The Forest for the Trees

"Mornin', Doc."

"Good morning, Tatum. You're looking fetching today. As usual."

Lord, is there anything hotter than a sexy doctor showering you with flattery? I think not. I tell him all of the time that he is the reason I took his job to begin with, but he always just shakes his head and says he knows I did it to help other people.

People like me. Addicts. I know - the last time you saw me, a rehab center is probably the last place you thought I'd be working, right? As fucked up as I was, attempting to help anyone else was the most ridiculous concept ever, I know. But that was almost three years ago now. Well, two and a half. A lot can change in that amount of time.

Let me give you the Reader's Digest version of my life since we last spoke. I've been clean and sober for right at three years now. About six months ago, I decided to resume my dream of being a world renowned fashion designer. I felt like I was in a pretty stable place and that I could manage it pretty handily, so I sent some sketches to an old contact and scored a job offer from a wardrobe supervisor at a film studio in Hollywood.

Any doctor will tell you that Los Angeles is the last place that a recovering addict should move if she has a hope of staying clean. It's kind of like the Columbia of the United States. In the six months that I've lived here, I think I've come in contact with someone who knows someone who can hook me up with any drug I ever had an issue with. Without even trying, I've plopped myself into the belly of the beast.

It only took me about three weeks to become overwhelmed with the temptation. No, I didn't relapse. But I wanted to. Bad. So along with the meetings that I've been faithfully attending since my car accident back in the day, I started seeing a drug counselor. After about two months, he told me about a friend of his who worked at a rehab center in Pasadena. He said he thought that I might be a good fit for the staff here.

For some reason, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about the opportunity. There are days when I don't feel worthy of offering advice to anyone. But on some days, I look at a kid struggling with this huge monster they're sure they can't defeat, and I know I'm in the right place. Fashion design was my dream, but drug counselling is my calling. I know that now.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that the good doctor is one of the most sexually attractive men I've met in a long, long time. He's amazing. Smart. Beautiful. Insightful. Caring. Compassionate. He loves what he does, and there's nothing sexier than a man who truly believes in his work. He's just . . . he's amazing.

Sometimes I find myself staring at him, zoning out as I remember the last time we were together in his office. Or in my apartment. Or in the back of my car. Have I mentioned that he's amazing? Because he is. "So, we doin' lunch today or what?" I ask when one of the other orderlies has left us alone at the nurse's station.

The doctor looks up from his clipboard and smiles brightly, shaking his head slightly. "I'm swamped today, Sweetheart," he tells me. "But you talk to Sylvia today and dinner's on me, okay?"

"Funny," I grin over the top of my coffee mug. "Every time you say that, I end up with dinner on me."

The innuendo doesn't even phase him as he signs the form on his board and then shoots me another winning smile. "And yet, I never hear you complain."

Until now. "Sylvia?" I whine. I know whining isn't really all that attractive, but I'd rather slit my own wrists than sit alone in a room with that spoiled little actress bitch. She makes Britney look perfectly well-adjusted. Ugh.

"She's like any other addict, Tate," he reminds me evenly.

I hate it when he stops being my boyfriend and starts being my boss. "She's self-absorbed and entitled," I pout, taking the chart from him and glancing at the therapist's last notes on the petite blond.

He just smirks. "Exactly," he states as though that's exactly what he meant.

"Alright, fine," I concede, just like we both know I always do. Brushing my shoulder against his as I pass, I stop and whisper. "It's a good thing you're so sexy."

He just smiles and nudges me. "Thank you."

And just like that, I do as I'm told and spend the next two hours hashing out bull shit with Sylvia, the world's most annoying, crack-addicted celebrity. I know I should sound a little bit more sympathetic, and I really do feel her pain when she talks about her father leaving them and studio heads taking advantage of her Midwestern naivete. But until she takes some responsibility for herself, and stops being such a damn finger-pointer, she's not going to get better. And she doesn't seem to believe me when I tell her that.

The only silver lining is that her 'people' always seem to sneak candy into her room when they come to visit, and since I can't let her break the rules of 'no outside substances', I confiscate, and eat them, during her sessions. Maybe it's a bitchy move, but she's not walk in the park, and I think I deserve a reward.

Standing from the chair opposite the gaunt young woman, I push my hair behind my ear and bid Sylvia adieu. "You have lunch in twenty minutes, Kiddo," I tell her after checking my watch.

Sylvia stands with me and studies me for a minute. "You know, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone, Tatum," she finally says.

