Psychos: A White Girl Problems Book

by Babe Walker

  “I’m done,” I said, and lowered my hand to my side.

  Roman turned around to face us, lit a Marlboro, and shot me a look of relief.

  “It worked. I’m okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

  “Are you sure?” Gen asked, taking Roman’s cigarette from his hand and taking a drag. “Because you were not okay inside. It wasn’t cute and it wasn’t safe, for anyone.”

  “Yeah, I know. Not cool.” I took the cigarette out of Gen’s hand and helped myself to a long inhale. “But you shouldn’t have said anything about Thalia possibly being out on bail.”

  “I know,” Gen said. “That was rude. I was just fucking with you. She’s already been deported back to Russia.”

  Roman took the cigarette from me as soon as I finished my pull. “So we can be normal now?” he said.

  “Yes. But why did she target me? I don’t understand.”

  “I think it’s kind of fun.” Gen smiled, pulling out her own pack of Marlboros and lighting one.

  “Ew, you would think it’s fun. Try having a stalker.”

  “Don’t ew me right now, Babe. Honestly.”

  “Ew to you telling me not to ew you, though.”

  “Ew to you having a stalker in the first place. It’s so nineties.”

  “Your tits are so nineties.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever.”

  Silence.

  Before one more surprise slap could be added to the war, Roman put his arms around us and drew us both in for a limp, three-person hug. It was actually more like Roman was hugging us and Gen and I were just smushing our bodies together with our heads down and our hands at our sides. Inside the hug, I stole Gen’s cigarette out of her hand and took a drag. I did feel better. Still shaken up, but better.

  It was a relief to know that my best friends would always care about me even when I was acting like a righteous cuntface. I was also happy that, unlike Thalia (may her poor soul rot in Russia forever), they’d never ask to borrow my clothes because they had their own. That’s true friendship. That’s genuine love. So I guess we’d come a long way, and I was sad that Gen and Romie had to go back to LA that night. Roman was performing live on Access Hollywood the next day.

  twenty

  I PROMISE I’LL NEVER FART.

  I arrived at Charlie’s apartment building with one objective: smoke a joint, weigh myself, take a bath, eat something small, weigh myself again, and fall asleep watching a black-and-white movie. So needless to say I was less than pleased to see Robert, or rather Roberto, sitting on a chair in the corner of the lobby. He was wearing a suede beret, a mock turtleneck with those weird scrub pants, and Crocs. It was so hard to see him dressed like that, which just goes to show you that even the hottest guy can be repulsive in the wrong outfit.

  “Are you crazy? You can’t just show up here and wait for me in the lobby of my boyfriend’s building. You look like Art Garfunkel.”

  “I know, Babe. I’m sorry.”

  “Where did you even get that turtleneck? It’s scaring me.”

  “Banana Republic,” he said softly, eyes downcast.

  “I knew it.” I was devastated. “You need to leave. This is too hard.”

  “Wait. Babe, at least take these.”

  Roberto reached behind him and handed me a bouquet of rainbow roses. They were not chic.

  “You can’t be here, Robert. Please go home. We’ll talk later, but right now I have something I need to do.”

  I swear to God a single tear rolled down his cheek. He was definitely on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Donald the doorman eyed him suspiciously.

  “Miss Walker, is this man bothering you?” he asked.

  I sighed. “No, he’s fine.”

  “Babe . . .” Robert pleaded.

  “WHAT?” I blurted out far too loudly.

  “I love you.”

  “I know. But I have a lot of shit to take care of. Let’s talk later.”

  I turned and walked away, and my mind began to race. Was I being an idiot/bitch? Robert may have been in the middle of a psychotic break, but he was basically telling me exactly what I’d always wanted to hear. I turned to look back at Robert only to discover that he was standing right behind me.

  “Hey.”

  “Holy fuck, you scared the shit out of me!”

  The elevator doors opened and Robert followed me inside. As soon as the doors closed in front of us, he reached into his scrubs pocket and pulled out a napkin covered in black scribble.

