"I know," Star said. "Everyone tells me I do that, but I don't even know I'm doin' it. I sleep on the right side, too," she said after a beat.
"And when you have to sleep on the other for some reason or another, it's a problem, right?"
"Yeah," she admitted and decided to sit on the same sofa I had taken.
"How long have you been seeing her?" she asked me. I thought a moment.
"I think it's about two years," I said. "How about you?"
"Almost a year. I keep telling my granny I should stop, but she doesn't want me to."
I recalled Doctor Marlowe telling me one of the girls was living with her grandmother.
"You live just with your grandmother?"
"That's right," she said firmly. She looked ready to jump down my throat if I made any sort of negative comment. That was the furthest thing from my mind. Actually, I was envious.
"I never knew my father's parents. His mother died when he was very young and his father died when I was just an infant. My mother's parents live in Palm Springs, but I don't see them much. They're golf addicts. I'd see them more if I became a caddy."
"Caddy?"
"You know, the person who carries the clubs and stuff."
"One year I gave them golf balls with my picture on them so they could look at me once in a while," I told her, "but they wouldn't use them because they didn't like smacking my face."
Those eyebrows went up again, the ears twitching. "Are you kidding?"
"Uh huh," I said. "I lie a lot."
She stared a moment and then she broke into a nice laugh.
"Oh," she said. "Yeah, I bet you do."
"Your name is really Star? It's not some kind of a nickname or something?"
She stopped laughing, those ebony eyes blazing like two hot coals.
"Your name's really Misty?" she threw back at me, turning her shoulder as she spoke.
"Yeah," I said. "My mother named me after a movie because she and my father couldn't agree on a name or relative to name me after. How did you get your name? And don't tell me your mother gave birth to you outside one night and named you after the first thing she saw."
Before she could answer, one of the prettiest, most elegant looking teenage girls I had ever seen stepped into the office. She had long, lush brown hair with a metallic rust tint that flowed gently down to her shoulders. Her eyes were green and almond shaped. Her high cheekbones gave her face an impressive angular line that swept gracefully into her jaw and perfectly shaped lips. Her nose was a little small, but also just slightly turned up. Of course, I suspected plastic surgery. She wore a lot more makeup than I would. Who put on eye shadow and liner for a visit to the therapist's? Actually, she reminded me of my own mother, the queen of over-dress who single-handedly kept the cosmetic industry profitable.
The new girl wore a designer pants outfit and looked like she was on her way to some fashion show luncheon. I glanced at Star, who looked very disapproving.
"I'm Jade," the new girl announced. "Who are you two? Misty, Star or Cathy?"
"Misty. This is Star," I said, nodding toward Star. "We were just discussing how we got our names. Your parents in the jewelry business?"
Jade stared at me a moment and then glanced at Star to see if we were putting her on or something. She decided not, I guess.
"My parents named me Jade because of my eyes," she said. "Where's the good doctor?" she asked looking toward the empty desk impatiently.
"Getting prepared, I imagine," I said.
"Prepared?"
"You know, putting on her therapist's mask, sharpening her fingernails."
Star laughed. Jade raised an eyebrow, tightened her lips and then sat gracefully on the other sofa, crossing her legs and sitting back with her head high.
"I don't know if this is a good idea," ,she said after a moment.
"So why did you come?" Star shot at her.
Jade turned to her with surprise. The expression on her face gave me the feeling she hadn't really looked at her before this and just realized there was a black girl in the group.
"I was reluctant, but Doctor Marlowe talked me into it," she admitted.
"She talked us all into it," Star said, declaring the obvious. "Did you think we all just wanted to come waltzing in here and talk about ourselves to a bunch of strangers?"
