Deeper Illusions Read online

  It turned out that I didn't have to wait long. A Dr. Bassey, a blonde woman about 45, with a very compassionate demeanor, came into my room.

  “Mrs. Gallagher, I need to go over your treatment plan with you.”

  “Yes, thanks,” I said. I was an automaton.

  “Now, I understand that you had already gone through detox before you arrived here.”

  “Right.”

  “Our program is a holistic program. You will see a psychiatrist every day for two hours, and be a part of group therapy every day for four hours. We also have outlined a diet and exercise program that we would like for you to follow while you are here.”

  “Ok.”

  “We have also worked with your husband to design a unique alternative medicine approach that you will take, in conjunction with the other steps. It will include acupuncture, yoga, massage, meditation, and equine therapy.”

  “Equine therapy? You mean, I get to play with horses?” I finally felt that I was coming to life. Just the thought of being around those gentle animals was giving me a sense of peace.

  “Yes. Your husband thought that this would be the part you would love the most. We have a horse for you. Her name is Polly. You will work with her for as many hours as you like, but a minimum of an hour a day. You'll be grooming her, feeding her, leading her, riding her, and haltering her.”

  I felt a smile creep on my face, the first smile I had felt in awhile.

  Inwardly, I also felt an overwhelming sense of love for my husband. Leave it to him to know exactly what I would need in this place.

  But, I couldn't get past the other feeling. The feeling that, if Ryan weren’t so damned stubborn about getting me a bodyguard, none of this would've happened. Well, maybe Rochelle would've gotten me, and finished me off, but even that would be better than what actually did happen.

  “Thanks, Dr. Bassey,” I said. Then felt nauseated. “Excuse me,” I said, running to the bathroom to throw up. I came back in. “How long do I have to put up with puking my guts out every five minutes?”

  “It should be easing up any day now,” she said.

  “Thanks. When do I get to meet Polly?”

  Dr. Bassey laughed. “This evening, I can take you out there. Tomorrow, you begin your routine. It's very structured. You have to make your bed every day at 7, then you have breakfast. Your husband has given us a list of healthy foods that you like, so the meals that we offer you will be based upon that. According to your husband, you can tolerate most vegetables, and you like tomatoes, asparagus, broccoli, squash, zucchini, pumpkin, spinach, kale, and carrots. You don't care for white onions that aren't cooked, and you love artichoke hearts. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, that sounds like a pretty exhaustive list. What else did Ryan tell you?”

  “He gave us a list of dishes that you like to eat as well. We have a chef here that will prepare your meals according to what you like. We have prepared a sample menu for you as well.”

  At that, she gave me the sample menu. Everything on the menu was organic, including the meat, and the meals seemed very well-rounded. I had to admit that I was looking forward to eating here.

  “I hate to ask this, but how much is this place costing?”

  “It's $80,000 a month, and you are scheduled to be here for two months.”

  I nodded my head. In my former life, one month here would be equivalent to two year's earnings. Now, it's just a drop in the bucket.

  Still weird.

  Dr. Bassey went on. “You will have a personal trainer, and you are scheduled to exercise with your trainer every day for one hour.”

  I started to panic a little. “A personal trainer? Could I please have a woman?”

  Dr. Bassey nodded. “Of course. That is a given, considering your situation.”

  I relaxed some. “The group therapy, what does that entail?”

  “It is four hours a day, six days a week. Sundays are the only day that you do not have therapy scheduled. But you are still expected to make your bed and keep your room tidy,” she said, looking at her chart. “The group is led by a trained professional, and everybody is encouraged to talk openly.”

  I felt that I wouldn't care for the group therapy. I had a hard time talking to anybody, even Ryan, about what happened to me. And I was expected just to talk to perfect strangers?

  “Individual counseling is two hours a day,” she continued. “And your husband has requested the possibility of couple's counseling as well.”

  “How often are we to have couple's counseling?”

  “He asked for that to be one hour per day, Monday through Friday. But this is only if you agree to this. It is strictly optional, of course.”

