Part 4 (1/2)
Angie pushed past Sara, who put up just a little resistance before dropping her arm.
”Did you run all the way home and lock the door behind you like the last time?”
”I said I don't want to talk about it.”
The radio news came on. Sara tuned out Angie and listened.
...calling for reform of the insanity defense in the wake of the Hinckley verdict. Hinckley was unable to distinguish between fantasy and reality and became obsessed with the film 'Taxi Driver.' He planned the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt on President Reagan in an effort to impress actress Jodi Foster ...
Angie went into the living room, heading for the stereo.
”Please don't turn it off,” Sara said.
”Why not? Maybe we ought to talk about that first, huh? Why do you always need to have the radio or TV on?”
Sara stood in the living room doorway. Angie turned off the stereo. ”Tell you what,” she said. ”You choose. We'll talk about the stereo or we'll talk about how you ran out of school again. But you've gotta give me something, okay? C'mon.” Angie put her arm around Sara's shoulder, leading her toward the dining room where Sara had her books spread out on the mahogany table.
Angie lowered her voice. ”Being afraid all the time is eating away at you. It's messing up your life. You can't keep living like this. And also, you drive me nuts when you're like this.”
Sara sighed, melting into the Queen Anne dining chair. ”I'm just shy, that's all.”
Angie sat down in the chair next to Sara's. Sara stared out the window, past the ornate gold drapes and across the neatly trimmed gra.s.s to the flawless burgundy brick home next door.
”You're not just shy, Sara. You have a real problem. I asked Mrs. Leigh about shyness, and she said that sometimes it's much more serious than it looks.”
”You talked to Mrs. Leigh about me?” Mrs. Leigh was the psychology teacher at their school. She looked like an owl, with round gla.s.ses, baggy clothes, and her hair perpetually in a bun.
Angie flipped her wrist, waving away Sara's concern. ”I didn't mention your name. But she said that sometimes people are a lot more than shy. She called it social phobia. I think that might be what you have, Sara. I think you really need help.”
”I'm shy. That doesn't mean I'm crazy! Besides, there's probably way more to that ... that phobia thing than that.”
”There is. She said most of the time shyness is no big deal. It's only a problem only when it starts interfering with a person's life - you know, like making them run out of cla.s.s when they think everyone's staring at them and evaluating them and thinking negative s.h.i.+t about them?”
”I hadn't done that in a really long time, and then you Oh, just forget it.”
Angie nodded several times, quickly. ”And then I what, Sara? And then I got you to stop drinking before school every day? I bugged you until you stopped bringing vodka in soda bottles? Is that what you were going to say?” Angie could see through Sara's defensive sh.e.l.l.
Sara raised her chin defiantly. ”I hadn't run out since eighth grade! It was totally under control!”
Angie didn't bother to respond.
Sara moaned through gritted teeth, then put her head down, her perpetually numb left elbow under her forehead. ”I wish I was crazy, Angie. Wouldn't that be a great escape from whatever haunts you? To have that kind of brain where nothing sticks and your craziness just insulates you from the world?”
”No,” Angie said. I don't think being crazy would be nice. And you don't, either.”
”Maybe just a little crazy. Temporarily crazy?”
”Be serious. This thing is doing just what Mrs. Leigh said. It's interfering with your life! That's you, Sara. That's you, and you know it. All of it. And now we know why. It has a name. Social phobia.” She stood, staring down at Sara as if accusing her of a crime. ”Tell me this. Do you ever get so nervous that you feel like you're floating outside your body ... like you're watching yourself from somewhere else?”
Angie would never understand. ”No. I don't do that. I'm not crazy.” Her head remained on the table.
”Well, she said that's not essential for a diagnosis, anyway.”
”I don't need a diagnosis. I'm not crazy.” Angie stared back at her, about to say something. Sara sat up again. ”And ... and even if I am crazy, what difference does that make?”
Angie's face went blank.
”What should I do, Angie? Should I go tell my mom that I have a ... a diagnosis of ... whatever you called it? Or how about my dad? What do you think my parents would say to that?” Sara stood up. ”Yeah. Now it's my turn to point out the obvious. Don't look at me that way; your parents would turn on you just as fast if you had a problem.”
”I'm only trying to help you, Sara.”
Sara stared. ”I know,” she said. ”You're the only one who's ever tried.” She sniffed and shook her head, forcing a friendly smile. ”And anyway, it doesn't matter about my parents, because I'm not crazy, okay?”
Angie sat down next to her. ”No, dear. You're not. But let's help you. How about we just keep the radio off for a little while, okay? I'll sit in the living room and you stay here, and we'll just work quietly in different rooms awhile. All right? Let's just try it.”
Sara sniffed, nodding. ”All right.”
Angie went into the living room. Sara heard zippers from Angie's backpack and then some rustling papers. Then there was silence.
Down deep inside Sara, a little part of herself was locked away. It was lonely there, empty. And in the silence the rest of her started to disappear into that s.p.a.ce like water down a drain. She lost her focus, her vision going dark.
She only realized she was sobbing when something started to pull her back out. She reached for it, her vision coming back. It was Angie's hand, resting on Sara's shoulder.
The decor inside the Blue Lotus continued the Egyptian theme evidenced by the sign out front. The club was covered in ancient-looking hieroglyphics, but the blue and green neon gave the place its modern, urban feel. A giant blue neon lotus flower illuminated the dance floor from the wall above a small stage suitable for live bands, and on the opposite wall a huge movie screen showing pictures of ancient gold treasures like masks and statues. The dance floor glowed with wild lights and dancers gyrating in gold lame' and sequins.
She stared at the people, wondering. How many of you are dying from broken hearts tonight?
Alexander's ”group” turned out to include Neil and a short, red-headed kid named Cameron, as well as a woman they all called ”Big Momma.” They all gave Sara the same weird sensation Alexander did, like there was more to them than she could see. Maybe it had something to do with the translucent skin they all had. They glowed under the club's neon in a strange way that most of the other patrons did not.
Now they were all gone again. They'd been slipping away into the dark and then popping back to the table all night.
Sara closed her eyes, fighting the temptation to put her head down on the table. Instead she sang along with the music, actually seeing the words in her mind as she sung them. ”I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something ...”
The waiter brought Sara another free martini. He had the glow, too. h.e.l.l, the whole d.a.m.ned place was just chock full o' vampires tonight.
”Hey,” she said, leaning closer to him. ”How come you let us in the back door? How come our drinks are free?”
The waiter stared at her for a few beats. ”Your date is ... an old friend,” he said. Then he vanished.
A hand gripped her shoulder. It was Alexander, back from another of his little excursions. ”Hey,” he said. ”I gotta step out for a little bit. You'll be okay here 'till I get back, right?”
”What?” Her eyes welled up. ”Are you really trying to ditch me?”
”No, no. Nothing like that. I'll be back. But I got to make a quick run to see a guy, is all. Just hang out, all right?”
”f.u.c.k you, you f.u.c.king a.s.shole. I knew this was a mistake. You're gonna just leave me here alone?” She took a drink from the new martini, which tasted watered down.