Chapter 5: Operation Keep PT Down: Car Shopping and Steve’s Supposed Schizo Ex#2

The next day, I picked up Steve at his place and headed to the nearest Honda Dealer in Old Town Pasadena. I didn’t know anything about cars and figured that I could always use Steve as a shield from the inevitable bullshit that would be thrown my way, being a clueless female about cars.

Steve wanted to drive my rental. “Do you want me to drive?” he asked.

“Do you want me to drive or did you figure that I wanted you to drive?” I laughed.

Steve liked trying all cars. It was a Chrysler 500 and had a continuous transmission. Generally, I hated automatics but this one accelerated well. The wheel was positioned high and close to the seat like a tractor. Steve imitated a farmer driving a tractor.

Wow, you are from Texas.

I swatted him for that, laughing.

AT the car dealership, a salesman starting talking cars, which lost me, so I let Steve take over. If the salesman lost me, Steve lost the Salesman. Evidently, Steve learned at lot at his internship with Honda because the salesman said maybe Steve could sell me the car. I test drove the Honda Fit, liked it, and Steve and I sat down with the salesman regarding financing. There was no way I could afford it. My credit was nonexistent. The Honda salesman sensed that he wasn’t going to make a sale but gave me the time of day anyway. After all, I was a beginning attorney. After feeling that I had taken enough of his time, I thanked him and Steve and I drove off.

I don’t know what started the conversation, but somehow it moved to Steve’s ex number two. He wanted to clarify to me that he had filed for divorce almost six months ago and that it would be annulled if she did not appear to sign the papers. Asra had disappeared on him in their second year of marriage. Simply disappeared. Without a word while he was deep in school at Art Center. Needless to say, this made it difficult for him to finish, and along with some other catastrophic events, Steve dropped out from the best Art School in the nation. That was kind of the story of his life.

After Asra disappeared, Steve started to pick himself up after the initial devastation. Then she appeared for a few days. Then left again, which deveasted Steve again. So that he was not able to pick himself up. But when he mustered his strength to start all over, Asra would appear. Perfect timing. Exactly when Steve was on his way without her, she would appear.

Steve thought that Asra was schizophrenic. She sure seemed crazy enough. Her father had beaten the crap out of her with a hammer to the head. But she wouldn’t die. Coincidentally, Steve’s father had thrown bricks at him growing up. He was lucky enough to dodge most of them. Steve said that Asra was out of control, paranoid about where he went, who he was talking to, especially women. She stalked him at Honda when he was doing his internship, stole his security pass, standing in the smoking area and glaring at him and his coworkers when they took a smoking break. Steve could not do anything about it, even though he told her to stop. Because Steve was not the type of guy who could make people stop when they were walking all over him.

These were the things that Steve could recount about his Ex#2:

-She was too young for him, as he was almost forty and she was 22. Although she was beautiful, he soon found they had little in common on a daily basis.

-She had a violent upbringing, which made her violent herself. She was the type of person who perpetuated the cycle of abuse and violence.

-She was Muslim Pakistani, raise super strictly, and wa supposed to marry a man arranged for her.

-She was torn between being a good Muslim girl and dressed provocatively so that men hit on her, then punched their daylights out when they hit on her. Steve attributed the way men hit on her to her distinctive odor she gave off when she did not bathe for long periods (lots of pheromones, he said).

-She was highly competitive, even with Steve.  

-Her family had a lot of money, which was necessary for most students who went to Art Center.

Asra’s family protested their marriage. Asra had threatened to kill herself if Steve did not marry her. And Steve, who had a kind heart, consented because he was afraid she would hurt herself. Pity, to Steve, often masked itself as love. Asra also had one of the best portfolios he had ever seen and never saw again, as Asra was unable to replicate the skill in her portfolio that got her admitted to Art Center.

“A lot of schizos wind up dead, Steve,” Probably not the gentlest way of informing him.

“Really, Steve slumped in his chair. Damn.

“Well yeah, men are more likely to be schizophrenic. Was she diagnosed?”

Steve shook his head. “I just did some reading.”

“Why do you think she was schizophrenic?”

“She was erratic, couldn’t control her emotions, aggressive.”

“Like a man?” I asked.

“Yeah, a lot like a man. She pursued me.” Steve admitted. Eww, not good. “She just lost control at the end and I didn’t know how to help her. I wasn’t paying attention to her. I focused on my work and found the best way to push her away was ignore her.”
“Why did you want to push her away?” I asked.

“Because she was stalking me at Honda. She wouldn’t do her own thing. I hate a woman who isn’t independent. She seemed like that at first but things soon changed. She followed me everywhere, when I was teaching at Art Center, too. She wouldn’t go to her own class, dropped out of school. Looked in all my things. Accused me of cheating on her.” Steve laughed. “After my exes, I really felt like turning gay.” I half laughed. Things sounded terrible.

“You can’t blame yourself. Schizophrenics need medication and intense professional help. You couldn’t have helped her more than you did.” Steve was lost in guilt. I started to understand the wretched look that wasn’t so much part of his physical but his mental.

Ex#1 who constantly cheated on him, Ex#2 who constantly accused him of cheating, and Steve not knowing where to turn except his work. Given how hard Steve worked, why didn’t he have a great job at a car company?

We were parked at the northwest corner of Steve’s intersection, car facing West. His house was one north of the corner, on the east side. I thanked Steve for helping me car shop and he laughed that it was nothing. I saw him in my rearview, walking with a hunch like that of either very tall men or men who lacked confidence.

I checked Google maps on my phone. It was a tangle of freeways that I had to navigate to get home and it was getting late.