In the kitchen, she sliced tomatoes and asked about the changes in Rosebud since she had left but I told her that there hadn’t really been any. She wondered how I liked New York and chatted aimlessly about mostly everything but the one thing that I wanted to talk about, my mother.
“Maybe I should take you to the Statue of Liberty sometime,” she said cheerfully. “New Yorkers never visit the sights, you know, unless someone from home comes to visit. If it wasn’t for people from out of town, we’d never see—.” Suddenly, she broke into tears. “This is the last day I needed a visit from my past. Of all days.” She cried softly for a minute, then stopped and wiped her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said truthfully.
Elaine gave me a loving smile. “It’s not you, Sherry. It’s just one of life’s little lessons, reminding me that I’ve got a lot more work to do and that I’d better get on with it.”
After a mostly silent dinner, Elaine went into her bedroom for a long time and when she came out, her makeup was not only perfect but she actually looked refreshed and ready for whatever may come.
“Shall we go?” she asked cheerfully.
Outside, Elaine hailed a cab and we rode downtown to the West Village. The group’s meeting place was an old, stately church called, St. Augustine’s. When I glanced at the announcement board out front and saw the evening’s event, I was shocked. The meeting was for sex addicts. “Forget it,” I said quickly. “I’m not going in there.”
Elaine stared at me. She said softly, “If I talk about this tonight, I may never do it again. If you don’t want to come in, fine, but don’t ask me about it later.”
She headed for the side door. I began walking away but couldn’t manage more than a couple of steps. I wanted to hear what Elaine had to say but I couldn’t go inside that church. I just couldn’t listen to some speech like the one I had heard in Sparta. Instead, I paced out front, like some duck in a shooting gallery, torn between walking away and being unable to walk away.
There was a small garden beside the church with stone stools and benches and I sat on one, hoping that I might be able to hear what Elaine had to say. When people passed by me on their way in, I glanced away, unable to look at them.
I heard someone mumbling, followed by the whole group saying something about serenity and courage. If I couldn’t clearly hear the whole group, how was I going to hear Elaine?
I heard someone else mumbling but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then other people spoke before I heard another voice and the group exclaiming, “Hi, Elaine.” I crept over to the door but still couldn’t hear. As fearful as I was, I knew that I had to go inside. All my life, I had blamed my troubles on my absent mother. Now, I had a chance to learn something, anything, about her. I breathed in deeply and yanked opened the door.
I walked down a flight of stairs and into a large brightly-light room. I stood just inside the door, ready to run if I heard anything I couldn’t handle.
Elaine was standing before a group of mostly men. “My addiction was never about sex,” she was saying. “It was always about conquest and control, because away from sex, I always felt powerless. I craved that power. I used it to fulfill my need for tenderness and to escape my feelings of worthlessness and shame.”
Elaine’s words hit like a cleaver, slicing into me. I felt shaky and quivery and wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t talking about my mother but her own problems. I had to sit down or I was afraid that I might collapse. I slipped into an empty chair in the empty back row. I was breathing very quickly and felt like I might pass out. A few rows in front of me a man turned around. He was well-dressed and incredibly handsome, slender yet muscular with brown hair, brown eyes and a friendly look. He whispered, “Are you okay?”
I nodded even though I was definitely not okay. He looked at me for a moment and then turned back to Elaine. Beside him sat a pretty young blonde woman who was sobbing softly, oblivious to me, and to Elaine.
“But I knew if I could just get married, everything would be perfect,” Elaine continued. “I did get married and three weeks later I started acting out again. I began leading a double life. At home, I was the sweet little wife. But once I walked out that door, I became a sexual predator.”
Elaine stopped, shrugging nervously. After a long pause, she continued. “When I realized I couldn’t stop myself, I decided to put on a lot of weight, so no man would want me. I soon learned that I just attracted a different type of men.”
A few people smiled knowingly.
“So I started taking diet pills and added prescription drugs to my sexual addiction. For years, my purse sounded like a maraca.”
