Sounds Like Crazy (12 page)

“Let’s go, people,” said Mike.

I tried to walk unnoticed back to my seat. It was an ordeal of insincere backslapping. “Ingrates.” Betty Jane sniffed inside my head.

At three forty-five, Sarge reminded me we had an appointment with Milton. At four fifteen he reminded me again. I managed to get out of there by four twenty. I asked the driver to step on it. When the car reached Ninth Street and Fourth Avenue, I said, “Just drop me here, please.” The driver stopped the car. I waited on the curb until the taillights disappeared to walk down the block to Milton’s office. My “treatment” remained a secret I was absolutely going to keep, because there was no halfway on this one. Treatment begged the question why, and
why
always became the proverbial snowball rolling down a mountain—it got bigger with each turn and left a path of destruction in its wake.

I noticed that the door to Milton’s office was ajar when I entered the waiting area.
Shit, I’m really late.

“Holly, if you paid attention when I indicated the proper departure time, you would have understood that we were late,” said Sarge inside my head.

I ignored his admonishment and pushed the door all the way open. “Hello?”

Milton sat at his desk writing. The scratch of his pen filled the silence in the air. He punctuated loudly, put down his pen, and turned. “Ah, Holly,” he said. “Please sit.” He gestured to the
couch. He sported a vexed countenance. I had left the studio early for this less than pleased look on Milton’s face?

I sat in the pink chair opposite him. It always reminded me of a comfy commode. Maybe because of the shape of the seat. I lifted the corners of my mouth in one of those I-really-don’t-want-to-smile-at-you gestures. Fake and flat.

“What a waste of time,” exclaimed Betty Jane inside my head. I agreed.

“I’d like to talk to you about your missed appointments,” said Milton.

“I paid for them.” I felt indignant, but the words sounded defensive when they left my mouth.

“That is not the point. Holly, I am concerned that you are choosing a critical time in our work to stop coming.”

“Tell him about the Emmy nomination,” said Betty Jane inside my head.

I smiled and said out loud,“I will.” Betty Jane winked at me. Milton shot me a questioning glance.“I am doing great, though,” I said.“I’m the successful daughter my parents always wanted. Just like Sarah. Who thought I would fail. But I defied her and have managed to manage it all very nicely.”As if on cue, Milton leaned back and made a steeple with his fingers. I wasn’t going to let his finger church derail me.“Nobody has to supplement my income anymore, and my emergency credit card is gathering dust in the desk drawer.”

“Holly,” said Betty Jane inside my head,“Milton doesn’t know about the credit card.”
Shit, that’s right.
A long time ago, Betty Jane had said that if we told him, he’d make me stop using it.

“I told you I moved,” I said hurriedly.“To a nice top-floor flat on Second Street and Avenue A.The double-door entrance takes you into a large foyer. No stepping into the bathroom to open
the door anymore. The foyer has one of the four closets in the whole apartment. Four closets! Unheard-of in Manhattan.” Milton remained silent behind his finger church. “The foyer takes you into a rectangular living room, large enough for a dining room table. It’s flanked by both bedrooms and the kitchen.All the rooms except the kitchen and foyer have huge windows and constant sun.” Still no response. “Betty Jane has her own room now because I have a two-bedroom place.”

“And she is satisfied with this arrangement, I take it?” said Milton nonchalantly.

“Well, we compromised, me and Betty Jane, on the location,” I said.“But she’s thrilled with the view and her private bedroom.” I settled into the pink commode.This wasn’t so bad. I’d thought Milton was really going to go after me.

“Holly, do you think we need to come here anymore?” said Betty Jane inside my head.

I stared at my fingernails.

Ruffles cried, “Holly, don’t.”

Betty Jane smiled and nodded. I kept staring at my fingernails and said quietly, as if I didn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth, “I don’t think I need to come here anymore.”

I tried not to look inside my head or at Milton. I couldn’t face his or Ruffles’s reactions. Ruffles wasn’t letting me off easy, though. Her anger pressed against my temples until I finally said, “Well, maybe I should come now and then for a tune-up. But definitely not twice a week. With my schedule, I don’t have the time. Besides, aren’t you due to leave on your very extended vacation in a few weeks?”

