Chapter 25

"So what did you think of Lee?" I asked Jon a few days after the party.

"I thought he was really nice." His tepid response was telling.

"Come on, Jon. Let's hear it."

"What do you want me to say? I liked him."

"But…?"

"Well, if you really want the truth, I don't see you guys making it for the long run."

Ouch. "Why?"

"I don't know, Ray. He seemed smart, like you said, but not as smart as you, intellectually, I mean. But that's not really the thing. It's like, when we talked he was trying to figure out what I wanted to hear instead of giving me his opinion. Like he knew you'd be asking me what I thought of him and he wanted to make sure I liked him. You know what I mean?"

"I guess. I'm not sure. Extrapolate."

"He's a consultant, essentially a salesman, right?"

"Right."

"Well, he's a damn good one if you want my opinion. All I'm saying is watch out."

"Watch out for what?"

"That he ain't selling you a bunch of crap. That what he says and what he is aren't two completely different things. I don't know. I just got the feeling that what I was looking at wasn't the full picture with Lee. Be careful. Anyway, I thought you weren't attracted to short, heavy-set guys."

"I'm usually not. I don't know what it is about him J. He makes me feel really special."

"I bet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's what makes him such a great salesman. He tells people what they want to hear. Look Ray, I don't want to see you get hurt. You had a lot of good reasons for your reservations. Why don't you have them anymore?"

"I do. I just want to give him a chance. You're the one who is always telling me that I expect too much from the men I date."

"That's true. Well, you know him better than I do. He seems nice enough, I guess," Jon said. "I hope he turns out to be everything you need. I really do. I want to see you happy with a good guy. You deserve it."

"And you don't think Lee is that guy?"

"I don't know him well enough yet. Just take it slow is all I'm suggesting. Get to know him through what he does, not what he says. That's going to take some time so try not to jump into this with your heart. Use your head." He was giving me the same speech I usually gave him, except I would say his dick instead of his heart. "You know all of this," he continued. "Do yourself a favor and take your own advice."

"Are you telling me I should walk away from Lee?"

"No. You asked me what I thought and I gave you my initial observation. I'm sure it's tainted by what you've been telling me since you met him. Maybe I'm even a little jealous you're falling in love, and not with me." He was trying to be kind, not a familiar space for Jon and he sounded corny instead, but I smiled at his attempt anyway.

4/13/92

Potential, like Intentions, or Love, are meaningless unless put into action.

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Two weeks after our party, I was in bed writing in my journal and watching the KTLA Morning News. CHP officer Theodore Briseno was testifying against fellow officer Laurence Powell for beating Rodney King in clips of the ongoing trial when Lee called. Shelly gave birth to a healthy girl the night before and he suggested we go see the baby on the weekend. I'd never been a enamored with infants, often fretting over the early stages of parenting, concerned how I'd manage slobbering, smelly, crying newborns that couldn't communicate beyond screaming. But I agreed to go. I wanted to see how Lee would be with a baby.

Saturday evening we were on our way down to Shelly and Steve's house in Long Beach listening to the Pretenders. I looked at Lee focused on driving. His face was fuller, like when we first met, making his features seem rather puggish, and I caught a glimpse of his father's profile, and felt nauseous.

He insisted on getting dinner before seeing the baby. The only place open in downtown Long Beach was a small steak and seafood place across from the harbor. During the work week the streets of the second largest port in the country were filled with foreign sailors, contractors and day laborers, but like downtown L.A., at night and on the weekends the place was deserted.

The restaurant was practically empty except for the bar which was filled with local boaters knocking back beers and shots. Lee and I sat across from each other in a dim booth, a candle in a red jar flickered on the table between us.

As a starter Lee ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a side of mushrooms in garlic and butter. After finishing those he moved on to a full rack of beef ribs. He was enraptured as he consumed each bite. Red sauce dripped down his fingers and coated the sides of his mouth. He ate like an animal devouring a fresh kill. I felt sick watching him eat. His gorging scared me. Like my mom with my dad, I'd likely spend a lifetime on Lee's case to control his eating. And I wanted to smoke a joint so bad I could taste it.

