Craved

  I shake my hair out of my face, as if trying to get rid of unpleasant memories. I notice Natalia’s car and park right next to it.

  I open the door and quickly close it. I lean towards my side window and look down. There is a big black goat with a white face at my door, staring right at me. I blink at him and call Natalia.

  ‘Hey Jul, where are you? The thing is about to start. As you get here, go through reception and to the right. I am making us coffee.’ She chatters without giving me a chance to explain, and puts the phone down.

  I whisper a curse, sigh, and look again – the goat is still there. He’s chewing the grass, staring at me.

  What the hell!

  I put my hand on the door handle, pull it, then change my mind and call Natalia again.

  ‘Jul, what’s going on?’ she asks impatiently. ‘The meeting starts in two minutes.’

  ‘There is a goat at my door. I am afraid to get out.’

  ‘No way,’ Natalia bursts with laughter. ‘I know we grew up in a city, and that our granny didn’t live in some cute farmhouse full of chickens and other animals, but seriously?’

  ‘He is staring at me, and seems hostile.’ I’m not sure if it’s a sufficient explanation.

  ‘No, seriously?’ she sighs. ‘Okay, I’ll be right there.’

  Two minutes later she walks behind the car, claps a few times and shouts, ‘Go away goat, this chick is silly enough to be afraid of you.’

  The goat looks at her indifferently, and starts heading to the other side of the parking lot.

  ‘Okay, let’s go, it’s safe now!’ Natalia makes fun of me. I get out, we hug and kiss and start walking towards the building.

  ‘They are all over the place. You’ll get used to it,’ she explains as we walk past a brood of chickens. ‘Animals help in recovery or something.’

  I nod, anxiously looking around for other goats.

  ‘We have a few group sessions before we can see Lena. It’s part of the program to explain how to deal with addiction in the family.’ Natalia changes the subject as we walk inside.

  I giggle. ‘Soon you’ll be a real pro!’ Natalia gives me a that’s-not-funny look and I wipe the smile off my face.

  Okay, no more jokes about our fucked-up family.

  We walk through reception and follow a corridor into a large room with about 20 chairs in a semicircle. Most of them are occupied.

  The meeting begins. A simply dressed, tall woman with clotted, tied-back hair greets us with a reserved smile, and explains the day’s schedule. Then she introduces a young man in jeans and a blue shirt, and a woman in her fifties wearing a tacky brown pants suit. The tall woman adds that these two will run the morning program, and that she will see us later on.

  The man in the blue shirt starts, explaining the usual behavior of family members when they face drug or alcohol addiction problems. He explains the difference between fixing the problems for the addict, helping him or her to avoid consequences, and simply caring for and supporting him or her.

  ‘You have to understand that his or her life is not yours. You can’t put your life on hold while saving them. Shutting the door completely is not right either. Addiction is a serious sickness and, as with any sickness, there is not always an easy fix. It can take time. Meaning,’ he turns and indicates the boards he has drawn on for the whole hour, ‘supporter but not problem-fixer. Consequences are tough but have to be faced in order to survive. Addiction is not some kind of wrongdoing. It is a serious sickness that has to be treated as such.’

  I yawn and fidget while glancing at the table with coffee cups and kettle.

  Lucky for me, there was no such thing as a family day in my rehab. It would have been too embarrassing if my parents had come. To look them in the eye while I was a miserable creature foundering at the bottom of the ocean of my life, trying to learn how to live from scratch.

  We go through another meeting. The woman talks about dysfunctional families and how to distinguish them from normal families, and how harmful it can be when people in denial fail to recognize or ignore these issues. She’s wearing a well-tailored brown suit, and her hair isn’t that depressive, but the same tired smile is glued on her face.

  This place is sad.

  Three hours and five cups of coffee later, we finally move to another building. This time it’s a bigger room with chairs in two rows. We all sit on one side, and the patients are called in too. As they settle in front of us, I have a chance to observe the group. There are seven females including Lena, and about six guys. All of them are different ages and races, but with a similar serenity in their eyes. All of them, including Lena, are dressed in oversized sweaters and trackpants with blown-out knees; their hair is combed and untidy – just like a bunch of junkies.

