All That Was Happy
by M. M. Wilshire
Copyright © 2010 M.M. Wilshire
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
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Chapter 1
Having received her divorce papers by ambush, Beckie’s next action had been to call her best friend Leah, her closest friend throughout her 29 years of marriage to Leah’s brother-in-law, Bernie.
Beckie and Leah agreed to meet for lunch on the patio at Chillers, their table facing The Promenade, a European-style, open air mall laid out by the city of Santa Monica and filled with trendy eateries, T-shirt shops, and other amenities suitable for chasing away dark moods.
Chillers, famous for a menu boasting a wealth of brightly-colored tropical drinks, served as a natural watering hole for lonely women in the middle of the afternoon..
“He's divorcing me," Beckie said. "He had me served this morning without warning. I was in the grocery store and a man walked up to my cart and handed me the papers. I feel as if I’ve been turned upside down."
“That's normal, to go through a period of temporary insanity,” Leah said. "No one can get a shock like that and not go bananas. I can’t believe Bernie did this to you the way he did--no discussion--just had you served out of the blue. After 30 years!”
"Not 30," Beckie said. "It would have been 30 this year. The diamond anniversary, or, if you're old fashioned, the pearl. Now it is neither." She began to convulse in spite of herself, tasting the salt of tears.
The drink waiter appeared, a quick blond man of lanky, yet muscular good looks and an amazing tan. The knees below his tan cargo shorts were more than a little knotted, indicating a great deal of time spent on a surfboard in the ocean a block from where they sat. He directed a concerned stare at Beckie, his clean cool gaze making her feel foolish.
“What do you have that really builds self-confidence?” Leah asked. “We’re a little depressed this morning.”
“How about a Banana Banshee,” he said. “Vodka, banana liqueur, cream de cacao, ice cream, and blended bananas. On a nice spring day like this, you’ll be happy again in no time.”
“Make it two Banshees,” Beckie said. “The bananas may help--I skipped breakfast this morning, and I think the stress may have burned off a lot of my potassium.”
He smiled--at Beckie, not at Leah--turned smartly and hustled off.
"Did you see that?" Beckie said. "The smile on that guy?"
"He is cute," Leah replied. "In a rough-cut sort of surfer-dude way. Maybe he'd like to shoot my curl."
"Please, Leah!" Beckie sighed.
“You’re going to get through this,” Leah said. “You’re not alone--millions of women in this town have gone through it.”
“That may be,” Beckie said, “but let me tell you, when it’s your turn, you walk it alone. For one thing it’s like God, or somebody, reaches inside you and flips the agony switch. I’m scared, Leah--I’m not sure I can handle this. I’ve been married twenty-nine years! Do you know how long that is? I got married to Bernie when I was twenty years old! I was just a kid! What am I going to do? What does Bernie think he’s doing!”
“Bernie is a pig. But you're not. At least you’re still gorgeous,” Leah said. “As soon as you’re ready, you’ll have no trouble getting another man.”
“Gorgeous! Another man! I’m twenty pounds overweight!”
“Better than being fifty pounds, like me--you always were the beauty, Beckie,” Leah said. “That’s why you got married so young--you’ve always had those cheerleader good looks. And what’s a few extra pounds? The latest poll in Cosmo indicated that most men are tired of skinny women. Did you see the way our server smiled at you?”
“I can’t even think about dating,” Beckie said.
"Who's talking about dating anybody? Don't tell me you wouldn't like that surfing waiter to wax your board."
"Please, Leah! For one thing, I’ll never live through this. The pain is overwhelming--when I got served the papers, it was like my stomach dropped ten floors. My whole body started vibrating. I don’t even know how I managed to call you and drive over here--I don’t even remember getting here.”
“You’re in shock, that’s all,” Leah said. “That’s what doctors are for. We’re going to spend the rest of the day together and I’m going to drive. The first place we’ll go after we have our drink is to my shrink to get you something for the stress.”
“You mean pills? They don’t make a pill that’ll stop this kind of pain. This kind of pain invades one’s entire body and soul.”
"Trust me," Leah said. "They make pills nowadays that'll do anything."
The waiter returned in record time with the drinks. Each lady took a grateful, tentative sip of the brightly fruited yellow slush.
“It’s good,” Beckie said. "A couple more of these and maybe I will hang ten with that waiter."
“Who says you can’t buy happiness?” Leah replied.
Beckie noticed the waiter wasn’t leaving. She glanced up and caught him giving her the once over.
“Waiter, or waitperson, or server, or whatever you call yourself--you’re hovering,” Leah said, her sharp words propelling him back to his fluorescent grotto of booze.
“Leah, I think he was giving me the eye. And a rather hungry eye at that.”
“And why not?” Leah said. “He for sure wasn’t giving it to me. It’s like I told you--once you’re emotionally ready, you’ll have no problems finding somebody.”
“I had my ring off,” Beckie said. “I took it off and threw it into the backseat of my car. The waiter thinks I’m single--but he’s so young!”
