stone cold sober, chapter 8

8

Nurhaven, two months later
         Though it was freezing outside, Kate slid over to the window and inhaled the smell of car fumes, fast food and coffee to go. There was honking behind her, in front of her, next to her. Everyone seemed to be yelling at the traffic or each other, sirens wailed, street vendors competed over the right to sell their produce and someone poured a bucket of gray foamy water in front of her cab and it rose in thick clouds.
         Kate fell in love with the city, the sounds, the smells, the sights. She wondered if she would someday fade it all out, fall out of love, smell nothing, hear nothing, just march on like the people walking past her window. Would she be able to ignore the astounding architecture with its lakefront tower blocks, low-rise structures, and gothic family homes; or would her mouth hang open as it did now? A thought of Nathan slipped into her head and it was surprisingly elating. Kate tried to imagine that he was there with her, not hating her. She watched her breath turn solid the second it left her mouth. Kate wasn’t cold but she closed the top button of her coat anyway.
         “How long are you staying?” asked the taxi driver who looked a little like an Indian leprechaun with big ears and shaggy hair. It appeared that hers was the safest driver in Nurhaven. While other cars roared past them, honking their protest, he edged along, just barely under the speed limit.
         “Forever,” Kate said over traffic noise.
         The driver turned up the radio. “Nothing’s forever,” he mumbled.
         This was her life now, Kate realised. She was one of four and a half million people living in Nurhaven. Four and a half. Million.
         Away from Drover.
         Far away from Fildon.
         When The Nurhaven Chronicle called a week ago to ask why she had failed to show up for the interview, a girl from Kate’s dorm had picked up the phone. Chatty Alice, as Nathan had dubbed her, told the editor in chief that Kate was in mourning. When Harold called again, he insisted on speaking to Kate personally.
         “I have a junior opening in Products and Innovation, I can keep it open until you finish school.”
         “I can start right away.” Kate’s voice lacked both enthusiasm as well as dedication.
         Harold paused. “What about graduation?”
         “Is it a requirement?” Kate asked back.
         “Not for me.”
         She had no idea how she was going to write about something as arbitrary as innovation, but Harold assured her it would be easy. People would send her free stuff to test and she could research the rest on the internet. It was actually doable from home, he told her and introduced Kate to a term that sent shivers of joy down her spine, home office. Not having to meet people, just the mail man and a computer, it sounded divine.
         When they turned into Crescent Street Kate reached for her wallet, but there was only an empty spot where her handbag had been. Within minutes, she went from high flying to sobbing. Her bag had been stolen and she was all alone in a city of four and a half million people.
         The driver let her off the hook with a collection of foreign curses that she didn’t dare imagine translated. Kate looked up at the apartment she could no longer afford now that its deposit had been stolen along with all her documents. She breathed deeply and walked up the two steps leading to the front door. Maybe the landlady would let her pay next month? She blew her nose and straightened her hair before ringing the bell.
         When Kate was done telling the story, Miss Giovazziano laughed, making an almost obnoxious sound. There was no way she would let anyone live in her house without a guaranty, she said, not even her own flesh and blood. “Unless,” the landlady added, “you can get the money by tonight.”
         Arianne. Kate had ignored her aunt’s calls for over a year. She envisioned calling her up and asking for the money. Arianne would cry on the phone and beg her to come home. If only there was someone else she could call, someone who wasn’t genetically obligated to love her. Someone who reminded her less of what she was trying to leave behind. Kate closed her eyes. Calling Arianne was out of the question. She would have to find another way.
         “I get paid mid of next month,” Kate pleaded with a thin voice, her eyelid ticking profusely, one hand went up to cover it.
         “Actress?”
         “Journalist.” There was hope in Kate’s voice.
         “Not a chance, dear.” Miss Giovazziano eventually softened to Kate’s tears and recommended a boarding alternative she referred to as a ‘little less careful’. Miss Giovazziano pulled a repulsed upper lip back from white teeth. “Don’t tell anyone I sent you there.”
         Fay, her new landlady was a large woman who hated cigarettes and shoes, both of which she would not allow in her establishment. The things she liked all started with the letter M, or so Kate was told as she followed her huge behind up a narrow flight of stairs.
         “Make-Up, lots of it. Money, as much as I need to run a clean business, oh, and Elvis.” She waited for Kate’s look of surprise before adding, “Mucho Elvis, the Vegas years.”
         “Thank you for trusting me.”
         “I don’t,” Fay replied, panting. “And I don’t have to. I’m taking you in because you have nowhere else to go. I’m just being practical.” She turned to look at Kate. “Stop, slouching like an old woman, girl, pull your shoulders back.”
         Kate stopped in her tracks, barely avoiding bumping into the woman. “That’s something my aunt would say.”
         Fay walked on, she had difficulty mastering the last two steps, but when she reached the top she turned with the gracefulness of a young gazelle. “She a nice lady, your aunt?”
         “She’s dead.”
         Kate’s room was in the attic. Small windows let in the maximum amount of light and minimum amount of air. She would have to clean the room, Fay mumbled, as they watched the dust settle in rays of light. Kate looked around. Fay, if she had decorated the place herself, had made sure to fill every inch of the room with patterns--wallpaper, furniture, bedspreads, everything. Flowers, checkers, stripes, Chinese dragons, 70s retro, even Whinnie the Pooh, the room had it all, and it was perfect.
         “If you get lonely, come downstairs.”
         “Oh, to the bar?” Kate asked.
         Fay pulled up her eyebrows. “Yeah, we have a bar. Wanna see?”
         Before Kate had a chance to reply she was shoved out the door and down the stairs.
         “I think you should see this before you move in,” Fay said. “Just in case.”
         The entrance to the bar was next to the hotel entrance. Fay and Kate stepped out into the street and then back into the bar through a thick velvet curtain.
         Her eyes slowly adapted to the darkness. “In case what--?” Kate began, but the rest of the words got stuck in her throat as a pair of naked breasts walked past. They belonged to a woman who wore nothing but a black thong and a large pink orchid in her hair.
         She smiled at Kate and nodded at Fay before walking over to a man by the bar. Her hands caressed his suited shoulders and slid between his legs. The man moaned softly.
         Kate gasped and looked in the opposite direction. Her eyes stopped at a man seated on a couch. His legs were spread wide in front of him and a woman’s head bobbed up and down in his lap. After a few seconds he dropped his own head heavily onto the backrest, his mouth opened but nothing came out.
         Kate began to hyperventilate and turned to the door.