Jade squirmed uncomfortably, gazed at her watch and looked toward the door. We heard footsteps and moments later, Doctor Marlowe appeared with a chunky girl who was about as short as I was. She looked older, though. Her dull brown hair lay straggly about her neck and shoulders as if someone had been running a rake through it. The loose gray pullover did little to de-emphasize her really ample bosom; she had breasts that nearly rivaled Emma's. She wore a skirt with a hem that brushed her ankles. Her face was plain, with not even lipstick to bring some brightness to her watery hazel eyes, pale complexion and bland uneven lips. Her mouth twitched nervously.
"Hello girls. Here we are. This is Cathy. Cathy, let me introduce Misty, Star and Jade," Doctor Marlowe added, nodding at each of us. Cathy merely shifted her eyes slightly to glance at us before looking down again. "Cathy, why don't you sit over there next to Jade," Doctor Marlowe suggested..
Cathy looked like she wasn't going to do it. She hesitated a long moment, staring at the seat as if it would swallow her up, and then finally sat.
Doctor Marlowe, dressed in a dark-blue pants suit, sat in one of the centrally placed cushioned chairs so she could face all of us. Usually, before a session ended, she would take off her jacket and walk about with her hands clasped behind her. Right now, she pressed her long, thin fingers together at the tips and smiled. My mother would notice that she wore no expensive rings and an inexpensive watch. Mostly, she would notice her fingernails were not polished.
Doctor Marlowe had a hard smile to read. Her eyes really did brighten with interest and pleasure after some of the things I said, but her face moved so mechanically at times, I suspected everything she did, down to her smallest gestures, was contrived for a planned psychological result. She kept her dirty-blond hair trimmed neatly at her ears. She wore silver clipon earrings but no necklace. Her milk-white silk blouse with pearl buttons was closed at her throat.
Our therapist wasn't particularly pretty. Her nose was a bit too long and her lips too thin Unlike her older sister, she did have a trim figure, but she was very tall for a woman, at least six feet one. Because her legs were so long, when she sat, the knees came up amusingly high. I think from her waist up accounted for only a third of her body; however, she had long arms so that she could sit back and nearly place her palms over her knees. Perhaps being so awkward had made her concentrate more on being a brain than a beauty.
My mother often commented about Doctor Marlowe's hairstyle and clothes, claiming she could do wonders with her if she had a chance to make her over. My mother believed in the miraculous power of hairstylists and plastic surgeons. In her mind they could even achieve world peace. Just get rid of ugly people and no one would argue about anything.
"I assume the three of you had a chance to introduce yourselves," Doctor Marlowe began.
"Barely," Jade replied, the words dripping out of the corner of her mouth.
"Good. I want us to do all the talking and revelations here together."
"I still don't understand what we're doin'," Star snapped. "We haven't been told much and some of us," she added glaring at Jade, "aren't exactly happy about it:'
"I know, Star, but a lot of this has to do with trust. If we don't take small risks, we'll never make progress and get anywhere."
"Where we supposed to be goin'?" she demanded. I laughed.
Jade's beautiful lips folded into a small smile and Cathy nearly lifted her gaze from the floor.
"Home," Doctor Marlowe replied, those eyes filling with an almost impish glee as she rose to the challenge. "Back to yourself, Star. Back to who you are supposed to be, who you want to be. Back to good weather, out of the storms, out of the cold angr
y rain, out from under those dark clouds," she continued.
When she spoke like this in her soft, therapist's melodic voice, she sounded so good, none of us could prevent ourselves from listening. Even Cathy looked up at her, as if she held out the promise of life and happiness and all Cathy had to do was reach for it.
"Away from the pain," Doctor Marlowe continued. "That's where we're supposed to go. Ready for that, Star?"
She glanced at me and just nodded.
"Good."
"This is going to be simple, girls. You're all going to do most of the talking. I'm really just a listener, and when one of you is speaking, the others will listen along with me."
"You mean we just sit here like potted plants? We can't ask questions?" Jade inquired.
"What do you all think? You set the rules. Can you ask each other questions?" she threw back at us.
"Yes," I said. "Why not?"
