Plain Jane (13 page)

“But my mom says that I should stick with one or the other.”

“Can you put your mom on the phone, Georgia?” Mike and Jane listened while Georgia passed the phone to her mother.

“I’m here,” a woman said. “And I don’t approve of her dating two boys at the same time.”

“She’s only sixteen, Mom,” Mike said. “She’s much too young to make any kind of commitment, and dating one boy and only one
is
making a commitment. Please consider letting her play the field. The time will come all too soon when that will no longer be an option.”

“I don’t know,” the mother said.

“If she dates one boy for any length of time, she’ll be branded as
his
girl. Once that happens the other boys won’t ask her out, which means she won’t get an opportunity to date other guys.”

“This is Dr. Lewis, Mom, and I’d like to add something to what Dr. Sorenson said. First, I absolutely agree with him. I think it’s important for a girl Georgia’s age to date different guys. It’s the act of dating that gives a girl the ability to know what kind of guy suits her so that later on she can make that one really important decision—who she’s going to marry. Besides that, if she only goes out with one guy, there’s a much greater chance that she’ll indulge in premarital sex and—”

“Okay, okay, you win,” the mother said with annoyance. They heard the phone being set down.

“Hello, Dr. Lewis? This is Georgia again. Thanks,” she said in a
whispery
voice.

“You’re welcome, Georgia. Good luck. I’m Dr. Jane Lewis, and my cohost is Dr. Mike Sorenson. You’re listening to
Talk to Me.
”

The station cut to an insurance commercial, giving both Jane and Mike a breather.

“That was fun,” Mike said. “We work well together, but then I knew we would. Everything we do together, we do well.” He winked and gave her a sexy look.

“Chili, onions, sauerkraut, mustard. You can barely see the hot dog,” Mike grumbled as he bit into his plain mustard dog. “You’re the only woman I know who would eat something like that and not worry about it dripping on her clothes and getting it all over her face. I love you, Jane Lewis. For being you. I thought you were pretty much a vegetarian like Olive.”

“I am, but when it comes to hot dogs . . . I have absolutely no willpower,” Jane said, licking her lips as she stared across the street. A burgundy Chevy half-ton pickup was pulling away from the curb, tires screeching. She got a glimpse of the driver. Brian Ramsey. Or was it? It looked like Brian, but lately she’d thought she’d seen him every time she turned around, which she knew was impossible.

A woman walking a toy poodle bent down with her pooper scooper in front of the telephone pole. That was ordinary. Sam Wallace sweeping the sidewalk in front of his hardware store was pretty ordinary, too. She waved to Sara Titus, her old first-grade teacher.

She looked up and wondered when the sky had turned so gray. There were storm clouds to the west. It would rain before the end of the day and probably through the evening. She hated the idea of spending the evening alone, especially a rainy evening. What in the world had her evenings been like before Mike came into her life? Maybe she could go to the farm and visit with Trixie and Fred. Maybe they would invite her for supper when she stopped to pick up Olive. On the other hand, she could go home and finish reading Trixie and Fred’s new book, or she could go on the computer and check out Trixie’s snoop file, or go to E-bay and see what was for sale. She looked up at Mike and smiled. “I’m missing you already.”

“Me, too. Listen, I have to run or I’ll be late. I’ll call you tonight.”

Jane half expected Mike to kiss her right there on the street. For a second it looked like he was thinking about it until he saw Jasper Dewey watching them.

“Nice-looking young fella,” Jasper cackled as Mike walked away. “How’s your mama, child?”

“Yes, he is a nice-looking fella, Mr. Dewey, and he’s all mine. Mama passed some time ago, but thank you for asking. You have a nice day now,” Jane said as she turned to walk in the opposite direction. Everyone knew that sweet, kind Jasper Dewey was senile and couldn’t remember anything from one minute to the next. Sooner or later one of the shop owners would take him home and turn him over to his wife, who would profess amazement that he got loose and wandered away. Everyone in town also knew Matilda let it happen so she could have an hour of peace and quiet to watch her soap operas.

Jane used her cell phone to call her office before heading to the clinic and was told things were fine and no, there were no emergencies and her last appointment was at five. She broke the connection and dialed the farm. Trixie picked up on the second ring.

“Is Olive okay, Trixie? She isn’t too much for you, is she?”

“Lord, no. She’s having a ball with Flash.”

“Oh, good.”

