Chapter

41

Perhaps the most beautiful night of my short life was over. After having the child in me catered to at the circus, the man in me was embraced and held by the woman I loved until the sun broke through the trees. The orange sunrise fanned our bed with the delicate light of day and awakened the perfume of the gardenias outside the bungalow.

The touch of Sara’s fingertips on my lips urging me to stay asleep was a futile attempt to keep me from drinking in the beautiful woman whose hair was cascading over my face.

Half awake, half asleep, I pulled her toward me and let her lips find mine. We stayed that way for what seemed like another night. As she lifted her mouth from mine, I remember giving myself permission to take this parting memory back to sleep with me.

I saw her smile drift into a halo of sunshine as she closed the door and left. All was quiet and peaceful.

Eyes that had been bathed in serenity just a short while ago were now reflecting pools of fire. “No...you listen to me,” I bellowed into the phone as I stood naked in front of my closet mirror. “Mathews, I just took a nap. That’s all. Just a nap. And no longer than thirty minutes after she left, my sheets were sopping wet. Sweat is still coming out of me like water from a showerhead. The waves...the ugly curl of the caps...the rushing ice. It was all there, damn it, Mathews. It was all there...but more. Inside the wave...inside the curl...Oh, God. The pills you gave me have made it worse, damn it. Worse, not better.”

“Charles, you are not the patient of my dreams. Listen to me...it’s not the pills making it worse. You’d be climbing the walls if you weren’t taking them now. Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”

“Doctor, I am fully aware of what you are saying. You’ve reminded me a half dozen times in the past five minutes. But you don’t understand something. This wasn’t an anxiety issue. That’s gone. I haven’t had one since New York. I’m talking about when I’m asleep. This little dream was...it’s worse since the pills. Plain and simple.

Worse.”

“The anxiety episodes are gone because you’re taking the God damn pills. Now, Charles, damn it, keep taking them. In fact, how many are left?”

“Mathews...aren’t you hearing me. I don’t like not being in control. Don’t you understand? You’re supposed to understand things like this.”

“Charles, I understand a lot more than you sometimes give me credit for. How many are left?”

“If all this does is push whatever it is back farther during my waking hours, only to come out in my sleep and run me through the ringer. It’s all wrong. If what you say is true, what the hell’s going to happen if I’m ever without the damn stuff? Across the counter be damned. These are turning me into some kind of junkie. I’ve got to deal with my problems with everything working...not with a half- baked brain.”

“Charles...do you remember when you called me from New York? Do you remember what had just happened? Believe me, If you had been in LA I would have found a way to get you something a helluva lot stronger. You scared the hell out of me.”

“You? I’m the one with the thing running around inside me. Not you. So don’t say you got the hell scared out of you. You don’t know what hell is. I told you the edges of it. If you knew the whole savage madness of it and...and... “

“Charles...I’m on my way over there...twenty minutes. Be there.” Click.

A shower had at least removed the old perspiration. As I sat calmly in the overstuffed chair in the corner, my armpits told me the aberration was still somewhere inside me...lurking in a quiet place...waiting for me to sleep again. Maybe I should ask him for his “stronger” pills...but this time the kind that keep me from sleeping.

“Is there such a drug?” I asked him as we finished the two- or three-minutes of doctor/patient checking-out-for-damage-game.

“Charles,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and leaning forward on his knees. “If I still had my license to practice psychiatry, I’d be debating with myself whether to call the white coats right about now. You are not in control...just like you said. But a strong part of me says you can be.”

I turned away. I was out of patience.

“Listen to me,” he snapped. “Don’t be so damn belligerent. With the help of medication right now, you can keep everything in place. You understand me?”

I didn’t move. “Convince me.”

“How would you like to end up like me? Other people taking away your rights because you didn’t use some restraints. For me, that’s all it would have taken. A little holding back. I would have achieved my goal. But no, I had to let blind determination fuck me up. You’ll end up like me, too, if you don’t do as I tell you. Until you get to the bottom of Charles Randall, the whatever it is inside you is likely to hang around. But you can keep that pain...and that’s what it is, Charles, just plain pain...you can keep it in its place, except when we want to let it out, until we want to let it express itself by beating up on you. You know, it’s okay to go in the ring and spar with a guy bigger and stronger than you if you have the protective gear on...and you’re prepared. Let me keep you with protective gear and prepared.”

He put his hand up anticipating my objection.