Doctor Marlowe looked at Star and Cathy. Star nodded, but Cathy looked away.
"Well, maybe we should just start and see how it goes," Doctor Marlowe decided.
"What exactly are we supposed to tell?" Jade asked.
"In each session, each of you will tell your story," she said with a small shrug. "I've scheduled four sessions in a row for this."
"Our story? I got no story," Star said.
"You know you do, Star. Each of you just start wherever you want. Here you are today. How did you get here?"
"My chauffeur brought me," Jade said.
"Come on, Jade. You know what I mean," Doctor Marlowe said.
Jade sat back, folding her arms, suddenly looking impregnable, defying our good doctor to uncork her bottle of secrets.
"So who's going to start?" Star demanded
Doctor Marlowe looked at Cathy who turned even whiter. She glanced at Jade, passed her dark eyes over Star and settled on me.
"I'd like Misty to start," she said. "She's been with me the longest. That okay with you, Misty?"
"Sure," I said. I looked at the others. "Once upon a time I was born. My parents tried to give me back, but it was too late."
Jade laughed and Star smiled widely. Cathy's eyes widened.
"Come on," Doctor Marlowe urged. "Let's make good use of our time."
She gave me that look down her nose she often gives me when she wants me to try to be serious.
I took a deep breath.
"Okay," I said. I sat a bit forward. "I'll begin. I don't mind telling my story." I looked at them all and smiled "Maybe someone will make it into a movie and it'll win an Academy Award."
2
I really can start my story with once upon a time because once upon a time, I truly believed I was a little princess living in a fairy tale. My mother and I still live in this Beverly Hills mansion where I grew up. Some people would call it a castle because it's got this round tower with a high, conical roof. That part houses the main door.
"It's a big house. If it wasn't for the intercom, my mother would have a strained throat daily trying to call to me, and if I don't reply when she uses the intercom, she'll call me on my own phone. I've got call waiting so when I'm talking to someone, she'll call and say, 'Misty, I need you downstairs. Get off the phone. I know you're on it.'
"Of course, she's right. I'm usually on the phone. When we were a happy little family with smiles floating like balloons through the house, my daddy used to tell me I was born with a telephone receiver attached to my ear and that was why my birth was so difficult for my mother."
I paused and looked at Doctor Marlowe. "I don't remember if I ever told you how much trouble I was for my mother when it came time for me to show my face. She was in labor over twenty hours. Sometimes, when she's reminding me about my difficult birth, it goes to twenty-four hours. Once it was twenty- eight." I looked at the other girls. "I told her that proves I didn't want to be here."
I threw my hands up and bounced on the sofa. "'No, no,' I was screaming in my mother's womb. 'You doctors keep your paws off me.' "
Jade and Star laughed. Even Cathy cracked a small smile.
"You've told me that, but not as colorfully," Doctor Marlowe said.
"Yeah, well it's true. She had to be stitched up afterward as well. I mean, she loves sitting there and describing it all in gruesome detail, the vomit, the blood, the pain, all of it."
"Why do you think she does that?" Doctor Marlowe asked.
"So, we are asking questions," I fired back at her. She laughed.
"Professional habit," she said.
"She just wants me to feel guilty and sorry for her so I'll take her side more against my father," I said. "She's always telling me how much easier men have it, especially in a marriage. Well? That's why, isn't it?"
Doctor Marlowe kept her face like a blank slate as usual. I didn't need her to agree anyway. I knew it was true.
"Anyway, I once thought I was a princess because I could have anything I wanted. I still get everything I want, maybe even more since their divorce. My mother's always complaining about the amount of alimony and child support she gets. It's never enough and whenever my daddy gives me something, my mother groans and moans that he has enough money for that, but not enough for decent alimony. The truth is I hate taking anything. It just causes more static. Sometimes, there's so much static, I have to put my hands over my ears!" I exclaimed.
I did it right then and everyone stared at me. After a moment the feeling passed. I took a deep breath and continued.
