Spin A Novel

CHAPTER 13

Trust Me





I’m standing on a platform twenty feet in the air with a harness around my waist, chalk on my hands and a net waiting to catch me. I’m holding an extremely heavy trapeze bar with my right hand. My left is clinging for dear life to a guy wire. Any second now, the muscled man in tights behind me is going to yell “hep!” and I’m supposed to swing into the nothingness in front of me.

As if!

I’m up here because today is Trust Day.

When Saundra told us about it earlier, I’d conjured up images of the kind of trust games I played at camp. You know, where you wear a blindfold and fall backward into the waiting arms of your bunkmates? Well, that’s what I thought was waiting for me. I never imagined that a few hours later I’d be up here in the stratosphere, about to jump.

I’ve been in a bad mood since I woke up this morning.

I’m in a bad mood because, for the first time since I got here, I’m feeling kind of guilty. Guilty about being in rehab. Guilty about the reason behind my burgeoning friendship with Amber. Maybe even guilty about the truth behind some of the stories I’ve been telling Saundra.

I’m not sure what’s brought this feeling about, but I don’t like it.

I don’t like the way it woke me up at the crack of dawn, a few hours after I finally managed to drift off after delivering the note to Amber, or the way it accompanied me on my otherwise impressive nine-minute run. I don’t like the way it made me chatty in my session with Saundra (look at me, look at me, I’m as f*cked up as any of the other patients!), or the way it robs my appetite at lunch as I sit alone mechanically eating a hamburger.

And most of all, I hate the way it keeps reminding me that if I wasn’t in this stupid place, I could have a couple vodka tonics, and I’d be feeling too good to feel guilty about anything.

If you weren’t in this place, you wouldn’t have anything to feel guilty about.

I know that, OK?

I’m just saying.

Will you leave me the hell alone?

“Who’re you talking to?” Henry asks as he sits down across from me with his lunch tray. His hair is damp, and he’s wearing a pair of taupe Bermuda shorts and a black T-shirt with an alt-rock band logo on it.

Why does this guy always catch me doing embarrassing things?

“No one.”

“Seemed like it was a pretty animated conversation to me.”

“Right.”

“Look, if you’d rather be alone . . .” He starts to leave.

Aw, shit.

“No! Don’t go.”

Wow. Major overreaction.

“Stay,” I say in a more moderate tone. “And sorry. I’m just feeling grumpy today.”

He sits back down. “How come?”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night . . .”

“Because you followed Amber and Connor into the woods?”

“No!”

“Weren’t you tempted to? It must’ve been such a touching scene,” he says sarcastically.

“So, why didn’t you follow them?”

He takes a big bite from his burger. “Because I’m not a girl.”

“Nice. Mmm . . . you have some ketchup on your chin . . .”

I reach out to wipe it off, then pull my hand back.

He gives me a curious look as he wipes the ketchup off with his napkin. “Thanks. So why didn’t you go?”

“Because it wasn’t any of my business.”

“I see. Tell me . . . you ever read a gossip magazine?”

My hands start to sweat. Where the hell is he going with this?

“Of course.”

“Well, none of those ‘Celebrities Are Just Like Us’ moments are anyone’s business either.”

“I know, but at least I’m not the one invading their privacy.”

At least, not in those particular magazines.

“But you’re one step removed. And if no one read those things, then the paparazzi wouldn’t be there in the first place.”

If no one read those things, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.

I try to laugh it off. “So, if a celebrity gets drunk alone in the forest, it doesn’t make a sound?”

He smiles. “Exactly.”

“But don’t some celebrities want the attention?”

“Sure, but does that mean they’re not entitled to any privacy?”

“I never said that.”

“What are you saying?”

That this conversation is hitting way too close to home.

“That I’m as curious as the next person about how extremely well-paid, beautiful young things live their lives, but I still didn’t spy on Amber and Connor in the woods last night.”

“But you read the note?”

“No . . .”

He leans toward me. “Only because you couldn’t understand what it said.”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to understand what it said?”

“Nice try. Admit it.”

“Only if you tell me why I couldn’t read the note.”

“Because it was in Esperanto.”

“Esperanto? That fake language that was supposed to replace English?”

“Yup.”