         Kate knew how these things went. The shrink wanted to get to know as much as quickly as possible, but was willing to take his time if she needed it. Blablabla. The office was neat, a little too tidy for her taste.
         “You told my assistant that you’ve had treatment before? How long ago was this?”
         Kate steadied her voice. “I was treated for two years in Fildon, age fifteen to seventeen, and when I went to university I saw someone there. He prescribed anti-depressants.” She breathed a nervous laugh.
         “Which one?” Dr. Tung said casually.          Dr. Lars Tung. Lars. What mother gave her Asian child a Nordic name that stood in such crass opposition to his looks? Tung was older than the other two shrinks she’d had so far. He had fly-away hair and an eagle-like nose that disappeared in his face. Someone once told her that Asian’s aged gracefully, not Lars. His skin was all loose putty and wrinkles.
         Kate looked up at him and the way he sat behind an ornate wooden desk. An heirloom, she guessed, one he might not have wanted but appreciated for its sentimental value. “Pardon? Oh, Serotonin.”
         Tung didn’t smile. “You said it was an emergency.”
         “I sang in front of an audience last night.” When the doctor just stared at her blankly, Kate added, “I went to an expo, it was my first. It was all so new, I ended up stealing my story about converged devices off some kid blogger who wasn’t too afraid to ask the right questions.” Kate placed her hands in her lap and pulled her shoulders up. “At the end of the day, I couldn’t feel my toes and I felt like a loser, so, I went to a karaoke bar. It was empty save for two Czech software developers and a Greek pilot. They were drunk and I thought they wouldn’t notice me singing ‘River of no return’. But they did and they laughed.” Kate rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand.
         “Would you mind elaborating on why karaoke is a problem? Or is it a solution?”
         “I already knitted the sweater, so I guess right now it’s more of a problem.” Kate ignored the doctor’s quizzical frown, she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her hands up and down the sleeves. “I get lost in thought, really lost.” Kate went on. “My mind digresses. Any advice there?”
         “You could try focussing on trivia that emotionally detaches you from a situation.”
         Kate thought about it for a second. “Like facts and figures?”
         “Whatever you feel would stabilise you,” Tung replied. He shook his head and Kate knew that she was moving too quickly for him.
         “It could work,” she said, chewing the nail on her index finger. “Can I have the prescription now?”
         Tung looked as if he could see right through her. “I have to assess further before prescribing anything.”
         “What if I’m afraid of everything, would that convince you?”
         Tung wrote something down. “Like...?” he asked without looking up.
         “Everything, take my word for it.”
         Dr Tung doodled circles on the corner of his notepad to see if his pen had run dry, he threw it in the waste paper basket and opened his drawer to get another. “How do you feel about yourself?” he added after testing his new pen.
         “Hate myself!” Kate laughed, but when Tung didn’t smile back, she stopped. “I freak out every now and then, and then it’s difficult to get back to normal. I worry a lot. About how I should act and talk and what others think of me when I act and talk. I usually just avoid meeting people altogether.” She hesitated, sighed and folded one leg over the other. “I cut myself when it gets bad. Can I have a glass of water, please?”
         Dr Tung poured her a glass from a large pitcher. The ice was fresh and made a loud clanking sound in the glass.
         “I am very concerned that you cut yourself. When did that start?”
         “I’ve only done it two or three times.”
         “Can I ask you again, what triggered our meeting today?” Tung smiled showing off crooked teeth and his eyes disappeared in thick creases.
         “I thought I was better, but I’m not. It’s driving me crazy, almost like a constant thumping in my head.”
         “This led to your taking the aspirin?”
         Kate sat up straight. She would get the pills and never come back, she decided. “How do you know about that?”
         “You told my assistant when making the appointment.”
         “I threw the pills back up again,” Kate said. Her stomach began to rumble. Losing weight was certainly worth it, but whoever said that the body stopped craving food after a longer period of abstinence was an idiot. “I’m not suicidal or anything.”
         “No? Did you experience physical pain that warranted the aspirin?”
         “Something like that.”
         Tung nodded. “Do you have family in town, a boyfriend?”
         “I don’t have much luck with men—boys.” Kate blushed. “Maybe some time I’ll tell you a story about this guy I was obsessed with.” Tung looked up and Kate felt compelled to add, “I really don’t want to get into it today, though I know you’re professionally curious about things like that.” She fumbled with the buttons on her cardigan. “I’ve been in the city for over six months and I hate it so far. Did I mention I live above a brothel? The girls there seem nice enough, but they scare me.”
         Dr Tung straightened his glasses. “You feel like an outsider? Like people are staring at you?”
         She blinked rapidly. “Aren’t you just supposed to listen and nod occasionally?”
         “Is that what you want me to do?” he replied.
         Kate could see that he wanted to write something down but decided against it in favour of looking straight at her.
         “I received a letter from my aunt,” she said because just staring at her hands was simply too unnerving. “Don’t know how she found me.”
         “When was the last time you were home?” Dr Tung asked.
         Kate looked up. “Not since I left school. Why?”
         “That’s what I would like to know.”