“Uh, uh. I’m not going to talk doctor-talk to you, Charles. You’ve asked me over and over to fill your head with the explanations that might be the answer. Your head would explode if I unloaded all the possibilities. Please trust me. I didn’t get busted because I didn’t know what I was doing. Impatience did me in. Don’t let it mess you up.” He slapped my knee, “At least not any more than you already are.”

I looked up. He was half smiling, half crying. He had convinced himself, at least. I was still apprehensive, even though I was hearing the voice of the sincere Mathews I wanted to trust and believe. “Being out of control means not cooperating with your own best interests. And when patients don’t cooperate, extreme measures sometimes have to be considered...and sometimes are forced on you.”

He stood up and took the bottle of pills from the nightstand. “All I’m asking you to do is maintain these Valerian tablets. I’m going to have you get another mild homeopathic called 5 HTP that will allow you to sleep deeper.  Just another across the counter pill.” He took a pad from his coat and wrote out the details.

“Between the two, you should be able to sleep without the demons. Now you take these two remedies as directed, at least until you get back from Hong Kong. You’re going to have to be in control there. That’s why you’re going, remember? To get some answers that’ll help us.”

His last words were still ringing in my ears as the jumbo jet lifted off the runway and pointed west to Hong Kong, “...get some answers that’ll help us.” Probably just a figure of speech. After all, “us” was just a way to let me know he was my doctor, my friend, my...?

The captain’s voice interrupted my thought, “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain. We want to welcome you aboard our Flight 2, non-stop to Tokyo, continuing on to Hong Kong... “

His voice faded into the background as my mind considered - and it was just a consideration at the time - was I the captain of my own ship, or had I been relegated to something less? If that were true...who was the captain?

I stared out the window at the fog bank sitting off the coast of Santa Monica. I fingered the two bottles of capsules in my pocket and settled into the first-class accommodations Sara insisted was foolish not to take, even though I didn’t want the trappings anymore.

“Anyone whose flown 17 or 18 hours on a flight, would think you were crazy if you didn’t use the freedom to fly up front with a recliner seat,” she had said. She had taken care that I was traveling in the comfort she knew I would appreciate as the trip progressed.

I thought a lot that night before the prone position of the seat led me into a deep sleep. I slept most of the flight...peacefully, thank God. Now, after a brief refueling in Tokyo, the plane was about to begin its last leg.

My life had barely experienced the time to get used to Los Angeles, now I was about to step into a culture and people I knew even less about. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but there’s been enough time now for me to realize that my memory loss is fascinating in a way. I know a lot. I mean, I’m not without my intelligence or knowledge.  Just don’t know where the knowledge came from.  I’ve not been without the ability to do just about anything. I think back on that day in Death Valley and the discovery of my throwing arm. I still don’t know where that came from, but that’s what I mean. It’s there. Not knowing where it came from is a lot easier to live with now. That fascinates me, in a way...that I have abilities and talents that are there without a reference point, without an incident to relate them to.

I had arrived at the point where each turn of a corner made me wonder what more there was to learn about Charles Randall...not so much the memories, but the understanding, perception and knowledge.

As I buckled up with that thought, to my left came the first of many interruptions for the night.

“Number 5a, that’s me. That’s for Gerald.”

The country accent was from a young man in his early 20’s, dressed in a not very tasteful shiny silk suit, patent leather Italian shoes, and Hawaiian shirt, opened to the chest and sliding into the seat next to 5b.  That’s maybe unfortunately, me.

The speed with which he slid into the soft leather didn’t allow the flight attendant to do her first chore of the night.

“May I take your coat, Mr. Perwitt?”

He turned to her with the subtleties of a soldier on 24-hour leave. “Take anything you want, sugar. I’m all yours for the next few hours.”

With experienced poise and know how, she paused just long enough to throw his flirtatious timing off and jab him with some of her own. “Well, I’m going to take your coat now,” gesturing for him to rise, “and then I’m going to relieve you of your appetite,” she lifted the coat from his shoulders, “your needed rest…” he turned to purposely be nose to nose with her smiling face, “and with a little bit of luck, your recalcitrant and coy disposition.”

“Oh, shit,” he said with a grin that spread his skimpy mustache even farther to the edges of his scrawny side burns. “Now that’s worth waitin’ for.”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a polished smile, “And you get it all night long.” He sat up again, gave me a “how about that” glance, and as he buckled up,

“Recalcitrant must be real good, eh?” He extended his hand toward mine, “Gerald Perwitt.”

