Chapter 5
Drew was lost in thought at the board meeting; or rather bored to death. The CFO and the President of A&R had gotten into a passionate argument about something. Drew wasn’t following the intricacies too closely. He was too busy being nervous about his therapy session later on that day. He’d taken Cal’s advice and changed to Dr. Arnold. He’d heard through the grapevine that her nickname was Isis and she was a major badass.
Furthermore, apparently she’d been in some sort of accident with acid and it had discolored her skin a little bit and if you looked at the marks she would dismiss you like an errant cadet. Drew didn’t want to say he was scared, but he was scared. Dr. Alexander had been really easygoing and it was great but he wanted accountability. He wanted someone who would hold him accountable for every set back, every misstep, every fall. And Cal said that Dr. Arnold was the one to do it. He just wished he was less scared right now.
He stood abruptly and the argument cut off mid sentence.
“Gentleman? Lady? I have better things to do with my time than listen to you argue over…whatever it is you’re arguing about. I suggest we all get back to work and put a pin in this until we are able to come up with amicable solutions.”
“But he-“ the CFO began to say.
“Ah,” Drew put up a hand to stop her, “Uh uh. I said, put a pin in it. Not bring it to me. Tewodres? Annie? Adjourn to Annie’s office right away and sort this out. Bring us answers not arguments.”
“Yes sir,” they said together and swung around to march out the door. Drew barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
“I have things to do so…” he nodded at the rest of the board and followed Annie and Tewodres out the door.
*****
The Better Tomorrow Recovery Center was packed at this time of day. The offices of Arnold and Alexander were off at an annex to the side. There were less people on this side, in fact there was only one person sitting in the waiting room, head buried in a gossip rag. Andrew took a seat and pulled out his phone, logging onto twitter and updating his status.
Fairly sure my shrink is going to shrink my balls with the power of her stare. #whyamIhere?
He put his phone back in his pocket and sat back. He could hear it vibrating in his pocket. No doubt he had lots of notifications. He didn’t really care; his twitter name was alcoholixanonymi and there wasn’t a picture of him so his company wouldn’t be affected by his updates, however crazy. It was his only outlet for all the crazy emotions he was experiencing. It wasn’t like he could call up his friends all the time. Besides, they could read his tweets and call him.
The secretary or assistant walked into the waiting room and smiled at him.
“Mr. Stanfield?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
“Follow me.”
Andrew followed him over the overly quiet carpeting to a door at the end of the corridor. He could feel his heart beating fast as the door came closer. The assistant/secretary opened the door and Andrew stepped in. There was a woman sitting at the table, writing something down on a pad. The discolorations were true; she had white patches at her elbow, between her fingers and the side of her neck. Andrew recognized them; he had been a big Michael Jackson fan and had looked them up when the King of Pop announced he suffered from it. Vitiligo. It was strange how curiously attractive he found them. Maybe it was spillover from his fan-boying. He wanted her to look up so he could see her face; not that he wanted her or anything. Oh no. Andrew didn’t do that anymore. He was a one woman man, and that woman was dead.
As if she defined his thought, she looked up at him and their eyes met. It was a very surreal moment. The depth in her eyes were drowning him and they hadn’t so much as said a word. Did she mean to draw him in like this or was it just some random super power of hers?
She smiled and her whole face transformed from something serious and no nonsense to innocent and childlike. She had dimples. Andrew suddenly felt like the room was too small for the two of them.
“Andrew Stanfield. It’s good to meet you at last,” she said standing up.
“At last?”
“Yes, your friend Cal has been quite vocal in his admiration of you.”
“Should you be telling me that?”
The smile widened, “I assure you Mr. Stanfield, I’m not telling you anything Cal doesn’t want you to know. He asked me to be sure and shout him out when you came.”
“Oh. Well he’s been a friend and very helpful.”
“He says the same of you.”
Andrew snorted, “Just two messed up men propping each other up.”
“Don’t knock it,” Seraphina said pointing at the soft cushiony sofa and stood up from her desk to walk towards it. Andrew followed her for lack of a better idea and sank down into the cushiony softness of the arm chair. Dr. Arnold sat down opposite him in an equally comfortable looking chair.
“So…my name is Seraphina Arnold. I’m a psychologist whose specialty is recovery. Doesn’t matter what you’re recovering from, my job is to keep you on track.”
“That’s…reassuring,” Andrew said.
Seraphina smiled that smile that confused him and then she shook her head, “If this is going to work, you need to be honest with me about what you’re feeling.”
“What I’m feeling?” Andrew was even more discombobulated. He’d thought this was just her introducing herself.
“Yes. We’re not making polite conversation here Andrew. We are attempting to form a connection. So, what you said just then, ‘that’s…reassuring’, were you being sarcastic? It didn’t sound like you meant it.”
Andrew almost smiled at her imitation of him but he could see she was dead serious, “I didn’t mean it. I’m scared shitless…is that allowed to say? Shitless?”
“Everything is okay to say.” She said and the smile blossomed on her face again.
“So, Andrew. Tell me. What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that I won’t measure up to your expectations of me. I’m afraid of letting you – and myself – down.”
Seraphina nodded, “That’s interesting. Are you giving up before we even start?”
Andrew looked down, “I…I’m tired doc. So tired. I don’t feel like I have anything left to give.”
“How long have you been dry Andrew?”
Andrew looked up, “Dry?”
“When was the last time you had a drink?”
“Oh, umm, three months ago give or take.”
“How long Andrew?”
Andrew was silent for a bit.
“Eleven weeks, four days,” he said.