  I nodded. “That would probably be a good thing, actually,” I said, realizing that I was feeling extremely resentful and hateful towards my wonderful, patient husband. I hoped that a therapist could help me get past these feelings.

  Dr. Bassey continued. “You are expected to keep a journal, as well. You may structure your journal however you wish,” she said, handing me a journal with a Matisse painting on the front. “You can write in there whatever comes to mind. But your therapist will give you a topic to write about every day as well.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “When can I meet Polly?”

  “I'll call your equine trainer to see if she can take you right now,” she said. Then she called somebody “Ms. Watts? This is Dr. Bassey. We have a client here who would like to meet her horse this evening. Are you free?”

  I was relieved that the equine trainer was also a woman. I wasn't quite ready to be alone with a strange man just yet.

  “She will be here in a half hour,” Dr. Bassey said.

  We chatted until the trainer showed up. Ms. Watts, first name Jamie, was a tall and lanky brunette who wore her hair in a long braid down her back. She was dressed in riding crops and high riding boots, with a plain white shirt that fit tightly around her non-existent chest. She had chiseled cheekbones and flashing dark eyes. She held out her hand “Hello, I'm Jamie Watts.”

  “Iris Snowe, uh, Gallagher,” I said, taking her hand.

  We walked to a golf cart, and Jamie drove the cart to the stables. There, in one of the stables, was my horse, Polly. Polly was an enormous dappled horse, with sad brown eyes and a black mane. I looked into those eyes, and immediately saw a kindred soul. Jamie gave me an apple to give to her, and Polly eagerly took it, snorting her approval. Her head was bobbing to and fro, back and forth. She whinnied softly.

  I pet her nose while she chomped the apple. Then I looked at Jamie. “Polly. Where did you find her?”

  “She's a rescue horse. All of our horses are rescue horses. We got Polly from a farm in Kentucky. She was neglected and starving. The owner lost the farm, and left the animals there. She was also abused.”

  I nodded. I knew that I had met a kindred soul in kind Polly.

  Jamie just confirmed this for me.

  “How much do I get to see Polly?” I asked.

  “As Dr. Bassey said, a minimum of an hour a day, with me. But you can come out here whenever you like. You just need to call for a golf cart driver to bring you out here, whenever you need to come.”

  “And what are you going to have me do?”

  “Groom her, bridle her, lead her, and ride her. It's pretty structured when you are with me, but if you come out to visit her on your own, you can do whatever you like.”

  “I take it that this evening is not actually a therapy session?”

  “Right. This is just a get-acquainted session.”

  I stroked Polly while I talked to Jamie. “How much do you know about me?”

  “I've been briefed about your situation.”

  “Then you know that I lived in a drug house for a couple of weeks?”

  She nodded and said nothing.

  “Do you also know that I abandoned our animals in our house?” This was one of the things that shamed me the absolute most. More than anything else, I couldn't live with myself f
or doing that. After all the times I rescued dogs from that type of situation, and after all the traumatization I saw in those animals after being abandoned, how could I do that to my own animals? They would’ve died if Nick didn’t come when he did. If they would’ve died because of my stupidity, then I didn’t think that I would’ve survived.

  Jamie looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “Iris, people do things when trauma happens to them. Everybody reacts differently.”

  I looked at Polly. “How could I do that? Thank god Nick came by on time. To think what would've happened to them if Ryan hadn't have called him, though. I don't think that I could've lived with myself if something had happened to them because of my stupidity.”

  Then Jamie stood on the other side of Polly's nose, and stroked the horse's ear gently. “At some point, Iris, you have to stop beating yourself up. Maybe you can make amends to your animals by treating Polly here extra special.”

  I found myself crying, leaning my head into Polly's. “I'm so sorry, Max, Brut, Maddy. I'm so very sorry. I'll never do that again,” I said, over and over again, while I sobbed. Jamie put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed a little. I clutched Polly's neck and stroked her mane.

