Room 702

by Benjamin, Ann

“Do you regret the choice?”

  “No. I mean, I think it’s human nature to wonder now and then, but no, Dani is one of the best things in my life.”

  “If you could, would you change your decision to be married to her?”

  “Never.”

  “So, your marriage was your choice?”

  “Yes, but not the way everything unfolded. With the magazine deal and the media, I would’ve been happy just to get married in our home town and just a few close friends.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “I just want to make her happy.” Oscar shrugs and says, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Did you ever ask her if she might have wanted to do something smaller?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I… I just don’t prefer conflict. Most of the time, it’s just easier to go along with things. In the big picture, I don’t care where we go to dinner or how we were married. I don’t care what art goes on our walls or what kind of car I drive. I just want to be with her and play basketball.”

  “Is your aversion to conflict a recent development?”

  Oscar considers the question and answers, “No.”

  “This will sound like a strange question, but are you the middle child?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “There’s not any particular science in this, but that fact doesn’t surprise me. Chances are, you’ve been playing the peacemaker for longer than you think.”

  “Is that why I feel the way I do? Because of when I was born?”

  “Maybe it’s one of the reasons.” Nancy looks at her paper, and says, “Before we go any further, I have to ask, are you currently taking any medication?”

  “I take supplements provided by the trainers, but nothing illegal.”

  “No prescriptions?”

  “None. Sometimes I get allergies, but it’s seasonal and I deal with it.”

  “Although I also have to ask, your answer will remain confidential, do you use any non-prescribed or illegal substances?”

  “No.” Oscar vigorously shakes his head and says, “The league can test randomly at any time and I’m not going to risk my career on some idiot move.”

  “How much do you drink on an average week? One a day, more than one a day?”

  Not making eye contact, Oscar looks around the room and says, “Uh, ahem, I’ve been drinking more than usual.”

  Nancy looks at the size of her patient, probably close to two hundred pounds, nearly all muscle and realizes it would take considerably more to get this man drunk than the average person. Still taking notes, she asks, “How are you sleeping?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Have you had any incidents of insomnia in the past?”

  “No. In fact the night before Game 6 of the NCAA championships last season, I slept like a baby.”

  “How long have you been having trouble sleeping?”

  “I don’t know…maybe a few months.”

  “And your sex drive?”

  “No problems there.”

  “Have you ever taken any anti-depression pills previously?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been diagnosed as depressed before?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a history of depression in your family?”

  “I don’t think so, but we’ve never been the type of family to talk about stuff like that.”

  “Do you have feelings of hopelessness?”

  Oscar remains silent and Nancy replies, “Listen, I’m not here to judge you. Depression is something you have no control over, so even if most people would want to trade places with you and their perceived version of your life, that still does not change how you personally are feeling.”

  “Sometimes.”

  Nancy leans back at the desk and asks, “As of today, what is the most frustrating element in your life? The thing you feel you have the least control over?”

  “Everything.”

  “Equally?”

  “Calling you was the first active choice I’ve made in months.”

  Nancy nods, and folding her hands in her lap, says, “If possible, I would like to see you at least once a month, more if your schedule allows, and we can take steps to help you regain control of your life. Does that sound like something you can commit to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, I don’t necessarily always jump to prescribing medication, but how would you feel about starting a low dose of Prozac?”

  Oscar makes a face and says, “Call me old fashioned, but is there something else besides medication?”

  “We can work on your breathing.”

  The basketball player shoots a look of disbelief and asks, “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Considering his options, Oscar asks, “Would the drugs affect my game?”

  “Not necessarily, but I’d like to see how you respond to it. I think we need to get you back to an operational level. One where you feel more confident and optimistic about your life decisions. Life can be a series of mundane decisions, but you have a lot to be proud of.”

  “So, there is something wrong with me?”

  “I don’t like to make judgements like that, but if you believe there is something to work on, that’s what we’re going to try and ‘fix.’ Honestly, I believe it is nothing that is within your control. Sometimes the chemical balance in our bodies gets out of sync. Taking medication is one way to try and correct these imbalances. Not having met with you for an extended amount of time, I’m not sure yet if you may also be suffering from some form of anxiety. However, first I want to see how you respond to the Prozac.”

  “This isn’t something I can make better just by talking to you?”

  “Unfortunately, while you might fundamentally feel better, I think your issues may run deeper than what we can work through during our sessions. By combining talking with me and taking medication, I’m hopeful we can work through your frustration and find the control you seek. It’s not something that happens overnight. It’s something we’ll work on together.” Nancy retrieves her medical script pad and writes out a prescription. Neatly ripping off the page, she hands the small document across and says, “You’ll want to pick these up from a pharmacy and try to take one a day around the same time of day.”

  Oscar hesitates before he picks up the small piece of paper. Nancy looks across and says, “You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  January 10, 3:30 P.M.

