The Curse of Happiness

At 11:32 AM, Sarah Covington oozed into her office for the day. She didn’t look terrible, but she didn’t look great either. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun that couldn’t quite tame all of her unruly black curls. Her outfit was stylish but wrinkled and her perfume didn’t cover the smell of her morning cigarettes. She adjusted her gloves and didn’t bother taking off her sunglasses as she approached her secretary Gina, who handed her a venti dark roast with two shots of espresso and three shots of Bailey’s. Sarah gulped the coffee and placed her purse on Gina’s desk.

“How many appointments today?” Sarah asked. 

“Just one Ma’am. It’s Jason Ethan.” Gina replied. “He paid extra so he’d be your only interview today.”

“Shit. That’s right.”

“He’s been here since ten. Seems really anxious.”

Sarah sighed and took another drink. “Whatever.” 

“He’s just not used to waiting Ma’am.” 

“He could have left if he wanted.” Sarah picked up her purse and stared toward her office. 

She found Jason Ethan pacing in front of her conference table. When Sarah entered, he glanced at his watch but didn’t dare point out how late she was. No one ever did because it was a rare privilege to get an appointment in the first place. Sarah stood in the doorway and studied him. Somehow, he was even better looking in person. Tall, muscular, clean-shaven, with a sharp jawline and a full head of beautiful, silver hair. His suit must have cost thousands of dollars and fit him to perfection. He had been the biggest movie star on the planet for over two decades and looked every bit the part. He was famous for his warm, radiant smile but he wasn’t using it now. He seemed to shrink a little as Sarah approached him.

“Mr. Ethan. It’s a pleasure.” She extended her gloved hand and Ethan eyed it with suspicion. “It’s fine. If we have a successful interview, I take the gloves off.”

Ethan reached out and shook her hand. It was a strong, confident grip that didn’t quite match the worry in his eyes. Sarah gestured to a chair at the conference table and they both sat down. She took off her sunglasses and stared at him for a long moment. She studied him as if he was some strange, exotic creature and he looked down into his lap and twiddled his thumbs. This was her favorite part of the interviews - watching the rich and powerful awkwardly wait for her to say something. Watching them squirm as she silently judged them. Their eyes always begged her to find them worthy because her fickle judgment was legendary. She typically only found about 15% of clients were worthy of her touch. Sarah took another sip of coffee and the sweet relief of the Bailey’s started to kick in. 

“So, Mr. Ethan, tell me why you think you deserve to be happy.” She smiled a menacing smile and waited for him to answer.

*

Everyone in Sarah’s early life had been obnoxiously happy. Her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and neighbors all seemed to be infused with a level of happiness and contentment that eluded Sarah. She wasn’t an unhappy child, but as she grew older, she was increasingly frustrated that she never seemed to be able to experience the endless joy that enveloped the people in her life. It was like everyone around her had unlocked some sort of secret that eluded her, and the older she got, the more the perpetual happiness grated on her nerves. When she was a teenager, she tried to rebel. As an antidote to all the smiles and laughter, she started to hang out with the misfits at her high school. Goth kids. Delinquents. Heavy metal enthusiasts. Budding Communists and Young Republicans. Kids whose parents were alcoholics who beat them and kids whose parents didn’t care enough about them to beat them. Every time though, when she befriended these miserable souls something miraculous happened - they started to be happy too. The gothiest of goths began to love their parents. Delinquents signed up to volunteer at homeless shelters. Frowns turned to smiles and even the most hopelessly depressed teens suddenly discovered joy and purpose in life. Sarah found it mystifying and it nearly drove her to suicide several times.

In college, she decided to study psychology in a hopeless effort to try to figure out how everyone in her life except her could be so happy. She found no answers. She ran through friends and boyfriends and even a few girlfriends but no matter how miserable they were when they met Sarah, they always seemed to develop a zest for life that previously eluded them. She smoked and drank and dabbled in hard drugs. The vices brought her fleeting moments of pleasure but those moments never lasted long enough. 