Several people laughed nervously.
“Did I mention that I am also allergic to alcohol? Whenever I drink, I break out in bad behavior.”
More people laughed. Even the sobbing blonde stopped crying for a moment.
This meeting was certainly different from the one I had gone to in Sparta. Elaine seemed to be doing some sort of perverse comedy routine. But she looked deadly serious and continually seemed on the verge of breaking down. She spoke haltingly, with every word seeming to create its own agony. I was slowly recovering from whatever shock her words had done to me. Mr. Handsome occasionally turned around to give me a soothing look but he didn’t inquire further about my emotional state.
“It got so that every day wasn’t a new day but another morning after,” continued Elaine. “I knew I was destroying myself but I was in denial about also destroying my husband and my children. Finally, I hit bottom, and ended up in this program.”
Tears welled up in Elaine’s eyes and she said softly, “Where I met the man who has saved my life so many times. Gregory.” She smiled weakly at Mr. Handsome. “I asked him to be my sponsor because he was gay. I didn’t care that we didn’t have any common issues. I just wanted someone I couldn’t act out with. Did I actually say no common issues? How about all of them. All we talk about are bottom lines and slips and anger and fear and rage and shame. We’ve spent hours on the phone and never even mentioned the word sex.”
Several people again laughed but Elaine began crying.
“And every time I slipped, I wanted to kill myself, but Gregory kept saying, ‘If I can do it. You can do it.’ And I knew he was right. Because I knew about his past. For three years, I lived on Gregory’s sobriety, until finally, to save what was left of my family, I knew I had to get my own sobriety. And finally, I did. Four years ago.”
Elaine wiped away the tears in an attempt to get control of herself.
“I never wanted intimacy with my husband. And until I got into this program, I had never cried. All I ever felt was anger. Gregory, and this program, taught me how to love and to accept myself.” She paused and glanced downward as if looking for courage. She pressed on. “Gregory is the second person that I was ever truly intimate with. The first was my best friend—.”
Elaine paused again and then looking straight at me, she continued, “I have tried all my life to figure out why I am an addict. I grew up in Middle America in a wonderful, loving home. No one beat me, molested me or raped me. Maybe I’ll never know why.” She looked away. “But my first sexual experience was probably like a lot of fourteen-year-olds. I was at a riverbank with my best friend and her brother. I had stolen some wine from my Dad’s cellar and we got tipsy and decided to go skinny-dipping. One thing led to another and he ended up taking my virginity and then I took hers.”
Elaine fought back tears. “I never had him again but I couldn’t get enough of her. Yet I hated the shame I felt, and of not being able to tell everyone how much I loved her. But I knew they would run us both out of town.” She stopped and, barely above a whisper, she added, “Finally, they did.”
Elaine broke down, unable to go on. A man who had been standing near her helped Elaine to a front seat, where another woman hugged her.
I sat in a daze, shocked that Elaine and my mother had been lovers. I couldn’t believe it. But then I recalled rumors from my ch
ildhood, the whispers about my mother and Elaine. That something had been wrong with both of them and that maybe the reason I was a “problem child” was genetic. Maybe it was, I thought. I didn’t know. I had a thousand questions and no answers but I had learned more from Elaine in five minutes about my mother than I had in the previous twenty-five years in Rosebud.
The man in front was saying, “Thanks for sharing, Elaine. That’s it for tonight.” He added, “Remember, as always, who you see here, what you hear here, when you leave here, let it stay here. Thank you. Good night.”
The group then chanted, “Keep coming back. It works if you work it, so work it, you’re worth it.”
People stood up and began hugging and talking to each other. The group had a familial feeling, like probably for many, it was the only real family they had ever known. Gregory walked over to me and said, “Hi, I’m Gregory.”
“Sherry.”
He held out his arms, offering a hug if I was willing. I nodded and he warmly embraced me. “Welcome.”