“Listen, Janie, I need you to do me a favor while you’re out. Stop by Radio Shack and pick me up a police scanner and a set of two-way radios.”

“Sure. I won’t even ask why you want them.”

“For Flash, of course, as if you didn’t know,” Trixie cackled.

“I’m on my way to the clinic now,” Jane said. “One of my colleagues is in the hospital, so I’m taking over her patients. I’m running late tonight. Save me some leftovers if you cook.”

“Fred’s doing the cooking. Flash and I are going to work. I mean W-O-R-K. Flash knows how to spell, Janie. Olive is going along for the ride, literally rather than figuratively. Call me on my cell phone when you get to the farm, and I’ll run her on in. Don’t forget to stop by Radio Shack.”

“I won’t forget. Give Olive a hug for me.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Jane closed the phone and tucked it into her purse. Over and out. Obviously, the code words were for Flash’s benefit. Jane giggled all the way to the clinic at the trouble Trixie was going to for that big lug of a dog. But then, Trixie always did have a big heart.

The clinic was a small red brick building with ivy growing up the front. Six thousand square feet of ten-by-ten rooms and one huge reception area. At best it was spartan. A few prints or watercolors and some green plants would make a world of difference. How could people with mental problems be expected to feel anything but depressed in this gun-metal gray atmosphere? Free clinics had no money for extra trappings, as Trixie put it. She was right, too.

Jane signed in, aware that the waiting room was filled to overflowing with six people standing in the narrow hallway. She was escorted to a small windowless room with a desk, a swivel chair, a wastebasket, and a patient chair. She opened her briefcase and withdrew Dr. Thomas’s file folders. She stacked them neatly in front of her, her pen and yellow legal pad next to them, and waited for her first patient.

For an hour and a half she talked, listened, and made copious notes on each patient’s half-hour session. She opened the last file folder, Betty Vance’s, and prepared herself to meet her troubled patient.

Jane tried to cover her stunned surprise by turning her head and coughing when Betty Vance entered the room ten minutes late for her appointment. She could have posed for Connie Bryan’s double if she’d taken the time to wash and blow out her hair, apply makeup, and dress in something that hadn’t been slept in. Everything about her was lifeless and worn-looking. She was also much too thin, and her eyes were dull and lifeless. Her hands played with a wad of tissue.

“I’m Dr. Lewis. I’d like you to call me Jane and do you mind if I call you Betty? I’m taking over for Dr. Thomas because she’s in the hospital. They explained that to you at the desk when you came in, didn’t they?”

“They called me at home to tell me. Actually, it isn’t my home. I’m staying with a friend. My legal name is Elizabeth Marie Vance and, yes, you can call me Betty.”

“Did your friend bring you here today?”

“Yes. The medication makes me groggy, and I don’t like to drive when I take it.”

“Show me what it is you’re taking.” Jane frowned at the way the young woman’s hands twitched as she tried to open her purse.

Betty rummaged in her purse. She handed over three bottles of pills. Jane winced when she looked at them and then at the file on her desk. “You’re only supposed to be taking the Valium. Taking these others with the Valium is the reason you’re so shaky. This is too much medication. You could do yourself serious harm.” Jane put the medications aside. “You’re not to take any more medication, Betty. I’ve read your file, and I think we can do other things to help you.”

“Not take my medication? I need them to sleep. Otherwise, all I do is sit and think.”

“When was the last time you went for a walk? When was the last time you styled your hair? When was the last time you did anything for yourself? How much weight have you lost? Don’t you care if you get well?” Jane asked sharply but not unkindly.

“Of course I care.” The young woman appeared stunned by the question, then her expression softened. “Maybe that’s not really true. Some days I care, and other days I don’t care. Most of the time I wish I was dead. I can’t . . . I don’t . . . why are you being so hard on me? I’m trying.”

Jane leaned forward, her hands on the edge of her desk. “You were trying six months ago, but according to this file you are in exactly the same place you were then. While you’re under my care there will be no drugs unless they are absolutely necessary. If that angers you, you can get up and go if you want, but you won’t get better. That much I can guarantee. I’d like us to talk. I want you to tell me what happened to you, painful as that may be. I know you told Dr. Thomas, and I know it’s all here in the file, but I want to hear you tell me. I can help you if you let me, Betty.”

It was Connie Bryan’s story all over again. The only difference was, this girl was alive to tell her story. When she finished her painful narrative, Betty stared at Jane, her eyes dull and glazed.