“Young and cute--what could be better? It’s your body language,” Leah said. “You appear vulnerable right now--the guy spotted it and thought you were sending him a signal. I’m telling you--you’ve still got it!”
Fresh spring breezes complimented the new blooms surrounding the topiary dinosaurs on the promenade, the whole mixing with a mist-softened mid-morning light, which played over the strolling shoppers--it was a perfect day in hell.
“I don’t know what to do,” Beckie said. “I don’t know where to turn.”
“You turned to me,” Leah said. “And I’m with you all the way. Bernie may be my brother-in-law, but you’ve always been there for me. I love Bernie, but right now I could kill him for what he’s doing.”
“But how do I go on with my life?” Beckie said. “Do I even go home? Do I even have a home? If I go home, will Bernie be there? This can’t be happening! He’s got to come to his senses!”
“You’ve got to get a grip,” Leah said. “The first thing we’ve got to do is have some lunch--you need to keep your strength up. After lunch, we’ll go talk to my shrink and see about getting you something for the stress.”
“Oh,” Beckie said. “This is getting worse every minute. This morning, when I got up, I sensed something bad was going to happen today. Bernie left the house early, and there was
no good-bye kiss. The next thing I knew, I was being served. My premonition this morning was right. The world I inhabit now is vastly different from the one I woke up to.”
“Bernie’s a jerk,” Leah said. “He thinks he can just up and waltz out of your life.”
“He not only thinks he can,” Beckie said, “he just did. The only question I have is, Why did he do it? We weren’t fighting or anything. I noticed that he’d been a little distant the past few months, but I thought it was from all the hassle at the company, what with the merger and all.”
“It’s a beautiful day out,” Leah said. “I’ll call the waiter back and we’ll order something--maybe some baby backs with a salad.”
Beckie balanced her gaze on her friend’s face. “Leah,” she said. “You know why, don’t you?”
Leah’s face wilted.
“Leah!” Beckie cried. “Dammit! You do know why! And you better tell me right now!”
“I didn’t want to be the one who told you,” Leah said. “I begged Bernie to face you himself. I told Bernie he was being stupid and foolish. A man his age!”
“A man his age!” Beckie said. “A man his age! Don’t tell me it’s another woman!”
The silence between them grew, expanding until it seemed to fill the entire Promenade.
“You might as well know,” Leah said. “Bernie’s found somebody else. They’re going to have a baby.”
Beckie’s world chose at that moment to collapse completely, the degree of orderliness and predictability normally required set aside, for the time being, to allow for the weight of the news, which now, spelled out, destroyed completely any vestige of hope which still remained, and closed tight the door to her past life. She was alone with her Banshee, watching the familiar rules fall into an abyss, rules giving way to a new rule and a new law--the law of immense pain.
“Bernie’s not been himself,” Leah said. “He’s been dealing with a lot of issues about his mortality--when you were unable to have children, he put everything he had into the business, but now he’s feeling empty.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Beckie said. “And he’s right to be fearing his mortality--because the next time I see him, I’m going to kill him.”
“You’re just upset,” Leah said. “You don’t need to kill anybody.”
“I’m not upset,” Beckie said. “I’m just feeling old, ugly, and utterly alone. I’m not upset, but I am furious--there’s a difference.”
“We need to eat something,” Leah said.
The waiter returned. “What’ll you ladies have?”
“I’ll have the baby backs,” Leah said.
“Another Banshee for me,” Beckie said.
“Beckie, that’s not a good idea,” Leah said. "You've never had more than 1 drink at a time in your life."
“I’m either having another Banshee right now,” Beckie said, “or I’m getting in my car and I’m taking my gun out of the glove box and going to find Bernie. Which do you prefer?”
“Bring her another,” Leah said.
This time, the waiter didn’t hover. He knew enough not to.
Chapter 2
“It’s going to be up and down for awhile,” Dr. Black said, “like being in a trance. You’ll be in shock because of your fear that your basic survival needs aren’t being met.”
“My survival needs?” Beckie said.
Beckie, sitting with Dr. Black in the inner sanctum of Black’s tenth-story corner office in the World Savings building at the corner of Wilshire and Barrington, had been picking through the destroyed remains of Beckie’s former existence in an attempt to establish a few new underpinnings which, if they held, might offer Beckie some chance of erecting a sufficient emotional shelter to make it through the next twenty-four hours until her next appointment with the shrink, who had, in just under an hour, managed to win Beckie’s support and confidence enough to be viewed as a sort of lifeline, however jury-rigged and impermanent such a lifeline could be said to be. Black, a younger woman of obvious Native American Heritage, lean and fit, very tall, with minimal makeup beneath luxuriant, long black hair, and decked out in a simple rose-colored business skirt and vest, presented a face of sympathetic concern which pushed Beckie to the point of tears.
“Divorce threatens us at our core,” Black said. “We fear that our need to be protected, nurtured, touched, looked at, listened to--our need to belong to someone--has been permanently taken away.”
