The President's Wife Is on Prozac

by Jayne Lind

  “Oh, he began to go after another girl. I think that’s the reason I didn’t succumb again to anyone’s advances. I mean I wasn’t immoral, I had been brought up with a lot of values, but when you’re young, sometimes thinking you’re in love and all….”

  Taylor nodded. “Almost all of us have had experiences we regret, but I hope that hasn’t weighed on your mind all these years.”

  Beth was silent, once more looking down into her lap, where her fingers were twisting a tissue into an irresolvable knot. Taylor gave her time, time to put together her words, time to gather courage to tell her the real problem. But as the silence grew longer and as Beth began dabbing at her eyes to try to stop herself from crying, she said quietly, “If you could speak to your best friend, without anyone else listening, and knew you could trust her, what would you tell her?”

  After a few more moments of silence, in a very low voice Beth said, “I’d tell her I hate my husband!” As she blurted out these words, she began to sob.

  Taylor wasn’t shocked or even surprised at what she said. She’d already surmised this must be marital problem or else the need for secrecy wouldn’t have been so carefully arranged. She was surprised, however, that Beth said it so soon and surprised at the vehemence in her voice. Even though she spoke in a very low tone, the words were spoken with an edge, a bitterness, a sense of desperation. Taylor didn’t say anything; she just let her cry. After a few long moments the crying became less intense, and she then said, “And you have no one to confide in, no one to tell.”

  Beth nodded, blowing her nose and furiously dabbing under her eyes. Every time she tried to begin talking, she once more began crying.

  Taylor pulled out several more tissues and placed them on Beth’s lap. She felt such deep sympathy for this woman. What a predicament! It was likely Beth thought divorce was impossible because of her husband’s position, and she couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t trust anyone to confide in. She thought back over similar situations, although there really couldn’t be any quite like this. There were plenty of corporate wives in London she saw as clients. Their problem was different in that they could get out; they had a choice, but they usually weren’t willing to forgo their lifestyle. They also felt trapped, but not like this. This was total entrapment.

  After what seemed like a long time, Beth stopped crying and looked at Taylor with a pitiable expression on her face, an expression that screamed misery. In a quiet tone of voice, Taylor said, “It must be insufferable for you. No wonder you’re depressed.”

  Beth nodded, silently.

  “Have you felt suicidal?” Taylor asked, still keeping her voice low and gentle.

  Beth nodded, and the tears began to flow once more. There were no sobs, just silent tears forming and spilling down her cheeks. “Many times. It seemed the only way out. But I couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to my children.”

  Hugely relieved, Taylor knew it was always important to find the reason that will keep a depressed person from going ahead with the desire to end it all, to be out of pain. “So in spite of how deeply depressed you were, in spite of wanting to be out of your situation, you put the children’s welfare first.”

  Beth looked up at her with a tear-streaked face. “Yes. I knew that doing something like that would ruin their lives. I knew they would feel guilty, even if nothing was their fault. Do you understand?”

  “Of course, I understand, Beth, and I’m very glad there was a reason to stop you.” Taylor knew that this catharsis was necessary and important, but she also knew she needed to back off from the emotion of the session for a while. “Now that you’ve told me the root of your problem, now that I know, maybe that’s enough for today….”

  She nodded, “Yes, thank you. I’m always worried about how I look, you know? I don’t cry, or try not to, because someone will notice. In fact, a lot of people will notice. But it felt good to cry like that. Oh, Taylor, thank you, thank you for being here. I know you won’t tell anyone what I just said.”

  “Of course I won’t, Mrs…, I mean Beth. Of course I won’t. You needed to say those words and we will talk much more about it in the coming days. You’ve had an emotional release this morning and that’s necessary. It’s a beginning.” She smiled at Beth encouragingly. “You are a very brave woman. That must have been hard for you to tell me.”

  Beth looked down again, fiddling with the tissue, took a long drink of water, put it down on the table beside her and sighed. “Yes, it was good to be able to say it. And you didn’t act shocked.”

  Taylor laughed softly, “No, I wouldn’t have been shocked no matter what you said. There is very little that shocks people in my profession. We hear it all, I’m afraid.”

  The phone on the bureau rang. Beth stood up to answer it. “Yes, I see. Yes, I’ll be right there…oh, could I have ten minutes?” She hung up the phone and looked at Taylor with a shrug. “I’m needed for something or other,” she said in a resigned voice. “But I need ten minutes to repair my face, I must look terrible.” She held out her hand. “Thank you, I know you’ve sacrificed a lot to come here to help me and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

  Taylor wanted to give her a hug, but didn’t.

  Chapter Six

  Back in her suite Taylor retrieved her computer from the safe and clicked on the email icon. Josh told her she couldn’t use a wireless connection, that she needed to be plugged into a phone line because of security. Waiting for the internet to start up, her head was full of everything Beth just told her. The First Lady had been surprised that Taylor wasn’t shocked when she said she hated her husband, so she figured she must have done a good job hiding her reaction. On the other hand, if Beth had been any other of her female clients, Taylor truly wouldn’t have been shocked. She had certainly heard those words often enough.

