Chapter 23 - No Good For You.

Have you ever read the classic gothic novella by Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? 

The movies of the same name are all good, but the book is a work of incredible art. It’s a deep dive into the duplicity of human nature. The complexity of our dichotomous personalities. An acknowledgment that there is both good and evil in all of us. 

The most poignant passage of the whole book, in my opinion, is in the final chapter where the kind and altruistic Dr. Jekyll writes a letter to his friend, admitting that he knows he will soon become Hyde permanently, and that he secretly hopes his evil alter-ego will somehow be punished.

I think it’s the perfect analogy for a narcissist. 

Because, nobody’s evil all the time. Even a malignant narcissist can sometimes do nice things. They walk through the world and look just like everyone else. If anything, they are even more superficially charming than the average person. They can smile. They have friends. They may even do charity work or volunteer for a good cause. Unless you become their target, there’s no way to tell a narcissist apart from the rest of humanity.

The underlying difference is that, to a large extent, all this outward charm and generosity is merely an act. A means to an end. It’s all self-serving. The affability helps them get through their day and the friends help them reach their personal or professional goals. The charitable acts give them something to brag about. These things give them status and power and legitimacy. If that’s all you see of the narcissist, you might buy into his PR and agree that he’s a great guy.

But all those trappings of humanity are fleeting. The narcissist doesn’t really care about any of it. The second a friend isn’t helpful, he’ll drop them. The minute he’s questioned or challenged, he’ll quit that job. If he doesn’t think he’s being sufficiently appreciated, he’ll abandon that charity. Because it’s really all about him.

It’s the same thing with his personal relationships. He can be so charismatic. He can be so sweet. He can be kind and gentle and romantic and generous. He can be whatever it takes to get what he wants. He might buy you beautiful things and take you on amazing vacations. He’ll promise you even more. But it’s never about you, it’s always about him. It’s all about manipulating you into giving him what he desires.

And you never know when that charming Dr. Jekyll is going to turn into the murderous Mr. Hyde.

The only thing you CAN be sure about is that, over time, the sweet, kind man you fell in love with will almost inevitably become subsumed by the monstrous side of this nature. Dr. Jekyll ALWAYS turns into Mr. Hyde. He has to; it’s a part of him. He can’t escape it. And as long as you stay with him, you can’t escape it either. 

For me, the lesson of Stevenson’s book was that you shouldn’t trust the Dr. Jekyll’s of the world.

August was almost over before something broke through my cocoon of numbness.

I was on my way to work when I got a call from an unknown number. Normally I wouldn’t have answered, but I’d been helping Jeff interview potential new employees and I’d used my personal cell phone to leave messages for a couple of applicants, so I figured the call might be from one of them. I signalled the bus driver I wanted to get off at the next stop and answered the call just as I was stepping off the bus a few blocks away from work.

“Justin Taylor,” I answered the call.

“Well, it’s about fucking time you answered your phone, Taylor,” the voice on the other end replied, blunting the harshness of the words with a laugh.

“Daphne?” I looked at my phone again, noting the strange number. 

“The one and only!”

“Why are you calling from a weird number?”

“It’s a long story but, suffice it to say, it ended with my phone swimming in a puke-filled toilet at about two am this morning,” she explained with an amused sigh. “Anyway, my mother is getting me a new phone with her employee discount but I have to wait till the weekend. Which is why I had to borrow my roommate’s phone to call you.”

I laughed for the first time in I couldn’t remember how long. “That sounds like quite the story.”

“You have NO idea,” Daph laughed along with me. “I’d be happy to tell you the long version some time. That is, if you’re actually still talking to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I talk to you?”

“I don’t know. You tell me?” she replied peevishly. “All I know is that I’ve been calling you for weeks and you never answer.”

“That’s weird,” I looked down at my phone, scrolling through the list of recent calls and not seeing Daphne’s number anywhere. “I don’t show any calls from you. Maybe there’s something wrong with my phone?”

“That’s why you haven’t called me back? You aren’t getting my calls? I thought you were pissed off at me or something.”

“No. I just figured YOU were pissed off at me after that dinner we had with Ethan.”