“It’s true,” Beckie said. “All of a sudden I don’t feel safe--and I don’t mean from outer things, like criminals and the like--I mean from myself--I don’t know what I might do, or how I might be getting ready to react to all this.”
“Earlier you mentioned your desire to shoot your husband,” Dr. Black said. “Tell me about the gun.”
“The gun is the one I keep in my glove box,” Beckie said. “It’s a Charter Arms revolver--a policeman’s special. It’s got a stainless steel frame and I had it fitted with non-slip rubber combat grips. It’s loaded with four high-impact hollowpoint shells. I keep the hammer on an empty cylinder.”
“Only four shots?”
“That’s all I’ll need if ever I’m hijacked,” Beckie said. “Because of the expensive car I drive, Bernie felt I should be able to defend myself in case of an attempted carjacking.”
“Are you proficient in the use of the gun?”
“I’m an expert in personal firearms,” Beckie said. “Bernie and I are charter members of the Beverly Hills Gun Club. We joined back in ‘81 after it was first built. Bernie loaned the founder some money to pay for some of the warehouse conversion and was awarded a lifetime membership. Originally, I became interested in carrying a gun because I used to take the cash receipts bag to the bank every night after we closed our business for the day. Because of Bernie’s connections with the Gun Club, I was able to wrangle a carry permit. But after awhile, I really got into it. Some of the other ladies and myself formed an informal shooting club. It turned out I had a knack for target shooting. I’ve competed in many competitions. I’ve got a garage full of trophies. I’ve taken the official LAPD combat shooting course every year since ‘81.”
Black walked to her desk, a neat-as-a-pin chrome-and-glass affair whereupon she extracted a pad and began to scribble. “I’m prescribing something for the stress,” she said. “I want you to start on the medication immediately. Your experience today has impacted your sense of wholeness--but you’ll want to keep in mind that you’re going to find your safe space again--if you find yourself experiencing strong feelings of violence towards yourself or towards Bernie, I want you to call me right away. I suggest we meet every day for the next week or so until we get you stabilized.”
Beckie accepted the prescription. “What is it?”
“It’s just a little Tofranil,” Black said. “And don’t infer from this that drugs are the answer--over the next few days, we might try some biofeedback, or perhaps some guided imagery to help you through. But for now, treating your emotional pain is important. I want you to take the medicine regularly. Don’t skip a dose or wait until you’re hurting before taking it. By the way, you mentioned you drive an expensive car--what type is it?”
“A Mercedes SL600 convertible,” Beckie said.
“Is it fast?”
“It’s got a V-12,” she answered. “It’ll blow away almost anything out there.”
“I want you to concentrate carefully on your driving,” Dr. Black said. “Take lots of deep breaths and avoid the temptation to speed. You’ve got a lot on your mind right now. By the way, you might want to have a friend keep you company for the next few days.”
“I’ll think about it,” Beckie said. “Leah can keep me company if I want her to. But right now I just want to be alone.”
“You’re lucky to have such a friend. But doesn’t it bother you that she’s married to your husband’s brother?”
“She was my best friend all through high school,” Beckie said. “In a way, she’s like my sister. Too ba
d I married her brother-in-law. One of my fears is that it’s going to strain things with Leah, then I’ll be completely alone. But to answer your question, no it doesn’t bother me--Leah is my lifeline--she’ll probably offer to mediate if Bernie and I decide to communicate with each other.”
“Bad things do happen,” Black said. “And life does beat up on people at times. Nearly all newly divorced women are convinced that they are facing some special, awful truth about themselves--but the truth is, just because another person has chosen to be cruel and thoughtless towards you, it doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Oh,” Beckie said. “You aren’t going to say Don’t Take It Personally, are you?”
“I’m not saying that,” Black said. “But I am saying if you learn to look at it right, you can come through this not only in one piece, but maybe better than you ever were before.”
Beckie left the room and was escorted out by Leah, who’d been thumbing through a venerable stack of old National Geographics.
“These older issues are incredibly sexist,” Leah said. “How’d you like Dr. Black?”
“She thinks my problems with feeling depressed and discouraged are normal, considering the circumstances,” Beckie said. “But what does she know--the truth is, I’m a loser. I found myself sitting in there trying to be the perfect patient--all the while, my guts were screaming.”
“That’s normal,” Leah said. “It takes a few sessions before you start letting it all hang out. Dr. Black is not your usual shrink. She's a Navajo Indian. I think she trained in magic on the reservation as a child.”
"That's just perfect," Beckie said. "A shaman. Only in Los Angeles."
They elevator'd down to the parking lot and entered Beckie’s silver Mercedes, pulling out into the pre-rush hour Wilshire Boulevard traffic, the convertible allowing a full bask of the April sun, hot on their skin, as they made their way through the peculiar pack of low and medium-rise construction densities, where the packing, shipping and handling of the wealthy populace was performed expertly inside the exotic mini-environs of accountants, lawyers, doctors, and others who understood the importance of practical pizzazz and its applications to the dried souls pressed beneath their stacks of money.
All That Was Happy Page 1