Pay attention! Intuition herald, though I didn't want to hear it. Lee wasn't overweight because of his ex-wife, but probably had been, and would be for life. I counted every morsel of food I put in my mouth since losing weight in high school. I'd had bouts with Bulimia to purge myself from my lack of discipline, and Anorexia to prove to myself I could control my own behavior. I played racquetball not for the love of sports, or even the game, but for the calorie burn. I absolutely refused to go back to being heavy like I was growing up, not only because thin was in, and forever will be, but letting myself get fat again was wearing addiction on my sleeve, and I absolutely needed to achieve more than the sum of my weaknesses.

"So, what do you want to do tonight after we see the baby?" Lee asked, licking his fingers. "Personally, I'd like to go back to your place or mine, smoke a joint, hang out and relax." He didn't look at me. He gobbled a huge bite of potato salad.

"Okay..." My skin prickled. "I was thinking about a movie or something like that." I kept it light, assumed he was just sounding off, inside my head again, joining me in my cravings. "We can stop at Blockbuster on the way home, pick up a video and watch it at my place."

"What I really want to do is go home, call Carl and score, get high with you over some backgammon, maybe take a jacuzzi later as a prelude to unencumbered sex." He said it matter-of-factly, his poker face on.

"You're serious." I practically whispered.

"Well, yeah. Look Ray, we've been straight for almost four months now. And that's long enough for me to decide I like stoned better. I mean, being straight is fine, not an issue while I'm working, but in the evenings sometimes I just want to relax and smoke a joint. And I don't see what is wrong with indulging occasionally."

"You promised me you'd quit using. You gave me your word, Lee. Or was that just rhetoric to get me in bed?" I shook my head. "I assumed you were good to your word and ready to grow up."

"You know what happens when you assume..." but he didn't finish the idiom aloud. "Exactly how long was I supposed to quit to prove to you I'm not addicted to weed? I told you back in January it wouldn't be forever and I'd go back to indulging occasionally."

"Three and a half months straight after a lifetime of using is nothing. I thought the point of quitting was to prove to me and yourself that you aren't addicted. You go back to using now and you're proving you are." I couldn't watch him stuff another forkful in his mouth so I stared down at my plate scattered with greens from my Caesar salad. And I don't even like salad. "You just don't get it, do you?" I felt like crying.

"What I get is that you're trying to be controlling. Look, let's just forget it for right now and go see the baby. I don't feel like getting into it, okay?"

It wasn't really a question. He picked up the bill. I took it away from him, laid some money on the table and we walked out. We didn't say anything on the ride to Shelly and Steve's. We cooed over their infant for a half hour or so, which was surprisingly cute with his tuft of blond hair and wide blue eyes, then sat around and talked about nothing for another half hour and left.

The atmosphere was thick between us in the car. He blazed along the 710 at 80 mph, pushed in The Cars Heartbeat City CD and didn't speak. I didn't either. It felt like if I said anything at all he'd come undone.

"I think I'm just going to drop you off at home." Lee finally spoke as we passed Griffith Park. "I'm feeling really tired and I want to get to sleep. We'll talk in the morning, okay?"

Again, I knew it wasn't a question. I tightened inside, fear and outrage vying for position. "Lee, is it all about the chase for you?"

"What?"

"I mean, did you just want to prove to yourself you can get anyone you set your mind to by telling me what I wanted to hear? Or were you for real about wanting to be with me?"

He sighed heavily. "No, my dear. It's not about the chase. I really want to be with you, Rachel. But sometimes I get the feeling you don't really want to be with me. The way you were looking at me over dinner. I know you thought I was being a pig. You don't like what I eat. You don't want me getting high. You insist on a condom between us.” He sighed again. “Look, forget it. I'm just tired. It's late. We can talk about this tomorrow."

I felt myself shriveling inside. I sat statue still hardly breathing, scared to speak, afraid he'd leave me forever if I uttered another word. I'd expected him to stay, like any Saturday night, hold me, spoon me, assure me everything was okay. I wanted him to want to change, to work at becoming what he'd promised me.

Lee turned into my driveway, pulled his Mercedes only up to the front door walkway, put it in Park and sat sullen behind the wheel.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in. I'll be nicer." I gave him a cheeky grin but he didn't acknowledge it.

"I just need some space tonight, Ray. Let's not make this into more than it is." He slid his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss, heartfelt but quick. "I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk then. Okay?"

