Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

Clearly, I was losing my perspective. I reminded myself to focus, then glanced at the tray of pastries. One of the women who’d smiled at me offered me a paper plate and plastic fork.

“They’re for everybody,” she urged. “Food eases the pain.”

Well, I couldn’t disagree with that. And I do love Linzer torte, I thought as I chewed into a big bite laden with spice, ground nuts, and raspberry preserves.

A tiny woman with bobbed brown hair announced in a high voice, “My name is Carole and I’m a compulsive shopper.”

Everyone murmured a greeting to Carole. Her fingers nervously pleated her skirt. “My boyfriend left at Easter last year. For a while, I didn’t feel anything. I was just numb. Then a friend insisted on getting me out of the house. She took me shopping.”

There was a chorus of groans.

“It was weird,” Carole went on. “I felt better once I bought a new sweater. It was a cabled pink mohair, and buying it and wearing it made me feel loved again. So my friend insisted on taking me to the mall again the next weekend. With new gray slacks, plus a matching belt and purse, my feelings improved even more. I mean, I felt alive again! Problem was, I had to spend more money each time I went. One new sweater became two new sweaters. Then four new sweaters. Then ten—all on one trip!”

Carole began to sob. The group waited while one member handed her several tissues, and another put a plate with a cream puff in front of her.

“Now,” Carole continued between gulps, “I’m sixteen thousand dollars in debt on four credit cards. I have, uh… Last week, I finally did a count. Six hundred and thirty-two sweaters, most of them still with the price tags on them. The worst part is that on some trips, I must have had a memory loss or blackout. Almost a dozen times, I bought the same sweater twice .” She stopped to blow her nose. “OK, but I do have some good news. I didn’t buy a single sweater this week!” The group made supportive noises. Carole snuffled and managed a shy, red-nosed smile. “It was so hard! It’s cold outside! And… oh, God, Talbot’s just put their winter stuff on sale. I can barely walk by their window!”

The group burst out laughing. Carole, recognizing the laughter was affectionate, not mocking, dug into her cream puff. Murmurs of “Oh, Carole” and “You should see the stuff on sale at Saks” accompanied big grins and hands reaching for babas au rhum. I glanced around for some coffee or tea to go with the pastries, but saw only a table lined with bottles of water. Maybe caffeine stimulated shopping, blast it. When Page stood and strode over to snag a water, I quickly turned back to the group.

“So,” Carole was saying, as she delicately wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, “now, instead of shopping, I’m looking forward to seeing you all, because you make me feel better. Not quite the way Rob my ex did, but close. And get this! On the way over here, I stopped at Goodwill, and left them two hundred and fifty-nine sweaters !”

The group clapped wildly. Carole, blushing and triumphant, reached for another cream puff.

“I’m Jack and I’m an image spender,” a lanky fellow with gray hair offered. “Can’t say I’m doing as well as Carole, sorry. Last week my ex-wife wanted to have a lunch meeting with our attorneys. This should have raised a red flag, but it didn’t. I suggested we make it easygoing, you know, something modest, both lawyers and the two of us. At Duccio’s.” This time I gasped along with the group. Minimum tab at Duccio’s on the Sixteenth Street Mall in downtown Denver, for one person having lunch, without liquor, would run about forty dollars. Add a single glass of wine, coffee, dessert, and tip, and you were looking at twice that. I had the feeling that Jack, in his gray pin-striped silk suit, Italian leather shoes, and imported tie, didn’t know the concept of a modest lunch.

“Of course,” Jack went on, “it turned out to be a terrible meeting, full of wrangling over child support and visitation issues. Oysters and two bottles of Château Lafitte didn’t help make things jovial, either.” He sighed. “I’m twenty-two thousand dollars in debt, which Gail knows but pretends not to.” He gave the group a rueful grin. “Still, when the check came? I grabbed for it. I mean, I had to! It was like an unseen force pushed my hand to reach out for that slip of paper!” He paused. “Now I’m twenty-two thousand, four hundred and ten dollars in debt. Yesterday I went to the grocery store and bought a case of peanut butter. On sale.” The group sighed. “But you all are here,” Jack concluded with a wide grin. “And at least I can have free pastries on Thursdays!”

“See, that’s what bothers me!” Page Stockham burst out savagely, as the group murmured encouragement to Jack. There was a collective gasp. “People always angling to get free stuff,” she added, her tone hostile. An uncomfortable silence ensued, interrupted only by the sounds of pastry-eating.

“Uh, my name is George, and, Page, remember that we have a format—”

“My name is Page and I have a sister problem. I’m here because my therapist said it might help.” The members squirmed. I peeked over at Page, who tilted up her chin and gazed defiantly down her nose at the group.

“My sister has always been a taker,” Page told us bitterly. “She gets into relationships with people by adoring them. These people are never low-income types, I should add. As soon as they start spending money on her, she adores them even more!” Page examined her manicured fingernails. “So rich folks, mostly guys, get addicted to being loved by my sister. Then she starts freeloading. First she gives them some sob story, of course. ‘I just need to borrow your car because mine’s not working.’ Two weeks later she’s all ‘Your stepson wants this car back? What am I supposed to drive? Besides, you have five cars, can’t he drive one of those? Don’t you care about me ?’ Then she cries and withdraws affection from the rich guy, who feels guilty and finally gives her his damn car. She’s a horrible flirt, of course. And a slut, I should say.”

For the first time in the meeting, no one was reaching for pastries. The members sat without moving, concentrating on appearing neutral, although frowns and pursed lips indicated creeping discomfort. You need help, girl , their expressions said. Jack, for his part, looked downright disgusted. Maybe he’d been seduced by Pam, too, and had bought her lunch at Duccio’s.

“OK,” Page snarled, “I probably do shop too much. But I need to. My husband used to buy me nice things, and now he takes me for granted. I have to buy stuff for myself. Meanwhile, my slutty sister has a new boyfriend, or she had one, anyway, and she got him to give her discounts, big ones, on all kinds of stuff.” Her voice turned shrill. “Another one of her boyfriends sweet-talked the dean at… his former college, so my sister could get into a special scholarship program to go to night school for her degree. Free! This new guy gave her furs and jewelry from… vendors or reps or whatever they’re called. And then he bought her a round-trip ticket to Hawaii for next Christmas, because he knew the travel agent here in the… well, here.” Her voice ramped up a few more notches. “This boyfriend even got Pam a fifty percent discount on… a piece of jewelry. Not to buy, but… to rent. And he leased it for her!” Page screamed, “And then this same guy… fired my husband, so we suddenly had no income! I was so furious I couldn’t sleep! Couldn’t eat! Couldn’t drive!” She leaped to her feet. “That son of a bitch ruined our lives!”