by Alexi Venice
“So, Tommy really believes Carlisle’s version?” he asked.
“Yes, and I’m sort of surprised. In all fairness, he spent an hour with Carlisle at his house, listening to the story personally, but this just doesn’t smell right to me.”
“Me either. It has political smear job, or potential blackmail, written all over it. Let me talk to him and find out more.”
“Thanks. I wanted you to stay in the loop, and let you know that I’m equally committed to insulating Montiago from this as you are. Not just because I owe you, but also because she’s a woman running for President.”
“I appreciate your being candid with me. And, for your loyalty. For Tommy’s sake, though, let’s try to keep an open mind. We don’t want him to get ornery and dig in his heels.”
“I’ll do my best.” Amanda hung up and looked at the time. Shit. I can’t be late for my therapy appointment. She texted Frank, who knew her schedule and was probably already waiting for her. She grabbed her bag and raincoat and left her office, lingering briefly at her new administrative assistant’s desk to shrug on her coat. “Melanie, I’m going to an appointment. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Can you do two things for me while I’m out?”
Melanie nodded.
“First, can you find time in my calendar tomorrow for me to drop in on Jeremy and Michael’s arson case? Maybe an hour or two?”
“Of course.”
“Second, I’m done reviewing all of those case files on my conference table. Can you see to it that they get filed or returned to the appropriate ADA?”
“Sure thing, Ms. Hawthorne.”
“Oh, and please call me Amanda.”
“Okay. Thanks. Most people call me Mel if you want to.”
Amanda inclined her head and studied the astute young woman. She had intelligent brown eyes and was fresh out of school. “Okay. See you later.”
“Bye.”
When Amanda reached the bottom of the stairwell, Frank was holding the door for her.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said.
“I feel like I’m running late.”
“No worries. We have plenty of time.” He opened the exterior door of the building and walked beside her down to the car, which was already running.
Amanda sank into the back seat and blew out a frustrated sigh. She lay her head back and closed her eyes, allowing her mind to relax as Frank drove. She rolled over the events of the morning and absorbed the details on the various files in the office. Responsible for a mountain of cases, she couldn’t personally manage every file, but had the ultimate call over whether to try or plea a claim.
She didn’t want to look weak on crime by agreeing to too many plea deals, so strove for a high conviction rate to demonstrate to the public that her trial attorneys were effective. She emailed Mel to print a chart of plea deals and trials for the last year, so she could study the reports and see where they stood relative to past years. If need be, she could tell her ADAs to try more cases, juggling the statistics to appease even the most skittish voter.
God, unwinding with a glass of wine tonight would be nice. Especially after that ridiculous argument with Tommy. It’s Italian dinner, so Chianti would go perfectly. Shit, Tommy and Cy will be there, and if I drink wine, not only will Jen look at me, but I also might let down my guard and re-ignite the argument with Tommy. That would be bad. Really bad.
Keeping her eyes closed, she took some relaxing yoga breaths, filling her lungs with light, ease and peace, all the while wondering, Am I overreacting?
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the Cohen Clinic and Amanda checked in with Ginny, the red-haired receptionist who wore sapphire blue lipstick.
“Hello Ms. Hawthorne,” Ginny said in a low voice, so other patients wouldn’t hear. “How are you today?”
“Well, and you?”
“Very well, thank you,” Ginny said.
“Bet your life is easier with the electronic scheduling system back online. How did you ever function without it?”
“As you probably know from Dr. Dawson, not very well.”
“Jen told me you were cool under fire, though.”
Ginny smiled. “Thanks.”
Amanda’s therapist, Susan, emerged from the back hallway and smiled at Amanda. “Ready?”
“Absolutely.” Amanda glanced back at Ginny. “Good chatting with you.”
Once they were settled in Susan’s office, she asked. “How are you today, Amanda?”
“Okay. I got in an argument with Tommy at work, and it unfortunately became personal. We’ve disagreed over cases before, but this had a different tone. Like I said— personal.”
Susan, sitting in her desk chair, but not behind her desk, crossed her legs. She rested her elbows on the adjustable arm rests and leaned her body into her knees, setting the stage for an intimate conversation. “Did the argument trigger any urges or emotions?”
“Promise me you won’t write this down.”
“Ethically, I have to make a note, and Dr. Cohen needs me to for billing purposes. However, I won’t write specific details.”
“I mean it,” Amanda said, her voice more stern than she intended. “We both learned that nothing is secret when your computers were hacked, and if I’m going to talk about what triggers my urges, I don’t want the entire fucking world to learn about it later. I’ve been clean for three months, but the familiar urges—excuses really—are coming back. At unpredictable times! I mean, I wanted a glass of wine after arguing with Tommy this morning, and that was before noon. I’ve never wanted a drink before noon. What the hell?”
“When you were taking valium, would you take one before noon?”
“Oh yes. Toward the end, I’d take one when I got out of bed in the morning.”
“So, we know that the desire to escape doesn’t wait until the end of the day during cocktail hour. It can hit you hard after you go through something troubling or emotional—like arguing with someone you care about.”