“You sound like Betty Jane, not Holly,” said Milton.

“No, she isn’t even paying attention. In fact, I don’t see her in the room.” I tapped the side of my head.

“Holly,” said Ruffles, aghast inside my head. Betty Jane’s eyes
burned at her. Ruffles shrank back on her pillow. I blinked to make sure I only imagined the flames shooting out of Betty Jane’s eye sockets.

“And what do the other Committee members think?” said Milton.

I shook my head to reorient myself. Milton waited for my response. I tapped my foot on the carpet. Inside my head, the Boy buried his blurred face in the couch cushion.The Silent One had paused midprayer, and Sarge paced the room. I tilted my head and looked out the window, trying to ignore all of them.

“Ah, so this is something only you and Betty Jane are advocating?” said Milton.

I glared at Milton.“She’s fine with coming. I just think we’re too busy.”

“Holly, many patients experience a false sense of success when they cross a major hurdle in their work. We spoke about this, remember? It takes some time for behavior to catch up.” He leaned forward with his hands on his thighs. I leaned back into the chair.“And as we’ve seen before, Betty Jane does not have any boundaries when it comes to her sense of entitlement.Your increasing popularity as a voice-over artist makes this the time to become more focused in your work here, not less.”

Milton and I went back and forth like this for the whole session as if caught in a feedback loop. Talk about your road to nowhere.

“We are nearing the end of the hour.” I pointed at the clock. Milton nodded. And we are right where we started, I thought.

“I cannot force you to come to therapy,” said Milton, “but you know my stance on this. For the time being, I will hold your regular hours for you, without charge. You may come or not. I will be here.”

“Seems kind of silly, but okay, it’s your time.”

“No, it’s yours. I want to be sure you have it when you need it.”

It pissed me off that he was so sure I would need it, and for the first time in six and a half years with Milton I didn’t say thank you when I left.

I’ll show him
, I thought, as the departure door clicked shut behind me.

T
he passage of time also transformed my relationship with Peter from code blue to never better. Sarah said that was because we essentially had a long-distance relationship, with a grueling work schedule instead of an ocean or continent separating us, but her bigger concern was how I’d packed my schedule to the point where nothing but work had room. It was true that I barely had time to think, breathe, read a book, or pet the cats, and maybe that was why my relationship with Peter hadn’t failed. But, trust me, choosing skyrocketing success that only gets better the harder you work, compared to reflecting on why Peter stayed with me, why I stayed with him, why I had a Committee living in a house inside my head, who they were, and what was behind the closet door in their living room, was a nobrainer. Besides, now more than ever, I needed Peter for the social aspect of my job. At least, that was what I told myself.

According to Sarah and Betty Jane, Peter didn’t mind, because with only a minimum investment of time he got free dinners in nice restaurants and an occasional mention in the gossip
blogs, like
Perez Hilton
’s. When you’re the voice of a cartoon, people don’t recognize your face. Because the show was so popular, though, people were starting to recognize my name.When I saw it online and once in print, I hoped it had been a slow week in gossip and vowed never to be named in either place again. Peter didn’t get my reaction. He was as thrilled as Betty Jane. I had to listen so often to the two of them crow separately about my burgeoning popularity, it went from annoying to boring.

 

At the end of July we had some computer glitches and production crews were running behind schedule. Mike decided to give us an unprecedented recording break.

I immediately called Brenda and told her to cancel my jobs for the following week and not to schedule anything so I could catch up on my life and finally spend some time with Peter.

When Peter told me he had to focus on his studies, but he’d do his best to fit me in, I still insisted that Betty Jane and Sarah were wrong and decided to be the supportive girlfriend and find something else to do with my days off.

I made it to noon the first day by keeping busy with all the girlie primping I hated and Peter liked, hoping he’d find some free time. Ruffles and Sarge suggested I use the extra moments to catch up with Milton, but I ignored them.Who scheduled extra sessions with their shrink on a holiday?