  “I want to read you this poem I wrote.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Babe. My queen. My soul.”

  “Stop, Robert.”

  “ ‘My body is a cage and you are my heart. My mind is a museum and you are my art. I promise I’ll never fart. Let me love you.’ ”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Robert dropped the napkin to the ground dramatically and looked right into my eyes. Either the color was coming back to his face or the elevator’s lighting favored his bone structure, because he looked less sickening. And then he started kissing me. Roberto was just as good of a kisser as Robert was, but this couldn’t go any further. I certainly wasn’t going to hook up with him in Charlie’s bed. I’m not some kind of she-devil. I just couldn’t actually cheat on Charlie. He was too sweet and too caring for me to hurt him like that, so I removed my lips from Robert’s and pulled the beret down over his face.

  “I can’t do this with you right now. We need to stop.”

  He said nothing. And just stood there with his face really close to mine, one thin layer of brown suede between us, until the elevator doors opened. I pulled the beret off his face and put it on playfully.

  “I thought I was a freak, but you are next level.”

  We walked down the hall to Charlie’s door.

  “Are you sure that you want me to come in?” Robert said.

  “No. But don’t try to kiss me again or read any more of your weird poetry. Some of us are natural-born writers, while others aren’t blessed with the gift of words.”

  I unlocked the door. As we walked into the foyer, I noticed that the lights were on in the kitchen, which was weird because I was 99 percent sure I had turned them off before I’d left. I walked farther into the apartment, with Robert trailing me by just a few feet.

  “You wait here. I’ll get you some water, but then you really need to go.”

  “All right, my sweet.”

  I went into the kitchen and walked to the shelf to grab a glass for water. When I turned around, Charlie was standing right before my eyes.

  “Surprise!” he said, lifting me off my feet and hugging me.

  “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii . . .” The word trailed off into oblivion as I realized how totally fucked I was. Charlie lowered me to the ground, and before I could give fair warning, Roberto came walking through the door, hideous bouquet in hand.

  “Babe, who is this?” asked Charlie.

  “This is Robert.”

  “Robert? As in ex-boyfriend Robert?”

  “More like ‘Soul Mate Robert.’ ” Roberto chuckled to himself, as if he’d said a joke that no one understood but him.

  “I, uh . . . I thought you weren’t coming back until next week?” I said to Charlie.

  “Well, I was hoping to surprise you with a nice meal and an early return, but apparently you had other plans this evening.” I could tell by how quietly he was talking that Charlie was fucking pissed.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks, I swear.”

  “Oh, really? Not as bad as it looks, love? Well, that’s a bloody relief, because it looks pretty fucking bad.”

  “I’m going to bid you two farewell,” Roberto said very quietly as he backed out of the kitchen.

  “Brilliant idea,” Charlie replied condescendingly.

  I shot Robert my best “please stop acting like a freak on a leash” look, and he mouthed “I’ll have you” to me before he left the kitchen. And with that, Robert was g
one. I felt so bad for Charlie. I’d made a complete fool out of him. I was a monster, a ghoul, a goblin.

  “Babe Walker. That was truly one of the most uncomfortable and humiliating moments of my life.” He seemed to have calmed himself a bit. Angry, but calm. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Nothing is going on, Charlie. But I do think that we are in different places emotionally right now.”

  “You think? I was planning on proposing to you tonight. Jesus! And you’re out and about with Robert? I would say we’re on different planets.”

  “Excuse me, what? You were going to propose what tonight? Marriage?”

  Without saying a word, Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small green ring box and set it on the kitchen counter.

  “Oh my God, no. This is not happening right now.”

  “You’re right. It’s not happening.”

  I opened the box to reveal the engagement ring of my dreams. It was a four-carat, emerald-cut perfect diamond resting on the most tasteful yet over-le-top vintage platinum setting I’d ever seen. Tiny pavé diamonds sat inside the filigree design. It was as if Charlie had incepted this ring inside my head before I saw it. It was stunning. It was the ring of my soul. It was the ring I’d never have. I started bawling.