“They communicate in Esperanto?”

“Yup.”

“But that’s . . .”

He smiles a knowing smile as he pops several french fries into his mouth. “Incredibly geeky?”

“Says the man who can read Esperanto.”

He raises his hand to his heart. “You wound me, Kate, Katie, whichever.”

“You’ll survive.”

When I leave Henry to go to group, the guilty feelings return. Maybe it’s because group is all about guilty feelings, but as I sit there listening to today’s “I was just going to do one line” stories, I feel more alone and down than I have since I blew the interview for my dream job on my thirtieth birthday.

I feel like I need something dramatic to pull me out of this funk. And since I don’t have access to what I usually use to cure this kind of ailment, when Saundra tells us about Trust Day, instructs us to put on comfortable clothes, and asks for a volunteer, my hand shoots in the air like it used to do in grade school, when I was sure I knew all the answers.

Sign me up for anything but hanging out with myself in my head.

I feel that way right up until we enter the gym and I see the trapeze apparatus set up in the middle of the basketball court.

“Trust,” Saundra says, looking younger and more athletic than usual in a pair of black stretch pants and a shirt emblazoned with the words “Puppies Love Us!” in the same scrawl usually used for slogans like “Porn Star!”

“It’s the most difficult thing to give and the easiest to lose. Each of you has lost the trust of those closest to you because of your addictions. You need to learn how to get people to trust you again. But first, you need to learn how to trust others, and trust yourself. And that’s what this exercise is about.”

“How is acting out an episode of Sex and the City going to do that?” The Director asks. The right leg of his sweatpants is pulled up to his knee. He looks like a member of a chorus line.

“That’s a good question, Rodney. The exercise works in two ways. First of all, you have to trust the equipment and the people operating it. But also, it’s scary up there. It’s going to require courage to step off that platform. Finding that in yourself will help you start to build your confidence. You’ll need that confidence to inspire trust in others.” She looks around. “Any more questions? No? Good, let’s get to work.”

We spend the next half hour learning how to fly. It’s the easiest thing in the world on solid ground, and I begin to relax. Maybe I can do this after all.

When we’ve learned the basics, one of the instructors (a well-muscled, slightly effeminate man in a dark blue circus leotard) chalks his hands, climbs the rope, and positions himself on the platform.

“Hold the bar like this in your right hand,” he bellows down to us, his voice sounding far away. “When I say ‘Ready,’ let go of the guy wire, grab the bar with your left hand, and steady yourself. You jump on ‘Hep!’ ”

He jumps and swings out over the large net beneath him.

“At the far point of the swing I’ll say, ‘Legs up.’ ”

He leans backward, brings his knees to his chest, and tucks his legs over the bar.

“Next comes: ‘Release.’ ”

He lets his hands go and is swinging by his knees.

“When I say, ‘Hands up,’ bring your hands back up and release your knees.”

He follows his own instructions and is swinging by his hands again.

“The second ‘Release’ means let go.”

He falls gracefully onto the net. He walks to the edge and flips to the ground.

Candice applauds, and even the most uptight guys, The Lawyer and The Judge, look impressed. He’s made it look easy, but we all know it isn’t.

“You ready for your close-up?” Amber asks me. She’s dressed like a ballerina, with her hair scraped back into a neat bun, a pink leotard, and matching tights that end mid-calf. One can only wonder what possessed her to bring that outfit to rehab.

I, on the other hand, look more like a bit player from a Jane Fonda workout video from the eighties. All I’m missing is the bright red headband and matching leg warmers.

“Nuh-unh.”

“But you volunteered,” she mocks me.

“Yeah, I have to remember to keep from doing that.”

Amber laughs, and I realize that she’s in a good mood. And not in the I-got-one-over-on-Saundra kind of mood she’s sometimes in after group. Nope. This is a genuine my-life-is-kind-of-good mood I’ve never seen before. Things must’ve gone well in the woods last night.

“You want to take my place in line?” I say.

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re not scared?”

“Nah. I’ve done this before.”