I just roll my eyes. She's scheduled for release in two weeks, but she's been talking about 'when she's gone' and 'when she gets the hell out' since she checked in. "I'm gonna miss candy necklaces and pixie stix when you're gone," I wink, finishing the last of the powdered candy in my hand before tossing the wrapper in the paper.

She follows me out the door, and stuffs her hands deeply into her pockets. "I'm gonna miss you, too," she manages to whisper, as though she's trying not to let anyone else hear her admit it. "You're, like, the only really real person here. The only one who's completely honest with me."

"I'm the only one who's never seen any of your movies, and never will," I point out. Here's the thing I learned long ago in rehab - babying anybody helps nobody. I'm not a Sylvia Dunham fan, and I never will be. No use in pretending I am.

At first, she's not sure if I'm kidding. But then her patented smile spreads across her full lips as she points in my direction. "Honesty," she giggles, disappearing into her room.

Making my way to the nurse's station, I just shake my head at the craziness that is my life now. Three years ago, I couldn't remember my own name from one day to the next. Now I'm helping a drug-addicted starlet find her way back to a healthy lifestyle. It's crazy, isn't it?

"Tatum, you have a call," an orderly tells me as I set my report on the table.

Taking the phone from the girl, I smile and push my hair behind my ear again. "Thanks, Amber." Turning my back on the bustle of the hallways behind me, I allow my eyes to drift over the wall of photos on the wall. "Tatum Sharpe."

"Hey, friend," Maria greets in my ear and I feel my heart jump a little bit. It's not often I get a call in the middle of the afternoon from my best friend in the world. Makes a girl feel loved, ya know?

I place the call on hold for a second and move toward my office, the one I share with the other counselors. Sinking to my desk, I allow my eyes to drift over my own photographs. "You get my message?" I ask when I finally pick up the phone again. My eyes are drawn to a double frame - one side boasting a picture of Maria and I in my apartment right after I moved in. The other side is one of my sponsor, Charlotte, and I hugging outside of a movie theater. My girls - the two who keep my head on straight - always watch over me when I'm working.

Maria confirms that she did, indeed, get my message. Doc is sending me to Texas for a training seminar in a couple of weeks, and I remembered that Maria said they were going to be in Dallas at the same time. I left her a message yesterday to ask if she might want to get together for dinner. The old gang. Like old times. Without the hangovers and embarrassing old fights, of course.

"All systems go," she says. "Me, John, Randal, and James," she adds, though the tail end of the statement drifts off.

I just nod, but say nothing as my eyes move to another picture - one of John, Maria, Randy, and I backstage at a show. Don't get me wrong - I don't keep the thing because Randy's in it. But it's a really great picture of John and Maria, and my hair looks really cute. Plus, he's right in the middle of the photograph, so I can't really cut him out.

Not that I want to. I mean, Randy was a huge part of my life, right? And I'm totally over him. We're in good places now. He's with Jamie. I'm with the good doctor. We split up to give each other space to heal. And we did. Our lives are right where they are supposed to be. I know that. So does he. Just looking at his picture isn't as hard as it used to be.

"James," Maria interrupts my thoughts and I blink my eyes to refocus. "As in Jamie. As in Randy's new girlfriend," she clarifies like I might be stupid. Or high again.

I just chuckle. "I know who she is, Maria," I remind her. "We've met, remember?" Yeah, they weren't a couple back then, but I met Jamie. In St. Louis. And I'll never forget her long legs or her perfect blond hair. Or the way that she looked at Randy with such admiration. I guess I kind of knew, even back then, that they would be something eventually.

But Maria doesn't seem convinced that I'm as 'okay' with it as I am projecting. She's my best friend, and she thinks she knows me. "So it's cool with you that she's going to be there?"

I swallow the lump that is rising, inexplicable, in the back of my throat. "Yeah," I answer emphatically, forcing my eyes to a picture of the doctor and myself taped to the top of my computer screen. "Look, I'm happy for Randy. And I have a man, too, remember?"

"A married man," she huffs, and I know it's disapproval. I just don't care.

I roll my eyes. Like she's such April Fresh perfection. "Semantics," I cut her off before she has time to launch into another lecture on the sanctity of marriage. "I've gotta get down to the dining hall for lunch, but I'll give you a call when I know what my itinerary looks like in Dallas."

I disconnect the phone and push away from the desk, my eyes drawn back to the photo of the Fantastic Four once again. God, Randy was so pretty back then. We were all so happy. But as the doctor swings into my office to ask how it went with Sylvia, I remind myself that my life now is pretty damn good. I'm happy. Really happy. Everything is exactly how it should be. Exactly.