I sat on my bed smoking a cigarette, wishing Peter would call.

“Don’t count on it,” said Betty Jane inside my head. “He’s getting bored with sex. That much was obvious the other night—”

“How do you . . .” I let the question dangle in the air. The Committee and I had had an agreement to maintain a zone of privacy ever since my disastrous first attempt at sex. That night there had been so much talking going on in- and outside my
head, I had started to get confused about whom I was answering. Finally, I had yelled out,“Privacy.” Then the Silent One rounded them all up and they disappeared. It felt the same as when you live with people and they’re in another room in the house.You know they’re there, but you’re separated by walls.

“I have ears,” said Betty Jane.

“Yeah, and you also have a lot of nerve,” I shot back.

“Did you ever doubt it?” she said.

Before I could respond, the phone rang. Peter. “See?” I said.

 

When he arrived that evening, Peter said apologetically from the doorway, “Sorry. I know. I’m late. And don’t hate me—”

“Hold that thought and I’ll just get my coat.You can tell me why I am going to hate you on the way out the door,” I said. “Our reservation.” I tapped my wrist to indicate the time.

“That’s what the ‘don’t hate me’ is about. Can’t make it for dinner.”

I did hate him. I had spent the entire day arguing with Betty Jane over this exact outcome. Just once, I wanted to be the one who won an argument. Peter watched me, no doubt wondering what thoughts were running through my mind. Then he kissed me, waved, and said, “Hi,” as he brushed past me into the apartment. I gripped the knob and stared into the empty hallway.

I heard Peter’s backpack drop on the floor behind me. I closed the door and watched him walk into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and removed a beer. I stood in the entryway and stared. My freshly waxed legs burned against the fabric of my jeans. “Long day at the library?” I said.

“There’s something different about you,” Peter said as he twisted the cap off the beer bottle and dropped it into the sink.

“Someone give him a medal for perception,” said Betty Jane inside my head.

“Give him a break. She did get a haircut,” said Sarge to Betty Jane.

“How about a medal for deftly avoiding the question then? Avoiding questions is about the only thing he can do right,” said Betty Jane. “But the haircut is minuscule and does not include a style change, even though I recommended—”

“Quiet,” I hissed.

“What?” said Peter. He walked into the living room and I followed him.

“Oh, more quiet, I meant. I’m more quiet now. Don’t you think?” I felt the grimace in my stomach dance across my face.

“Well, that part hasn’t changed,” said Peter. “You still blurt out weird stuff. But it’s something else.”

“Hmm.”
A year and a half together, and this? He really is a dolt.

Before the Committee could react—well, before Betty Jane could react—I followed up that thought with,
But I can’t live without him
. I stopped there, though, because even I knew the next question was,
Why not?
And that question led to reality. I wasn’t willing to face reality. Especially when I knew I wasn’t the only one going to great lengths to avoid leaving.

Betty Jane shook her head and went back to reading her book. That was when I noticed that the chaise she reclined on was purple.And new. My mind’s eye flashed around the Committee’s room and I saw that there was a lot of new purple stuff. Ruffles had always worn purple and her lounging pillow was purple. But now the living room walls and the carpeting were an almost imperceptible lavender, and scattered about their living room were accent pillows a deep Japanese eggplant purple. Sheer lilac curtains billowed from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Silent One knelt in prayer on a new midnight blue cushion that exactly matched his robe. Sarge still wore his standard faded jeans and white tee, but these now blended with the surroundings.The
only two sharply contrasting colors were Betty Jane’s sunflower pin and the Boy’s red Converse sneakers. The Committee’s digs had definitely improved since I’d started doing voice-overs.That was how it worked. When things got better on the outside, it showed on the inside. It startled me that I was just noticing. I guessed now I was the unaware dolt.

“Holly?” I heard my name being called from what seemed like far away. “Holly?” My body was being shaken. “Holly?”

“What?” I snapped. “Don’t touch me.” I pushed Peter away.

“Jesus,” he said,“you don’t have to be such a bitch. I was talking and you were gone. I take it back.You haven’t changed.”