“Yeah, well, I was pretty annoyed after that, but not with you,” Daphne admitted. “Ethan was being a total shit that night. But I would never hold it against you, Justin.” I caught myself smiling at my friend’s staunch loyalty. “I bet he’s the reason why you haven’t been getting my messages though. He’s probably deleting them all at night when you’re asleep or something. I wouldn’t put anything past that asshole.”

“Daphne . . .”

“I won’t apologize for not getting along with a racist shitbag, Justin, even if he is your boyfriend,” Daphne maintained stubbornly. “But that’s not why I called you today. I’m calling because I got a weird phone call from Brian yesterday.”

“Brian? Why would Brian be calling you?” 

“Maybe because Ethan’s blocking him from calling you directly too?”

“Please, Daph, just lay off,” I pleaded, not really up to defending my boyfriend but also not wanting to get into the whole topic right then. 

“Fine. I won’t say anything more about how much I detest his very essence . . .” She ended with a small giggle so I knew she wasn’t really angry at me. “Anyway, the reason Brian was trying to reach you was because PIFA returned the check he’d sent in for your fall tuition and he was trying to figure out what was going on. Apparently the registrar’s office won’t tell him anything other than that the refund wasn’t done mistakenly. So what gives, Jus? Is everything okay at school? You didn’t paint the Dean naked and get kicked out or anything, did you?”

“Hell no!” I was laughing again and it felt so good. “I can’t even imagine Dean Ryerson naked. I’m pretty sure even his wife doesn’t want to see him naked. I think it would probably blind people.”

By that point I’d made it all the way down the street and was standing outside the employee entrance at Carnegie Hall. Jeff and Tim walked by and waved. I nodded, holding up my hand with the fingers splayed to indicate I’d only be another five minutes. 

“Hey, Daph, I’ve got to go. Work,” I explained, but she interrupted me before I could say goodbye.

“Hold on there, Justin. You’re not hanging up on me without a full disclosure of what the fuck’s going on with you. If I have to, I’ll fucking track you down and hold you hostage until I get a real answer. And I’m not going to wait and get put off with a promise you’ll call me back either. Not when your keeper is blocking all your calls.”

“Uh . . .” All the enjoyment of talking to Daphne again instantly evaporated when I realized I was going to have to tell her the ugly truth.

“Justin? You’re freaking me out here. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly, it’s just . . . See, my hand has been giving me a lot of trouble ever since the end of last term and I haven’t had the money to go back to physical therapy or anything, so my art is basically for shit these days,” I explained, hoping she’d accept that partial explanation and not press for more because I was too embarrassed to admit that I’d become such an utter failure. 

“So what? You’re just going to drop out of school and give up your life’s dream now?” she asked. I guess she got her answer from my silence because she exploded after only about ten seconds. “That’s bullshit, Justin! If your hand is giving you problems, you go to the doctor and take care of it. You don’t fucking drop out of school? What the hell are you thinking? What did your mom say about all this?”

“I . . . I haven’t told her about it yet. We . . . We aren’t exactly talking right now.”

“What? What happened with your mom?”

“Nothing, really, it’s just that Ethan said . . .”

I didn’t get to explain what it was that Ethan had said because Daphne totally lost it at that point. “Oh, Ethan said, did he? I bet Ethan was the one who told you to go ahead and drop out of school too, huh?” Again, I didn’t respond and Daphne guessed the truth. “That fucker! I’m going to hunt him down and pull off his balls with my bare hands! How dare he try and isolate you from your family. That’s, like, sociopath level shit, Justin!”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Daph. Ethan didn’t do anything. I’m the one that decided I needed a break from all mom’s constant advice and nagging,” I insisted, and right then I actually believed what I was saying. 

“Justin . . .” Daphne started to object, but I decided I was done with the conversation.

“Listen, Daphne. I really do have to go. My shift started two minutes ago.”

“Fine. But don’t think I’m going to let you ignore me or disappear again, Justin. We ARE going to talk about this school thing. You hear me?” Daphne was standing firm on that point and, if I knew her, she would follow through.

“Okay, okay, Daph. But can we at least do this later? Please? I really can’t afford to get fired.”

“Okay. But call me back tonight, as soon as you get off, or I promise I will track you down . . .”

“Yes, Mom. Bye!” I cut her off and ended the call before she could berate me further.

