I stayed in the dining room, waiting for Kate to return. I could tell our friends were curious about the interaction with the Sheriff’s deputies.
“I didn’t know Kate is a Marshall,” Norma said.
“She’s trying to travel incognito.”
“You knew her before the workshop?” Julie asked.
“We met in San Francisco, lost contact, and reconnected here.”
“Why did you lose contact?”
I thought before answering Julie. “The best explanation is that when we met, we liked each other but we weren’t prepared to have a romantic relationship.”
“And now you are?”
“Yes. I think we are.”
“I hope so,” Julie said. “You guys seem like a good fit.”
Kate returned and told us the Sheriff’s deputies were investigating the death of Malcom Eastwick.
“It sounds like they think that Malcolm’s death wasn’t an accident,” I said.
“That’s the impression I got but they didn’t say that. What do you think?”
“I think that Malcolm made a lot of enemies.”
“How did he get along with you and Fiona?”
I shook my head. “Malcolm was like several of our rich entitled male customers, always trying to hit on Fiona.”
“How did she handle it?”
“She laughed at him. Called him Puer Aeternus.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I think it literally means ‘eternal boy.’ She took a course in the Enneagram and told me that Malcolm fit the category of men who never grow up.”
“She wasn’t pissed off at him?”
“No. He might have been pissed off at her, for laughing at him, but he still gave us business.”
The six of us walked together to the afternoon session. Kate and Norma arm in arm with Julie.
When we entered the conference room, David asked Kate, “Did the police talk to you?”
“They found me at lunch, but I didn’t have anything to tell them about Malcolm,” Kate said.
“I hate to malign the dead,” David said. “But the Institute will probably run better now that Malcolm’s out of the picture. The last few years, he’s been a pain in the ass.”
Kate looked at me and raised her eyebrows.
We sat down and waited for the room to fill.
“We’re going to continue around the circle,” Cheryl said. “Aoife, it’s your turn.” She nodded at a distinguished, red-headed woman sitting next to Theo.
She scooted forward. “My name is Aoife. A-O-I-F-E. You pronounce my name EE-fa; somewhat like e-VA.”
The entire group said, “EE-fa.”
“I’m a tenured mathematics professor at Cal, with a specialty in numerical analysis. I live near the campus with my husband, who’s a doctor, and our two daughters. I was forced to leave my campus duties because I was stalked.” Aoife’s eyes teared.
Cheryl moved forward and slid a box of tissues near Aoife.
“Last year, I was assigned to the dissertation committee of a mathematics student I will call Ray. I didn’t know him; he’d never been in any of my classes. Shortly after Ray submitted a dissertation proposal, the chair of the committee, Nance, became ill, and I took over. I received Ray’s proposal and found it incoherent. It wasn’t just poorly written; it made no sense. I attempted to contact Nance to discuss this proposal, but his illness had become more severe – he died a couple of months later. I invited Ray to drop by my office and discuss his proposal.” Aoife stopped and took a sip of water.
“Ray came in and I was shocked by his manner and appearance. You may understand that at the University of California at Berkeley we are accustomed to students affecting a wide range of lifestyles. We also have a large number of students for whom English is a second language and, therefore, I am accustomed to students who have difficulty expressing themselves. Even given this background, I was shocked by Ray’s appearance and conduct. He dressed in tattered clothes, smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a week, and talked gibberish.”
Aoife told us she had tried to work with Ray but was unsuccessful. Finally, she recommended that he be dropped from the PhD program. After that occurred, Ray stalked her. When he began delivering threats and ominous messages to her home, Aoife took a leave of absence.
“That sounds very hard, Aoife.” Cheryl moved closer. “How can we help you?”
“I’m not sure. It feels good to be in such a supportive group, with so many strong women.” Aoife looked at Kate.
The female participants offered support to Aoife. Kate suggested they talk during the break.
“You’re next, Paul,” Cheryl said to the middle-aged man sitting next to Aoife. He was the same guy I had seen praying in the baths, that morning.
Paul was thin, and dressed in a worn gray tracksuit. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed and flecked with gray, and his shoulder were slumped. He would be good looking, I thought, but he appears to have given up. His shoulders were slumped.
“I congratulate you all for your bravery,” the man said. “I can relate to all your stories. Particularly that of Theo. Theo is burnt out as an oncologist. I am burnt out as a priest.”
“Tell us your full name,” David said.
“Good idea,” the man laughed. “My name is Paul Rossi. I am fifty-two years old, born in San Francisco. I have been a Catholic priest for the last twenty-five years.” He reached down for his thermos and gulped water. “I studied with the Jesuits at Santa Clara. Because I am a fluent Spanish speaker, I worked as missionary in Central America for fifteen years. The last ten years I have been working in the East Bay.”