His hand was impossible to avoid. “Charles Randall.” God, I thought. This is one time I should have used a name I didn’t like...like Charlie.

“First time to Hong Kong?”

Somewhere in my past I must have learned about these kinds of guys because I just knew he was settling in for a very talkative flight.

“Yes.”

“Mine too.”

He glanced about.  “You want a blanket?”

“No, thank you.”

“Blanket and pillow.” He put his call light on. “Best friends I had flying from Houston to Tokyo. Where you from, Charles?”

Do I buy into this clown or clam up and try to sleep again. Answers came fast for some reason. Maybe it was his personality, but I knew if I tried to close my eyes, he would have the flight attendants running to him every minute, making sleep impossible, so... “Los Angeles.”

“Lemme guess. Good lookin’ fella like you...Hollywood.  Producer?  Actor?”

“No,” I quickly answered. I didn’t need this guy asking about a background I barely knew myself. “Just boring real estate.”

He gave me the first of many elbows that night. “Not so boring when you can fly like this.”

A different flight attendant stepped up to him, “Yes, Mr. Perwitt?”

After hearing her commanding voice, he took one look at her professional, yet stoic, face and shelved his usual charm. “Aa...Ma’ am. Pillow and blanket, please.”

“Of course.” She reached up and pulled both from the overhead compartment. Then, sensing I might not be enjoying my flight, she asked him, “Would you like an eye mask to sleep with.”

“Oh, no” he said. That’s fine. My friend and I will probably keep things lively the rest of the night.”

He tucked the pillow, spread the blanket and sighed, “Ah...”

He then closed his eyes and folded his hands on his chest for what I mistakenly thought was going to be a nap. “Aren’t you gonna ask what I do?”

“Of course, I am. What do you do Mr. Perwitt?”

He opened one eye. “Gerald, Charles. Gerald. Let’s not let formalities mess up our friendship, okay?”

I was sucked into the eye of the storm, so I figured I might as well ride it out. “Gerald.”

“That’s better. Charles...you’re talking to the winner of the Reader’s Digest Sweepstakes...the one...million...dollar…winner.”

I kept my eyes forward, knowing he was scanning me with his one eye waiting for my, “Oh my God. Really?” reply.  Strangely, I knew what that contest was all about. To play this game, I had to invent some new rules. “Uh...Gerald,” I whispered as I adjusted my position, “You might want to keep that to yourself, before every mooch around drains you.”

“You mean invest in real estate? Stay low profile,” he said with the flair of a serious “wanna-be.”

“Something like that.”

“Well,” he leaned into me, “I’m gonna enjoy this ‘round the world’ trip first, then...know what I’m gonna do? Let you give me some advice. Paid for advice, of course. I can afford to pay for the help I get.”

My knee jerk reaction was, “Oh, that’s all right, we’ll...”

“No, won’t hear of it. I’ll pay and pay decently. Never had to worry ‘bout money before ‘cause I never had any...not much at any rate. I was up for foreman, though. Just before all this wonderful green stuff hit the fan. Yup. Ain’t you gonna ask me what I was gonna be foreman for?”

“Of course.”

“Oklahoma Meat Packing...Corporation,” he said with the pride of a truly dedicated butcher.  “Oh, should have let you know where I was from, right?  Tulsa, Oklahoma.  That’s where my mom and pop raised me.”

“I’m impressed, Gerald. Must have been hard to tell the supervisor that you couldn’t accept.”

“Not really. They understood. Gave me a gold watch the night I threw the party for ‘em all. We had champagne and caviar and all kinds of stuff like that. They were really sad to lose me.”

“Hey,” I said, “it’s not every day a celebrity is born into The Oklahoma Meat Packing...Corporation.”

“Yeah. You got that right, Charles.  I am a celebrity winning all that money, ain’t I?  But I’ll visit. Don’t you think it’s right to visit, or would they just think I was bein’ a snob?”

“You visit, Gerald. They gave you that gold watch because they want you to come back and see them.”

He raised up and extended his hand again. “Charles...you seem like a guy who knows where it’s at. Put it there, pal.”

It was time for the toilet. “Sure...pal.” I shook his hand again. “Excuse me, old buddy, but I’ve got to visit the little room.”

“Yeah. Sure. They are little aren’t they? Thought the first class would be bigger, but I guess they figure you’re not gonna spend much time in there when there’s so much service up here.”