Family Affair (5 page)

"You can pick up the sample pack at the Parker Clinic." Dr. Robicheck turned around in her chair. Her Doris Day cut neatly to the chin went with her. Her round spectacles caught the light from the window. "Don't worry about this. This drug will help you and you should not be embarrassed to tell your people."

It was like she knew that Chase was keeping it a secret. Only Gitana and Lacey knew about it. She'd never tell her mother. "Sure, why?"

"It's hard to see change in oneself and sometimes outside intervention is necessary." She handed Chase the script.

Chase disliked the word "intervention." It sounded a lot like incarceration. She wasn't that crazy. Intervention for what? Okay, so she'd been in self-denial about her condition, the mood swings, the ups and downs. But self-denial was in her genes. Admitting one was crazy was like crossing the Kalahari—full of sand with thorn brush and queer creatures and it frightened her.

"So there are no worries. We'll take care of this. You'll be much better." Dr. Robicheck got up indicating the session was over.

Chase got up as well glad to be out of the uncomfortable chair and away from her new psychiatrist. They shook hands.

"Make an appointment for three weeks from now. We'll reevaluate."

"Sure thing," Chase said, hoping she didn't appear absolutely ecstatic for being dismissed. Three weeks was like spring break for a kid.

She went out to the receptionist to make an appointment. A twenty-something scrub-clad woman with a blond pixie-cut studied the computer screen trying to find Chase an appointment. "Got it," she said. She didn't bother to ask if the appointment worked with Chase's schedule. Instead, she wrote the time and date on the card and handed it to her.

"Great," Chase said, studying the card. She smiled, gritted her teeth and walked out.

Once in the car, she called Lacey.

"How did it go?" Lacey asked.

"Great."

"When you say, 'great' it means it sucked. What happened?"

"My therapist talks like Dr. Ruth and has the sensitivity of Nurse Diesel."

"In the film High Anxiety." Lacey loved movies and trivia. It seems she knew stuff that no one in their right mind would bother with. Chase attributed this to Lacey's lack of a full-time job and the need for very little sleep.

During sleep, Chase had read, the brain dumps files, ridding itself of daily clutter. Lacey didn't sleep much, so she didn't dump useless information. Whenever Chase was in need of some particular piece of oddness for a book, she called Lacey, who was happy to help.

"Well, you can always see someone else. The network is huge." Then, Lacey changed tactics. "Shopping will make you feel better."

"You're right." Chase backed out of a parking space and turned onto Wyoming Street.

"You want me to get you a Chai to go?" Lacey asked.

"Sure." She was picking her up at Starbucks—Lacey's second-home. "We'll have to go to the Parker clinic first to get my drug sample pack."

"A sample pack? To see if you like it or not?"

"How the hell do I know?" She stopped at the light. "I'll see you in five." She clicked off and got on the freeway. She really didn't want to be a lunatic on her way to get a sample pack, but she couldn't live on a roller coaster either.

Chase wondered if extending herself in the writing department had anything to do with it. Perhaps all the subdivision of self that her many imaginary worlds demanded was getting the best of her, stretching the limits of her mind and it was starting to crack.

Perhaps, she should consider telling her people to keep an eye out. They could watch her. She would choose Gitana and Lacey for starters. She felt as if she were electing a bipartisan committee to keep her normal.

She got off the freeway and drove into the mall parking lot. Lacey was waiting outside holding a Chai and looking benevolent and understanding. She flounced into the car seat, glanced at Chase and said, "You look the same."

"What? Psychiatric evaluations alter your physical appearance?"

"Who knows?" She scrutinized Chase, who didn't move the car an inch.

"I'm supposed to have people watch me."

"And you picked me?" Lacey reached over and squeezed Chase's shoulder, almost spilling her Chai.

Chase watched her. Lacey acted like she never got picked for basketball in PE class and her moment of glory had just arrived. "You've known me for a long time."

"So, I'd be a great observer. Look what I found at Borders." She pulled the book out of her enormous purse and handed it to Chase. "It's Kate Millet's The Looney-Bin Trip. She was crazy too—only she took lithium."

Chase exited the parking lot and pulled up to the stop sign. A red SUV ran the stop. Chase honked and flipped off the driver. "That's right, rules are just for stupid people. How hard is it to comprehend that a four-way stop is part of the social compact? You have to adhere to the social compact. If we don't adhere to it, anarchy ensues."

