Falling Back to One

by Randy Mason

  Baker sighed: the lie he’d prepared was never going to fly. “Someone broke into your apartment, and most of your things were ruined. I asked your teachers for the new books.”

  “What? But my apartment—” Her face went blank. “Whatever.”

  “And Greg gave me his notes for you to copy. He says he hopes you get better soon because it’s no fun taking tests without you.”

  “So now the whole fuckin’ school knows I’m locked up in a psycho ward?”

  “They think you have mono.”

  “Well isn’t that just great.” She looked at the pile of school materials. “Why did you bring this shit anyway? What the fuck am I supposed to be studying for?”

  “You’ve got finals coming up.”

  “Oh, yeah, like I’m not goin’ back to juvi as soon as they say I’m not crazy anymore.”

  “You’re not going back there, Micki.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  But after a while, when Baker’s expression didn’t change, she asked, “So how am I gonna take my finals if I’m still in this place?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  BAKER CLOSED THE DOOR. “The kid’s not eating anything! She’s getting much too thin. Doesn’t anybody notice? This is a fucking hospital, for chrissakes; can’t you do something?”

  “She started her therapy,” Dr. Lerner said.

  Baker’s face brightened. “Really?” He walked across the room and sat down.

  “And I’d like your permission to tell her things you say when I consider it appropriate.”

  He paused. “If it’s something I say about her, that’s okay. But I don’t want you telling her anything about my family or girlfriends—y’know, stuff like that.”

  Lerner nodded. “That’s fine. Tomorrow I’ll ask the same of her. This will help move things along until you start having sessions together.”

  “So what about her not eating?”

  “It’s quite common for people’s eating habits to change when they’re severely depressed: they either overeat or under-eat. And from what you’ve described, not eating seems to be a pattern with her.”

  He lit a cigarette. “Yeah, that’s true. I think I told you how, except for a few rare occasions, she wouldn’t eat in front of me.”

  “Did those occasions have anything in common?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  “You can’t find any similarity in those examples?”

  Baker shook his head.

  “That’s interesting,” the doctor said.

  “What’s interesting?”

  “I’m sure your deductive powers as a detective are quite impressive, yet this is a blind spot.”

  With one hand hanging carelessly off the end of its armrest, he leaned his head back against the chair and looked out from under half-closed lids. Then he put the cigarette to his lips. And exhaled the smoke through his nose.

  “Let’s approach this from another perspective,” Lerner said. “Perhaps you could tell me how you think the pattern of her not eating in front of you started.”

  “Probably when she first came to clean my apartment. I yelled at her for eating some bread.” His face colored. “Jesus, I was such a dick.”

  “But why would that stop her from eating her own food in front of you?”

  Baker shrugged.

  “If you provide nourishment to someone, it’s a caring—nurturing—thing,” Lerner said. “But the incident in your kitchen sent a very different message. And because of your attitude and behavior toward her, Micki took it to the extreme.”

  He inhaled another lungful of smoke.

  “What happens,” the doctor queried, “if someone stops eating?”

  Grinning while he exhaled, he said, “They lose weight—most women’s dream come true.”

  “But not Micki’s,” Lerner countered. “She’s already too thin.”

  His grin faded, and he straightened up to tap the cigarette against the ashtray.

  “What happens,” Lerner asked, “if someone continues not to eat?”

  “You mean, for a long time?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess they’d starve.”

  The doctor raised an encouraging eyebrow.

  “To death,” he added.

  “Because …” Lerner prompted.

  “You need food to sustain life.” He looked quizzical at being asked to state something so obvious.

  And then the truth hit home.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  HE FOLDED CYNTHIA’S SILK dressing gown into a neat rectangle, placed it on the living room chair, then ran his hand over the soft material that had so often draped her body. She’d left a message with his answering service, saying she wanted to pick up whatever items she’d left at his apartment. When he’d called her back, she said she’d stop by at eight.

  There weren’t all that many things to collect: the dressing gown; a pair of slippers; comb and brush; toothbrush; and a change of clothes, including sneakers. But each one was a reminder of what he’d lost. He lifted the silk robe and pressed it to his face so he could breathe in her scent. When he opened his eyes, they fell upon the malachite sphere sitting on the bookshelf. He went over and picked it up. Closed in his fist, it felt cool and smooth, same as it had the day she’d given it to him. “It helps open up the heart,” she’d said. Tears welled up, and he put the stone back before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He cried so easily now … A strange, garbled laugh caught in his throat.

  The downstairs buzzer rang, and he pressed the button to let her in before going to check himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were noticeably red. Running around the apartment, he turned out as many lights as he reasonably could, only to then wonder if she’d think he was trying to set a romantic mood. He sighed.

  When she appeared at the door—empty-handed—her manner was cool and overly polite. “How’s Micki?” she asked.

  “She’s fine.” And he went to get a shopping bag.