"Okay." But I still felt afraid. I wanted him to be the man to save me, provide the life and family I sought, be my knight, or at least to still believe he could be.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I hesitated, then opened the car door and got out but turned back and bent down to see him. "You know Lee, there are moments I really love you."

He focused on me then and for a second I felt our connection. "To be honest my dear, moments may not be enough." His face hardened into his poker expression. Then Lee disconnected again, leaned over and shut the passenger door then backed out of the driveway.

I watched him pull onto the street and drive away, then went into the house, shut myself and Face in my bedroom and cried my eyes out. Lee was right. I was a judgmental bitch. He'd merely expressed the incessant desire for weed I too had been battling, and I'd indicted him for it. And even if he was suggesting he 'indulge occasionally,' would that really be so bad as long as it wasn't around me, or our kids.

Accept Lee for who he was or lose him. Lonely loomed, black and choking. My sister was right. I found fault with everyone I dated, from the pragmatists for being too detached, and quite frankly boring, to the creatives for being neurotic egomaniacs. Chris was right. We're all screwed up and I expected too much. And my parents were rightly enamored with Lee. He was the best thing I'd found in seven years, with an even more powerful connection than my childhood affections for Michael. And I prayed to hope I'd not chased him away.

It was lightly sprinkling, and what should have been a fifteen minute drive took almost an hour in crawling traffic to get to Lee's place. A black BMW with tinted windows crept alongside me like a spider. We jockeyed for first position in our respective lanes for a mile or so but when the Beemer's lane opened up allowing it to move ahead, it stayed pacing me.

Fuck. All I needed was to get shot before telling Lee I was sorry for tonight, for everything I'd done and said. A bullet to my head now would be a B-movie at best, a footnote among many between the headlines of the violence erupting all over L.A.

The BMW's driver and back windows opened simultaneously. Faces of at least three white boys looked comic green in the twilight from the headlights and freeway lamps. The guy in the back seat held what looked like beer bottles in both hands, an offering to me apparently, and yelled "Party! Party!" The driver and passenger pointed at the road sign for the Forest Lawn exit and yelled what looked like "Follow us!"

Trapped by the SUV in front of me and their Beemer on my right, I ignored them. Then one of them appeared through the sunroof, his body emerging from the vehicle to his waist. He waved wildly and when I continued to ignore him he threw a beer bottle at my car. I swerved into the breakdown lane and slammed on my brakes to avoid the bottle hitting my windshield, the car behind me just barely missing slamming into me. The BMW screeched away, the guy in the sunroof flipping me off as they went.

I tried to let go of my outrage as I stood at Lee's door and knocked. I thought I smelled pot, but then figured it must be his neighbor, Carl.

Lee opened the door and the smell of weed came rushing out into the hallway. "Hi. What are you doing here?" he asked casually, his green eyes glassy. When I didn't say anything he moved aside to let me in. "Come in if you want to."

"You're getting high," I managed.

"Yeah. Want to join me? Come in!" He gestured toward his living room.

I still didn't, couldn't move. It felt as if my blood was boiling. I didn't say anything in fear I'd come undone if I opened my mouth.

"Look, are you going to come in or not because I am not going to stand here with the door open for very much longer." He didn't say it mad, he spoke very matter-of-factly.

"I am afraid to."

"Afraid of what? Of pot? Of me? Of yourself? What are you afraid of, Ray?" He asked, more annoyed than anything else.

"I am afraid of you. I am afraid of myself. I am afraid if I come in I'll walk out high tonight and I don't want to get high anymore."

"Then don't. I'm not going to force you. Just come in. We can talk inside."

I heard the elevator ding, his condo right across from it. When the elevator door started to open I went into his flat. Lee shut the door and went into his kitchen where a bunch of weed was scattered in a box top. He glanced at me with his poker expression, completely disconnected, then went back to rolling a joint. I just stood there like an idiot watching.

"So, why are you here?" he asked as he licked the rolling paper and refined the joint between his fingers. He raised it in a toast at me before he stuck it in his mouth and sparked it. He took a deep hit, his expression taking on his Cheshire grin as he slowly exhaled.