  Well, they are a bunch of junkies.

  The tall woman who had greeted us that morning takes her seat at the end of the room, between the two rows of chairs. The man in the blue shirt and woman in the brown suit also bring white plastic chairs and sit down next to her.

  ‘We are gathered here to talk about our feelings,’ the tall woman begins. ‘We aren’t going to accuse each other or discuss wrongdoings. I want us to share our feelings only.’ She pauses for a moment to make sure we’ve understood her. ‘Who’d like to begin?’

  A woman who had come with her husband to visit their son, starts crying the moment she sees him. The boy is fifteen years old, and it turns out this is his third rehab.

  ‘You are Mike’s parents, right?’ the tall woman asks. ‘Would you like to begin? Tell us what you feel.’

  The mother tries, but can’t say a word. Tears suffocate her. The father takes time to answer.

  ‘I’m very angry. That’s how I feel.’ As he says that, his wife puts her hand on top of his and begins weeping even louder.

  The tall woman speaks again. ‘You see, Mike? You see how your choices impact people who love you?’ The kid scratches his head and mumbles some apologies and the tall woman moves to the next family. With each share, more people cry.

  A pregnant wife shares that she’s afraid to give birth knowing there is no one to support her. Her boyfriend, a skinny tattooed man, drops his eyes to the floor, as every person in the room is looking at him.

  ‘I can’t handle drugs.’ He replies after the tall woman demands more from him. ‘I cannot touch them. I will not do anything stronger than beer.’

  All three rehab workers shake their heads as one. Then the tall woman begins to explain that he can’t stop without stopping everything. While she is saying that, I feel Natalia's piercing stare on me.

  When it’s our turn, Natalia starts talking and I sigh with relief because I don't know what to say.

  Besides, if I start crying, it will ruin my make up.

  ‘Hi, my name is Natalia, and I’m here today because of my sister Lena.’ She pauses, exhaling heavily while looking at Lena. ‘She is a beautiful young woman who has everything to be happy. But for some reason she is not.’ Natalia’s voice trembles and she exhales again. ‘What do I feel? I feel pain when I see how she is destroying herself.’ Tears cover Lena’s face. ‘I love you, sister, and I beg you to stop.’ Now Natalia is crying too. ‘Please. You know we can’t lose you.’ Natalia looks down, covering her face with both hands. ‘I beg you.’

  I put my hands on Natalia’s shoulders, surprised to see her like that. Lena gets up and goes to hug Natalia. She grabs my shoulder, pulling me into the embrace too.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I didn't want to hurt anyone. I love you girls so much.’

  But Natalia continues her anguished sobbing. ‘We may lose Dad. It is hard for all of us. And it’s Julia now too. She is drinking again. I can’t! I can’t lose all of you! I just can’t!’

  ‘What?’ Lena pulls away, looking at me.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’ I roll my eyes and go back to my seat.

  ‘Lena, sit down, please,’ the woman in the brown suit says calmly. ‘It’s your turn now to
share how your sister’s words make you feel.’

  ‘Hold on a minute.’ Lena points her finger in the direction of three chairs, then turns to me. ‘Why would you do it? You're an addict! Do you think you are any different from this man?’ Now she points at the tattooed patient. ‘If you’re drinking, you’ll go back to drugs too...’

  Unfuckingbelievable.

  ‘Oh please, this is ridiculous!’ I don’t let her finish. ‘You? Worried about me? You should be worried about yourself! It’s not because of me we’re here. Thanks, but I don’t need your concern. Unlike you, sister, I am in control.’

  After the meeting on the way out, the tall woman calls my name and stops me as I am about to leave.

  ‘Hi Julia, are you in the program?’

  Argh… Those concerned eyes again. So annoying.

  My stare stops on her lips. The orange lipstick has run down, filling the net of creases on her skin. I smirk. ‘No, I’m not. But thanks for asking. Bye.’ I turn to leave.

  ‘Wait.’

  I stop and turn, ‘Yes?’