She walks to the head of the line, and Carol clips her harness onto the safety rope. She climbs nimbly up the ladder and waits for her signal to fly. When it’s given, she hops gracefully off the platform, brings her knees to her chest and over the bar, and hangs from her knees as easily as the instructor did. A few more swings and she’s right way round again without any apparent effort and falling through the air toward the net. A hop, skip, and a jump later she’s back on the ground beside me.

Her eyes shine brightly. “I forgot how much fun that is!”

“I thought we were supposed to be learning a lesson about trust.”

“F*ck that. I’ve had enough lessons to last me a lifetime.”

Amen, sister.

“Katie?” Carol calls. “You’re next.”

My heart starts to pound. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course you can.”

Since when did Amber become Miss You-Can-Do-It?

I square my shoulders and walk toward Carol. I make it up the ladder by taking one step at time with my eyes closed. The instructor reaches down and hauls me onto the platform by my armpits. When I stand up from my ungraceful landing, the world tilts away from me.

I take several deep breaths as the instructor unclips me from the climbing line and reattaches me to the safety line. He positions me on the edge of the platform facing the bar, then uses a pole with a hook on the end to bring the bar toward me. I reach for it and the weight tips me forward, ready to pull me toward nothingness. My left leg starts jittering up and down uncontrollably.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I’m kind of afraid of heights.”

“You should’ve said something before you came up here.”

“Yeah, well . . .”

“Do you want to go down?”

Yes, please!

“Give me a minute.”

I take several deep breaths and concentrate on my chattering leg. You’re harnessed. You’re tethered. There’s a net. It’s perfectly safe. You can do this.

“It’s no problem if you want to go down.”

“I know. I just need a minute.”

I realize that these are the exact same words I used what seems like eons ago when Elizabeth was talking to me through the bathroom door.

Just give me a minute.

The story of my life.

“You can do it, Kate!” someone shouts from below.

I look tentatively over the edge of the platform. Henry is sitting a very long way down on the bleachers next to YJB. He has his hand cupped around his mouth so his encouragement can reach me all the way up here.

Can he see my leg shaking?

Jesus. If you’re OK enough to think about that, then you can definitely jump off this platform.

“OK, I’m ready,” I say in a small voice.

The instructor pulls the left side of the bar in so that it’s parallel with my body.

“Let go of the wire and grab it firmly.”

Easier said than done.

“Go for it, Kate!” Henry’s far away voice floats up to me.

I loosen my grip on the guy wire and grab the bar, distributing its weight evenly between my hands. It feels like it could sweep me off into oblivion if the instructor wasn’t holding onto my harness firmly.

“You feel ready?”

NNOOOO!

“I guess.”

“Remember, hop when I say, ‘Hep.’ ”

Can you say hep, hep, hep, hep a hep?

“Right.”

“Ready . . . and hep!”

I bend my knees, close my eyes, take a little hop, and . . . I’ve done it! I’m trapezing!

“Legs up!”

I try to bring my knees up to my chest, but they don’t quite make it.

“Legs up!”

I squeeze my stomach muscles tighter than I’ve ever squeezed them before and hook my ankles over the bar. Another push with my legs and the bar is now firmly behind my knees.

Yes!

“Release!”

I release my hands. My body falls backward, and I can feel my weight being held by my knees, the bar digging in.

“Hands up!”

I swing my hands above my head, groping for the bar, but I can’t reach it.

“Wait for my signal!”

The bar swings back to the platform and then away from it. At the furthest point, the instructor screams, “Hands up!”

I reach my hands up and this time I grasp the bar firmly.

“Legs down!”

I pull my knees toward my chest and my legs slide off the bar. Not in a fluid motion like the instructor’s or Amber’s did, but still, I’m swinging by my arms again and all that’s left is . . .

“Release!”

That’s what I was afraid of.

“Release!”

Here goes nothing.

I open my hands and fall through the air. I feel the hard jerk of the rope on the harness and my feet are touching the net. I topple over.

Always so graceful.

I flip onto my hands and knees and crawl to the edge. There’s no way I’m going to be able to do that cool, over-the-head flip thing. Instead, I sit on my bum, swing my legs over the side, and push off with my hands, landing unsteadily on the ground.

“Well done, Katie,” Carol says, beaming at me.

“Thanks.”

