[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY SEVENTY-THREE

I am sitting on a leather couch beside Sugar, half inside, half outside of her again. Her eyes are strange and glassy. We are in a small dark blue office with the blinds closed. The large wheels of audio tape that sit on top of a boxy tape-recorder spin slowly. There are plaques on the wall. I catch words on them like: Doctor, Psychiatry, Association.

Charlie is there, looking worn and thin in a large wine-colored leather armchair opposite to us. Another man, fragile, aged, grey haired with spectacles, sits behind a desk and takes notes while Sugar counts backwards in a monotone voice. He is a shrunken squirrel of a man in a suit too large for him, but one supposes fitted him at some point.

Finally Sugar counts to: one.

“Now, Mrs. Burke. I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Please answer them honestly. Please state your first name into the microphone.”

Charlie impatiently intercedes before Sugar can answer. “I already know her name,” he whispers, “Ask her something I don’t already know.”

The man raises one hand to calm Charlie and says, under his breath, “It’s a standard question in cases like these. You see—”

“Sugar.” Sugar drones, her Brooklyn accent revived.

The man turns toward her and smiles. “What was that you said?”

“Sugar.”

The man shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I was asking you what your name was and you replied...”

“Sugar.”

Charlie groans in exasperation. “This is useless.”

“Oh, I see.” the man smiles, vindicated, “And what’s your last name, my dear?”

“Garcia.”

Charlie looks up at the Doctor, and sits up.

“So you are Sugar Garcia?”

“Yes.”

“And where were you born, Sugar?”

“Brooklyn.”

“Do you know who Maddy is?”

“Yes. Maddy is married to Charlie.”

“And who is Charlie?”

“Oh, Charlie’s a dreamboat.”

One corner of Charlie’s mouth upturns in the slightest smile, making him look suddenly his age again: youthful and vibrant.

“So you like Charlie then?”

“Oh yes. He’s wonderful. He’s not like Hunter at all.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Charlie was a hunter?”

“No. He is not like Hunter. Maddy must keep Hunter away from Charlie, or he’ll kill him with his bare teeth,” Sugar says with spit.

Charlie shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Tell me more about this Hunter. Where is he from?”

“Everywhere.”

“And who does he work for? What does he do?”

“He works for Uncle Sam. He kills and pimps, mostly.”

“And who do you work for.”

“Same. Uncle Sam.”

“Just to be sure, Sugar: who is Uncle Sam precisely?”

Sugar giggles, “My pimp.”

Charlie shakes his head. “Okay, enough’s enough. Stop it now,” he orders.

The man looks at Charlie and speaks with a low measured voice, “Perhaps what you fear is not that this procedure is of no use, but that it is of use and we will uncover things best left forgotten. Your wife assured me she wanted you to hear the truth, whether or not she was prepared to say it to you directly or you were prepared to hear it. It may be better if you absented yourself. But your wife wants to get down to the bottom of this.”

Charlie stirs in his seat and while he does so I can’t help thinking that I like Charlie, and I realize I like Sugar as well. And I like them together, what little I’ve seen of them. I wish I could keep them that way.

Finally, Charlie melts back into his seat and says, “Continue,” and I smile, and Sugar smiles with me. Because I’ve decided to help them.

[Deleted]