Spin (8 page)

I try to smile. “You really had me going.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” She starts flipping
through the book again, looking for something. Maybe that passage about smiling,
smiling, and being a villain.

Well, at least she owes me one now, right? I can
probably use this. I’m not sure how exactly, but . . .

My heart skips a beat. Shit, shit, shit, my
notes
are in that book. My notes about our
conversation in the library are about thirty pages away from her tapered
fingers. I am so busted.

Do something, Katie.
Quickly.

I pluck the book out of her hand and hold it over
my skipping heart. She gives me a quizzical look. I guess my Most Normal Person
She’s Met in Rehab title is in jeopardy.

“I don’t like it when the pages get creased.” I try
to keep the high note of psychosis out of my voice. I’m not quite sure I manage
it.

“That’s cool,” she replies, looking bored again.
She glances at her watch and stands. “I’ve got a couple of things I’ve got to
take care of before group.”

That’s right, run away from the psycho. I don’t
blame you.

“OK. See you then.”

She gets a wicked grin on her face. “Yeah, I
definitely wouldn’t miss group today.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see.”

I
show
up to group wondering what Amber’s got up her sleeve. And the answer
is . . . nothing. She waits until we’re all sitting in a
circle and walks into the room naked as a jaybird.

Well, not totally naked. When she gets closer, it’s
clear that she’s wearing some kind of body stocking made out of several pair of
nylons. She’s glued on flowers and leaves to hide certain strategic areas, but
still, the overall effect is
totally nekkid.

Saundra’s not impressed. “Amber, this is completely
unacceptable.”

“What?” she says, all innocent eyes as she sits in
the chair next to me and crosses her legs slowly. Every pair of male eyes
watches this movement, including The Director, who I thought was gay. Hell,
maybe he is gay. She’s just that magnetic.

“You know what, Amber. Please go change.”

She ignores Saundra. “So, what are we talking about
today? Cocaine? I fucking love cocaine.”

“Amber.”

“Hey, Rodney,” she says, addressing The Director.
“Tell that story again about the party in the Hills with the bowls of cocaine.
You tell it so well, I almost feel like I’m using.”

“Which party?” Rodney asks, interest lighting his
angular face.

“You know, the one where De Niro was there. Or was
it Pacino? Some big fucking guy. You remember.”

“Amber!”

“What!?”

“Do you want me to send you to Dr. Houston?”

She spins toward Saundra and puts her hands on her
bony hips. “What’s he going to do, sedate me? ‘No drugs allowed on the
premises’? Hah! Not unless they’re administered by Nurse Ratched here, that’s
the real truth!”

“Amber, please calm down.”

“Why? Why should I calm down?”

“Because you’re disturbing the other patients.”

No, I don’t think so. By the look on everyone’s
faces, she’s the best entertainment they’ve seen in a long time. And this is a
group that’s seen a lot of entertaining things.

“What about me? Doesn’t it matter that I’m
upset?”

“Of course it does. That’s why I want you to see
Dr. Houston.”

Saundra nods toward the doorway. Two burly male
orderlies are standing there dressed in identical white Polo shirts and pressed
khakis.

Where did they come from? Saundra must have one of
those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” panic buttons from the late-night
infomercials in her pocket.

“Evan, John. Please escort Amber to Dr. Houston’s
office.”

Amber narrows her eyes. “Saundra, why are you such
a complete fucking bitch?”

Saundra doesn’t flinch. “Amber, you know that kind
of hostility is not acceptable. I’m revoking your outside privileges.”

“But you can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can,” Saundra says softly but firmly.

“Motherfucking-slut-of-a-bitch!”

“That’s enough. Evan, John.”

“You’re so going to pay for this, Saundra!” she
screams as Evan and John drag her out of the room. “I know people! I fucking
know people!”

We all listen as her cries become more and more
distant and then look at Saundra expectantly.

“All right, everyone. Let’s get back to work.”

Chapter 7

God
Knows

S
ome crazy shit,
I write in an email to Bob two days
later.
TGND’s very thin (but we knew that, right?), and she
never eats in front of anyone. She’s allowed to violate certain rules
(attending all meals) but not others (no acting up in group—she’s been in
“solitary” for two days for same). She doesn’t seem to be taking rehab very
seriously (example: “I fucking love cocaine!”). She shows up to group
therapy as a different character every day. She has a sense of humor
(sometimes mean). She’s smart. She likes tuna fish.

Amber was a no-show in group again today, and I
start to worry that she’s left. After group I hurry back to my room to check the
Internet. TGND leaving rehab again is sure to be headline news, but CNN and Fox
are focused on some congressman’s sex scandal. However, I do find a website
called “Amber Alert” with streaming live video from the front gates, which
assures me that she’s still somewhere in the building.

You know, whoever decided to call his stalkerazzi
website “Amber Alert” is one sick motherfucker.

Of course, people in glass rehab houses really
shouldn’t throw stones.

I send off my email to Bob and answer a short one
from Greer. We’ve been emailing regularly over the last couple of days. She’s
been sending me links to hilarious clips on YouTube like the one about a spider
on drugs (if you haven’t seen it, watch it immediately). She seems to know just
when I need a distraction or a laugh.