Lacey had tuned her out and was instead tuning in the radio. "Why do you always listen to NPR? It's so boring." She found a hip-hop station.

"Because I learn things." Chase got back on the freeway and headed up town to the Parker clinic.

"Oh, it's my song." Lacey began to sway to the beat.

"Who sings it?"

"Shakira. It's part hip-hop and Latino salsa. I love it."

Chase listened to the lyrics. "My hips don't lie..." or at least that's what she heard. "What the hell does that mean? My hips don't lie. If that's the case the cerebral cortex is located behind the cervix. Just think, we won't be needing pap smears anymore. One's hips could give the doctor the A-OK signal."

"You're so literal." Lacey turned up the music and ignored her.

Chase spent the rest of the drive wondering what kinds of things a cervix would ponder. When she pulled into the parking lot of the clinic, she said, "You can wait here."

"And miss the chance to see some hunk of a doctor? Not on your life."

They made their way to the pharmacy down the hall from the horribly crowded waiting room. Chase handed over her script and the pharmacy tech disappeared into the rows of drugs.

An attractive blonde doctor walked by. She said hello to Chase. She and Lacey watched her walk down the hall. The doctor turned around and smiled at Chase.

Lacey was disgusted. "Why do you get all the action?"

"Because gay people are usually attracted to other gay people."

"But it's not fair. Why did you get the good looks?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Whenever Chase looked in the mirror to check for toothpaste remnants on her chin or something hanging from her nose she saw a blond-haired woman with good teeth, a slim nose and a tolerably fit body— that was all.

Lacey continued her tirade. "Lesbians don't need to be good-looking. All they need is a large collection of flannel shirts and sensible shoes."

"That's complete and utter bigotry. I only have a few flannel shirts and you make trainers sound like square-heeled oxfords."

"What I meant," Lacey recanted, "Was that women are like chattel to men. Lesbians are interested in the entire package, not just the tits and ass part."

An elderly woman sitting at the edge of the waiting room gave them a disapproving glance.

"Be quiet," Chase said, poking Lacey in the ribs and nodding her head in the direction of the waiting room.

"Geriatric crew."

Chase poked her again. "When did you abandon your PC rhetoric?"

"Since I decided it was all crap and I should speak my mind. I don't use racial slurs. I draw the line there."

"But it's okay to abuse dykes and old people."

"All right, already, I take it all back," Lacey said.

"Good."

The pharmacy tech returned. "I'm sorry the drug rep didn't come today with the samples and we're completely out."

"When will he come again?" Chase asked.

"No telling, really." She tossed her brown ponytail and gave the appearance of caring by giving Chase a half grin and a hands up gesture. She gave the script back to Chase.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You can take it to your regular pharmacy and they can fill it."

"Great."
 
Chase turned around and muttered something unflattering about the inefficiency of HMOs.

"Come on, we'll hit Smith's on Menaul and then we can go shopping," Lacey said.

"I hate that store. It's like grocery shopping in a shoebox and I get really claustrophobic."

"Chase." Lacey took her arm and escorted her to the parking lot. "Let's get the pills you need to be a safer, saner person."

"All right."

They drove across town listening once again to Shakira singing about her hips not lying and something by the Black Eyed Peas about my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps. Chase rolled her eyes, thinking that this was what the world had come to, songs talking about body parts. And she was the crazy one.

The shoebox grocery store parking lot was full of cars. An old man in a black Crown Vic slowly pulled out of a spot, turning so that the long car was jammed up between the rows and it required much pulling forward and backing up before he got the car straight enough to pull out. Thoroughly exasperated, Chase said, "Why bother with the medication—the baby will be in college before we get parked."

"Chase, it's the middle of the day. These are retired people with diminished reflexes. Just thank God we don't have real jobs and have to suffer the after-work crowd. Now, those people are cutthroat."

Chase pulled into the spot vacated by the geriatric. It was not to her liking being right next to the cart return, thus putting her side panels at risk, but it would have to do. "I have a real job,"she contended.

"No, Gitana has a real job. All you have to do is write fifteen a day, keep your editor happy by turning things in on time and kiss your publisher's ass once in a while to keep on her good side."

"I suffer from writer's cramp and chapped lips," Chase said. She puckered her lips and made kissing noises.

Lacey collected her enormous purse and they exited the car. They entered the store, careful to avoid people with diminishedmreflexes now armed with shopping carts. The line for the pharmacy was long.