The Personal Assistant

  “Where is Sistra?” Jamieson said. Terrance was sure of the voice, but checked the name display on his cell phone anyway. “Her test came back positive. Why haven’t you been watching her?”

   “Mr. Jamieson, she sent me away when she finished at the recording studio two days ago.”

   “Rudy tells me she dropped by Armen’s party tonight. That was nine o’clock. He says she was having everything they were having. Why are you not at her side?”

   “Mr. Jamieson, I’m not her doctor, and I’m not her bodyguard.”

   “You’re whatever she needs you to be. That’s what you’re paid for.”

   “Yes, and when I’m told to go home, I go home. My, look at the time. Mr. Jamieson, at this point she is either beyond our help, or passed out at the apartment. Since the beyond help is beyond me, I’ll try the apartment.”

   Terrance got out of bed, showered, and dressed. By the time Terrance taxied to Sistra’s apartment, Jamieson was already there arguing with security. “I’m her lawyer, if you can’t remember my face, you’d better remember my name, because I’m not going to forget yours, let me in.”

   “I know who you are, I recognize you, but this time of night, I’ve got to have the consent of the lady. I saw her go in, but she’s not answering.”

   “Jonathan.” Terrance interrupted. “You can say I vouched for him. You have seen her? Tonight?”

   “Yes. I don’t think she’s well. I mean, I’m saying anything. But, not well, you know what I mean?”

   “Yes, thank you, Jonathan. She’ll be fine, it’s in hand.” Terrance assured the doorman.   

   In the elevator Jamieson announced, “The police will be coming for her.”

   “Yes, she’s very popular.”  

   When the arrived, Terrance gestured to the settee in the foyer. “If you could wait.”

   “I’m not waiting on you.”

   “Mr. Jamieson, you wouldn’t want to meet your client in circumstances that might violate her right of privacy.”

   “Oh, you have a degree in law now?”

   “No, I have an attitude, it’s almost as valuable. Please wait. I’ll see she has a chance to compose herself. I’ll let her know her situation, and that you’re here to counsel her.”

   Jamieson sat, resenting that Terrance was always making a buffer of himself between Sistra and everyone else.

   Terrance went up the two storey penthouse stairs, and halfway he could hear Sistra being sick.

   “All the soundproofing they had installed you would have thought someone would have remembered to do the bathrooms.” Terrance called, as he approached the open bathroom door.  

   “Terry?”

   “Yes, beautiful. That’s it, always leave the door open, let the guest know they’re all invited to the party.”

   “You said to keep it open when I’m sick, so someone can help me if I need help.”

   When he stepped inside Sistra was propped sideways on the floor by the toilet, her non-running makeup had lost the battle. Terry sat down beside her and gently pulled her into the middle of the large bathroom, cradling her head in his lap. He stretched for some tissues and dabbed her eyes, mouth, and forehead.

   “Who’s a pretty girl?”

   Sistra pushed away the tissues. “I’m not a dog.”

   “No, you’re not. A dog is obedient. And you are a rebel. Our beautiful rebel.”

   “I’m not beautiful now.”

   “Well, the truth isn’t part of my job description.”

   Sistra sat up and slapped him on the arm several times.

   “That’s a lawsuit.”

   “I’ll pay it.”

   The slaps continued. Terrance pulled some large white towels from the shelves and wrapped Sistra’s arms in them to cushion, and finally, stop the slaps. Bundled up in the fabric she struggled, then gave she up and leaned into him crying. Terrance hugged her. “I know, I know.”

   “How was my test?” She asked.

   “You didn’t pass. Your lawyer is downstairs.”

   “He’s a creep.”

   “Yes, that’s what you pay him for.”

   “It’s my fault.”

   “No, he was a creep before you hired him.”

   “He’s supposed to look out for me.”

   “Yes, yes, he is.”

   “You’re suppose to look out for me.”

   “You sent me away.”

   “I know. I didn’t mean it. You didn’t think I meant it?”

   “I always believe what you tell me. Especially, when you don’t mean it.”

   She pushed herself away from him. “I should fire you.”

   “That would be too kind.” Terrance stood up, and reached behind Sistra to try to lift her up off the floor. “Come on.” She slapped him away.

  “You don’t know the pressure. Pressure.”

  “No, I don’t. You can win that argument every time.”

  “That test.”

  “Yes, beautiful?”

   “That test. They’re not as accurate as they say they are. I was only having a little. That test couldn’t tell. They must have cheated. They lied. They’re liars.”

   Terrance squatted down again to be at eye level. “Beautiful, you’re going to have company soon.”

   “No.”

   “It’s company I can’t make go away. Now, why don’t you get up and get yourself changed into something a little less… a little less damaged?”

   Sistra nodded, and Terrance helped her to her unsteady feet. She changed while Terrance waited outside her bedroom door. After a bit he could hear makeup applicators and perfume bottles being thrown against the walls. Terrance quietly stepped inside. Sistra stopped, looked at him, then seated herself before her mirrors and started crying again.

   Terrance squatted down beside her and dabbed her with more tissues. She placed a hand on his cheek. “What happened, Terry?”

   He shrugged, stood and she grabbed his wrists, pleading. “I had a beautiful house.”

   “Yes. Yes, I liked that house. I liked seeing the park every morning.”

   “I had a beautiful husband.”

   “Yes, very handsome, very decent.”

   “I had two beautiful boys.”

   “Good lads.”

   “I had my music.”

   “It’s in litigation.”

   “And I had my dope.”

   “Ah, yes, well, the shoe drops there, doesn’t it.”

   “What am I going to do?”

   “The police are on their way, and you are going to go with them.”

   “No.”

   “Now, listen, the test came back positive for narcotics. I’m afraid they’ll insist you go with them. You are in violation of your parole. Mr. Jamieson is here to help you.”

   Sistra began rummaging through the drawers of her vanity. She found a container of face powder and spilled it out. In the powder were several colored pills. She collected them up. Terrance grabbed her arm. “That’s not going to help.”

   “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you ever touch me!” More slaps, but much harder this time, and kicking. The kicking was always the worst. She took the pills and ran off to the bathroom slamming doors behind her.

   Terrance rubbed his wounds, straightened his clothes, then picked one of her coats from the wardrobe and went downstairs. Two uniformed police officers had already arrived and seemed to be passing time conferring with Jamieson. After a few more moments of waiting, she appeared at the top of the stairs and came down with her head up high.

   Terrance held up her coat, but she waved him away, making a show of not looking at him. She looked perfectly sober if you did not look too closely at her eyes.

   They took her away and Jamieson spoke, “I’ll have her back in the morning with an ankle monitor. Maybe they’ll push for a month at detox. A slap and a fine. Boy, look at us. Look at the time. You can really hate her sometimes, can’t you?”

   “I should be so lucky, Mr. Jamieson.”