  “Did she like the book?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “She’s not really talking to me.”

  While he was placing her belongings into the bag, Cynthia’s eyes wandered around the room until, face flushed, she pointed to the coffee table. “The book’s right there! It’s unbelievable how you can just lie to me like that!”

  Baker’s voice was calm. “That’s mine, Cyn. I gave Micki the copy you bought and got this one today for myself.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “I’m not as thick-headed as you might think,” he said.

  “Oh, god, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He handed her the shopping bag. “Do you want some coffee or something?” But even as the words came out of his mouth, his eyes became moist again, and he quickly turned away.

  Cynthia, meanwhile, was already declining, saying she had to rush off somewhere; she had a taxi waiting. But when he turned back, he found her studying him.

  “It’s quite dark in here,” she said.

  “I … I have a headache.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s nothing, really. So how’ve you been?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Chin thrust forward and slightly raised, she glanced to the side as she put the bag down on the floor. Then she straightened up and looked back. “I broke up with Mark.”

  “You what? What happened?”

  “He asked me to marry him, and I said yes. Then everything changed. He expected me to move to LA with him, give up my career, and start a family—even though he knew I’d decided I didn’t want to move to LA and had no desire to have children. It
was as if my life—my dreams—didn’t matter anymore, only his. Nothing was even open to discussion. He’s incredibly sexist and self-centered. I guess I never noticed because we were always so busy laughing. He seemed so intent on making me happy when we were still ‘courting,’ as they say. I should’ve realized he was only playing a role.” Voice bitter, she added, “He’s a very good actor.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” she retorted.

  He angled his head.

  She lowered her gaze. “I—I don’t know what’s gotten into me. That was totally uncalled for.” She looked up and tried to laugh. “I’m certainly apologizing a lot tonight.”

  And as she closed her eyes and fought back tears, Baker’s hand started to reach out. But then he swiftly drew it back, saying, “That’s okay, I think I’ve got a few shots coming to me.”

  When she opened her eyes, she saw a sad but affable grin. She smiled amid the sniffles. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

  “I’m still here for you, Cyn. I know I really blew it the first time around, but I’d like it if we could stay friends. Would you give me another chance?”

  Palm down, she held out her hand. He sandwiched it between his.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  FOR THE NEXT TWO sessions, Micki talked to Dr. Lerner about her drug use. She talked about Rick. Her classes at school. It helped to pass the time.

  Toward the end of Thursday’s hour, the doctor remarked, “Not once have you mentioned Sergeant Baker.”

  Eyes fastened on the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door—a thin strip of light disappearing and reappearing as several people walked by—Micki said, “Because I hate him.”

  “Then perhaps we should discuss finding a different guardian for you.”

  Micki looked up.

  “Well,” Lerner continued, “until the state deems you to be eighteen years of age, you’ll be required to have one. If Sergeant Baker is so unacceptable, we should work toward finding someone better suited for the job.”

  “But—but they could end up being worse and—and I wouldn’t know till it was too late.”

  “I see,” Lerner replied.

  Clamping her mouth shut, Micki looked away.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “SO YOU DON’T USUALLY go too long between girlfriends.”

  “I guess not. This is probably the longest for me.” Baker picked up his book of matches and tapped it on the table before placing it on top of the pack of Camels.

  “Have you dated at all since you broke up with Cynthia?” Lerner asked.

  He was holding the lit cigarette between his index and middle fingers. With a flick of his thumb, he deposited some ashes into the ashtray and shifted in his seat. “Not really. I had a one-night stand New Year’s Eve, but that’s about it.”

  “Someone you already knew?”

  He took a drag and shook his head no. “I met her that night. Quite honestly, I don’t even remember having sex with her. I drank so much, I must’ve blacked out.”

  “Then how do you know you slept with her?”

  “The next morning, I woke up in her bed. And the condom was gone from my wallet.”

  “You always carry a condom with you?”

  “Only when I’m unattached, so to speak.”

  “And then you carry one all the time?”

  “Just if I’m going out and there’s a chance I’ll—chance I might need it.” He shifted in his seat again.

  “Did you use a condom with Micki?” Lerner asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Even though you were so high?”

  “It’s automatic, an ingrained habit with me. I don’t even think about it.”

  “So the night of the dance, you purposely took a condom with you.”

  Pretty sharp, Baker thought. “I guess I was thinking that, y’know, I might get it on with someone: a single teacher or a mother who came as a chaperone.” He shrugged. “I admit the odds were small, but it was just in case. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Then you never actually thought about sleeping with Micki before it happened?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “No!” Once more, he shifted in his seat. “Well, I guess I can’t say never, but it was just, y’know, hypothetical, wondering what it would be like.” A bit of color bloomed on each cheek. “Guys do that all the time.”

  Smile demure, eyebrows arched mockingly, Lerner said, “Really!”