  ‘I understand that I’m a stranger and have no right to intrude in your life.’ She bows and gives me a pamphlet with the meeting schedule. ‘But if you need to talk to someone, or anything else, please visit one of these groups. You’ll find support and understanding there.’ She turns to leave, but then looks at me again. ‘Just keep in mind, Julia: once an addict, always an addict and, unfortunately, there is no such thing as control when it comes to addiction.’

  I say nothing, turn and walk outside. I get into my car and throw the pamphlet out of the window.

  Freaking sect that knows nothing better than to talk in slogans! I know one thing – drugs will destroy me. That’s why there is no way I’m going to use again. I don’t need a bunch of losers to tell me that!

  40

  I haven’t seen Saad since the morning after the night we met. He called me, later that afternoon, to say that he had to leave the same day to go back to Dubai. Immediately, troubled thoughts – had I made a mistake by sleeping with him right away? – crawled into my head. ‘He fucked you – he got what he wanted’ mashed my mind like a heavyweight fighter in the ring with a wimp.

  Despite my fears, Saad called the very next day. And the day after that. The lengthy phone calls became part of our daily routine. He would tell me about his important trips and meetings, complaining that he would rather be with me. He also tried to explain the nature of his business. I didn’t understand much, except that it’s huge, diverse and strongly connected to his family. I, in return, shared my unsophisticated daily goings-on: of how, once again, someone stole my yogurt from my shelf in the fridge; the everyday outcome of succession negotiation for the use of the shower before work (with only three bathrooms for all eighteen girls in the house); or the updates about our ludicrous stalker-nudist neighbor. Saad often giggled with childish amusement: ‘Just like when I was a kid and my parents sent me to boarding school! I wish I had to share the room with hot Ukrainian chicks, instead of three snotty boys back then.’

  We’ve tried to Skype, but because of the house’s poor Internet connection, every attempt ended up with frustration about our frozen faces and broken words and phrases.

  This morning, instead of his usual, ‘Good morning beautiful. How did you sleep?’ SMS, I get:

  Good morning beautiful.

  I need you to go to

  335 Beach Road, Sea Point.

  Be there at 3 p.m.

  Please bring a photocopy

  of your passport with you.

  I stretch and check the time. It’s 2 p.m. I send him a reply of multiple smiles and question marks. While I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth, he sends me another text:

  Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.

  Hurry up :)

  At 15.05 I park at one of the apartment buildings in Sea Point. I get out of the car, look up at the grey ten-storey building, squinting against the bright sun, and anxiously sigh. I take my phone out of my pocket to check for more SMSs from Saad that could shed some light on this what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here situation. There are none. I walk towards the neat frontage, adorned with square-cut shrubs and colorful flower beds. I look up the number on the intercom and press the button.

  I wait for an answer while a wide range of nasty scenarios swings through my mind: from a trap in which I’m abducted for sex slavery in some foul harem in Dubai, to twisted images of a swingers’ party at which I’m drugged and forced to participate.

  I’m a fathomlessly damaged person and will never be able to enjoy life like normal people do. For once, Julia, can’t you relax and see things as they are?

  ‘Julia?’ The voice of a not-so-young woman rings out. Busy arguing with myself, I forget to answer.

  ‘Julia?’ The voice gets more demanding.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  I shift on my feet and look around, fighting with the anxiety that is having a party in my guts.

  Calm down, Julia. It’s the middle of the day, the apartment building has hundreds of other people around. Nothing bad is going to happen.

  A few minutes later a blond woman in a yellow linen skirt suit hops out the front door.

  ‘My name is Margaret, very nice meeting you.’ She shakes my hand with a wide smile and a calculating stare, and walks me inside. We get into the elevator and she presses the number 10.

  ‘Would you like a glass of water, Julia? Or anything else? Sparkling wine?’ she offers as soon as we walk into the apartment.

  ‘Yes please, water is good.’ I swallow, feeling dryness in my mouth.

