Lunch in Los Angeles is always special. Foods from a hundred cultures collide in the kitchens of trendy bistros from Lomita to Malibu, delighting the palates of Los Angelenos. They chat with their friends and loved ones over white tablecloths as their taste buds sing with joy. Heady flavors unlock their thoughts. Emotions stir. They speak of their hopes, their dreams, their loves. But in this land of movies, I have found that the conversations invariably come around to the same topic.

Psychotropic medication.

I happened to be dining alone today in a quaint Italian café in Santa Monica. They seated me next to a man and woman, our tables barely a foot away from each other. Very European. Their conversation wafted across my table. I, being a man of polite Southern upbringing, tried not to listen. But I just couldn't help it, short of putting fingers in my ears. Wanting to know just who it was I was eavesdropping upon, I shot them a quick glance as I scanned the menu.

She was a redhead, late twenties, I'd say. A Brentwood girl. He was about the same age, with that deliberate I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look all the guys in L.A. seem to have these days. Unshaven, hair mussy, clothes wrinkled. It takes a lot of time and money to look like a bum.

Their waiter came over and delivered their orders: Penne Pasta and Barbeque Smoked Chicken for him, a Tibetan Smoked Salmon Green Salad for her.

"So just a plain Valium is great for bringing me down when I get a little too anxious," the girl said as she tore a chunk out of a garlic roll. She held out her hand and made it tremble.

"Yeah, but it makes me too sleepy," the guy responded as he speared a roasted tomato slice. "Clonidine is better for that short-term thing. Only lasts a few hours. It's great for an event like making a speech or something."

"Clonidine makes my heart slow down so much, I can't climb the stairs to my apartment."

"I guess you could only take it if you're doing a speech in a one-story building."

"Or in a building with an elevator."

They ate for awhile, looking at each other like old friends do when they haven't seen each other in awhile.

"A friend of mine takes Wellbutrin for those highs and lows," the guy said. "You should try that." The girl chewed faster so she could reply.

"No way. My friend was on that and she developed 'Disembodied Hand Syndrome.'"

"Is that like Restless Leg Syndrome? Zoloft gave me that so bad, I almost kicked my wife out of bed."

"No. Disembodied Hand Syndrome is when your hand takes on its own personality." The girl raised her arm and pointed her closed hand at her own nose, like John Cleese doing the Emu skit from Monty Python. She stared at the hand. It opened to bite her. "And it attacks you and stuff."

"Get out."

"I'm serious; it kept trying to choke her." The maniacal hand grasped her throat in a death grip. The girl opened her eyes wide and went on, "She'd have to pull it off her." Her other hand came up and pried the assaultive claw fist from her neck. She stuck out her tongue for dramatic effect.

"Wow! That could be embarrassing."

"Yeah; happened to her at her bridal shower. I was there; her mother freaked out."

"Brutal! But I bet it was trip on the honeymoon, though," the guy observed as he continued eating. "Kind of like a ménage-a-tois for the groom."

"She switched to Prozac before the wedding, sweetie."

"My dad accidentally took a 40 milligram Prozac once. The pharmacy filled the wrong prescription because of the doctor's bad handwriting. My dad thought he was taking a Tagamet."

"So what happened?"

"He put on my mom's underwear and did a Liza Minelli Cabaret thing out on the front lawn."

"Omygod!"

"But we managed to stop him before he got to the peel-down-the-stocking part."

"Good thing."

"Yeah, he has some real chicken legs."

"Speaking of chicken; how is your pasta?" the girl asked, peering into his plate.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"The Lexapro I'm on has killed my sense of taste."

"How can you stand it?"

"I'm getting used to it. Besides, my grocery costs have dropped to practically nothing. I just buy oatmeal, tofu, bean sprouts and Ensure. Mix it all in a blender and bing bada boom, a meal."

"That's disgusting."

"Not if you can't taste it. Besides, it has everything you need: protein, fiber, carbs, vitamins…"

"Everything if you're a geriatric horse."

"I call it my 'Fibervitacarb Protein Smoothie.'"

"Could be the next big fad food. You should patent it or whatever."

"Good idea."

"Say it's good for your sex life. That always works to sell stuff."

"Yeah; call it a Sex Smoothie."

"Like for endurance and stuff."

"Yeah," the guy lamented, "Like for the four-and-a-half hours it takes me to get off these days."

"Lexapro?"

"Yeah."

"Bet that drives your wife crazy."

"I wouldn't know; she usually goes to sleep after the first half-hour."

"Too bad."

"Wish I would have been on Lexapro when I was eighteen."

"Wish I would have known you on Lexapro when I was eighteen."

"My prom might actually have been fun."

The girl skewered some field greens.

"How's the salad?" the guy asked her.

"Good. The salmon is excellent."

"I didn't know they had salmon in Tibet."

"I don't think they even have fish in Tibet."

"Hey; you're still not taking Xanax, are you?"

"Sometimes."

"You know it can react with the iodine in fish…"

"And…"

"It can trigger a seizure."

"No; it only does that if you take it for a long time then suddenly stop."

"Yeah, a friend of mine did that four years ago; he's still twitching."

"Did what? The iodine thing or the withdrawal thing?" she asked.

"Withdrawal."

"He should sue over that; the stuff should come with a warning label."

"He did; got a nice settlement. Bought a condo in Tarzana and a Harley."

"Sweet."

"Yeah, but he keeps getting pulled over for DUI because his tremors make him jerk all over the road."

"He should get on Depakote for those tremors."

"No, that's for bipolar."

"Oh; I must be thinking of Lithium."

"Ditto: bipolar," he rolled his eyes and took a long drink of bottled water.

"I was on that Lithium once. They thought I was bipolar."

He shook his head. "No way. They say that about everybody. There must be a bonus or something for prescribing Lithium and Depakote."

"Come to think of it," she said, staring at the ceiling, "I was on both of them. Made my scalp numb."

"Wow. Your whole scalp?"

"Yep. Dead as a doorknob."

"Maybe it wasn't really numb; maybe you just thought it was numb."

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"Sure. My friend Rudy was on Zoloft. He thought that he was thinking he was having a heart attack."

"Palpitations?"

"No…"

"Arrhythmia?"

"No, not like that. It's like he was thinking that he was thinking he was having a heart attack."

"So, he was thinking about himself, thinking he was having a heart attack."

"Yeah."

The girl raised her two arms Nefertiti-style. "So he was thinking he was having a heart attack."

"No…he was thinking about himself thinking he was having a heart attack. Like, another guy was doing the thinking, but he," the guy pointed to himself with both fingers, "right here, in reality, in the here and now, was thinking of the other guy thinking, only he was the other guy."

"Gotcha," the girl said, pushing her plate to the side. "Rudy should have told the other guy to quit thinking so damn much."

The guy wiped his mouth and plopped the napkin on his plate. "That was good," he said.

"Excellent," she agreed.

The waiter saw them and came over. "Would you care for some dessert? Coffee?"

"Want a coffee?" the guy asked the girl.

"No way!" the girl said, holding a hand in front of her like a cross to a vampire, "Caffeine makes me jittery. I'm swearing off the stuff."

"Yeah, me too. We'll just take the check, please."

Finis

Copyright 2003 - David L. Kilpatrick

All Rights Reserved. No duplication or use without express written consent of the author.