Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [66]
“Excellent. So there’s a possible unrecognized chemical dependency issue. We’ll do a blood workup on her. Now, this state she’s in, you say it was caused by a recent event involving a stalker?”
John told the doctor everything he knew, which wasn’t much. He explained, “For the past month, she’s seemed to be under a lot of pressure, just very tense—and then after the disposable razor thing, she snapped.”
“Now this disposable razor incident you mention, finding all those razors scattered about the yard, do you believe there is any connection to those razors and her sudden reaction when you began using your electric shaver?”
John shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said, I don’t have any idea, all I know is that she was stabbing the shaver against her arms and she kept screaming ‘hairy bitch’ over and over again.”
“Hairy bitch?” the doctor asked, looking up from his notepad.
“Yup, ‘hairy bitch.’ That’s what she was screaming.”
“Interesting.” The doctor made another note and asked, “Now, you mention Debby Boone. Is this the same Debby Boone who sang that song—”
“ ‘You Light Up My Life,’ yeah, that’s her.”
“Ah, that’s the song I was thinking of. Lovely song. In any case, what exactly is your wife’s relationship with Ms. Boone?”
“Again, I have no idea. She kept saying she needed to talk with Debby. I had no clue what she was talking about until our next-door neighbor, Tina, who was there when the police interviewed my wife, explained to me that my wife had recently been, I guess, in contact with her, with Debby Boone.”
“Mr. Smythe, please don’t take offense at this next question, I’m just trying to explore all the options here.”
John nodded.
“Well, do you believe there is any chance that perhaps your wife and Ms. Boone were involved in some sort of physical relationship that perhaps didn’t work out and this is what could have led to your wife’s suicide attempt?”
Peggy Jean . . . a lesbian? It just wasn’t possible. Was it?
“No, I don’t think that’s it at all. My wife is not—my wife— she loves me. I mean, we have three children, boys, you know?”
“I understand, Mr. Smythe. Like I said, I’m just exploring all possibilities here in order to understand and help your wife.”
“I can’t imagine. . .”
“That’s fine, Mr. Smythe, we don’t need to continue with this right now. The important thing is your wife is here and she’s safe and we can begin to help her.” The doctor rose from his leather desk chair and extended his hand for John to shake.
“So is that it? I just. . . wait?”
“That’s all for now. We’ll keep you abreast of any developments, of course, but you must understand that for the first thirty days, your wife will not be allowed to have any outside visitors. She may make phone calls, though, if they are approved.”
John looked upset. He couldn’t cook.
“Here at the Anne Sexton Center, we believe in aggressive, total-immersion therapy. It’s important that your wife remain one-hundred-and-ten percent focused on her recovery.”
fifteen
“Mr. Palantino?” Max asked the voice on the other end of the line. “My name is Max Andrews. Up until recently I was an on-air host with Sellevision and the reason I’m calling you is because I saw something on the Leeza show.”
After getting the number of Eagle Studios in San Bernadino, Max had spent a good forty-five minutes on the phone trying to learn the name of the person he should talk to about possibly becoming an “actor” in one of Eagle Studio’s releases. He had finally been directed to a producer named Mr. Palantino.
“A host? On Sellevision?” Mr. Palantino asked. “Why would you want to go from that kind of job to this kind of job?”
Max told him about the Slumber Sunday incident. About the