And I really HAD intended to follow through and call her back. Really. It’s just that, when I got home later that night Ethan met me at the door, all excited smiles and good news. It seemed he had gotten an invitation to audition for the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra. Granted, it wasn’t New York or Boston or even Philadelphia, but according to Ethan it was a well respected orchestra nonetheless and the current conductor was some wunderkind that Ethan was just dying to meet. He was going up there for the audition the following day and his plan was to spend the night in Buffalo and maybe even stay for the entire weekend. It would be like a mini holiday. And, wonder of all wonders, he wanted ME to join him.

So it was understandable if I sort of forgot to call Daphne back, right?

When Ethan first made the suggestion, I thought maybe he was kidding. He’d been so distant the last several weeks, barely spending any time at the apartment, and even sleeping away from home on an increasingly frequent basis. It had been pretty lonely around that tiny little studio apartment even after Wolfram finally came back. But now, completely out of the blue, Ethan was once again including me in something exciting and fun. He explained that his manager, Glen, wouldn’t be in the picture that weekend because Erato considered the Buffalo Phil beneath Ethan‘s talents. However, the upside was that no one would care if Ethan's secret boyfriend came along and stayed with him in the comped hotel.

So, yeah, of course I wasn’t going to say no to an all-expense-paid weekend trip with my partner.  

We actually had a really good time, too. We borrowed Jeff’s car again and drove up there, enjoying the woodsy scenery between Pittsburgh and Buffalo. The hotel we stayed in was cute, in an old-fashioned kind of way. I’d never been to Buffalo before, so I did a couple small, touristy things on Friday while Ethan was at his audition. We met up again for dinner - Ethan’s generous treat - and then spent the rest of the evening at a small jazz club Ethan claimed to have heard about from some folks at the Phil. The whole thing felt like a normal, coupley, thing to do.

On Saturday we took a tour of Frank Loyd Wright’s Darwin Martin house. It was beautiful and made my artistic heart happy. We had a picnic lunch Canalside and watched the boats going up and down the Erie canal. We spent the afternoon at The Colored Musicians Club - a museum that pays tribute to African-American jazz musicians of the early 20th Century - a place Ethan said he’d always wanted to visit. That night we ordered in Thai food. Afterwards, we took a bottle of wine down to the hotel hot tub with us and just relaxed together. 

All in all, it was the most wonderful time Ethan and I’d had together since the very beginning of our relationship. It made me feel normal again. For those couple of days I could almost forget the weight of depression that had been dragging me down like a yoke harnessed to my shoulders. The whole time, Ethan was being so nice to me. He was considerate. He asked me what I wanted to do. He listened to me when I was talking. I felt special again. It was almost enough to make me forget all the horrible things that had happened that summer.

On the way home, we stopped at a gas station, loaded up on beer and all my favorite junk food, and then took a detour to visit Moraine State Park on Lake Arthur. We sat in the sun on the shore of the lake, scarfing down way too much ridiculously fattening food, and enjoying the balmy summer day. It was idyllic; just sitting around, out in the country, shooting the breeze. It was something I’d always imagined I’d do someday when I had a real boyfriend. 

Sitting in the bright sunshine with my caring and attentive partner made the bad things in my life seem insubstantial; almost like they’d only happened in my imagination. This was reality. The other was some fantastical nightmare that couldn’t possibly be true. The man who was with me that afternoon couldn’t possibly be the same one who’d caused me all that pain, right? It was simply impossible to reconcile that dichotomy.

I’d had such an amazing weekend, that I wasn’t even angry when Ethan practically ran out of the apartment almost the second we got home, saying he was going to a party with some musician friends and probably wouldn’t be home that night. I was still feeling the warm glow of that incredibly romantic weekend; I was too happy to be overly annoyed. So, instead of getting mad, I just kissed Ethan goodbye and told him to have a good time. 

I was still immersed in that happy glow twenty minutes later when my evening was interrupted by an unexpected knocking on the apartment door. I threw Wolfram off my lap and went to answer it. The face that greeted me when I opened the door, though, wasn’t one I’d ever expected to see show up on the doorstep of Ethan’s apartment.

“Hello, Sunshine. How’s tricks?” Brian Kinney drawled, shouldering past me to enter the apartment before I’d even returned his greeting. 

