"Hey," Daniel says, "I'd like to talk to you about an idea." He mentions a script I wrote called Adrenaline that the studio had put into turnaround.
"Cool," I say. I'm holding a glass that's empty except for ice and limes, the remnants of a margarita.
"You're so thin," Daniel murmurs before he walks away with Meghan.
Rain has called twice and left a text and I've ignored them but when I see Daniel whispering something into Meghan's ear as they leave Spago I return Rain's call and she doesn't pick up.
Dr. Woolf leaves a message on my landline canceling tomorrow's session and telling me that he can't see me as a patient anymore but that he'll refer me to someone else and the next morning I drive to the building on Sawtelle and park on the fourth floor of the garage and wait for his noon session to be over because that's when he takes his lunch break and I'm listening to a song with the lyric So leave everything you know and carry only what you fear ... over and over again and I'm nodding to myself while smoking cigarettes and making a list of all the things I'm not going to ask Rain about and deciding I'll accept all the false explanations she's going to give me and how that's the only plan, and then I'm remembering the person who warned me about how the world has to be a place where no one is interested in your questions and that if you're alone nothing bad can happen to you.
In the stillness of the garage Dr. Woolf unlocks a silver Porsche. I get out of my car and walk toward him and call out his name. He pretends not to hear me at first and then he's startled when he turns around. He's annoyed when he sees who it is, but then his face relaxes almost as if he'd been expecting this.
"Why can't you see me anymore?" I ask.
"Look, I'm just not able to help you - "
"But why?" I keep nearing him. "I don't get it."
"Have you been drinking?" he asks, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket like it's a warning of some kind.
"No, I haven't been drinking," I mutter.
"There's a very good guy in West Hollywood who I'll refer you to."
"I don't give a shit," I say. "I don't want a f**king referral."
"Clay, calm down - "
"Why the f**k are you dropping me as a patient?"
"Hey, Clay, between us ... " He pauses, makes a pained gesture, and his voice softens. "Denise Tazzarek." He lets the name hang there in the shadows of the garage. "I'm not able to help you with ... that."