I flipped. I smacked the joint out of his hand. Hard. It went flying into the living room and landed on the carpet still burning. Lee ran to get it. I went into the kitchen and wiped the counter clean in one pass. The buds of weed in the box top flew everywhere. "You fucking liar! I came over here to apologize to you, thank you for abstaining the last three and a half months, congratulate the achievement and beg forgiveness for denigrating it earlier. I came to give you the out with weed, to use occasionally if that's what you need, but you've already taken it. For how long, Lee? When did you go back to using? Or did you ever quit? And thanks for cluing me in mother-fucker!"

Lee ignored me, went in his kitchen holding the joint he'd retrieved then got on his knees to collect the buds scattered on the floor.

"I was straight up with you from the very beginning. You knew I didn't want to be with an addict. You promised me you were everything I've been holding out for. What happened to that?" My words pouring from my mouth like water through a dam. "I told you I need to be with someone disciplined, that I'm an obsessive like you, but you swore to me you weren't. Well, eating whatever you like without restraint isn't making me fat." I couldn't stop even knowing I was hurting him. "You said you were ready to grow up. You promised me you'd get your money shit together. How is blowing who knows how much on weed, and hundreds weekly on art you don't need and books you don't read getting it together?" It was a rhetorical question. "And how do you afford whatever your whim when you're $360,000 in debt?" I knew the answer to that too, but I managed to shut up.

"My money issues are not your concern, or at least they shouldn't be. I've treated you nicely, and that's all that matters." He didn't say it angry. He collected the weed from the floor and dropped in the box top.

"You really don't get it, do you." I stared at him in bewilderment but he didn't even glance at me. "If we're together, working towards forever, then every part of your life concerns me, from your addiction to weed, to your obsession with food, to your money problems. All of it. I'd hope my issues are of equal concern to you. I'm looking for total disclosure, complete transparency, not as a concept, a nice idea, but for real. I told you all this back when we first met, and again when you wanted to move beyond friendship. I thought you got it."

He took another hit off the joint and silently collected buds of weed.

I wanted to kick him in the head to get his attention but continued ranting instead. "And I'm not half as mad at you as I am at me. I'm an idiot falling for your crap, for not listening to my intuition when it told me you were just a good salesman, even to yourself— living in delusion about who you imagine you are but will never be."

"I'm not delusional, Rachel." He glanced at me then, his expression filled with arrogance and anger. "I'm your goddamn mirror, sweetie."

"Well, at least you got that right. And I'm yours, honey, reflecting you on your knees to obsession, modeling who I don't want to be, or be with." I walked out. Stormed out actually, slamming the door behind me.

I stood outside his door for quite some time, shaking, debating whether to go back in or not, hoping he'd come out, beg me to stay, agree to quit using again, call it a 'slip.' Maybe I was making a big deal out of nothing. Even if he was addicted to weed, if he was fully-functional, able to handle finances, family, and me, what did it matter? And I wanted to believe it, but didn't. My obsession with Lee was born out of desperation, in search of someone to save me from myself. I scoffed and shook my head at my idiocy, then pressed the down button on the elevator and when it opened to collect me for the third time, I got in and went home.

The red light on my answering machine was blinking when I got back after midnight. "Hi," Lee's voice sounded sad, not angry. "God, I guess I really blew it tonight. I know I promised you, and more importantly myself that I wouldn't get high and I blew it. I guess I am just not ready to quit yet. I know that's not what you want to hear. I don't know what to say to make things right between us. I'm sorry I let you down." He stopped, and I thought he hung up because there were several seconds of silence. "Call me. We need to talk." He paused again, then added quickly, "I really do love you, Rachel. Call me. Bye."

I dialed his number straight away, but hung up before connecting. My mind raced. I wanted to tell him I loved him and we would work things out together, but couldn't fathom how. He could never achieve the stability I sought in a partnership. He chose home alone to get high instead of being with me tonight. He'd choose using again and again over me. He had no intention of quitting weed. He didn't care about staying in shape, eating right, living healthy or getting his finances together. It was just a matter of time before he went back to gambling, assuming he wasn't doing it already. Lee was an addict, and I'd known this about him from our first phone conversation. Choose to stay with him and I'd have to settle on always being second to his siren of obsession. And my intuition clearly trumpeted, You don't need Lee.

4/16/92

Instant gratification is a hallmark of childhood, and addiction.

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