  Baker laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. He said, “When it came to stuff like that, I always saw her as a kid; I knew exactly where the line was drawn. I made sure I never touched her in any way that could be construed as sexual, especially when I was searching her. Besides”—a hint of resentment crept into his voice, for he wasn’t sure if Lerner believed him—“she’s just not my type.”

  “What about when you danced with her that night?”

  He stared blankly at the doctor, aware of the heaviness around his eyes. “I feel very tired,” he announced.

  “You don’t want to talk about this,” she said.

  He continued to smoke, the light from the window deepening the lines etched in his face. “I felt sorry for her. Just like she’d predicted, she spent the night alone, and no one danced with her. I did feel a little tenderness, I guess, and, I dunno, I suppose there was some sort of sexual—what would you call it—tension? How could there not be? But it was all very chaste, really. If I hadn’t gotten high, nothing would’ve happened.” He mashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray. “I hate myself for what I did. I mean, she doesn’t trust anyone—do you know that?—but she’d finally begun to trust me. And then I went and did that to her.” He was still crushing the cigarette, grinding it into the metal dish though it had long since gone out. He said, “It’s no wonder she hates men.” He looked up. “She’s never actually said it, but I think it’s pretty obvious.”

  “She’s been badly abused by men. There’s a lot of rage inside her.”

  “The warden at Heyden abused her, too. And she’s female.”

  “My guess is that the abuse she’s suffered at the hands of men has been far greater than what she’s suffered at the hands of women. And for her, there’s a whole other element when it crosses gender.”

  Baker nodded, lowering his eyes, not knowing why he’d even voiced such a weak argument until, looking up, he said, “But I’m male.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Lerner said, “though I think Micki has put you into a category all your own.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Lerner got up and pulled the shades down most of the way to block the setting sun, which had edged its way in line with the office. “What is it that worries you?” she asked.

  He lit another cigarette, eyes wandering around the space while the doctor regained her seat. Bathed in the warmth of the light passing through the ochre-colored fabric, the room—which had heard so many voices, felt the beats of so many hearts—seemed filled with the sadness of all the words left unspoken. He said, “I want her to accept me as—as …” He threw a glance at Lerner, then boldly looked her straight in the eyes. “I want to be a father to Micki.”

  “I think that remains a possibility,” the doctor said.

  “Even after I slept with her?”

  “Yours is not a typical case. You had a very different relationship with her then. And as terribly wrong as it was, there were a lot of mitigating circumstances surrounding what happened.”

  Though his mind seemed to be racing in all kinds of directions, he tried to take in what the doctor was saying. But now that there was a crack in the dam, another fear spilled out: “So tell me why she would even want a father when, for as far back as she can remember, she’s been on her own without one.”<
br />
  A compassionate look in her eye, Lerner replied, “Because for as far back as she can remember, she’s been on her own without one.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THE NURSE LET HIM into the locked ward and escorted him to the dayroom. When he’d seen Baker at the poker game last night, he’d been shocked: his friend had lost a noticeable amount of weight, and there had been heavy pouches under his eyes. All of the guys had asked politely after Micki, but when Baker’s responses had been thin, no one pushed for details. After all, it was only after they’d applied considerable pressure that he’d agreed to show up at all.

  But then Tierney noticed Baker was only drinking club soda, and asked, “You on the wagon?”

  “You got a problem with that?” Baker shot back, and, shortly afterward, he’d left.

  The younger detective now followed the nurse toward the back of the room. Psych wards gave him the willies, and he clutched at the paper bag in his hand. A skinny old man stepped in front of him, thrusting his face in his, and he jumped.

  “Betcha can’t see me,” the man said, “’cause I’m invisible. Yep!” And he broke into a raucous cackle, providing a perfect view of a totally toothless mouth.

  “Mr. Kertz, go sit by the TV and leave the visitor alone,” the nurse ordered.

  He grinned. “You only know it’s me ’cause y’can hear my voice, right?”

  “Mr. Kertz!”

  Head hung low, the old man loped away.

  Drawn out of her reading, Micki looked over to see what was happening. Leaving her book on the table, she stood up, eyes turning dark at the sight of the coffee cop.

  “Hi, Micki,” Gould said.

  Her eyes darkened further.

  He held out the paper bag. “I brought you some chocolate.” When she didn’t take it, he added, “I remember Jim sayin’ you like chocolate.”

  Her stare was deadly.

  Gould put the bag on the table and suggested they sit down, reminding her of her meeting with Warner. Instead, she slipped her hands into her pockets.

  He swallowed hard. “Okay, look, I’ll get right to the point. Jim’s not only my partner but my best friend. Alls I wanna know is why you won’t talk to him. I mean, it’s killin’ him. He’s not eatin’; he’s not sleepin’. Give the guy a break, okay? Just talk to him. He”—Gould caught himself before he divulged something Baker wouldn’t have wanted him to—“he’s doin’ the best he can.”