         The petite hooker fanned herself with a lacy fan, but Kate could tell that the satiny material of her corsage was already darker under her arms. If Fay didn’t get the air conditioning fixed soon, it would be bad for business.
         “Katy-Kay, listen. You need to get laid,” Matilda said and lifted her tiny lingerie-clad body up onto a bar stool. “And where better than in a place where men want just the one thing? So, take your pick!”
         Kate pulled her lip up in disgust. Perspiration had collected there and she licked it off with the tip of her tongue. How was she going to tell a whore that she didn’t want to sleep with just anyone, let alone anyone who paid for the service?
         Matilda pouted. “Don’t give me that look,” she said. “I know what you’re thinkin’. You’d rather wait for prince charming than do just anyone. I used to think that.”
         Kate stared at Mat. How did she do it, seduce men? She wasn’t sure if it was Matilda’s seductive giggle that made men feel protective over her or the combination of high forehead and chubby cheeks; or maybe it was simply the fact that Mat had an IQ so low, she needed someone to help her cross the street? Whatever it was, Kate wanted it. Sometimes, when no one watched, she imitated Mat’s every move, hoping that her life would change overnight. Unfortunately, what worked wonders for Matilda, looked silly on Kate. Only one feature appeared to suit Kate as well as most of Fay’s hookers: speak as little as possible in short open for interpretation sentences. Though difficult, it sure beat being stared at after a verbal run.
         She had every reason to be grateful to Mat, for knocking on her door every afternoon for over a year until Kate could no longer avoid having a cup of tea. Mat forced the other girls to be nice even though Kate sensed they didn’t really want to be. If it wasn’t for her, Kate would be without friends, hooker friends, granted, but friends nonetheless; someone to discuss the weather or even just the best contraceptives. Kate shared a smile with herself. Actually, if she had anywhere to go or anyone else to talk to, she would have left when she first realised she was moving into a brothel.
         “D’you even like guys?” Mat said with a stern expression.
         “Some of them.”
         It was Boudoir month. Had been for twenty days. November was always Boudoir month at ‘Fay’s’, and Kate was growing increasingly tired of harp music and Louis XI furniture, but she did admire the effort Fay put into organising props and costumes. Bright chandeliers stood in every corner and cast a flattering glow on the girl’s skin.
         Next month was oriental nights, then cloak-and-dagger, hippie seventies, and then came Elvis month, and with it hamburgers and cheap scotch. Fay would tell and retell the story of how she met the King in a remote German town called Bad Nauheim, but no one believed the town even existed.
         Kate looked up and into the large mirror behind the bar. Her eyes wandered along the reflection of the room past a group of girls in lace and silky robes to the large grandfather’s clock in the far corner of the room. It was eight, almost time for her to leave ‘Fay’s’ and go upstairs, where she would be alone until the next morning. It was a relief and it was the worst. She would miss the smell of cheap perfume.
         Matilda levelled her eyes with Kate’s. “When was the last time you fucked?”
         Kate felt a strong headache coming on. It travelled from the back of her head to her temple and then settled in the sockets of her eyes. “My friend Nathan. Drover.”
         “The words ‘friend’ and ‘sex’ should not even be mentioned in the same sentence.”
         Kate rubbed her temples.
         “I have a theory,” Matilda said. She flung her long blond wig over one shoulder and jumped from the bar stool. “If you want something really bad,” she paused, letting her hands guide the rest of the sentence, “you won’t get it. Get it?”
         “Not really.”
         “If you’re out there lookin’ for the love of your life, he won’t come.” Matilda placed a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Do something stupid, will ya? I guarantee things’ll start happening for you.”
         “Like ending up as a hooker?” Kate tried to look serious.
         “I’m not at the end, sugar, I’m just passing by.” Matilda swayed her hips as she walked out the door.

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