  When I got back to the room after seeing Polly, I called Ryan.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “I'm so glad you called.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just sitting here in my hotel room, watching a little television. How are you doing?”

  “Good. I, uh, wanted to thank you for all you're doing for me to help me get better. I haven't been very kind to you lately, and, for that, I'm sorry.”

  “Hey, that's not a problem. You haven't gotten to the making amends part of the program yet, so why are you skipping ahead?” he asked, with a joking tone to his voice. “Kidding, of course. Really, beautiful, you haven't offended me. I know that you are going through a lot. I just want to know the best way to help you through it.”

  “You've helped a ton, just by getting me here. It's really like a resort more than a rehab facility.” I tried to sound cheerful, even though I was dead inside. “We had talked about going to a resort for Christmas, so I guess that this is the next best thing, huh?”

  Ryan was quiet for a few seconds. “You don't have to put on a brave face,” he said. “Not with me.”

  “I know.” I didn't really have any other words. I wasn't quite ready to invite him to come and visit me, even though it was visiting hours.

  “So....are you lonely there?” That was his way of asking if I wanted him to keep me company.

  “I'm pretty tired, actually,” I said. “Maybe you can come and visit tomorrow.”

  “Sure, honey, whatever you need.”

  “Well, I just wanted to call and thank you for everything you are doing.”

  “Of course. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” It took me a long time to ever say those words, and they were, once again, difficult to say. I did love him, more than he could ever know. I think that I loved him from the first time I saw him in my office, waiting for me after our first encounter, which was a rather sleazy one-night stand. Since then, it had been a roller-coaster, and it seemed that we were on the down-slope at the moment.

  We hung up the phone, and I lay in my bed, staring at the walls. Willing my mind to be a total blank, before I fell asleep.

  The next day was regimented, as promised. I made my bed at 7 AM, then went down for my breakfast of scrambled cage-free eggs with spinach, organic strawberries and a homemade bran muffin. I hung my head, hoping that nobody would try to talk to me and make friends with me. It seemed that everybody was in a clique, anyhow, and nobody noticed me.

  Kinda like in high school.

  In our group therapy, I didn't contribute much, choosing to pass when it was my turn to speak. I saw at least one person staring at me like she knew me, which might have been possible. The media attention on my case had died down quite a bit, but I found that, on occasion, people still came up to me to ask me about what was going on with Rochelle. I knew that if the case goes to trial, the publicity would gear up again. I hoped that it wouldn't be televised. But, for now, it seemed that my fifteen minutes of fame were over, thankfully.

  In my meeting with the psychiatrist, Dr. Knight, things didn't go much better.

  “So, Iris, how are you feeling today?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Fine. Meaning?”

  “Fine,” I said with a shrug. “Everything's great. My husband's great. This place is beautiful. Those grounds are so manicured, and that reflecting pool – I've never seen anything like it. I'm scheduled for a massage and acupuncture treatment this week, too. What could be bad?”

  “Tell me about your husband. How are you really feeling about him?”

  “Ryan? Oh, he's the most magnificent guy in the entire world. He's so kind, gentle and funny. He's my best friend. We're best friends,” I said, as I twirled my hair, not looking the psychiatrist in the eye. “So, that's it, can I go now?”

  “You're angry with him. Tell me about that.”

  “Angry with him? What makes you say that?” I asked, piling my hair on top of my head, and patting my legs, which were bouncing up and down a mile a minute. Then I started biting my nails.

  “Your body language. Tell me about your marriage.”

  “Our marriage is fine. He's the love of my life.” That last part actually was true.

  The doctor tried a different tact. “Why are you in this place?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You were addicted to drugs. Why did you turn to the drugs?”

  “I don't know.” This session was becoming a waste of time. “Listen, doc, everything's fine. I don't really know why I need to talk to you. Everything's fine.”

  “Our sessions are two hours long. Now, I need for you to write in your journal tonight about why you turned to drugs and lived in a drug house for two weeks.”

