“You can leave,” I said to Jack.
He chuckled, walked to the sideboard and started to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Not on your life.” He motioned to the coffee cups, I shook my head no, and he made his way to one of the empty chairs. He was about to sit down when he asked Lorelei, “Is this one okay? Should I sit somewhere else? Is there a seat especially for Johanna, or does she have to stand there and take it.”
I shot him a screw-you look which he only raised a brow at. He took off his jacket, hung it on the back of the chair and sat down. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, as if settling in for a game of cards.
“No, no, that’s fine, Jack, right there,” Lorelei said, quickly recalculating the ceremony now that there was a guest star. “Oh, this is great.” She pointed to the young man’s stack of papers in front of him as if he should write this pertinent information down. “Jack and Jo used to be…” I waited for her to define what I couldn’t. I noticed Jack seemed to do the same. “Well, anyway, whatever it was, it ended because of Jo’s gambling.”
The young man seemed to think that very important indeed and wrote it down.
Jack and I both opened our mouths, ostensibly to correct Lorelei, but then our eyes met, and we both kept quiet. Jack buried his head and took a very long drink from his cup.
“This is Monty, by the way,” Lorelei said pointing to the young man. Monty shook hands with Jack, who sat on his left. He started to get up and shake mine, but I waved him down.
I sat at the head of the table, where Lor seemed to want me.
“This is his first intervention,” Lorelei added with a warning in her voice.
“Don’t worry, Monty,” I said. “It’s not my first one, I’ll talk you through it.”
Monty sagged with relief, then seemed to remember that I was not the one who should be leading this thing. Flustered, he shuffled some more papers, pulled some note cards out and quickly looked through them. He placed them on the table in front of them.
Note cards. Too cute. Jack looked at the cards and then at me with a small smirk on his face.
“Be nice,” I mouthed to him. He raised a brow at me, our eyes locked, and God, it felt like the weeks had slipped away and that any minute he’d be leading me down the hallway and to my bedroom.
Monty cleared his throat. “Ms. Dawson…um…” He seemed to have lost his place already.
Ah, well, at least he got my name right.
“Why don’t you tell me how my addiction has hurt those around me,” I said to Monty, avoiding Jack’s gaze.
“Oh…oh…” That seemed to set Monty off, and he quickly reached for his folder. He finally found the paper he was looking for, set it in front of him and began. “Actually, the newest studies are placing compulsive gambling in the Impulse Control Disorder family.”
I looked at Ben and Lorelei. “Who needs you guys, I belong to a different family.”
Gus chuckled, Ben shook his head, and Lorelei ignored me. “Go on, Monty,” she encouraged.
“Yes, Monty, go on. Tell me about this family. Who are my new siblings?”
Monty looked from me to Lorelei, who nodded for him to go ahead.
“Well,” he said, his voice cracking. “Excuse me, I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s okay,” I said, feeling sorry for the guy. Poor Monty, his first intervention, and I knew damn well that it wasn’t going to end with him checking me into rehab. I hope he didn’t have a quota or anything. “You want something other than coffee? We’ve got everything. Water? Soda?” I looked pointedly at Jack. “Bourbon?”
“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” Monty said, though it looked like he could use a stiff belt.
“Is it?” I replied to Monty, my eyes still on Jack. If I had to endure him here during this humiliation, I wasn’t above hitting below his belt.
Monty cleared his throat again, took another sip of his coffee. “This is fine. Really. Thank you.”
“Why don’t you just tell us about this new study,” Jack said coolly.
Monty fished through his file cards until he found the one he was looking for. Apparently, my bringing up addiction threw him off his schedule.
“Compulsive gambling is now thought by some to belong to the Impulse Control Disorder family.”
“You already said that,” Gus said.
Monty registered Gus’ comment, but tried to stay his course. “Many psychological problems are characterized by a loss of control or a lack of control in specific situations. Usually, this lack of control is part of a pattern of behavior that also involves other maladaptive thoughts and actions, such as substance abuse problems or sexual disorder.”
I looked at Jack. “Any problems there?”
A slow, shit-eating grin crept across his mouth. “Substance abuse? Nope, that’s more my thing. The other? No disorder there.”
Gus snorted. A small smile tugged at the edges of Ben’s mouth. Lorelei sighed, I wasn’t sure from frustration or thinking about Jack and me in the sack. I know the thought made me sigh on a regular basis.
Monty was looking at Jack, measuring his substance abuse claim. I thought I saw his eyes grow wide, possibly with the thought of a two-fer. He brought his thoughts back to me and continued to read. “But, there are several psychological disorders that are defined primarily by loss of control. They are…” He paused, waiting for a drum roll?
“Intermittent Explosive Disorder,” he said, looking at all those around the table.
“And that is?” Ben asked.
Monty looked down at his papers. “Episodes of aggressive outbursts resulting in either destruction of property or physical assaults on others. Typically, this problem results in legal problems as well, because the individual is often charged with assault, or a domestic violence charge.”
“Well,” I said. “I was just questioned in a murder case…”
Monty got a gleam in his eyes. Ben gasped and I reached for his hand. “It’s all fine, Ben,” I said and squeezed his hand. I noticed Jack didn’t say a word, just watched me.