One cool fall evening, she was walking home alone from yet another one-night stand. She never slept over because when the sloppy, mediocre sex was finished, her partners inevitably told her how they wanted to be with her forever. She found it so repulsive she would slink away on a walk of shame. She lit a joint as she crossed the quad and was staring up at the stars when two men jumped at her from the shadows. They knocked her to the ground. A skinny man straddled her chest, and his fat companion started to pull her pants down. She screamed and thrashed and struggled. She managed to free one of her arms from the skinny man’s grasp and slapped him across the face. It was a good slap. Hard and clean, and the sound of the skin on skin echoed between the buildings. The man froze and stared into her eyes. He stood and pushed the second assailant off Sarah. Sarah wriggled backward away from them. The skinny man that Sarah slapped walked up to the fat man and hugged him. He told him how they shouldn’t be doing this and how they should apologize. He told the fat man how he suddenly felt better than he’d ever felt in his life. The fat man asked his companion what the hell was wrong with him and lunged for Sarah. The skinny man stepped between them and turned to Sarah.

“Slap him too.” He said.

Sarah stared back at him and didn’t respond.

“Dude!” The fat man yelled.

“Please. Just let her.” The skinny man responded and grabbed his colleague by the collar. The fat man was starting to panic and tried to twist free. The skinny man thrust the fat man forward and looked Sarah in the eyes. “Slap him now. He needs it.”

Sarah slapped him. It wasn’t a gentle slap either. She wound up and put all her weight into it. Her palm landed squarely on his cheek and she could see a bright red welt bloom in pale moonlight. Then the fat man stopped struggling and his mouth dropped open. All three of them were still and quiet for half a minute until the fat man started crying. 

“I’ve never…I never realized the campus could be so beautiful at night. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He said to Sarah. “I’ve never felt like this.” 

They turned and as they disappeared into the shadows, Sarah heard them laughing and talking about how they’d never been this happy before. Then she was alone in the early morning dark. She stared at her hand and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. 

*

Sarah studied the papers that Jason Ethan had spread across her conference table. There were bank statements showing he donated nearly fifty million dollars to charities over the last decade. She leafed through photographs of him helping orphans in some third-world country. He droned on and on about a clean water project in Angola that he was funding with the proceeds from the sale of his production company. He pointed out how he’d never had a ‘Me Too’ moment and how we went to mass every Sunday when he wasn’t on set. Sarah had seen hundreds of presentations like this before. They somehow always managed to be dull and impressive at the same time. When he finished, Sarah opened a dossier that Gina had placed on her desk earlier in the day and thumbed through the papers. 

“That’s all very nice, but I’m still at a loss why you’re here. According to Forbes, you’ve made nearly a billion dollars in your career Mr. Ethan. You have two Oscar wins and five nominations. You have houses in Bel Air and Sun Valley. Plus, a five thousand acre ranch in Colorado and a condo overlooking Central Park. You have two kids headed to Ivy League schools and a wife who has loved you since you were a struggling actor doing Shakespeare in Oregon. You have everything anyone could want, yet you’re here with me, begging for happiness.”

Ethan’s eyes welled with tears that wouldn’t fall. “If you’d told me 30 years ago that this would be my life and I’d still be miserable, I would have laughed in your face. I wish all the success, all the stuff, would fill this void, but it doesn’t. I know most people would kill for my problems, but they don’t realize how lonely life can be when you never know if someone is being nice to you because they like you or just want something from you.” 

Sarah leaned back in her chair and gave him a sad smile. “I think I can relate.”

*

Sarah quit college the week after the assault and drove across the country to Los Angeles. She slept in her car until she found a studio apartment in Chatsworth and got a job waiting tables at a Chili’s on Reseda. She wasn’t a very good server. She forgot to give people refills, she was a little slow to bring out customers' food, and she never pre-bussed her tables. By the end of the meal, most of her customers were grumpy, but when she handed them the check, she always made sure to gently graze their hands. It wasn’t much. Just a soft touch that somehow filled the customers with bottomless joy. Even on a quiet night, she averaged $500 in tips. 

Then she touched the wrong person. 

It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon and steady, gentle rain had scared most Angelenos to stay indoors. Her only table was a woman in her late fifties with long silver hair dressed like a Woodstock refugee. She had ordered a cup of soup, a plate of ribs, and an iced tea. The woman hadn’t said much to Sarah through the course of the meal. Sarah's half-hearted attempts at small talk were met with monosyllabic answers or noncommittal grunts. That was fine with Sarah. The less chit-chat, the better. Sarah brought her the check and when she did her normal soft touch on the wrist, the woman straightened, and her eyes bulged. She grabbed Sarah’s wrist and clamped down so hard Sarah couldn’t pull free. Sarah was about to call for help when the woman pulled her close.