“But we’ve argued before…”
“You mentioned this one got personal?”
Amanda nodded then pinched the bridge of her nose. “I accused him of being naïve, and he accused me of being sexist.”
“Sexist, huh?” Susan asked. “And, you care what Tommy thinks about you because he’s part of your connected family, both at home and at work?”
Amanda cringed.
“What?” Susan asked.
“I just…I don’t want to give that much power to Tommy. Yes, he’s a part of our lives because he’s Kristin’s father, but the only person I truly care about is Jen, and what she thinks of me.”
“Does caring about someone give them power over you?”
“You know it does.”
“In what way?”
“They can say or do things that hurt me.”
“Do you think Tommy was trying to hurt you this morning?”
Amanda stared into the middle space between them for a minute, and her expression softened. “No, I guess not.”
“Do you respect Tommy?”
“Yes. He’s one of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with.”
“Were you trying to hurt him when you called him naïve?”
“No. Of course not. It fell out of my mouth too fast.”
“If you weren’t trying to hurt each other, then why do you feel hurt?”
“Because he called me sexist.”
“Why?” Susan asked.
“Because he refused to listen to logic, and it was the next best thing to say.”
“Do you really believe that?” Susan asked.
Amanda looked at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. She realized she was white-knuckling herself, so relaxed her grip. “I see where you’re going with this. If I respect him and don’t think he was trying to hurt me, then maybe I should respect his position.”
“Sort of. You don’t have to agree with him, and you certainly don’t have to change your mind about your position. That’s what disagreement
is. The fact that you disagreed doesn’t give him power over you.”
“Yet, here we are, talking about him.” Amanda waved her hand at all these exasperating emotions.
“Yes, so you don’t have to block out the argument by taking a valium or drinking a glass of wine. It’s better to blow off steam and work through your frustration by talking about it.”
“I still wouldn’t mind a glass of wine to forget about it.”
“What about your other tools. Yoga? Cello? Did you work out this morning?”
“No. I was at Jen’s. That’s part of the problem of living apart. I spend half my life driving back and forth. I don’t know where my clothes are. Or my makeup and other stuff. I wake up in the middle of the night and don’t know where the hell I am. And, my poor cat, Zumba. Frank has been letting him in and out, and even feeding him. I just want my life to be more organized. I feel chaotic, out of control, and powerless. Of course, that’s compounded by lack of exercise.”
“So, what’s your plan for taking care of these feelings today?”
“I hope to play cello or do yoga after work before I go to Jen’s. That’s another thing. She’s having Tommy and Cy over for dinner tonight. Now I don’t want to go. I want to be with Jen and Kristin, but seeing Tommy will be upsetting. Tommy usually acts as a buffer between Cy and me, because you know Cy disapproves of Jen and my relationship. But, if Tommy and I are fighting, he probably won’t buffer Cy. Maybe it’s best if I don’t go.”
“Your anxiety is causing you to assume the worst about tonight. And what about Jen? Would she like your support and help for dinner?”
“I never thought of that. I don’t think she needs my support emotionally because she’s used to them. She saw them all the time when she lived with Tommy.”
“How about your help with dinner prep and cleaning up? Maybe you could focus on helping Jen, then you wouldn’t have to carry on a conversation with Cy and Tommy.”
“Maybe I could have a night alone doing yoga and playing cello for Zumba. Then I wouldn’t have to be mixed up in all that drama.”
“Is that your plan for the future? Avoiding difficult situations?”
“That’s my plan for today. I think Tommy and I need to cool down, which means spend some time apart.”
“That might be the case. Are you going to tell Jen why you’re not coming to dinner?”
“I’ll just tell her I need some time alone.”
“Why not tell her the truth?”
“Because I don’t want to make her feel like she has to take sides—pit her against Tommy. My fight with Tommy is between him and me. I don’t want to put Jen in the middle.”
“Now it’s a fight?” Susan asked.
“Disagreement. Fight. What’s the difference?”
“I think there’s a big difference. Disagreement is more intellectual. Fighting usually involves an emotional component.”
“Well, our disagreement impacted me emotionally.”
“I like your plan for working out those emotions with some exercise and music.”
“Thanks, but? I hear a ‘but’ in there,” Amanda said.
Susan smiled her calm, therapist-friendly smile, the one she used when she was about to teach. “I’d encourage you to be open and honest with Jen, so she knows why you’re doing the things you’re doing. Not communicating about your feelings might lead to a misunderstanding in your relationship, and you’ve said that she’s the most important person in your life.”
“She is.”
“You don’t want to hurt her, do you?”
“Of course not. That’s the reason I’m NOT going to tell her about a disagreement that would put her in the middle.”
“But you don’t want to let her down in the process, right?” Susan asked.
“Now I’m more confused. I thought you were supposed to help me straighten things out.”
“It’s a tangled bowl of spaghetti. We’re taking one strand at a time.”
“I just don’t want to be sitting at the dinner table with Tommy, watching him relax with a beer, letting the stress of the day fall away as if nothing happened.”
“Why does that bother you?”
