Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [115]
The minute the divorce was over, a black hole had suddenly taken up residence in my spirit. The Black Hole wanted what it wanted, and when it got it, it wanted more. The Black Hole wanted anything that could temporarily make me forget about the pain. I fed the Black Hole, and fed it and fed it. I went to doctors. I had a doctor who prescribed for my insomnia and a doctor who prescribed for my sleepiness. I had many doctors and they all made their contributions, and before long I had a complete pharmaceutical wardrobe—something for every occasion.
The Black Hole liked alcohol, too. With Cary, I had gotten used to wine with lunch and dinner, but I soon discovered that tequila was a far more effective delivery mechanism for alcohol. Every day was Cinco de Mayo, as far as I was concerned, and I couldn’t wait for margarita time, which started at six, then five, then four . . . then whenever the Black Hole decided it was booze o’clock.
The Black Hole liked marijuana, too, and I made the Black Hole marijuana brownies, which it accepted gratefully, and of which it always wanted more.
More, more, more.
Now that the divorce was over, I had to move once again, and I rented a small house on North Beverly Drive, partway up the canyon. Mom came down to help me move, and really just to keep me company. When the nanny was off and I had to be away, she took care of Jennifer. I was aware that Mom thought I wasn’t up to keeping it all together on my own, but I let her think that. I was happy to have the help. Feeding the Black Hole was a full-time occupation.
I was fine. I knew I was fine. Couldn’t get out of bed on a lot of days, but what’s wrong with staying in bed? Many nights I stayed up into the wee hours, drinking and playing “Bridge Over Troubled Water” at full blast until one of the neighbors shouted. It made me feel better, so what was wrong with that?
Yes, I was fine. But my mind had split into two parts: one part floated serenely like a balloon above the unhappy memories and the sense of failure, and the other part was . . . well, hurtling through space like a damaged satellite. How could I have let Cary go? I’d had it all. Successful husband, beautiful child, gorgeous home, and I walked away from it—only because I was weak. And when things got too loud, I just stopped hearing them, whether it was the voice of another person or the voices inside my head. I just disconnected, like I’d started doing with Cary. Lips moved, but all I heard was the sound of wind.
The ever-so-fine part of me had started dating a guy named Dennis. He was brilliant, magnetic, stunningly handsome, and occasionally coked out of his mind. Unlike Cary, he didn’t want to change me, and I couldn’t get enough of him, which is to say I couldn’t have all of him.
He wasn’t sure he was a one-woman man; he’d made that clear. But I would change that. Besides, I wasn’t just one woman. I was a whole bouquet of women, all unique, all deserving of love. All I needed was a guy who wanted to get to know me so he could introduce me to myself, and I was completely sure Dennis was the guy.
One night I had a dinner date with him. He was supposed to pick me up at six. Seven went by . . . at eight I tucked Jennifer into bed, sang her a song, and read from her beloved Winnie the Pooh book.
Then it was nine . . . not even a phone call. At ten, I tried to call him, but there was no answer.
I went to my bedroom and took a few tokes. At eleven, I changed into my white nightgown and brushed my teeth. I looked in on Jennifer, who was sleeping peacefully, and said good night to my mother. Then I sat on the edge of my bed and listened to the rain beating against the window.
I wondered if there was anything that could make the pressure in my head go away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Zoo Time
It took three men to hold me down.
They were big men, the size of linebackers. I wasn’t sure where I was, but I was sure I wanted to get out of there, and all 108 pounds of