  Were they going to trust her after she was finished helping Beth? Was she going to be watched the rest of her life, followed, was her phone going to be tapped? This was exciting, yes, but was she going to regret it one day? Much to her delight, there was an email from Josh.

  Hi there T: Good morning! I hope you slept well. I sure didn’t—we had a few things to do here which kept me up all night. I am looking forward to your emails, do you know that? I would really like to get to know you this way. Tell me about yourself—please. Cheers, J.

  What he wrote was benign, but she was grateful he seemed to be interested in her. She knew nothing about him, he could be a total rogue, a flatterer, and she was sure he wasn’t lonely. With his looks she was sure he could have any woman he was interested in. Yet, she thought she could hear something behind his innocent words. Come on Taylor, don’t try to analyze him. You’re so lonely, you’re probably reading something into every word. It wasn’t fair. There was a portfolio in their records that told him everything about her and she had no access to him other than what he was willing to tell her. She wrote back:

  Dear J: Yes, it will be good to have someone to talk to. I am so isolated here. What do you want to know about me? I thought I had been researched thoroughly or I never would have been asked to do this job. Hope you get some sleep. Cheers, T.

  She wanted to write, her fingers were itching to write, not just to Josh, but also about what had just happened. She always did this, she always wrote immediately after a session. She wrote significant words the client used, her own impressions, and notes to herself about what to do in the next session. Josh had told her not to take any notes, but would it hurt if she wrote and then deleted the notes right afterward? Was it traceable if someone took her laptop and investigated? She was technologically challenged enough not to know.

  She had always written, ever since she was a little child. She couldn’t seem to get her thoughts straight until she wrote them down. It might be better to write with a pen and then shred the notes, but she long ago quit using a pen and paper. Her brain was now wired for writing on the comp
uter. Confused, and wanting to write something, she wrote to Josh again:

  Dear J: Just did some work which was very revealing. I wish I could tell you about it, but of course, I couldn’t even if you were here. I have a need to write—could I write and then delete it? Is that safe? Change of subject: How am I going to have friends here—is it allowed? I have been here 2 days and I’m already restless. You told me not to use my mobile except in case of an emergency, if I was unsafe or something. I’ve lied to my friends via email already and don’t enjoy keeping up the façade. Even at this early stage the isolation is getting to me. I like being with people, it’s what I do all day long, communicate. The only person I can talk to is L., her chief of staff, who phones me to tell me when to go to work. She’s very businesslike. I know you said you have a lonely job as well, but you do get to talk to your colleagues, don’t you? Are you ever as isolated as I am? I agreed to do this job; you know I think it’s important, and that I know I can help, but I don’t like having to deceive my friends and my clients as well. Sorry to rant, but so happy you are there on the other end. Cheers, T.

  He wrote right back.

  Hi there T: I know. After all, I have to do the same thing. When you take on the job of an u/c agent, you have to forsake all others. I phone my mum once in awhile, but she never asks me how I am anyway, she talks the entire time. And anyone who knew me previously just thinks I’m a boring solicitor. No one knows who I work for other than my colleagues. So I have to deceive as well. The scary thing is, it gets easier. But you have to keep in mind the larger goal. Yes, I do have interaction with my colleagues. I very seldom work alone and that is only for a few hours because of the circumstances. That was one of the reasons I knew this was going to be difficult for you; it would be for anyone, but knowing that you work with people and have friends, I knew it would be very hard. So what I’m saying is that no, unfortunately, you can’t have friends whilst you’re there. It would be too awkward to explain why you’re there. Talk to me as often as you like—I’ll be your friend. Really, I won’t mind at all, in fact I would like it very much. About writing and then deleting. No, absolutely not. You have no idea what us computer geeks can do and find on a computer. Everything must remain in your head. Please tell me all about yourself—not places or dates, but your thoughts, feelings, your life. Cheers, J.

  She responded immediately. This was great. It wasn’t like instant messaging or hearing his voice, but knowing he was there, in real time, helped.

  Dear J: But is it a larger goal? I like her; you’ve told me not to allude to her by name or title in these emails. I like her and I do want to help her. I was attracted to this when I realized how it would feel to be in her position, but is all this secrecy just political? Is what I’m doing all this secrecy just to protect her husband so he can be re-elected? I don’t know if I like that part of it. Bothers my integrity. About me. You know where I was born, I’m sure, from the records. And you probably know about my past relationships, most of which ended disastrously. I have been so driven for so many years that I haven’t put that, that being a permanent relationship, as a number one priority. So I’m probably going to end up a lonely old lady with no children or grandchildren and other than a large bank account, have no legacy. Cheers, T.

  Was this too intimate? Was she making herself too vulnerable to him? She hit the button anyway and sat waiting for his reply, which came in about a quarter of an hour later.

