Chapter 23
Upon finding herself alive at the water's edge, Rickie's next conscious action had been a slow, deliberate creeping of her bedraggled self across the sand for quite some distance before finally rising. Had Darwin been watching, he'd have been forced to abandon his theory of evolution. The ludicrous sight of her resembled at that point not so much a human being, but a singular moment in Darwinian adaptation gone very wrong. Wings failed to flap. Underpowered legs failed to propel. Gills remained gaping, wide open, gasping for air. The only possible explanation for Rickie's movement over the sands was resurrection--a Darwinian no-no.
Her eventual soaked, frozen arrival at Judy's door, accompanied by ravings about the importance of crippled cats and a recent sighting of the glorified version of the miscarried Jessica Edwina galvanized Judy into applying to this weird apparition not only a hot bath but even hotter soup.
Eventually as a result of Judy's tender mercies there appeared late in the day that Tuesday a better version of Rickie, with a warmed and reconstituted interior and exterior. Judy hustled her into the Voyager and drove straightaway to the Valley to present her to Dr. Black who she hoped would somehow likewise accomplish a similar reconstitution of Rickie's still half-drowned soul.
"A woman is beaten every twelve seconds in this country," Dr. Black said. "That's nearly 900,000 victims every year. Is it so terrible that once in awhile, a woman fights back?"
"When you put it like that, it seems like it was okay what I did," Rickie said.
Black and Rickie were sitting in the deep leather chairs in Black's office in the Valley discussing the no-win situation Rickie was in regarding Hirschfeld which led up to Rickie's failed attempt to drown herself. Rickie enthralled Black with this narrative of a suicidal effort which ended, not with death, but with a return rush of awakening consciousness and subsequent discovery of her lying in the surf like so much dead seaweed, soaked and filthy and battered.
"What led you to choose the gun?" Black queried.
"I was in a rage. I knew the gun could kill. When I emptied the gun at him, I meant to kill him. I thought I was doing it because of his betrayal with another woman, but now I've replayed it in my mind, I think it was because I couldn't stand the helplessness I was feeling. When I saw that woman's black nylons lying there on the floor in my bathroom, it was like somebody drove a stake into my heart and left me pinned to the wall alive, like an insect. That's what drove me to use a gun on my husband ... that feeling of helplessness ... it was a feeling so ugly only a good clean dose of murder could erase it."
At the end of Rickie's droll recital, Black rummaged in her desk and came up with a handful of drug samples. She poured Rickie a paper cup of water from the cooler and handed her a white ovoid pill. "I'm putting you on Xanax for the duration, until we get this thing into focus."
Rickie examined the pill. "Well, as they used to say, better living through chemistry." She popped the pill and washed it down with the icy water. "Dr. Black, why did I go back to Hershey this morning?"
"Your desire to return to your abuser is a common reaction in battered women," Black said. "Like it or not, you still feel attached to Hirschfeld, in spite of the fact he beats you. You weren't ready for the overwhelming loneliness you felt when you left him after the last beating. You got confused. It happens, Rickie. Forgive yourself and move on. You need a good meal and an old Bogart movie. Most of all, you need your friends around you. We're going to get your life back."
"I hope so," Rickie said, in a disbelieving tone.
"Rickie, how do you feel right now? Right this very minute?"
"I feel very ashamed of myself. Guilty. Very guilty, like I wish I could scrub my soul clean, but I'll never be able to."
"Why did you try to drown yourself as opposed to taking pills, or simply blowing your brains out?"
"I don't know for sure. Something came over me after I got to Judy's and I heard the surf roaring. I only knew it was time to end it."
"Do you regret still being alive?"
"I'm not alive. I'm somebody who's as good as dead. I'm only waiting for Hershey to make his next move."
"Hirschfeld's in the hospital. Not exactly in the kind of shape to be making a next move."
"There's a next move coming. I can feel it."
"Do you still want him dead?"
"Yes. Is that wrong?"
"It's honest. That's a start. By the way, I'm curious. Has the kitten been rescued?"
"Judy's gone over to The Dell save the stupid cat."
"After she does that, are you going to finish killing your husband and yourself?"
"Dr. Black, I ... I'm not sure I can answer that question. This may sound horrible, but I don't know if I'm going to kill my husband and then kill myself or not!"
Black stood up and removed her reading glasses, walking to the window. The afternoon was waning as darkness merged in from the east across the cloud-studded sky. In the distance, high up in the Sherman Oaks hills, past the clutter of rain washed high-rises, the headlamps from a thousand homebound commuters were shining like jewels in the mist. It was shaping up to be a fabulous evening in the abyss.
"If we were parked up on Mulholland, the Valley would be breathtakingly beautiful tonight," Rickie said. "Like a fairyland."
"I'm not going to place you in custody," Black said. "Technically, I should have you put under observation for the next 72 hours. My instincts tell me you came back for a reason. A woman with a reason for living, even if it's only the rescue of a crippled kitten, isn't going to kill her abusive husband or herself. Rickie, trust me; the place where you fell is also the place where you will rise again."
"This all started when I slipped and fell in my kitchen. Is that the place you mean?"
Black smiled. "If that's where you must be resurrected, that's where we'll do it."
"Hershey took my kitchen away from me the day he killed my baby there. That kitchen is lost to me now. Oh God, I'm crying! Will the tears never stop?"
"How would you feel if we took back your kitchen?"
"I don't know. The truth is I've never considered the place my home. If you get my kitchen back, if the place finally feels like home, I'll cook you something."
"Baby, by the time we're finished, you'll be cooking up a storm. I hope you have a good recipe for quail."
"Are you kidding? I have a great recipe with sage and onion stuffing! Dr. Black, you get me my kitchen back and no quail will ever be safe in Los Angeles again."
"Rickie, I work with a group of women who are sorting through some of the same issues as you are. Can you meet us tomorrow morning at 9 A.M.? We'll be in the back booth having breakfast at Du-Pars on Ventura. Do you know the place?"
"Yeh, it's the place with the great pie. I'll be there."
"Okay, Rickie, we'll see you tomorrow. Meanwhile, hold on to that thought about recapturing your kitchen and cooking me up a mess of quail."
Rickie wiped her sorrowful eyes and looked upon her mentor with something akin to hopefulness.
"It'll be the best you ever tasted."
"Don't forget the cheesecake," Black said.