“There’s a lot about being a priest I like. I like the isolation. Until recently, I found comfort in our daily routine: mass, simple living, prayer, and so forth.” Paul paused and looked around the room. “Until recently I enjoyed pastoral care; I enjoyed hearing confessions; I enjoyed talking to lay people. Then something changed; I felt that I had used up my allocation of empathy. I felt that my heart had dried up.” Paul looked down at the floor. “I prayed on this, and I talked to my confessor, Brother Ray. A couple of months ago, I decided to leave the church. Brother Ray convinced me to come here and take this workshop to help clarify my thinking.”
David got up and walked close to Paul. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel defeated. I feel that my heart has been damaged and, therefore, I have nothing further to offer the church.”
David closed his eyes and then opened them. “You believe in the soul?”
“Yes.”
“In your belief system, are the soul and the heart synonymous?”
Paul placed his hand on his chest. “They are close but different parts.”
“Okay. I want to try something,” David said. “Have your soul talk to your heart. Have your soul ask your heart what’s happening and what it needs.”
“Out loud?”
“Whatever feels comfortable,” David said. “If you’d rather have an internal dialog, do that and then report back.”
Paul closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his chest. His lips moved but his words were inaudible. After a couple of minutes, Paul spoke. “My heart needs to be replenished. I want to be guided by spirit, but I need to care for myself.”
“What does ‘care for myself’ mean?”
Paul laughed. “It means to have some fun. It means that I need to receive love as well as give it.”
“Do you want feedback?”
“Of course.”
No one raised their hand. I thought when Fiona died, my heart needed to be replenished. That’s why, at first, I wasn’t ready for a relationship with Kate.
“Thanks again,” David said. “We’re going to take a ten-minute break.”
“I’m going to talk to Aoife,” Kate said. “I have an idea how I can help her.” Kate squeezed my hand and got up.
After ten minutes the group started up. “It’s your turn, Tammy,” Cheryl said to the woman sitting next to Paul.
Tammy was in her forties and attractive in a “country-club” fashion. Overdressed for Satori, wearing clothing more suitable for a golf event than a psychological workshop. Too much makeup and hair gel. She slid forward on her pillow. “Hi everyone. I’m Tammy. I live in Fresno.” She made a face. “I’m a member of the Earle club.”
The women laughed.
“I’ve been married to my husband, Ernie, for twenty-five years. We have two kids, both in college.” She wrapped her arms around her chest and sighed. “We met at UT, the University of Texas. We were married in Plano, moved to Dallas, and then ten years ago came to Fresno, when Ernie got a promotion.”
Tammy scanned the room, looking at the women in the group. “Ernie is a good old boy. If he was here, today, you’d probably all like him. But he’s a player. Since I’ve been with him, he’s played around, always had a woman on the side. And I’ve gotten sick and tired of it.”
“You might ask, ‘Why do you put up with shit, Tammy? You seem like a smart gal.’” Tammy began to cry.
Cheryl slid tissues to Tammy.
Tammy picked up a tissue and wiped her eyes. “You might ask that and the reason I usually give is that Ernie is a good guy. When he’s around and focused, he’s lots of fun. He’s been a good provider and good in bed – at least he used to be.” Tammy looked at the floor and mumbled, “We haven’t had sex in six months.”
Tammy dabbed her eyes. “You might ask why I put up with Ernie?” She sighed. “The real reason is that I never learned how to set limits. Year after fucking year, I’ve let Ernie roll over me because I can’t seem to say ‘enough.’” The tears fell faster. “I’m just like my mother, as much as I hate to admit that.”
“A year ago, Carol, one of my tennis partners, told me that she had gotten a handgun to protect herself from Antifa. At the time, there were rumors that Antifa was going to attack Fresno and we were all scared, even though we live in a gated community. Carol said she felt safer with her little gun, and she enjoyed firing it at the shooting range. I went with her, and I liked shooting it, too. So, I started thinking about getting a gun.”
“Then, last month, Ernie and I were going to go to the Eastern Star’s gala. At the last minute, Ernie cancelled, saying he had to be away on business, even though he knew how much it meant to me. I knew that he was going somewhere to fuck Trini, his current girlfriend. I was very angry, and it occurred to me that if I owned a gun, I could use it on Ernie – maybe not shoot him dead but do something like shoot him in the balls. I talked to my therapist, Myrna, about it, and she suggested that before I bought a gun I should come here.”
“Good idea,” Cheryl said. “What do you need from us?”
“I’m not sure,” Tammy said. “I needed to come here and tell everyone how angry I am.”
“And get laid,” Kate whispered to me. I bit my tongue.
Cheryl peered at Tammy. “Does Ernie know how angry you are?”
“He sure as shit ought to. I’ve yelled at him enough.”
“Have you tried going to couples counseling?”