  “Why are you crying? Clearly this was never going to work.”

  “Charlie, I’m crying because I wanted this to work so badly. I’m crying because it’s pretty clear that I’ll never be in a normal relationship. I didn’t cheat on you. Well, I kind of cheated on you, but also kind of not.”

  “What happened? Was it something I did? Have I been away too much? Were you lonely?”

  “You did nothing wrong. This was completely out of your hands. Honestly, I just wasn’t ever sure that this was the right fit because of how tiny your penis is, and I think I put off dealing with my concerns because I really hoped it would just work itself out.”

  After a long and very awkward staring contest, Charlie took a deep breath and continued. “Okay. I’m going to go out and get a drink. I’ll be back in two hours. It would be great if you and your stuff were gone by then.”

  “I can do that,” I said through my tears. “You won’t ever have to see me again. I’m sorry.”

  Charlie grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone off the kitchen counter. On his way out the door, he looked down at the gross bouquet of roses sitting in the entryway and then back at me with a steely-eyed glare.

  “Take care of yourself, Babe.”

  Then he walked out.

  Charlie was gone. I had no time to wallow because gathering, sorting, and boxing all of my clothes and beauty products was going to take way longer than two hours. I called Felix to see if he could come up to Charlie’s place to help me, but he was “at his daughter’s quinceañera.” No one is reliable anymore. No one.

  The next couple of hours were a frantic blur of packing, crying, packing some more, whimpering a little, etc. Once I had all my must-haves packed (the rest were basics that I could replace), I decided it was time to get the fuck out of there.

  I did a quick scan of the bedroom, bathroom, and office (where I retrieved my white iPad mini and my black iPad regular). Then I circled back into the kitchen to grab a trash bag, which is where I noticed that Charlie had left the ring box sitting on the kitchen counter. I couldn’t help myself from trying it on. It fit perfectly. Was this my journey, to walk away from a life with Charlie? I stared at the ring, contemplating my decision, and realized that my ring finger was twice the size of Charlie’s penis. There was nothing more to do but take off the engagement ring, put it back in its box, thank the universe for giving me a solid sign that Charlie wasn’t right for me, and step boldly toward my future without him.

  I went to throw away those disgusting roses, but discovered that the head of each flower had been chopped off, and a mess of rainbow petals covered the entryway floor. A small envelope now sat next to the bunch of headless stems. I was frozen. Someone had been in the apartment with me. They probably still were. I opened the envelope to reveal the note within.

  This is all it said:

  Tonight.

  twenty-one

  STALKER POTENTIAL.

  “Heyyyyyyyy, Cassie, it’s me, Babe Walker. I heard you’re getting lipo in LA this weekend. Love that for you. Um, I’m actually kind of homeless and was wondering if I could crash at your place for a few days while you’re out of town? What thread count are the sheets in your guest room? Call me back when you get this.”

  This was my third futile phone call for help. The realization that my stalker (maybe Thalia, maybe not, I had no fucking clue at this point) was still at large, and had clearly broken into Charlie’s apartment and slashed Robert’s roses while I’d been packing, caused me to run screaming into the hallway, letting the door shut and lock behind me. When I went down to the lobby to beg for help getting back in, I was informed that Charlie had already removed me from his “approved entry” list. This information caused me to brownout and utter some choice words to the doorman, and I quickly found myself being escorted out of Charlie’s building and told not to come back or else the police would be called. I’d tried Charlie’s cell, but of course he didn’t answer, and now, in a matter of minutes, one of my worst fears had come true: I was on the cruel streets of New York City with a white iPhone as my only possession. To make matters worse, I was still in my packing outfit: vintage overalls, a T by Alexander Wang wifebeater, and Chanel flats. A look that was never intended for the public. And no wallet, credit cards, or ID meant no hotel. I was officially a homeless person.