  “Isn’t this just a scream?” Cindy Watson asks the bellboy, Chad, who is depositing a portion of the couple’s bags on the luggage stand, then places the remainder of the pink and purple luggage into the closet. He knows they are only staying for two nights, but there is enough luggage to clothe two people for a solid week or more.

  Twenty-something Chad isn’t sure how exactly to respond to his guest’s query. The majority of guests usually don’t want anything to do with him. At the most, they want to get hooked up with some weed (of which he runs a fairly decent side business) and are occasionally interested in something harder. As Chad has learned from the loquacious Mrs. Watson on the short trip from the lobby to the suite, this woman and her husband, Jeff, are winners of a contest from their home state of Mississippi. They won a radio contest which has given the couple an all expenses paid trip to the People’s Choice awards, including hotel, air, and limo transfers. Chad doesn’t understand how this trip helps the overall PR for the Winchester, but the couple seem nice enough.

  With all the bags finally stowed, he asks politely, “Can I show you how to use some of the technology in the room?”

  Cindy all but hops up and down and answers, “Of course you can, sugar, I don’t think we’d be able to figure it out on our own and don’t want to be bothering you at all hours of the day.”

  “It’s no trouble at all
, ma’am. At the Winchester we are always available.”

  “Isn’t he a darling?” Cindy asks her husband, who has yet to say a word. The retired schoolteacher pulls her camera out of her purse (she’s already clocked nearly one hundred pictures between landing in Los Angeles and check in) and says, “Say you’ll pose for a picture with me, sugar, please?”

  Although Chad isn’t entirely sure he can sniff a tip for his effort, the woman kind of reminds him of his crazy Aunt Bridget, so he decides to go along with things and answers, “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Watson.”

  “Honey, will you take our picture?” Cindy hands the camera to her taciturn husband and continues, “Where should we pose? How about over here by these bee-yo-teful curtains?”

  Chad can’t think of a time a guest has ever asked him to actually be in the picture. Almost always, he is taking the picture of someone else and he recognizes it feels nice to be on the other side of the camera. “Wherever you want, ma’am.”

  Unsure what to do, Chad decides his best option will be to act like a gentleman, and at five feet ten inches, he towers over the much shorter Cindy Watson. He puts his arm around Cindy and she giggles like a school girl, cuddling her generous rear end right up to him, while patting her stiffly styled blonde hair to make sure nothing is amiss. As Abigail from HR told him in his interview at the Winchester, every day would be different and her promise has certainly proven true. He’s seen a few celebrities and realizes mostly it’s a good job and occasionally he gets a big tip which makes all the slower days. Chad enjoys his shift, 10 A.M. – 8 P.M. (with breaks) and today is one of the better days. Although this was supposed to be a temporary gig, he likes the work, the environment and might stay with the Winchester awhile. Although he’s not mentioned this idea to anyone, Chad’s good with computers and would like to get involved with the IT and business side of hotel management.

  “Smile!”

  Chad holds a fake, but convincing grin while Jeff Watson takes a few pictures on a Canon from a few generations ago. Satisfied they’ve got a usable image, Chad says, “How about that tour?”

  In full bellmen mode, he proceeds to show them around the suite and how things operate and function. Although it takes awhile to get the Watsons up to speed on all the functions of the television, they seem relatively content in the space. Concluding his directions, Chad says, “You might also want to take a look at our roof top pool – it’s a bit too chilly for swimming, but it’s still a nice place to get a drink.”

  “Did you hear that, Jeffy?”

  “What that?”

  “There’s a pool on the roof! They’ll never believe it back home!”

  “What about the Sullivans? Didn’t they see something like that on their trip to Vegas? Haven’t we never heard the end of it?”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Cindy clucks to herself. “I’m not sure how I’m going to get a wink of sleep knowing there’s a whole pool on top of the building.”

  “I assure you it’s entirely safe.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right!”

  Moving towards the door, Chad, a bit worried for their safety, asks politely, “Do you know anyone in town?”

  “We’ve got a grand-niece, Joanie, nearby. Do you know her?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t. It’s a big city.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend? She’s about your age and quite the looker. Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “I’ll just leave her number at reception and you can call her.”

  “Thanks,” Chad says. “Well, I probably need to get back and help some of the other guests.”

  “Now dear, don’t leave just yet, let me get my pocketbook.” Cindy pulls out a monstrosity of a handbag. Rifling through the various accoutrements, she retrieves a well-worn cloth pocketbook busting with various cards, coupons, and pictures spilling from it. Chad smiles as she passes a bill across. He palms the currency quickly and tucks the money into his pocket, knowing any other gesture could be considered rude.

  “Goodbye then. Come say hello at the front desk if you have any more questions.”

  The door closes and Jeff Watson grumbles, “How much did you give that young man? Wasn’t he just doing his job?”