  ‘Come inside and take a seat.’ She walks into the open-plan kitchen. Some tension gets released, as I understand that there is no one else except for Margaret and me. At least the swingers’ party is out. I ignore her suggestion and walk past the contemporary, low, bright orange couch with colorful cushions, stunning yellow glass coffee table and weirdly designed curved floor lamp. I go straight towards the roomy, furnished balcony that fits even a sunbed. I take a deep breath of fresh sea air, basking in the warm sun on my face and relishing the boundless turquoise of the sky and steel blue of the ocean.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Margaret walks over with the glass of water. ‘What do you think?’

  I take the glass, look suspiciously inside it, and decide not to drink, ignoring my thirst. I swallow again, feeling an even worse dryness in my mouth than a minute before, and look at Margaret without returning her enthusiasm that’s so confusing to me.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me why I am here?’

  My eager tone makes her frown. ‘Mr. Amari didn’t tell you?’ She is genuinely surprised. The wide, playful smile is back on her face.

  ‘No...’ I turn away, ashamed. ‘He just gave me this address and...’

  ‘Oh Julia, I apologize if this situation has made you feel uncomfortable. I am a property agent. Mr. Amari is my client. I’ve been asked to find an upmarket apartment in this area. If you like it, it’s yours. He’s paid for twelve months in advance, and asked to execute the lease in your name.’

  ‘What? Are you serious?’

  She laughs, showing the set of perfect white teeth. ‘Let me show you around, then you can tell me what you think.’

  Margaret’s tour offers detailed description. She begins with the only but ridiculously spacious bedroom and vast, incredible, en suite bathroom. I follow her, moving my eyes from the paintings on the walls to the other luxury features and finishes Margaret points out, but don’t hear what she is saying. My totally confused mind is trying to restart – replacing my disturbing suspicions with the jaw-dropping thrill of this surprise.

  What a dumbhead I am! Who the hell would hijack someone with a copy of a passport? Or even dumber – a copy of my passport for a swingers’ party? Seriously, Julia?

  My phone rings. I pull it out of my bag, smile at it, and press the answer call button.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Saad's
voice is warm and excited.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  Margaret smiles and courteously walks out of the room.

  ‘You didn’t like it?’

  ‘Are you kidding me? It’s amazing! It’s the best surprise ever!’ I add, calmer, ‘You shouldn't have. I was perfectly comfortable in that house.’

  ‘Enjoy it, beautiful,’ he says, pleased with himself. ‘I want to spoil you. And what the hell! I want to be able to Skype with you! Besides, you won’t need to fight over the shower or your yogurt any more.’

  We giggle.

  ‘Would you like to have dinner with me on Friday?’

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, then lie down, feeling the soft coolness of the sheets, look up at the white ceiling adorned with different geometric shapes of luminaire and grin.

  ‘I’m all yours. Can’t wait to see you.’

  I lie, but what the hell – the man has totally deserved it.

  ‘Great! Don't go to work on Friday, and don’t worry, I’ll send someone to your manager on Thursday to sort out the fines and fees for you.’

  41

  I arrive home. I almost run, I am so excited, burning with the desire to share the news with Natalia. I find her in our bedroom. She is sitting on her bed, gazing out the window.

  ‘You will never believe what I am going to tell you!’ I drop onto the bed next to her.

  ‘I also have some news,’ Natalia says with a weak smile. ‘But you go first.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Fear trickles through my body. ‘Did Mom call? Is Dad okay?’

  ‘No, don’t worry. It’s good news.’ Natalia’s face is still smiling, but it doesn't show even a trace of gladness.

  ‘Okay, you first, then. You make me worry. Tell me what it is.’

  She sits up straight, takes a deep breath and fixes her eyes on mine.

  ‘I am pregnant. Tom and I are going to get married.’

  No fucking way!

  ‘I found out a few days ago. Told Tom. He took it surprisingly well and offered to marry me right away.’

  I raise my eyebrows but say nothing. Natalia, who has always preached about and argued for a happy and fulfilled life without husbands or kids, especially if the marriage is not for love, tells me she is going to marry a man because he knocked her up. Okay, maybe Tom is a great guy, and she enjoys spending time with him and his handsome phallus, but as far as I know she doesn’t love him.