The pretty blonde had finally stopped crying and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said and returned her. “You okay, Claire?”
Claire shook her head. “No. Definitely not. Men are making me crazy. So I’ve decided to become gay.”
Gregory laughed. “But Claire, Honey, if you were gay then women would make you crazy.”
She stared at him.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Oh.”
I noticed several people hugging Elaine and I wondered if I should go and hug her, too. But the others around her seemed better equipped to comfort her. I was still stunned at not only learning that Elaine had been my mother’s first lover but that after all these years, she still wasn’t over it. That seemed so sad.
Finally, Gregory went up and hugged Elaine. The guy who had been in charge was saying that we had to leave the church. Elaine came over. We didn’t hug. Instead, she took my hand and we walked out. Elaine tightly held my hand as we walked down the street in silence. Gregory finally broke the stillness with small talk about an apartment that was still in his name although, for years, he had been living with this lover, Skip. “Jerome moved out last week, so I have to fine a new sublet.”
When Elaine didn’t respond, Gregory explained to me about the “sublet underground” regarding New York’s remaining rent-stabilized apartments. Although he hadn’t lived there in six years, the apartment was still in his name so anyone renting the apartment would be illegal. The renter would need to have a low profile so the landlord wouldn’t realize that they weren’t just “visiting” but also be trustworthy enough not to try to steal the apartment from Gregory.
Finally, Elaine said, “Why don’t you just give it up?”
“It’s my security blanket. I’ll have a place to go if Skip ever throws me out, and God knows how many times, I’ve deserved that. And you know what will happen if I’m ever arrested.”
Elaine didn’t reply. We entered The Shamrock, corner coffee shop that was brightly lit and bustling with business as waitresses in green uniforms adorned with a four-leaf clovers navigated narrow pathways between crowded tables laden with coffee cups and cakes. Only a few customers seemed to have actually come to eat a meal. Everyone else seemed to have poured out of the neighborhood’s several twelve-step programs and huddled together in a safe environment, unless they were in caffeine anonymous.
Elaine slipped into a back booth and Gregory moved in beside her. I sat across from them. A plump redheaded waitress immediately set two coffees before Elaine and Gregory and asked if I wanted coffee. I nodded.
I watched Elaine as she seemed to pour half of the sugar jar into her cup and then absently stirred the thick concoction. Finally, I said, “Thanks for talking, about my mother.”
She smiled weakly. “You’re welcome.” She stared at her syrupy coffee. “I didn’t realize until tonight how much I really loved her. God knows how many more things I’m still in denial about.”
“Will you tell me about her?”
Elaine shook her head. I tried a different tack.
“What was my father like?”
Elaine shot a glance at me, aware of the ploy. She shrugged. “He was just a guy. Mostly a nice guy. Your mother was a looker, like you. All the guys were after her. He just happened to get her pregnant.”
“What do you mean ‘mostly a nice guy?’”
“He was nice, okay?” She snapped. “It’s just that in the end, it was really bad.”
“Why?”
She looked away. “You don’t want to know.”
I nearly screamed. Of course I want to know! You just don’t want to tell me!
For all of my life, no one ever wanted to tell me! My Aunt always said, “You’re better off not knowing.” Everyone but me seemed to know some deep dark secret. Now I knew part of it, about my mother and Elaine. But there had to be more. I was more determined than ever to one day, somehow, find my mother and ask her every question I’d ever had and not stop asking until she gave me the answers. I suddenly loathed Elaine for not telling me. Sharing? Right! She was just like everyone else.
Gregory had to leave. “Will we see you again next week?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think this group thing is for me.”
He paused and then asked, “Is you life unmanageable?”
“I’ve got a few problems,” I admitted. “But I’m managing okay.”
He looked at me for a long moment and then answered, “Then maybe it isn’t for you.”