“B-B-Brian? What . . . What are you doing here?” I stammered.

“I brought him as reinforcement,” Daphne announced, entering right on Brian’s heels with a glare in my direction as she passed. “What? Did you think I was kidding when I said I’d track you down?”

“Daphne, I really don’t want to do this now,” I tried to argue while looking down the stairwell to make sure Ethan was nowhere nearby and therefore wouldn’t be able to observe the fact that the two people from my past he hated the most were now in our apartment. 

“Tough shit, Sunshine,” Brian responded brusquely as he flopped down on our reclaimed couch with enough impact that the springs groaned. “You’ve been avoiding everyone long enough. It’s time for some answers.”

Daphne had already joined Brian on the couch, although she sat down a little more delicately. “I’m with Brian on this, Justin. That phone call we had earlier in the week was beyond weird. Like I told Brian afterwards, it was almost like I was talking to a stranger, not the best friend I’d grown up with since Kindergarten. And then, when Brian told me that before he called me he’d asked around and discovered that everybody you ever knew seems to have lost contact with you, I got totally freaked out. So I dragged Brian over here to confront you and find out, once and for all, what the fuck is going on. Consider this an intervention.” 

I just stood there, my mouth agape, probably looking a lot like a hooked fish. My interrogators didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon; both Brian and Daphne looked like they’d made themselves comfy on the couch and were unlikely to budge till they got what they’d come for. But what was I supposed to say? I didn’t need an intervention. Did I?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daph.”

“Cut the crap, Justin,” Brian spoke up and I could tell from the edge of anger in his voice that he was serious. “First you tell me you can’t do the GLC poster because you’re not ‘a real artist’ and then I find out you didn’t re-register for school? Both Debbie and Daphne say you won’t return any of their calls. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of you for months . . . I don’t care what the fuck happened between the two of us, Sunshine; it doesn’t mean you have to fucking disappear off the face of the Earth.”

“I didn’t disappear, I’ve just been busy. I’m working full time now and I got a promotion to Team Lead, so I’m there a lot of the time. Plus, I’ve been sick for the past few weeks so . . .” I fell silent as I noted the disbelieving looks my excuses were getting. 

“You look like you’re still sick,” Daphne commented. “I can hear you wheezing clear over here. And between those bags under your eyes, the shaggy hair, and the fact that you’ve lost at least fifteen pounds, you don’t look much better than that homeless person I give money to every time I go to Starbucks.”

I looked away with a shrug; it’s not like I could argue the point with her. I knew I looked like shit. I felt like shit. And, except for the past weekend while we’d been out of town, I hadn’t been sleeping. Actually, I probably looked better right then than I would have if they’d seen me before my weekend in Buffalo. But, yeah, I could see Daph’s point. 

“Have you been tested recently?” Brian questioned, looking at me so intently I almost flinched. 

“Not for a few months,” I admitted. 

Brian shook his head at me, mouth all pursed up in disapproval, but at least he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t really have to though, because I knew what he was thinking. I knew better; I’d just been too scared after Harrisburg. I didn’t want to face the possibility of bad news. It was easier to put off that trip to the clinic.

“Damn it, Justin.” Daphne, however, wasn’t as reserved as Brian. “What the fuck? You’re sick AND your hand has been hurting but you haven’t gone to the doctor? Why the hell not? And don’t give me that crap about being too busy; I’m not buying that shit.”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked, my voice cracking as I struggled to hold back my emotions. 

Daphne got up and came over to stand right in front of me so I couldn’t avoid looking directly at her. “I WANT you to say you’re going to go to the doctor first thing tomorrow and get checked out,” she said, grabbing hold of my hand. “I WANT you to say you’re going to start taking better care of yourself. I WANT you to stop working so many hours. I WANT you to stop hiding from me and avoiding my calls, Justin.”

“I want you to get your ass back to that fucking school you worked so damned hard to get into and that I still have a contractual obligation to pay for,” Brian added, standing up so he could look over Daphne’s shoulder at me. Then his voice softened as he added, “you’re too fucking talented to just give up like this, Sunshine. Even with your hand acting up.” Then he paused and, after a brief sideways glance at Daphne, he added, “if it’s a money problem, I’ll pay for you to go back to the fucking therapist.” 