  “Oh, he was very nice. I gave him a dollar, maybe he’ll be able to buy a soda or something.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  January 29, 5:43 P.M.

  Doug Lewis walks into his suite at the Winchester. One bag, no help needed from the front desk. In his luggage is a small collection of things he requires. Having thoroughly researched the topic, Doug feels adequately prepared to kill himself. His suicide won’t be painful and he will not leave a mess behind. Doug considers apologizing in advance to the staff, but doesn’t want to tip them off to his plans.

  Reaching this point in his thirty-four years has been a collection of bad relationships, poor decisions, and fractured successes. Doug honestly doesn’t believe the world will be a better place with him continuing to be a part of it, doesn’t see things getting better, doesn’t want to make an effort for something he doesn’t believe in, so why prolong the inevitable?

  After surviving the holidays and making the effort to pretend to care about the rest of humanity, Doug had reached the end of his rope. After the New Year had come to pass, he spent most of the month preparing for this day.

  Having made his choice to end his life, before leaving his apartment, Doug prepared detailed instructions so there would be minimal effort required for his parents. Not that they would particularly care, after all, in the past five years, they’ve forgotten his birthday three times. In darker times, he often wonders what set of circumstances came together to create his life. As far as he can tell, since leaving for college, his parents have more or less forgotten about his existence. It’s as if all the effort they made during his childhood was their total allotment for child caring for his entire lifetime.

  Sitting down on the couch, he removes his shoes and thinks about his only sibling. He has an older brother who actually lives in town, Clint, and they see each other almost never – mostly from the reluctance on Doug’s part. Other than the two weeks he crashed with his sibling upon first moving to Los Angeles, there is little to no communication. Doug realizes this fact is mainly because of his own inaction. Clint and his partner, Tom, have made plenty of effort to get together with him, but in the past few years, Doug hasn’t felt like returning the attempts to maintain the relationship.

  Not wanting to cause any further pain to his family, Doug paid off all of his debts and even sold his car the previous month.

  Although he has no debt, he isn’t leaving much money behind either. What little he does have, he’s instructed to leave to charitable causes. He doesn’t want a funeral or the expense of being buried. He would like to be cremated and does not particularly care where his remains end up.

  In his apartment, he’s sold or given away almost everything.

  Two weeks ago, he handed in his notice at his job.

  Doug Lewis is as ready as he’ll ever be.

  The decision to end his life in a hotel is a recent choice. Although Doug has convinced himself he does not have much to live for, he does not want his last moment of consciousness to be in his sad apartment in Van Nuys. Additionally, although there might be a small level of irony in his decision, there’s something comforting about the hotel, about knowing others are close by.

  Relaxing on the couch, Doug surveys the space and feels he’s made the correct decision in coming to the Winchester. Looking at the hotel information in front of him, he decides to splurge and order something decadent from room service. Although the end result of eating a rich meal will most likely not be pleasant to whoever finds him, he has brought a plastic tarp for this purpose.

  Flipping through the pages of delicious appetizers and main courses, the former cell phone salesman decides on a steak (medium rare), sweet potato French fries and a decadent piec
e of strawberry cheesecake. After placing the order, he goes to his bag to double check everything is ready for later. Through a combination of legal and illegal channels, Doug obtained the correct mixture of drugs to first put him to sleep and then to stop his heart. In case the drugs do not take their desired effect, he has a plastic bag to place over his head. He believes he will not be in pain, and that his passing will be simple.

  Unusually warm for this time of year, Doug decides to open the sliding glass door. Other than the sounds of the street below, he does not turn on music or the television. Satisfied with the ambiance, he pulls out a typed letter explaining who he is and his wishes.

  With nothing else to do, he retrieves a photograph he put into his luggage as an afterthought.

  The edges are frayed. The surface is sticky and one corner is missing. The photo reveals two people, deep in conversation – they are young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen and from their clothes and hairstyle, an outsider would probably place the picture at some point during the nineties. Doug flips over the image, looks at the fading colors and thinks ‘this was the last time in my life I was really happy.’ In that moment, a discarded picture left unused by the yearbook staff, they could’ve been talking about anything.

  Her name was Kate. They were high school sweethearts. With young Kate Hannady, everything seemed possible. Where was she now? Would she mourn his loss? Doug hasn’t been much for social media or keeping in touch with people, and has no way of knowing if she had stayed in their hometown or had moved on. Was she married? Did she have children? Did she still play clarinet? Had she finished school and become a graphic designer like she’d always wanted to be?

  He thought of conversations they’d had. Promises they had made. Places they had dreamed of seeing. While he had been able to leave the small Tennessee town where they grew up, he wasn’t sure she had been able to do the same.

  Why is he thinking of her now?

  In these last hours of his life, why does Kate Hannady matter?

  He is almost completely certain she would have forgotten his name by now, or that they had ever been together. Even if those months had been magical to him so many years ago, would they have been the same for her?