"No. I didn't." None of this makes sense. Every time I think I'm getting closer to the truth there's like another layer of confusion piled on top of it. "I don't understand," I say. "If she has money to go where she wants, why was she being kept here?"
"She wasn't," he says, with a flash of anger, then adds "Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
"There were...conditions," he explains. "When she was released from the hospital."
"The hospital?"
John Gillespie stares at me like I've just beamed down from Mars. "I know you said you didn't read gossip and stuff," he says. "But how much has she told you about her and...him?"
"I know she married him. And that you made him sign annulment papers." I swallow. "Look, Mr. Gillespie, I don't know why you think I can help. It's obvious that...well..." I don't even want to say it. "She doesn't trust me nearly as much as you think she does."
He shakes his head. "Before you came along, she wouldn't even leave her bedroom. Whatever it is she sees in you, I'm not knocking it."
"What do you want me to do?" I ask.
"Keep an eye on her. She needs to keep up to date on her medications, her therapy appointments."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
He shrugs. "Any way you can."
I feel queasy once more. I know what's being asked of me - he's not stupid. He knows what she wants from me. And he knows I'm dumb enough to go along with it, just because it's the only way he'll let me see her. "This is a lousy idea," I say.
"It's all I've got."
"You're willing to risk that? Because if she knows we've even had this conversation..."
He holds up a hand. "Yeah. I've been through this in my head enough times, believe me. But she's not safe to be out on her own, Jimmy. She's probably flying high right now because she's angry, but when she settles back into a routine the walls are gonna start closing in on her all over again. And then it'll be the three o'clock in the morning phone calls again, the stomach pumps and psychiatric holds. I can't go through that again. And I can't lose her. She's all I've got. All I've got left of Natalie."
She's all I've got - funny thing coming from the lips of a movie star in a gigantic mansion, a house with four swimming pools and its own movie theater. But I believe him; I do.
"Okay," I say. "I'll do what I can."
"Good," he says, visibly relaxing. "Thank you. I'll put you back on the payroll."
"No."
"Please. It's the least I can..."
I cut him off. "No. I won't take your money. I feel bad enough about the situation as it is."
"Well, the offer stands."
"No. I'm not doing this because you're paying me. I'm doing this because I think it's the best thing for Amber."
"It is," he says. "Trust me. If she starts to go off the rails again, I need to know."
"And you will, I promise." It's on the tip of my tongue to say that I care for her too, but I know that's bullshit. I can't care for her - she won't let me get close enough to really care for her - but the thought of her hurting herself is too painful.
He hands me an address and a telephone number. Deep down I know why I'm doing this - because I told him I'd be a friend to her, but when she wanted me as a lover I jumped in with both feet. And the last thing she needs is another lover.
Chapter Seventeen
Amber
My new therapist's office doesn't inspire confidence.
Her name is Katrina. Her office is cluttered with folk art and crystals. There is a giant dream catcher on the wall behind me and as I sink deeper into the overstuffed couch I'm conscious of it there, like a big spider web, waiting for me to spill my thoughts and snag them on its strands.
She comes in, sits down opposite me. "I'm sorry to keep you," she says. "Now - how can we can help you, Amber?"
I freeze. My mouth refuses to open. Her eyes are so blue they must be contacts, her eyelashes mascaraed so stiff they look like the spokes of a wheel. She has a round, open, honest face and she's wearing that friendly yet neutral expression they probably teach on the first day of Psych 101. I hate her. It's not her fault that I hate her, but she's new. She's different. New and different were never things I could handle too much of, not all in one go.
She turns up her smile a notch, but I can't bring myself to speak. My throat feels like the Mojave.
"Is there a specific issue you'd like to address, Amber?" she says.
I open my mouth and try to force the words out. "I...I...I'm really here because I have to be," I say. "Court order."
"I see," she says, and her voice is wrong. It's one of those things Dr. Stahl says a lot - I see - one of those nice, empty interjections that say 'I'm listening' without interrupting the flow of confessions. "And were you seeing a therapist before?"