“My therapist suggested that, but Ernie wouldn’t do it. We did have a meeting with our pastor, John. He suggested that we pray and read the bible together. Ha.” Tammy laughed a hollow laugh. “My church doesn’t believe in divorce.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Cheryl handed her a tissue. “It sounds to me like you are stuck.”
Tammy stared at her hands. “I guess that’s right.
“Imagine that you had a friend who came to you with a relationship story similar to that of you and Ernie. What would you tell your friend?”
Tammy cried and Cheryl waited.
“I’d tell her to get out,” Tammy said in a faint voice.
“I don’t think everyone in the group heard you.”
“I’d tell her to get out of the relationship while she still has her self respect.”
Cheryl waited.
“You think I should get out of the relationship?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You just told us that if a friend came to you with a relationship story like that of you and Ernie, you would advise her to leave the relationship.”
“Uh huh.”
Cheryl waited.
“I’m taking everyone’s time,” Tammy said after a few minutes.
“Fortunately, you’re at the Satori transitions workshop and you can take as much time as you need.” Cheryl waited.
Tammy dried her eyes. She had a sip of water. “I should divorce Ernie,” she whispered.
Cheryl remained silent.
“My church won’t like it, but I should divorce Ernie.”
Cheryl waited a few more minutes. “You’ve done some good work here, Tammy. Would you like some feedback?”
“I guess.”
Several people put up their hands. Cheryl selected Norma.
“You might ask yourself: which option would my church prefer? That I divorce Ernie or that I shoot him?”
Everyone in the group laughed.
Norma continued. “Given my experience, you would be better off if you lived by yourself.”
Several participants signaled their agreement.
“But I haven’t lived by myself for twenty-five years,” Tammy whispered.
“You’re actually living by yourself now,” Norma said. “You aren’t willing to acknowledge it. Ernie has left your marriage.”
“That’s harsh,” Tammy said.
“It may be harsh,” Norma continued. “But it’s the truth. You came here because you knew your marriage was over and you didn’t know what to do next.”
Tammy stared at Norma for a minute and then nodded yes.
“That’s a good place to wrap up,” Cheryl said. “You’ve done good work, Tammy.”
Tammy spontaneously hugged Cheryl and then the two of them scooted back to their positions in the group.
David spoke to the man sitting next to Tammy. “It’s your turn, Lucky.”
The man got to his feet. He was short, well built, clean-shaven with short curly black hair. The guy I thought was stoned last night.
“My name is Lucky Moretti. I’m from New York City, I live in SoHo.” He paced while he talked. “I’m gay and I’ve been a gay activist for many years.” He made a fist and tapped it into his open left hand. “I was active in ‘Act Up’ and other militant gay groups. I’m HIV positive but avoided AIDS; my partner, Jose, was not as fortunate and died eight years ago. I’m a script writer working primarily with TV series, so I have plenty of money.” Lucky sighed. “I’m an alcoholic and a coke addict.”
He retrieved his thermos and sipped water. “Eight months ago, I was stopped for speeding on the Jericho turnpike; the cops searched my Jaguar and found my pipe and some crack cocaine. I got a good lawyer and fought the charges. There were issues with the search and so we finally bargained the charges down to a fine and probation. To fulfill my probation orders, I started going to therapy. One thing led to another, and my therapist suggested I come here.”
“What did you expect?”
“I thought I’d get out of New York City, come to Northern California and chill.” Lucky flashed a wry smile. “When the workshop started, I thought I didn’t belong, but now, because you all have been so honest, I feel like I do belong. I feel like I have a problem that I need to work on in a supportive environment.”
“Good,” David said. “How can we help you?”
For a moment, Lucky seemed at a loss for words. He coughed. “My therapist helped me see that deep down I suffer from lack of self-esteem. Between rejection by my family, getting hassled by the community, and losing Jose, I wanted to kill myself. So, I chose to do this through alcohol and cocaine binges.”
“What do you think?”
“I think her analysis makes sense.” Lucky’s eyes teared up. “Jose was good for me; he made me feel loved and accepted. His death was a big deal.”
David handed Lucky the box of tissues and Lucky dabbed his eyes. “What do you need from this group?”
“Straight talk.” Lucky looked around the room. “How many of you have had problems with drugs or alcohol.”
Six people raised their hands including Rory, Theo, and Tammy.
“I need for you to call me on my bullshit,” Lucky said.
As Lucky interacted with the group, I reflected on the similarities and differences in our stories. Both of us had suffered from the death of our beloved partner. Lucky had turned to alcohol and cocaine. I had chosen to work night and day. I thought, I didn’t turn to addiction because of Fiona; she was in recovery, because of her I had stopped using drugs and alcohol. Then I remembered that, as part of her recovery, Fiona had come to Satori and had intensive therapy. I recalled that Fiona had known Malcolm then. She’d said something about Malcolm and drugs, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Could drugs have something to do with Malcolm’s death?
“Good work everyone,” David said. “Let’s take a break.”