I haven’t heard anything more from Rory. Not even
after I wrote a page-long email that simply said
I’m
sorry
over and over and over. I’ve never gone this long without
talking to her. I feel like part of me is missing.

I put down the iTouch and turn back to
Hamlet.
“
Whether ’tis nobler in
the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to
take arms against a sea of troubles . . .”

What would Shakespeare make of rehab, I wonder.

“What’s up?” Amy asks as she enters the room in her
running clothes, her face glowing.

I shove the iTouch under my leg.

Way to call attention to it,
dumb-ass.

“Not much.”

Amy doesn’t seem to have noticed. Phew.

“Are you getting edified, reading that?” she asks,
nodding toward my book.

“I do feel kind of smarter.”

“I guess that counts for something.”

She drops to the floor and starts stretching.

“How do you manage to look so put together after
working out?”

“It’s not supposed to be about how you look.”

“Easy for you to say.”

She makes a face. “Don’t tell me you’re one of
those girls.”

“What girls?”

“The ones who don’t know how pretty they are.”

I laugh. “I’m
so
one of
those girls.”

I sit down on the floor next to her, putting one
leg in front of me and one folded behind. It hurts, but in a good way. I
think.

“You should go outside once in a while,” Amy
says.

“You’re right.”

“Is that Katie-code for fuck off, I’ll do what I
like?”

“Sometimes. But not today.”

“The grounds really are beautiful.”

“I know. I grew up around here.”

“Is that why you chose this place?”

“I guess.”

“So forthcoming with the personal details.”

“Sorry. It doesn’t come naturally to me.”

She looks sympathetic. “It must be rough for you in
here, then?”

“I’m managing. Better than Amber seems to be,
anyway.”

“That’s not saying much.”

I try to imitate the way Amy leans over her leg and
touches her forehead to her kneecap. Is my back supposed to be making that
sound?

“Do you think she’s trying to get kicked out, you
know, acting out like that in group?”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but I heard she’s here on a
legal hold, so I think she’s stuck here.”

“What’s a legal hold?”

“It’s when you’re court-ordered into rehab. The
facility has the power to hold you for a certain amount of time and makes
recommendations to the court about when you can leave.”

“Would you have to file legal papers to get
that?”

“Of course.”

“Is that stuff public?”

She sits up from her stretch and gives me a
quizzical look. “Why are you so curious?”

Oopsy daisy.

“Oh . . . I’m not, really.”

Amy springs to her feet and I follow suit much more
awkwardly.

Jesus. I think I pulled something in my back. And
I’m guessing rehab means no painkillers. Perfect.

Amy looks concerned. “Katie, can I give you a word
of advice?”

“What?”

“Amber’s trouble. I wouldn’t get caught up in her
little drama if I were you.”

“I won’t.”

She persists. “No offense, OK, but I know girls
like her, and you’re not going to be friends. She might make you think you are,
but you won’t be.”

I feel a flash of annoyance. Who says I can’t be
friends with TGND? I was popular in high school, goddamnit.

“If you say so.”

“It has nothing to do with you, Katie. It’s just
what she’s used to. It’s this whole fucked-up world that you don’t want to be
involved in. Trust me. I know.”

I look into Amy’s troubled eyes and can’t help
thinking of the emotional and physical scars she carries around. Maybe she’s
right. The only problem is, it’s my job to get into TGND’s whole fucked-up
world.

“All right, I hear you.”

I sit gingerly on the bed and pick up
Hamlet
while Amy gets her shower things together.

“Hey, Katie?” Amy says from the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Still friends?”

I look into her uncertain face and make a
decision.

“I haven’t been going outside because I don’t want
to run into my ex-boyfriend,” I say.

“Your ex-boyfriend’s a patient here?”

I sigh. “No, he’s one of the gardeners. I ran into
him the other day, and I’m scared I might run into someone else I know and
they’ll tell my parents they saw me here.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Your parents don’t know
you’re here? You really keep it close to the vest, don’t you?”

“I told you.”

“So why did you come to this treatment facility?
You could have gone anywhere.”

Anywhere where there’s a celebrity who’s
crash-landed.

“Well, obviously, I didn’t think things through. In
my defense, though, I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

She smiles. “Your secret’s safe with me,
Katie.”

I sure hope so.

“S
tep
Two: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to
sanity,” Saundra says during our session on Day Seven: Accepting Our Higher
Power. She’s wearing a white sweater that has several breeds of dogs scampering
over it. They move every time she breathes, and they’re kind of freaking me out.
“Do you feel ready to do that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

I hesitate. I have a feeling Saundra’s not going to
like what I have to say.

“Because I don’t believe in God.”

She regards me impassively. “You don’t have to
believe in God to take the step, Katie. Your higher power doesn’t have to have a
religious connotation.”

That is such a load of crap.

“Can’t I just skip this step, if I do the other
ones?”

“No, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Then I guess AA isn’t going to work for me.”

She looks concerned. “You have to make it work for
you if you’re going to stop drinking.”

