minutes trying to concentrate on Hillary, a married homemaker certain her husband was cheating on her but who couldn’t decide whether to hire a private detective and a divorce attorney or even things up by having a fling with her son’s band instructor. I’d met her husband and secretly rooted for the PI/attorney combo, but I didn’t think Hill was ready for a showdown. Plus, she really had the hots for
her band boy toy.
Unfortunately, her sense of helplessness was contagious. My thoughts kept circling back to Wayne’s latest ploy. Once again, he’d managed to strike at the heart of my life. My own sobriety came about when my work was threatened. I’d never, ever had a complaint filed, and the fact that it was entirely baseless didn’t lesson my shame. In fact, it made it harder to accept.
I made it through the rest of the day, but I wasn’t proud of the work I did. Mostly I nodded and said “uh-huh” a lot, while clients shared their innermost concerns. Nobody noticed my inattention, which was also discouraging.
I needed a meeting.
As soon as I said good-bye to the last client, I took off for the HP & Me club. Twenty minutes later, crossing the parking lot, I found myself scanning the shadows, alert for a menacing presence.
Relief washed over me as soon as I entered the doors. My shoulders dropped at least an inch, as shoulder and neck muscles unclenched. Felt good; felt like home.
Taking note of the regulars and waving at a few friends, I crossed to the coffee counter, plucked my mug from the wall and poured a cup. The meeting didn’t start for another fifteen minutes, so I joined the group clustered under the TV. I plopped down on the couch, joined moments later by Paul. To avoid talking, I tuned into the ongoing argument about whether or not the contestant on Wheel of Fortune was stupid to buy a vowel. Recovery folk are frugal with vowels, so the general consensus was yes.
A few minutes before start time, people started making their way to the meeting room. I hung back. I was pretty sure I knew the word for the “Before & After” clue and a bonus prize hung in the balance. The contestant had that I-bit-tin foil-with-my-filling look that didn’t bode well for her.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Hot coffee scorched my hand, slopping into my lap. Wayne stood next to the couch, smiling down at me. I leapt to my feet.
“What are you doing here?” Fear contracted my voice into a thin, squeaky whisper. Paul, seated on the couch, looked simultaneously scared and fascinated.
“Well, you know after our little misunderstanding, I realized I needed help. I’ve been sober four days now. Aren’t you proud of me?”
I’d seen him in many moods—shy and polite during our two phony therapy sessions, drunk and raging, and, of course, threatening. This playfully flirtatious approach was incomprehensible, until I realized it wasn’t for me. He was performing for Paul and the few stragglers in the lobby, his audience.
“It wasn’t a ‘misunderstanding.’ It was assault.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Paul frown. “And since your harassment has progressed to a fraudulent complaint to the licensing board, my lawyers have advised me to have no contact with you.” Sounded good anyway.
His eyes narrowed, not at all pleased with my assertiveness. He liked fear better. He fed on it.
“Then I guess you’ll have to leave,” he said.
“I’m not leaving. You are. I’m getting a restraining order against you. I’ve been documenting your harassment, and, don’t forget, there are witnesses. Anyway, I’ve been coming here since…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want to get into details with this asshole. Besides, he was smiling again.
“I can’t leave,” he said in a sing-song. He leaned into my face. His breath stunk. “My sponsor wants me doing ninety meetings in ninety days. Plus—thanks to you!—I’ve been court-ordered to attend AA. I need help. Remember?”
“Nobody doubts that. Which will make getting a restraining order even easier.”
“Sure, why not? You go to the court commissioner and explain how you need to come to AA, too. ‘Cause you’re a drunk. I think it’s a great idea to make that part of public record. Then I can add that to my complaint. That’ll make real good reading for the licensing board.”
My heart pounded so hard my ribs ached. “I’m not going to tell you where Carrie is. You might as well—”
“Carrie? I don’t give a shit about Carrie. You want to know where she is?”
“You’re saying you know?”
He scoffed. “Carrie’s not important anymore. That’s settled.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
He smiled again, spreading his arms wide. “Because I need help!”
Separated by inches, our eyes locked. I felt like I was staring down a cobra. If I blinked…
Behind me, a slight form moved and suddenly Paul was at my side. “Letty?” his voice quavered. Wayne broke eye contact to glare at the intrusion. “The meeting’s started. Sh. . . shouldn’t you…?”
Wayne laughed in Paul’s earnest face. “My, my. You do get around, don’t you, sweetheart? You might want to get this one some vitamins.” He poked Paul in the chest. Hard. Paul paled but stood his ground.
A chair scraped back. One of the regulars stood. Harry was at least seventy, a grizzled and flabby retired truck driver, but, unlike Paul, he had dealt with a few bullies in his day. And had fun doing it.
