“What are you doing here?” Debbie asked the next morning, standing over the couch.
He hurried to button his pants.
“I thought it would be a good idea if I stayed, in case you might need something.” His words were as rushed as his fingers.
“I’ll make us some breakfast,” she said, rubbing at her eyes.
“No, no, I gotta get home.” He fumbled with the laces on his sneakers.
“I think you should stay in bed,” he told her. “That might be best if you stayed in bed.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. He had to get out of there.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked.
“I think so. But, you need breakfast, Clifford. Let me make you something to eat.”
*
“Yeah, it’s gonna be hot soon,” he grumbled to Ellen. “It’s gonna be hot and stinky and this is one brother who ain’t gonna be here.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to New York,” he pronounced. “I’m going up there to NBC and I’m going to sit there until somebody looks at my tape and gives me a job. And, I ain’t leaving until I got that job.”
“It gets cold up there,” she said.
He shook his head. That’s what they all said. All he had to do was mention New York and they all started flapping their lips about the cold and the snow.
“Shit, I can buy me a goddamn mink coat,” he yelled. “I can stay warm in New York with a goddamn coat, but I can’t stay cool here, no way.”
“So, go,” she said, her head bowed over her notes.
“I will, you can bet on that. I’m going.”
35
Debbie didn’t tell the group about the abortion. She didn’t tell them anything. She only listened and smiled when they spoke. She nodded and agreed and helped them, she believed, by being positive about them and what they were doing.
At one session she did cry out when Bob suggested they all go out for a drink after the meeting.
“No, no,” she protested. “That’s not right.”
“Why not?” the older woman asked. “That would be fun.”
“That’s not why we are here,” Debbie said. “We didn’t come here for instant friendships, did we?” she pleaded to the doctor. “We are here to work, to get better, right?”
“Well,” he paused to light a cigarette.
“What are you afraid of?” the younger woman sneered.
“I’m not afraid,” she said, although she felt sick with fear. “I just don’t think it’s right.”
The nurse named Jane who had come to a few meeting wearing her clean white slacks and crisp flowered top, opened her hands wide.
“I don’t have time for a drink. I barely have time to be here. This time is terrible. Couldn’t we change it?”
Debbie could feel her fear of these people and this room growing. She was afraid they would reach out and physically touch her. Why? Why was the fear getting worse?
She could call her doctor back home and tell him about the room and these people and her fear, couldn’t she? No. He would tell her there was nothing wrong with them, that she needed a tune-up, that’s all. She needed a tune-up.
She had to fight the fear. The fear was wrong. These people weren’t bad people. They wouldn’t hurt her. That’s what she told herself over and over again, until she heard the voice.
“You should be afraid,” the voice told her. “You must get out of this room.”
How could that be true? Coming here was the only thing that could help her. But what if the voice was her instinct? Isn’t that what the doctor told her after Baja? The voice was her instinct, warning her.
She looked at Terry. It helped calm the fear, seeing him there in his dark glasses, but it did not make her feel safe. The only time she felt completely safe was when she was alone in her apartment. She would sit in the dark, holding onto herself and ignoring the ringing of the phone or doorbell. She knew it was Clifford. She knew he was watching her.
“I’ll go out with her,” he’d tell George Harding, as though it didn’t matter one way or another. “I ain’t got anything better going on.”
He’d ask her if she wanted to grab some dinner after work or if she wanted to meet for a few beers and talk about doing a series together. He’d try anything to keep an eye on her. He knew she was in trouble. He could feel it tight in his chest whenever he looked at her.
*
“She’s seeing a doctor,” Ellen told him. “If there is a problem, she’ll work it out with him. She’s not asking for your help, Clifford. Leave it alone.”
Clifford couldn’t do that. Neither could Jim Brown. He got the phone call from Sue in the front office, an old hand at the station.
“One of your people was asking about our insurance coverage for group therapy,” she told him. “Thought you might need to know.”
He called Debbie into his office. He shut the door and sat down in his high-backed chair, his hands folded atop his belly.
“Debbie,” he said, “is there something wrong, something we can do to make you happy?”
“No, no,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “Nothing is wrong. Why are you asking me that?”
“You seem a little down lately. I thought there might be something you want to talk about.”
“No, really, Jim,” she insisted. “Everything is going well.” She smiled wide.
“How about a few days of vacation? Would you like to take a few days off? That wouldn’t be a problem, Debbie. We care about you. You know that.”
“I know,” she said, nodding. “I know.”
He left his chair and walked around the desk. He went to her, putting one hand on her shoulder.
“You’re one of the family. You matter to us. If there is