Suddenly, I burst out crying as I realized why Elaine’s words had hit me so hard. Her feelings of worthlessness and shame was how I had felt since I was eight-years-old. She had been describing my life! And I knew that if I passed up this chance to get help, I truly was going to die, one way or another. I finally managed to stop sobbing. I asked Elaine, “Would you be my sponsor?”
Horror came over her face. She shook her head. “I can’t.” My stare implored her. “I’ve never been one,” Elaine insisted. “I’m not ready. There are better people for—”
“—I can’t try this with anyone but you.”
Elaine stared at me, still horrified. Then she finally said, “Alright.”
We walked out into the night. Elaine and Gregory were sharing a cab uptown and offered me a lift. I explained that I was staying nearby. Gregory asked what I was paying and I told him. “For a tiny room with no bathroom?” He added, “We’ll see.”
Then they both gave me wonderfully loving hugs.
The next afternoon, I arrived at Elaine’s for my first session on the Steps. She buzzed me up and had left the door open. The drawing room seemed more like a mausoleum than the day before and Elaine was on the phone with Gregory, crying and mostly babbling. Finally, she mentioned that I had arrived and hung up.
“Give me a minute,” Elaine said without greeting me. She went into the powder room beside the front door and I could hear her crying. I waited on the sofa and looked out at the terrace. The day was bright and beautiful and I suspected the view from the terrace was breathtaking and I would have loved to have had our session out there. If there was going to be any session.
After about ten minutes Elaine still hadn’t returned and I asked if she wanted me to make some tea. She didn’t answer so I went into the kitchen anyway and put on the kettle.
On her refrigerator door were several adages, like “Dear God, please help me to want what I already have without having to lose it first.” And “It is in the Heart in which God is found and not in the Reason.” I wasn’t quite sure what the last one meant but since I never expected to look for God, it didn’t matter all that much.
I found an array of teas marshaled in a cupboard. Most of the names were too exotic for me so I opted for what sounded the simplest, English Breakfast Tea. Shortly afterward, Elaine came out, apologized for the wait and thanked me for making the tea. Then without a word about what was distressing her, she went to work.
Elaine spread
out several pamphlets on the coffee table and began going over the Steps. In Step One, I had to admit that I was powerless over my addiction and that my life had become unmanageable. That seemed more right than wrong, so I said “Yes.”
“Good,” she replied. Then she went off on a tangent, saying that she went to groups not only for sex addicts but also for drugs, alcohol and overeaters. “Sex and overeating, are the two most difficult addictions to overcome,” she informed me. “With drugs and booze, you can just quit and then try to stay off them. But you can’t stop eating so you have to somehow moderate it, something addicts are not particularly good at. You can stop sex but then you are missing out on an important part of love, intimacy.” She added wistfully, “And in the end, love and intimacy is what life is all about.”
Tears trickled from Elaine’s eyes but she tried to stay on message, informing me that in Step Two, I had to admit that I had come to believe that only a Power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. Uneasy at admitting that there was some Power greater than myself, I hesitated a bit but then decided to go with it. “Yes.”
As Elaine began with the third step, she broke down and I began to learn why she was so distressed. Elaine had a twenty-year-old daughter, Marie, and a nineteen-year-old son, William. Both had dropped out of college partly due to addictions for which Elaine blamed herself. Both were currently in recovery and to help guard against relapses had broken off all contact with Elaine.
Hal, her husband of twenty-one years, was in denial about being a codependent and refused therapy. She kept on crying and I tried to comfort her but she pushed me away. Finally, she said, “I always loved my children even though I harmed them in ways that I can never forgive myself for. But until I got into recovery, I never knew how much I loved my husband. And now I’m going to lose him.”
While trying to wipe away the tears, Elaine talked about Hal’s many affairs. “They were always nameless women. Young willing bodies who were no where near his intellectual level. I knew he would always tire of them. But Yvonne is mature, with a mind instead of a body, a Phi Beta Kappa, for Christ’s sake.” She stammered, “And, I thought, she was my friend.”
Falling in Love Page 9