“Because he can let it go, and I can’t! He can have a drink, and I can’t! He’ll be all charming and complimentary to Jen, and a doting father to Kristin, and I’ll still be angry about our disagreement. And resent the shit out of him.”
“For drinking a beer and enjoying himself?”
“Yes!” Amanda said, her body tense.
Susan paused and let Amanda’s statement hang in the air for a minute.
Amanda covered her face then raked her fingers through her hair.
“If you blow off steam with yoga then go to dinner, will you still feel this way?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe not. But I might not get time to do yoga. I have a full afternoon at work.”
“Can you arrive late and help Jen clean up?”
Amanda thought a minute. “I could do that.”
“Do you think Jen would appreciate that?”
“She always likes help cleaning up. In fact, when she cooks, I do the dishes.”
“Do you think you can honestly communicate with her that you might miss dinner because you need to exercise to cope with a stressful work day, but that you’ll come as soon as you can to clean up?”
“Maybe. I also sort of promised her sex tonight,” Amanda said, but then regretted saying because it was so revealing.
Susan didn’t flinch. “And?”
“And I should follow through on that promise.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Like it’s the only thing I have to look forward to.”
Susan smiled. “Sounds like you’ve developed a good plan for dealing with your emotions, avoiding a relapse, and supporting Jen. Go with it. I’m afraid our time is up. Do you want to say the serenity prayer together?”
“Sure.”
Susan uncrossed her legs and scooted forward, so she could hold both of Amanda’s hands in hers. They spoke in unison. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.”
They broke apart, and Amanda felt more settled. “Thank you, Susan. I might stop by and see Jen on my way out.”
“My pleasure. See you next week.” Susan turned back. “Did you call Joe about being your sponsor?”
Amanda frowned. “No. Sorry. I’ve been too busy.”
“You know you need a sponsor, right? I went to a lot of work to get him to agree, considering you’re the opposite gender. He finally agreed since you’re both public figures and you’re gay, so there won’t be any temptation. You need to call him.”
“I know. I just feel like you and I do such a good job that I don’t want to involve another person.”
“We’ve discussed this. You need both. He’s a peer and will come at the issues from a different angle. Trust me, he’s got an insightful perspective about addiction. Give him a call.”
“He won’t leak shit about me, will he?”
“Of course not.”
“You said he’s a baseball player?”
“He’s a pitcher for the Giants—a celebrity in his own right. Trust me, he understands how to keep personal stuff confidential.”
“Right.”
“Try not to gush,” Susan said.
Amanda rolled her eyes.
Chapter 7
Cohen Clinic
Her session with Susan over, Amanda strolled down the back hallway to Jen’s office. Jen wasn’t in her office, so Amanda found Jen’s nurse, Shannon, entering some information into a computer.
Shannon looked up and smiled. “Amanda, how are you?”
“Well, thank you. And you?”
“Terrific. Looking for Jen?”
“Yes. Is she available?”
“She’s in with a patient, but I expect her out in a few minutes. Would you like to wa
it in her office, and I’ll tell her you’re here?”
“Sure.” Amanda liked that Shannon was precise and to the point. She also appreciated that Jen was both grateful for and fond of Shannon. Amanda considered Shannon’s best trait to be that she was straight, and not even close to Amanda’s league of drop-dead-gorgeous. Nothing to be jealous about here.
Shannon quickly shuffled Amanda into Jen’s office and closed the door behind her.
Ah, I get it. She doesn’t want me to see who comes out of the exam room. Must be a mutual friend or a very public person in with Jen.
Amanda glanced around Jen’s office, admiring a few photos of Kristin and herself. She picked up one that she recalled Jen taking while they were on a walk at Ocean Beach. Kristin was in the carrier on Amanda’s back, and Amanda was standing sideways, so Jen could get both Amanda and Kristin’s faces in the shot. Shit. I look a little scraggly and in need of makeup. I should give her some better photos of me. A few minutes passed, and the door opened.
Jen entered the small space and quickly closed the door behind her. “Hey babe, what a nice surprise.” She searched Amanda’s eyes to see if something was wrong.
“I was here for an appointment with Susan. Do you have a sec?” Amanda asked.
“Always.” Jen sat in one of the two guest chairs, facing Amanda.
“Is it okay if I’m terribly late for dinner, basically missing it, but get there in time to help you clean up and do dishes?”
“Busy day at work?” Jen asked.
“Yeah, and I feel really, really frustrated. I have a lot of nervous energy that I need to work out of my system. I think I need to exercise before I come over, if that’s okay with you.”
Jen narrowed her eyes. “You’re not trying to avoid Cy, are you?”
“Not at all. I’ve grown fond of him.”
“Because you know Tommy and I will keep Cy in line, right?”
“He doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I just need to exercise, that’s all.” Amanda reached over and ran her hand down Jen’s solid thigh, currently clad in navy slacks.
“I get the need to work out. As long as that’s all it is,” Jen said. “But, you’re coming over after dinner, right? After all, you promised to fulfill my deepest, darkest sexual fantasy tonight.”