Wayne raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing again. “No worries, old-timer. Just a little lovers’ spat. I got to get in to my meeting anyway. Don’t want to upset the judge, do I?” As he turned to leave, he blew me a kiss. Made my flesh crawl.
I sank to the couch as Wayne sauntered into the meeting. Paul sat next to me, rubbing his sore chest with one hand and awkwardly patting my shoulder with the other. Harry stomped over.
“You okay?” Harry growled. Harry lived in fear of being thought soft, and except with newcomers, worked hard at being an ass. He was outspoken, nasty, and sexist. It was all fake. I reached up and held his gnarled hand.
“Thank you.”
He grunted, squeezed once, gently, then tossed my hand loose and stalked back to his chair.
I turned to Paul. “Thank you, too.” My smile raised a blush and a stutter.
“I … I … didn’t … I mean, okay.” He rubbed his sore spot hard enough to raise a blister.
“Look, I really appreciate what you did. But… um… I’m going to get out of here now.”
“I know. I should go, too.” He eyed the closed meeting room door. “But I’m not going to let him push me around. He doesn’t scare me.”
Right.
“Just be careful, Paul. He’s not a nice guy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
There were things I should have asked. I realized that later as I cuddled with Siggy on the couch. Ever since I’d gotten home, I’d been replaying the scene over and over again—something I caution my clients against, but unable, as usual, to take my own advice. Like scab-picking, I poked and scratched at Wayne’s intrusion into the club. AA was more than just a place to learn how to stay sober—it was both my sanctuary and my deepest secret. Heaven and hell. The violation was total.
He knew I’d never pursue a restraining order if there was a chance my alcoholism might be outed. Yet I couldn’t risk my sobriety by avoiding meetings. I couldn’t get rid of him and couldn’t stay away from him, either.
And what did Wayne mean when he’d said Carrie was “not important anymore?” Did that mean he had found her? Was she okay? Carrie hadn’t told me where she was going, but she had told me that her mother knew. A woman tough enough to scare Wayne? The thought filled me with awe. I’d have to check Carrie’s file to see if her mother had been listed as an emergency contact. On the other hand, did I have an ethical right to contact her even if she was? As Marshall had pointed out, Wayne’s right to confidentiality was nullified, at least as the investigation went, but Carrie’s hadn’t been. I batted the issue back and forth and decided to bounce the conflict off Regina when we met for supervision.
Something else bothered me, but it danced just out of reach, a mental vapor that evaporated on contact. It wasn’t until I woke the next morning that it solidified.
Four days. Wayne said he’d been sober four days, which would be Friday night. The night I was Marshall’s designated driver. The night Robert picked up a newbie to sponsor.
Even though I’d left an urgent
message, I wasn’t sure if Robert would return my call. As the day passed, I became more certain that he wouldn’t, and was pleasantly surprised when his number popped up on my cell’s Caller ID. Pleasant didn’t last.
“What?” he said in greeting.
I took a deep breath, mentally deleting sarcasm from my repertoire, and gritted my teeth. “Thanks for getting back to me. Listen, I was wondering… You mentioned that you agreed to sponsor a new guy?”
I paused, but he declined to fill in the blank. He was still there, though; I could hear his breath puffing against the receiver.
“What’s his name?” I’d planned to use more finesse, but puffy breathing annoyed the hell out of me.
“Oh, now you want to know? I thought you didn’t give a shit about my sponsoring somebody?”
True. I didn’t. But this wasn’t the time to point that out. “I just need to know if it’s a guy named Wayne. Big guy, dirty blond hair cut short.”
“No, his name is Randy. And I don’t have time for your—”
“No, it’s not,” I interrupted.
“What the hell do you know? You’ve never even met the guy!”
“No, I mean that Wayne called himself ‘Randy’ before he attacked me. I think you’re sponsoring the guy who’s been stalking me!”
The silence lasted long enough to get my hopes up. Silly me.
“What do you want from me? The guy says his name is Randy. If it’s not, maybe he’s trying to keep a low profile while all this stuff with you gets straightened out.”
“Straightened out? Are you kidding me?”
“There’s two sides to every story, Letty. You know that. If even half of what you’re accusing him of is true, he still needs a sponsor. Randy’s been court-ordered to AA and he’s getting an alcohol and drug assessment, so maybe he’s trying to turn himself around.”
“His name isn’t Randy! You obviously don’t understand what he’s been doing to me. He even stuck a dead rat in my car.”
“Well, why don’t I understand? Huh? Isn’t that the point of all this? You kept me in the dark for weeks, and now you expect me to fix your problems for you?”
The Enemy We Know Page 12