I offered my ex-lover a sad smile and replied. “I can’t let you do that, Brian. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, Ethan would go absolutely ballistic if he found out I accepted money from you.”

“Fuck Ethan!” Daphne snarled viciously. “If he got off his ass and started earning enough money to help out with the bills around here you'd have plenty of money to pay for your therapist.”

“Daphne, don’t start, please . . .”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Has he made any effort at all to pay his half of the bills?” she asked, pausing expectantly for my reply. When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “I didn’t think so. That fucking little freeloader. You’re working yourself to the bone while he’s off playing at being some bohemian street performer. And meanwhile you’re sick and injured and giving up school to support his lazy ass? That is totally fucked up and you know it, Justin! Ethan is no good for you. You need to just swipe left on his ass and cancel that boy. Now!”

So, I’d been right there with them all the way up to that instant. I mean, both Daphne and Brian had made good points. I had been sick almost all summer and I really should have gone to the doctor and got some medicine so I could finally get over whatever this was. And I knew I should’ve gone to the clinic to get tested after what I’d seen - or at least thought I’d seen - in Harrisburg, regardless of Ethan‘s explanation. It just made sense to take precautions, right? Especially since we weren’t using condoms. I should also have followed up and gone back to the physical therapist about my hand last spring when it first started acting up, rather than waiting months and months while it got worse every day. 

I knew all these things. I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t really have a good reason for why I hadn’t acted; procrastination, depression, fear, loneliness, guilt . . . those were all pretty piss poor excuses. 

My excuses for why I’d dropped out of school were even lamer. Yeah, I’d been blaming my hand, but deep down I knew there was a more pernicious explanation for why I’d been so easy to talk into first dropping the seminar and then failing to sign up for fall classes; I was afraid of being seen as inadequate. Afraid that my art was inferior. 

Maybe the critiques by my professors were valid. Maybe my failures weren’t  merely a result of my prior injury. Maybe my artwork just sucked. Maybe I didn’t have the eye or the taste or the skills I’d always thought I had. I was embarrassed to think that perhaps I’d just been fooling myself about my talent. And fooling everyone around me too. Which, in turn, led to guilt at having already talked Brian into wasting all that money on my previous year’s tuition. No need to repeat that foolishness and waste even more money, right? 

But seeing Brian’s anger upon hearing that I’d quit school kinda jolted me out of that negative spiral of self-doubt and made me realize I was just being a coward. I WAS giving up. It WAS pretty pathetic.

Which all goes to say that I agreed with what my intervention squad was saying up to that point.

But then Daphne had gone too far. She’d outright attacked Ethan. She’d said he was bad for me and practically ordered me to break up with him. That was the part of their argument I just couldn’t tolerate. 

My reaction probably would have been different if they’d staged their intervention just a week earlier. Before the weekend in Buffalo. Before Ethan had showered me with nonstop love and attention for three days straight. I mean, Ethan and I had only just got home from our trip less than two hours before and I was still caught up in the fantasy of it all. Hadn’t he just shown me how much he truly loved me? Hadn’t we just had the best weekend ever? This was the man Daphne was castigating? 

Where did she get off saying that shit anyway?

I could tell Brian knew they’d overshot their goal by the way he rolled his eyes and sighed the minute Daph started going off on Ethan. It took Daphne a couple minutes longer before she caught on. By then I was one hundred percent shut down. I didn’t have to say a word; I just stood there, arms crossed stubbornly, feet spread wide, frown on my face, and stared her down till her angry words sputtered to a stop. 

“I think you both need to go now,” I declared without moving.

“Justin, please. You have to listen,” Daphne begged, trying to grip my shoulder as if she could force me to acknowledge her point if she could just physically hold onto me.

“I think you’ve said enough. Now, if you’ll please, it’s time for you to leave OUR home before Ethan gets back and calls the cops on you.”

The two co-conspirators shared a glance. Brian gave a slight negative shake of his head. Daphne’s shoulders slumped. Then, without further protest, they both started for the door. I held it open for them and watched until they went around the corner of the landing.

“Smooth. Real smooth, Ms. Cancel Culture,” I could hear Brian commenting as they retreated down the stairs.

Then I closed the door on my past and turned back to survey my future.