I brush some of the chalk off my hands and walk toward Amber, Connor, and Henry. My heart is pounding, pounding, pounding, but I feel exhilarated and happier than I’ve felt in a long time, invincible almost. This must be what being on coke feels like. I’m beginning to see its appeal.

“Yeah, Katie!” Amber says throwing her hands over her head in a parody of a cheerleader. “Wasn’t it totally fun?”

“Oh, totally,” Connor drawls in his half-British accent.

She swats him playfully. “Shut up, you.”

I meet Henry’s gaze behind them, and he rolls his eyes. I stifle a laugh.

“So, what’d you think?” Amber asks, her fingers playing with the back of Connor’s hair.

“It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” perceptive Henry asks.

“The once-only kind.”

“Aw, come on. You totally have to do it again!” Amber says.

“Once was enough.”

“Well, then you have to go, Connor.”

“We’ll see.”

“Con-nor!”

He shrugs her hand away from his neck. “Knock it off, Amb. I’ll go if I feel like it.”

Amber turns toward me. “You guys haven’t really met, right?”

I’m pretty sure telling her about our semi-flirty exchange when we were playing Two Equals One Hundred in the cafeteria is a bad, bad idea.

“Nope.”

“Connor, this is Katie, the only normal person here.”

“Hi, Connor.”

His eyes meet mine briefly. “Hey.”

“Katie runs just like E. does! Doesn’t she, E.?”

Who is this girl?

“Yeah, I guess,” Henry grumbles.

“And she writes about music for Rolling Stone, right, Katie?”

“Not for anything as prestigious as Rolling Stone . . .”

“Oh, don’t be so modest.”

Seriously, who is this girl?

Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute. I know who Amber is. She’s TGND. Literally. She’s acting like the character she played on The Girl Next Door. Hyper. Bubbly. A little dumb. What the f*ck?

“Connor,” Carol calls from across the gym. “Your turn.”

Connor gets an I-don’t-think-so expression on his face. “Maybe later.”

“Come on, Connor.”

“Yeah, come on, Connor,” Henry mocks.

Amber shoots him a dirty look. “What are you even doing here, E.? You’re not a patient.”

Connor makes an aggravated sound in his throat. “Amb, we talked about this. You know why Henry’s here.”

“Well, I’ll never understand why he doesn’t have to stay in his room all the time, at least.”

“Would it be OK if I came out for meals?” Henry asks.

“Connor!” Carol calls again.

Connor emits a sigh and stands. I watch his face as he stares at Carol and the apparatus behind her. He has a strange look in his eyes. It’s almost as if . . .

No way. No way.

I look again. It’s unmistakable. Especially if you’ve just been through the same thing.

Young James Bond is scared. Scared shitless.

Connor shuffles toward Carol. Amber bounces up and follows him, chatting away about how much fun he’s going to have.

I’m not sure what’s more surprising. That Amber reverts to a television character when she’s around Connor, or that the guy who jumped from a flaming speedboat onto a ladder hanging off a helicopter is afraid of a little trapeze.

“What’s up with that?” I ask Henry.

“You mean Amber?”

“Yeah, she’s so . . .”

“Annoying? Silly? Stupid?”

“Different.”

He grins. “How politic of you.”

“Is she always like that around him?”

“Yup.”

“You say ‘yup’ a lot, don’t you?”

His mouth twitches. “Yup.”

“Want to go watch the show?”

“Sure.”

We walk toward the trapeze, where Connor’s getting some last-minute tips from Carol. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“I can’t believe he’s really going through with it,” Henry mutters to himself.

“Because he’s scared out of his wits?”

He turns to me with surprise. “How’d you guess that?”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Uh, yes. And no.

“Of course.”

He lowers his voice. “Connor doesn’t do his own stunts.”

“But what about his whole too-cool-for-school persona?”

“It’s an act.”

“He’s not that good an actor.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Shit.”

“Yup.”

I think about it. “He didn’t jump from that boat?”

“Of course not. He’s afraid of the water. And of heights.”

“He didn’t leap from that building onto that other building?”

“You’re not listening to me. He’s afraid of everything.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“But . . . how does he get away with it?”

“How do you think?”

“CGI?”

“No, silly.”

“Then how?”

“Drugs and alcohol, baby. Drugs and alcohol.”