  The doctor was becoming more aggressive, and soon would be pinning me down about my feelings about Andrew. It was time to cut the shrink part of the session short. “I know that I am supposed to talk to you for two hours, but maybe we can talk about other things.”

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  “My honeymoon,” I said, bringing out my iPhone. “Let me show you some pictures.” So, for the remainder of the time with Dr. Knight, I showed her pictures from our honeymoon - Ryan's yacht, Nick's house, Ryan's winery, Lake Como, the locals, the Vatican, and the ruins in Rome. “And here's where we took our scooters over to the Trevi Fountain and made wishes. Here's where we went to the Roman Colosseum ruins, and this is where we visited The Pantheon,” I said, showing the pictures as a slide show. Dr. Knight nodded along, but didn't really say much.

  The session was finally over after about an hour and half of my show and tell about our wonderful honeymoon.

  I went back to my room, and I was eager to see Polly. To tell the truth, Polly was all that was on my mind all day long. The beautiful horse with the soulful brown eyes. Abused, abandoned Polly, who was my kindred spirit. I longed to see her and begin my first session with her.

  So, I called the golf cart driver, Max, to come and get me and take me to the stables. I knew that Jamie wouldn't be able to meet me for our actual therapy session until around 5, so I could have a couple of hours just to commune with beautiful Polly. I went to the cafeteria to pick up several apples and carrots, and carefully put them into a bag as a treat for her.

  Max pulled up in front of the facility, a skinny young 20-something with a mop of unruly brown hair, and teeth like an Osmond or a Kennedy. “Hello, Mrs. Gallagher,” Max greeted me.

  “Hi, Max. Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Not a problem,” he said, as I got into the front seat with him. I tamped down the anxiety that was welling up in my throat about being alone with a strange guy, as we sped along the road that led to the stables. Stop being paranoid, Iris. This guy is harmless. Still, I found myself gripp
ing the iron bars of the golf cart as Max zipped along. I could feel myself shaking.

  “Is there anything wrong, Mrs. Gallagher?”

  “No, no. I'm fine. Call me Iris.” 'Fine' appeared to be my word of the day.

  We finally arrived at the stables, and Max dropped me off. I told him that he wouldn't need to come back for me, as Jamie would be bringing me back.

  I got to the stable where my Polly was housed. I couldn't do much with her, yet, as I had not yet learned how to lead her or anything else. I longed to have a brush for her, and get in the stable and groom her. But that was also a lesson that was reserved for later. All I could really do was stroke her nose, and pet her mane, while she whinnied softly in my ear.

  “Sweet Polly, girl,” I said, giving her an apple. “You're a beautiful girl.” She neighed, bobbing her head up and down, and stomping her hooves in her stall. She nuzzled my ear. “So, Polly, you were abused and abandoned. Looks like we have a lot in common.”

  I continued stroked her mane as I said “I have to bring my husband out here. He'll love you too. He loves me, you know, Polly. He loves me more than anyone ever has.” I put my arm around her nozzle, and stroked her.

  “He loves me, Polly. So why do I hate him?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I admitted to Polly what I couldn't admit to anybody else. That I hated my beautiful, sweet husband. “I'm really screwed up, Polly. He has never been anything but kind to me. Good to me. Yet, I feel that my life has just become so fucked up because of my association with him. Rochelle, the media, Andrew, all of that is associated with him. Not that my life was so great before him, but I at least had my sanity. Now, I'm not so sure.”

  Polly snorted in my ear. “Polly, you know, girl, I never wanted to face my past. Now, I'm forced to. I'm forced to face it, while dealing with horrible stuff that is happening right now. It's only a matter of time before people find out what happened to me when I was a seventh-grader. I'm surprised that the media never picked up on it. It's stuff that I can't tell anyone, not Dr. Knight, not Ryan, not my parents, not my friends, nobody. Just you, Polly. Just you, 'cause I know that you won't tell anyone.”