“That’s not it, Monty,” Lorelei said, dismissing with a wave of her hand the last two hours of me being in an interrogation room with Jack and Frank Botz. “There’s no aggressive outbursts with Jo. Go on.”
Monty seemed disheartened that he wasn’t going to get not only a trip to rehab but possibly a murder arrest on his first shot. “Domestic violence,” Monty continued.
I looked at Lorelei. “Nope, but I’m seriously considering it.”
“Next,” she said to Monty.
“Kleptomania,” Monty said, almost hopefully.
“Ya got me,” I said. I held my hands in the air, arrest style. “Officer,” I said to Jack, “take me in.” I looked over to Lorelei. “Those earrings of yours?” Her hands sprung to the sizable diamond posts. “Total five-finger discounted them. Of course, you’ll have to give them back, they’re evidence now.”
Of course I hadn’t stolen them, but they were ill-gotten gains of a kind, though nobody but me knew that.
She took her hands away, gave me a sneer and was about to have Monty move along, but he hadn’t seen our exchange and must have taken me seriously because he began to rattle off statistics about kleptos.
“A common misconception is that kleptomania is present in career thieves. This is generally not the case. Kleptomania is a relatively rare problem, and occurs with a much higher incidence in women than in men.” Monty, getting into it now, put a dramatic emphasis on the word “women”. “It is also out of character, or as psychologists describe it, ego dystonic. This means that the person does not want to steal and feels guilty about the behavior. In fact, other than the focus on an illegal act, this disorder has many features in common with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The essential difference is that, in addition to functioning as an anxiety release, the compulsive behavior in kleptomania also results in a temporary gratification.”
Everyone around the table had pretty much zoned out on this one, figuring, rightly so, I wasn’t a klepto. But me…well, I found that last part a little too close for comfort. The temporary gratification I felt when placing a sports bet was such a high, but later came the guilt.
When Monty saw he was losing his crowd, he went for the show-stopper. “Pyromania,” he said with dramatic flair.
I had hopes for Monty in this biz.
“Next,” Jack said, looking at his watch and totally stealing Monty’s thunder.
“Trichotillomania,” Monty said, with a bit of attitude in his voice. I could tell he’d really wanted to explore pyromania.
“Tricho what?” Ben said.
“Habitually pulling out your own hair, to the point of seeing noticeable hair loss, and experiencing pleasure or tension relief from the behavior.”
I looked at Lorelei again. “What if I achieve pleasure by pulling someone else’s hair out?” I got another dirty look from her.
“Or what if you achieve pleasure from having your hair pulled by someone else?” Jack said, his voice soft and low.
A flash of a hotel room in Pittsburgh rushed through my mind.
“Next,” Gus said. Poor Gus. The ladies’ man had been out of circulation for too long.
“And finally,” Monty said.
“Thank God,” everyone but Lorelei said.
“Pathological Gambling.”
“So I’m pathological now?”
“Shhh,” Lorelei murmured, her attention all on Monty.
She meant well, I knew that. I kept quiet and waited for Monty to continue.
“This impulse control problem consists of persistent maladaptive gambling that creates serious life problems for the individual. This is different from recreational gambling and is diagnosed by the impact it has on your life and by the lack of control rather than the amount of money gambled or lost.”
I waited for somebody to yell next, or to make a joke, but there was only silence. Monty kept reading. “Individuals with this problem engage in recurrent maladaptive gambling that usually disrupts their personal life, and frequently interferes with their work as well. Some individuals develop severe financial problems, resulting in personal bankruptcy, and others engage in criminal activity to cover their financial losses, such as embezzlement. This does not include uncontrolled gambling that occurs as part of a manic episode.”
He looked up. All eyes were on me. I refused to put my head down, to show emotion of any kind. I waved for Monty to go on.
“There are some social differences in the pathological gambling patterns of men and women. Men usually begin a pathological gambling pattern during their teen years, while women are more likely to develop the problem when they are older.”
“How much older?” Lorelei asked.
“It doesn’t say,” Monty said and started to flip through his cards.
“Just get on with it,” I said, and Monty’s head bobbed up. He looked around the table, saw that the joking was gone and ducked his head back to his papers.
“Pathological gamblers frequently need to increase their risk to stay involved. They have often tried to stop without success, and tend to gamble as an escape from problems. In particular, they may gamble to relieve depression. They may commit illegal acts to hide their losses, and frequently “chase” their losses by making bigger bets to “get even.” They may endanger their job or their family relationships because of this problem, and they will probably lie about the extent of their gambling.”
My head turned quickly to Jack. “I never lied to you,” I said, repeating what I’d told him in the car.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Monty wrapped up, “Participation in Gamblers Anonymous is often helpful, but the individual should also seek psychotherapy, especially for the underlying depression.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
I looked at Ben, saw concern on his face. I turned to Lor, expecting to see triumph, but was met by a look that was so poignant that I quickly turned to Gus, hoping – praying – for a little levity. He only placed his hand on mine and gave a little shrug.
And then I looked at Jack. It wasn’t pity. No, I would never get that from Jack. That’s why he was the one that got away.
It was a look of defeat, and of complete understanding. And that hurt most of all.
Monty pulled something else out from his folder. “I have a list of several psychotherapists in the area that specialize in – ”
I abruptly stood up with more force than I’d planned, causing my chair to crash dramatically to the floor behind me.
“We’re done here.”