Good thing I don’t really need to stop drinking
then.

“Are you saying that AA is the only way to stay
sober?”

“It’s the only thing I know of that works
consistently.”

“But I thought it only works for like 12 percent of
patients.”

She speaks carefully. “Yes, that’s true. Most
treatment programs only have a success rate of between 10 and 20 percent.”

I wonder what the success rate is for undercover
rehab operations. They probably don’t keep stats on that sort of thing,
right?

“Including this one?”

“Yes.”

“How come you never told me that?”

“Do you think it’s helpful to know that you’re more
likely to fail at this than succeed?”

“Maybe not, but I’m not sure unrealistic
expectations work, either.”

“Do you think it’s unrealistic to say that you have
the power to overcome your addiction?”

“I thought I was power
less.
”

She shakes her head. The dogs move. I’m so going to
have dogmares tonight.

“No, Katie. You’re only powerless to change the
things you cannot change. You’re an alcoholic. That will never change. But you
have the ability to make choices about what that means for you.”

“But what does that have to do with God?”

“Your higher power is where you get the strength to
make the right choices.” She gives me a patient smile. “Let’s come at this from
another angle. Why are you so resistant to the idea of a higher power?”

“Because I don’t believe in it. I never have.”

“Why do you think that is?”

I think about it. “Have you read that book
Eat, Pray, Love
?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s about this woman who decides to spend a year
exploring three aspects of life: pleasure, faith, and finding a balance between
the two.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

“Well, I really liked the book, especially the
eating and loving parts. Those are things I can believe in. But the middle part,
where she’s in this ashram in India, meditating all the time, and she has this,
I don’t know, out-of-body experience or whatever, and she thinks she
sees
God, well, all I could think of when I was
reading it was yada yada yada.”

“Is that some kind of yogic chant?”

“No, it’s the noise my brain was making when she
was talking about seeing God.”

“Why was your brain making that noise?”

“Because I didn’t believe it, and the only time I
connected with it was when she was kind of making fun of her experience.”

Saundra looks pensive. “So, the only connection you
felt to her experience with God was when she expressed her uncertainty that she
really
had experienced God?”

“Bingo.”

“Well, Katie, I haven’t read the book, but from
what you tell me, I think you might have been missing her point.”

No shit.

“Maybe.”

Saundra and the creepy moving dogs consider me.
“Katie, as I said before, it doesn’t have to be God. It merely has to be
something outside you. A constant that you can hold on to. So, homework. I want
you to spend some time over the next few days trying to find something that’s
stronger than you. Do you think you can do that?”

Do I have a choice?

Pretty sure you signed your
choices away when you took Bob up on his offer.

Maybe that explains the malicious glint in his
eye?

“I can try.”

A
fter
dinner, I follow the crowd to watch yet another romantic comedy. Tonight’s
offering is
Kate & Leopold.
It’s about a rich
inventor from the nineteenth century who discovers a way to travel to modern-day
New York and Meg Ryan.

Amber sits down next to me about three-quarters of
the way through the movie, just as Kate and Leopold are discovering that their
relationship might not work out, given, you know, the whole time-space continuum
thing. The television’s glow makes Amber’s face look ashen.

“I can’t believe the shit they make us watch here,”
Amber says, rather loudly.

“Shh!” The maybe-gay Director hisses from behind
us.

I shoot him an incredulous look, though, come to
think of it, he’s been at the movies every night (as, clearly, have I) and seems
to enjoy the genre.

We watch the movie. Leopold goes back to his own
time and is sad. Kate stays in her time and is sad. Then Kate figures out that
being happy is more important than being a successful career woman in the
twenty-first century and that she has, like, twenty minutes to get to the
Brooklyn Bridge before the hole in the time-space continuum closes forever. She
hurries from the party being thrown to announce her huge promotion
and . . .

I give a disgusted snort. “Oh. My. God. She’s not
going to run
there is she?”

“Looks like it,” Amber says.

“Have you ever noticed how these kinds of movies
always end with someone running after their one true love to tell them how they
really feel?”

She giggles. “Like in
When
Harry Met Sally.
”

“Right.”

“Maybe it’s just Meg Ryan movies?”

“No, it happens in
The
Holiday
too. Cameron Diaz runs through the snow to get to Jude
Law.”

“You can’t blame her for that.”

“True.”

Amber looks thoughtful. “I guess if it’s not worth
running toward, it isn’t true love.”

“Not in the movies, anyway.”

“Shh!”

Meg/Kate leaps from the Brooklyn Bridge into the
wormhole. After a little more running, she finds Leopold, and casts aside her
old life of lonely independence. I guess the fact that she could, you know, vote
in the twenty-first century wasn’t enough to keep her there. “Suffragette City,”
eat your heart out.

The credits roll and someone flicks on the lights.
I catch The Director’s eye as he gets up to leave. The look he gives me could
wither a hundred-year-old tree.

“What’s his problem?” Amber asks.

“I guess he was in some doubt about whether Kate
and Leopold would make it back together.”

She snickers. “He must really be starved for
entertainment. I know for a
fact
that he won’t touch
a rom-com script in real life.”