  Hi there T: About the goal, it depends upon how one looks at it. You accepted the secrecy that goes with this and you are bound by honour to carry it out. There are lots of things that bother my integrity also, but keep your eye on her—she is the one who needs you and let the other chips fall where they may. About you. Yes, I do have words and data about you, but these cold facts don’t explain you to me. We can’t talk on the phone, I can’t meet with you, and so if we’re going to get acquainted, it will have to be in this manner. You are safe—know that. The people who are protecting you are pros; they know what they’re doing. So you will always be safe At least you know that yours is temporary; when this is all over you will go back to your life and except for memories, it will be as if it never happened. Use me as a sounding board, in code, of course. Write to me often and hopefully, that will help. Cheers, J.

  Write to me often. Taylor felt he was a lifeline, that even if he wasn’t romantically interested in her, even if he had a girl in every city, he at least wanted to be her friend and she certainly needed a friend, someone to talk to. She was flattered that he wanted to know more about her, more than the dry data he had on profile and just reading his British spelling and terms made her homesick for London.

  No word from Karl. She had emailed him several times. Maybe it was time for her to realize that this relationship wasn’t ever going to go anywhere. She didn’t miss him, which she thought was odd. She had so looked forward to going to Venice. He really knew how to entertain. They always stayed at a luxury hotel on the Lido and he was as interested in the art and the churches as she was. But when they weren’t together, it was a wholly different matter. Out of sight, out of mind, that’s how he treated her. Taylor had come to the conclusion long ago that while she was an excellent therapist and could help others with their relationships, she wasn’t very good at her own.

  The next morning Taylor looked out her windows to see a pale blue sky with no clouds in sight. The tops of the trees were perfectly still, and inside, it was just as quiet. Knowing there was no one on her floor, other than the secret service, felt ominous. There were no sounds in this world of hers where the carpet even muted her own footsteps. She turned on the television before she took a shower. The bathroom door was fast shut and locked and she couldn’t hear the television, but somehow, it was comforting; there were real human beings out there, even if she couldn’t communicate with them.

  She wrote to Josh before breakfast.

  Dear J. What motivates you? What drove you to devote your life to such a job—it sounds challenging, but is it possible for you to have normal relationships when you can’t let people know who you are? I’m getting a taste for the secrecy that this type of work entails and I don’t think I would like it for very long, don’t like it even now. Don’t mind me, just a lonely female locked in a cage in a big neutral colored house. And as you British say—I’m whinging. Cheers, T.

  Time for a session. She was concerned about the First Lady after what occurred yesterday. Beth was waiting for her as she entered the room. She didn’t look well; she was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. She didn’t smile and simply gestured for Taylor to sit down.

  “How was the rest of your day yesterday, after what happened in the session?” Taylor asked.

  Beth sighed. “I pleaded a headache and went to bed.”

  “Did you have a headache?” Taylor knew the answer, unless the emotions brought to the surface yesterday caused one to begin.

  “No, not really, but I couldn’t let anyone see me after all that crying. Lillian, of course, knows and she covers for me, bless her.”

  “So how are you feeling now?” Taylor asked.

  Beth smiled a gentle smile. “Better, but I still don’t look very good, as you can see. I’m afraid the staff is getting used to this. I don’t know if they think I’m neurotic or a hypochondriac or what, but more and more I’ve had to hide out in my bedroom simply because I didn’t look well enough to be seen.”

  “And what does your husband say about this?” Taylor asked, leaning forward to convey as much empathy as she was feeling.

  Beth shook her head, “Oh, he doesn’t even notice anymore. It used to make him angry. He told me way back, in the beginning of our marriage, that one thing he couldn’t stand was a woman who cried. So I’ve suppressed it all these years. I’ve cried in private.”

  Taylor nodded, imagining Beth’s dilemma, what that would be like, to be unable to express one’s deepest feelings, having to squas
h them down, bury them. Yet she really didn’t have to imagine; she had experienced the same feelings as a child. She snatched her thoughts away from herself and said, “It’s a wonder you haven’t been depressed before.”

  Beth looked down at her hands, which were clasped together in her lap before she answered. “Well, I think having the children around helped a lot. I was so busy with their lives. And until we came here I could in some ways live my own life, separate, you know?”

  “Does your husband ask you how your day was, what you did that day?”

  Beth laughed wryly, “Oh, Taylor, you must be dreaming! No, is the short answer. He never asks anymore, not for over a year now.”

  “Did he ever,” Taylor pursued, “was he more interested in your day before you came to live here, before he was so busy?”

  Beth took in a deep breath and seemed to relax a bit. “Yes, somewhat, but it’s been a long time since he’s paid much attention to me at all.”

  Taylor paused a moment, pondering her next question. “Your husband isn’t willing to come for marital therapy, is he?” She knew the answer, but felt compelled to ask anyway.

  Beth grimaced and sat back in her chair, shaking her head. “No way. You see, there’s nothing wrong with him,” she said in an ironic tone. “He is never to blame for anything. I learned that early in our marriage. If anything was wrong, it was my fault.”

  Always someone else’s fault, this was an interesting clue. Did the President have a personality disorder? Those with personality disorders don’t come for therapy because they never see their own faults; it’s only those around them, according to them, who cause trouble in relationships, be it business, school, or marriage. “Can you say more about him? Taylor asked. “After all, it seems to me the root of your depression is your unhappy marriage as well as living here in the White House. So it’s important that I know all about him as well.”