Jane licked at her lips. She had to tread carefully. Did she dare gamble with Sharon’s patient? Sharon said she was fragile.
Not as fragile as Connie,
Jane thought.
Betty has hung in, sought professional help. That has to mean she has some guts, some spirit, a will to survive.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Because the man I was seeing said . . . he said . . . it wouldn’t look good for him. We’d just moved in together. It’s a small town. People talk in small towns. They point fingers and whisper. I listened to him. I shouldn’t have. He turned on me, too. He wouldn’t come near me. I could tell that I revolted him. He never said it, but I could see it on his face. So I moved out. But he wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m afraid of him. He’s older than I am. Not that age makes a difference but—I packed up my stuff and drove to my aunt’s in New Orleans, but she has teenagers. I couldn’t handle it, and neither could she. I called my friend, and he came and got me. I’m staying at his house. All I do is cry and think. He’s going to get disgusted with me, too. I had a good job in Lafayette that I lost because I was such a basket case. My savings are almost gone, and pretty soon my insurance will run out. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid all the time. I can’t stand being alone.”

Jane watched as the young woman wept into the wad of tissues in her hand. “Do you think it’s time to pull up your socks and try to get your life back? You cannot Windex what happened to you. It happened, and you have to deal with it. The first thing you need to do is file a police report. Then you have to talk to the people at the crisis center no matter how agonizing that may be. I realize it is six months later and all the evidence is gone, but your word is good enough. None of this is going to be easy. If you want your life back, then you have to fight for it. I’ll help you in any way I can. No more drugs. Can you handle that?”

“I don’t know. All I can do is try. What if . . . what if he calls or wants to see me?”

“Are you talking about the man you were living with?” Jane asked, perplexed at the question.

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand why you’re afraid of him. Call him up, tell him you don’t want to see him anymore. Tell him it’s over. People do that every day of the week. Is he a violent person? You said he didn’t want to be near you or to touch you. That tells me it’s over. Are you in love with him? You need to help me out here.”

Betty leaned back in the chair. She appeared exhausted. Talking seemed an effort.

“Brian was never physical with me. He does have a temper, though. He loses patience really quick when something doesn’t go his way. No, I am not in love with him. I don’t think I ever was. For a while he . . . dazzled me with gifts, flowers, and fancy dinners. He’s incredibly smart. Book smart. He wanted me to marry him, but I wasn’t ready. I’m twenty-nine, and I haven’t done half the things I said I would do before I settled down. I agreed to move in and try it out. I think I knew it wouldn’t work from the beginning. He tried to change me. He didn’t like my clothes, didn’t like my hair, didn’t like the way I drove. I can’t really cook, so he picked on that. I throw my clothes around, and he’s a neat freak. I like to dance, and he doesn’t. He flattered me, flashed his money, and I fell for it. The truth is, we had nothing in common. None of my friends liked him. I don’t have those friends anymore, thanks to him. Except Chuck.”

Jane sucked in her breath. If she asked Betty now if the Brian they were discussing was Brian Ramsey, she would have to excuse herself somehow. Her mind went totally blank as she tried to remember what the professional rule was. She could feel the tremor in her legs start to work upward. If she didn’t get hold of herself, she would fall apart in front of her patient.
Don’t ask. Pretend you didn’t hear the name,
she told herself. It wasn’t the same Brian. Brian Ramsey was married. His problem was his wife. This girl wasn’t married. There had to be hundreds of Brians in the three surrounding parishes.
Don’t read something into this that isn’t there. Move on, Jane.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Betty?”

“I think I covered it all.”

“Was there anything familiar about your attackers? Anything at all? Think. Was it hot or cold? What did they smell like? Did you feel the material of any of their clothes? Did any of them say anything or gesture in any way that you can remember? Was there anything about their hands that struck you? You don’t have to come up with anything right now. But I would like you to think about it. If you’re comfortable with your friend, talk about it with him. He’s a guy and might be able to offer up some valuable input. You are going to have to relive it. I told you, this isn’t going to be easy, but you have to do it. I’m going to give you my card. You can always reach me, day or night. If you need me, I’ll be there for you. That’s a promise. And, if you like, I can schedule you into my appointment schedule every single day. It might be at the end of the day or it might be the first thing in the morning or during the lunch break. No charge. Will you agree to that?”