"Sometimes, I think about my life in colors."
I saw Jade raise her eyebrow. Maybe she did the same thing, I thought.
"When I was little and we were the perfect family, everything was bright pink or bright yellow. After their breakup and all the trouble, the world turned gray and everything faded. I thought I was like Cinderella and the clock had hit midnight or something. There was a gong and a puff and I was no longer a princess. I was
"A what?" Doctor Marlowe asked.
I looked at the others. "An orphan with parents."
Jade nodded, her eyes brighter. Star appeared very serious and Cathy suddenly lifted her head and looked at me like I had said something that made a lot of sense to her.
"My father works for a venture capital company and travels a great deal. It was always hard for me to explain what he did for a living. Other kids my age could tell you in a word or two what their parents did: lawyer, doctor, dentist, pharmacist, department store buyer, nurse.
"My father studies investments, puts money into businesses and somehow manages with his company to take over those businesses and then sell them at a profit. That's the way he explained it to me. I remember thinking that didn't sound fair. Taking over someone else's company and selling it didn't sound right. I asked him about that and he said, 'You can't think of it like that. It's business.'
"Everything is business to him in one way or another. For him, that expression can explain everything that happens in the world. Maybe to him even love is business," I said. "I know this whole divorce is business. My mother is always calling the accountant or her lawyer.
"Mommy was vicious about getting every trace of Daddy out of the house. For days after he had left, she searched the rooms for anything that was evidence of his having lived there. She actually took all the pictures of the two of them and cut him out if she thought she looked good in them. She sold or gave away many nice things because they were things he liked or used, right down to the expensive tools in the garage. I told her she was just going to have to replace some of it, but she replied, 'At least it won't have his stigma on it.'
"His stigma? I thought. What had his stigma on it more than me? I looked like him to some extent, didn't I? There were times I actually caught her staring at me, and I wondered if she wasn't thinking I looked too much like him. How could she change that? Maybe she would have me go to her plastic surgeon and ask him to get my father out of my face.
"However, we had a big, soft chair in the living room, the kind that has a footrest that pops out and g
oes back until you can practically lie down on it. Daddy loved that chair and spent most of the time in it when he was in the living room. I know it sounds weird, but in the early days of their divorce, before my mother purged the house of everything that even suggested him, I used to curl up in the chair and put my face against it to smell the scent of him and pretend he was still there and we were still a happy little family.
"Then, she gave the chair to the thrift store one afternoon while I was in school. There was nothing in its place for a while, just an empty space. You all feel that sometimes, that empty space when you're walking with just your mother or your father and there's no one on the other side where one of them used to be? I do!" I said before they could answer. Suddenly, my head filled with static.
I closed my eyes for a moment until it passed and then I took another breath.
"For a long time after I was born, I had a nanny. My mother needed to recuperate from my horrendous birth and the nurse who came home with us turned into a full- time caretaker. Her name was Mary Williams."
I glanced at Star.
"She was a black woman. She was in her thirties when she lived with us and took care of me, but when I think about her now, I remember her as much older. She was with us until I was four and sent to preschool."
I laughed.
"I remember my mother making a big deal about getting too much sun on her face because it causes wrinkles. I thought Mary's brown skin was from a suntan.
Star shook her head with her lips tight.
"I was always asking questions, I guess. My mother tells me that when I was little, I wore her out with why this and why that. She would literally try to run away with me trailing behind her like some baby duck going why, why, why, instead of quack, quack, quack!"
Cathy's smile widened, but she had what I would call only half a smile . . . just her mouth in it. Her eyes remained dark, cautious, even frightened. She really is like a cat, I thought. Cathy the cat.
"When my father wasn't traveling, we would have great family dinners. Sometimes, I think that's what I miss the most. We have this dining room that goes on forever. You sit on this coast at one end and you're on the East coast on the other end."
Wildflowers 01 Misty Page 2