“Tell me, my child, how long have you been running this scam?” She asked. Sarah could smell the barbecue sauce on her breath.

“Let me go.” Sarah hissed.

“No, no, no. I want to talk to you. But not here. In private. I’ve never met another one of our kind. I never thought I would.” She had a tinge of an accent, maybe Middle Eastern, maybe from the Eurasian steps. Her eyes were almost pure black. Sarah stopped struggling. Then the woman let her go and rummaged through her purse. She pulled out a business card and handed it to Sarah. “I want you to promise you’ll come to see me. I know what you’re going through.” 

Sarah studied the card. The border was made of stylized zodiac symbols and an address and phone number were printed in the center in a lightly serifed font. Above the address and phone number was her name: Lady Magdelena. Sarah told her she would and then the woman smiled and left. When Sarah cleared the table, she was disappointed to find she had only left a fifteen percent tip. 

A week later, Sarah worked up the courage to visit Lady Magdelena. She drove to a tiny, nondescript bungalow in West Hollywood and rang the doorbell. After a moment, Lady Magdelena answered. She welcomed Sarah into her living room and offered Sarah a cup of strong, aromatic tea. They sat at a scratched and battered dining room table and the only light came from a dirty skylight above them. Lady Magdelena sat across from Sarah and stared at her with those coal-black eyes. Sarah squirmed under the gaze and waited for Lady Magdalena to say something. Finally, she did.

“Happiness is a curse, isn’t it?” Magdelena said. “I’ve been dealing with it longer than you child. I never thought I’d meet someone else with the touch. I thought there could only be one of us at a time because too much happiness in the world is a horrible thing. But here we are, sisters bound together by the misery of knowing everyone we touch will be happy.” 

Sarah’s eyes welled up, and she felt like someone had ripped open her chest. A torrent of pent-up emotion came pouring out like damn had burst and she wept for five minutes. Magdelena offered her tissues and rubbed her back. When Sarah calmed down, she looked up at Magdelena and thanked her for the tissues.

“How do you do it? Deal with all the happiness that we can’t ever feel.”

“It’s not easy, child, even for an old soul like me. But, long ago, I discovered there was only one way to cope with this blessed curse we have. “ Magdalena sat down again. “Remember this, my dear, when you’re good at something, never do it for free.”

*

Jason and Sarah talked until dusk. Eventually, they both forgot they were conducting a business transaction. They were just two people at a conference room commiserating about the elusive nature of happiness. He showed her pictures of kids and his cats and an ancient pit bull mix he’d rescued from a shelter. At 7:00 PM, Sarah offered Jason a drink, and they watched the sun dip toward the horizon. 

“Can I option your life story? It would make an amazing movie.”

“Too many people already know about me.” She said. “I’d never get any peace.” 

“Do you have peace now?”

“Not really.” 

For a long while, they sat in silence staring out at the looming sunset. 

“You’re worthy Mr. Ethan.” She said. It was barely louder than a whisper. 

Ethan blinked. “Oh my god…I…really? I can’t believe it. What’s next?”

“Call your people. Have the money transferred out of escrow. Then we can proceed.” 

Ethan made a phone call and fifteen minutes later, Sarah received a text from her private banker confirming that she’d be ten million dollars richer when the bank opened in the morning. She stood and took off her gloves. Ethan perked up, leaned forward, and closed his eyes. Sarah touched his cheek and let her hand linger a little longer than she normally would have. Jason Ethan opened his eyes, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He rose and paced around the office. His demeanor was borderline manic and he ran his fingers through his hair as he looked out the office window. 

“I never knew what it was like to actually be happy. It’s incredible. I can’t…there’s no way to describe it.” He hugged Sarah. “Thank you. Thank you for choosing me. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.“

Ethan started toward the door then stopped and turned to Sarah. 

“I wish you could feel this.” He said.

“I wish I could too.”

Ethan left and Sarah sat down at her desk. She pulled a bottle of Shibui Single Grain from her drawer, poured two fingers of bourbon into a Waterford tumbler, and watched the traffic on Wilshire.