  I had to figure something out, and fast. I was starting to get cold and hungry, which was an altogether new sensation for me. I mean, I’m always cold but never hungry. There must be something about homelessness that causes hunger. My dad was on a yacht with Lizbeth somewhere with no Wi-Fi, and thus was unreachable, so asking him to save me was out, and having no hotel option was forcing me to rely on the kindness of others, which made me physically ill. Everyone I’d called was either at dinner, or in Miami, or simply refusing my attempts to seek shelter by not answering their phones. The realization that you are all alone in the world and have no one is tough, but coming to that realization while wearing overalls on the street where the world can see/judge you is an experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy or thinnest friend.

  I only had one other option. I scrolled through my contacts, located the number I needed, and pressed Call.

  The phone rang three times.

  “Hello?”

  “Heyyyyyyyyyy, Donna. It’s Babe, your daughter.”

  “Hi, Babe. How are you? I have Gina here. Gina, say hi.”

  “Hey, honey. Missing you like fucking crazy,” said Gina. “How are you?”

  “Um, I’m not totally great.” I started tearing up. When you’re in a sad and lonely place, hearing a familiar voice immediately turns on the waterworks.

  “My boyfriend just broke up with me and had me thrown out of his apartment building and I can’t get ahold of him to get my stuff back and my phone has like twenty-one percent battery left and I have no money and nowhere to go. I’m homeless. Also, someone has been stalking me for almost a year now and leaving me these death-threat-note thingies, I thought it was this crazy Russian bitch I knew, but whoever it is will probably murder me while I’m sleeping in a subway station tonight. And I’m wearing a really sad outfit. Like, I’ve never hated an outfit more in my life. That’s how I am. How are you?”

  “Oh, Babe,” Gina said. “Come here. Come upstate for the weekend and stay with us.”

  “We’ll have one of the guest rooms upstairs made up for you,” Donna chimed in, taking back the phone.

  “Oh noooooooooo. I couldn’t impose on you guys like that. I’ll be fine.”

  “Babe, seriously, it’s not an imposition.”

  “Oh my fuck, thank you sooooo much. I’m dying out here. This city is so harsh.”

  “Babe, stop it. Yo
u’re family. There’s a train that leaves from Grand Central at 8 p.m. We’ll get you a ticket and email you the details ASAP.”

  “That isn’t gonna work, because I don’t have an ID.”

  “You shouldn’t need an ID to get on a train, just a ticket.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Have you ever taken a train?” asked Donna flatly.

  “Um. In Europe, yes. In the continental U.S., no.”

  “Okay, well, today’s your lucky day. Babe’s first train ride.”

  “Is it safe?” I was scared.

  “We’re sending you a ticket and you’re coming here. No questions.”

  “Seriously, Donna, you don’t have to invite me to stay with you. I mean, I’ll probably die tonight if you don’t, but that wouldn’t be your fault.”

  “Babe. Shut the fuck up. You’re coming here!” shouted Gina. “Get to Grand Central before your phone dies. We’re gonna text you our address, so take a cab when you get off the train and we will pay for it when you get to the house. See you soon!”

  I made it to Grand Central in one piece. The train car smelled like farts, but luckily it was empty so I didn’t have to sit next to any shims or mers. I’d been saved! I was momentarily ecstatic that I wouldn’t have to sleep at a bus stop, but then completely terrified because my stalker situation was coming to a head. “Tonight”? What did that even mean? Who was this person? I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. I started making lists in my head. Lists of everyone who had been around me each time I’d gotten notes:

  My guest house (on the mirror)

  Chateau Marmont (on the iPad)

  Guest house again (destroyed Terry Richardson portrait)

  Hotel room in Paris (bathroom door)

  New York in Charlie’s apartment (box of lipsticks)

  New York at The Carlyle (on my compact)

  New York in Charlie’s apartment again (the roses)

  Obviously the stalker was someone who had money/a relaxed work schedule, because they’d been able to follow me all over the world.

  I jotted down a list of potential murderers on the back of a Wall Street Journal that I found on the train.