Another frown.
"Finally, after about a month, they went outside. To the grounds.
Strolling. Did that for a long time months with no progress that I could see. Mother had always been able to do that by herself. Without treatment. That phase seemed to be going on forever and no one was telling me anything about what was going on.
I began to wonder if they if she knew what she was doing. If I'd done the right thing by bringing her into our home. The one time I tried to ask about it was pretty unpleasant."
She stopped, wrung her hands.
I said, "What happened?"
"I caught up with Dr. Ursula at the end of a session, just as she was getting into her car, and asked her how Mother was doing. She just smiled and told me everything was going welt. Clearly letting me know it was none of my business. Then she asked me if anything was troubling me but not as if she cared. Not the way you'd say it. I felt she was putting me down analyzing me. It was creepy. I couldn't wait to get away from her!"
She'd raised her voice, was nearly shouting. Realized it and blushed and covered her mouth.
I gave a reassuring smile.
"But then afterward," she said, "I could understand it. I guess.
The need for confidentiality. I started to think back and remembered how it had been with my therapy. I was always asking you all those questions about other kids just to see if you'd break the secret.
Testing you. And then I felt very good, very comforted, when you didn't give in." She smiled. "That was terrible, wasn't it? Testing you like that."
"A hundred percent normal," I said.
She laughed. "Well, you passed the test, Dr. Delaware." The blush deepened. She turned away. "You helped me a lot."
"I'm glad, Melissa. Thanks for saying so.
"Must be a pleasant job," she said, "being a therapist. Getting to tell people they're okay all the time. Not having to cause pain, like other doctors."
"Sometimes it does get painful, but overall you're right. It is a great job."
"Then how come you don't do it anymo- I'm sorry. That's none of my business.
"That's okay," I said. "No topic's off limits here, as long as you can tolerate not always getting an answer.
She laughed. "There you go, doing it again. Telling me I'm okay."
"You are okay."
She touched a finger to the paperweight, then retracted it.
"Thank you. For everything you did for me. Not only did you get rid of my fears, you also showed me people can change they can win.
It's hard to see that sometimes, when you're stuck in the middle of something. I've thought of studying psychology myself. Maybe becoming a therapist.
"You'd make a good one."
"Do you really think so?" she said, facing me and brightening.
"Yes, I do. You're smart. You care about people. And you're patient from what you've told me about getting your mother help, you have tremendous patience."
"Well," she said, "I love her. I don't know if I'd be patient with someone else."
"It would probably be easier, Melissa."
"Yes, I guess that's true. "Cause to tell the truth, I didn't feel patient while it was happening all her resistance and stalling.
There were times I even wanted to scream at her, tell her to just get up and change. But I couldn't. She's my mother. She's always been wonderful to me."
I said, "But now, after going to all the trouble of getting her into treatment, you have to watch her and Dr. Ursula stroll the grounds for months. With nothing happening. That really tries your patience."
"It did! I was really starting to get skeptical. Then all of a sudden, things started to happen. Dr. Ursula got her outside the front gate. Just a few steps, down to the curb, and she had an attack when she got there. But it was the first time she'd been outside the walls since... the first time I'd ever seen her do it. And Dr. Ursula didn't pull her back in because of the attack. She gave her some kind of medicine-in an inhaler, like they use for asthma and made her stay out there until she'd calmed down. Then they did it again the next day, and again, and she kept having attacks it was really hard to watch. But finally Mother was able to stand at the curb and be okay.
After that, they started walking around the block. Arm in arm.
Finally, a couple of months ago, Dr. Ursula got her to drive. In her favorite car it's this little Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn, a "54, but in perfect condition. Coachbuilt-custom-made. My father had it built to his specifications when he was in England. One of the first to have power steering. And tinted windows. Then he gave it to her. She's always loved it. Sometimes she sat in it after it had been washed, with the engine off But she never drove it. She must have said something to Dr. Ursula about its being her favorite, because the next thing I knew, the two of them were tooling around in it. Down the drive and right out the gates. She's at the point where she can drive with someone else in the car. She drives to the clinic with Dr. Ursula or someone else with her it's not far, over in Pasadena. Maybe that wouldn't sound too impressive. But when you think of where she was a year ago, it's pretty fantastic, don't you think?"
"I do. How often does she go to the clinic?"
"Twice a week. Monday and Thursday, for group therapy. With other women who have the same problem."
She sat back, dry-eyed, smiting. "I'm so proud of her, Dr. Delaware.
I don't want to mess it up."
"By going to Harvard?"
"By doing anything that would mess it up. I mean, I think of Mother as being on a scale one of those balance scales. Fear on one side, happiness on the other. Right now it's tipping toward happiness, but I can't help thinking that any little thing could knock it the other way."
"You see your mom as pretty fragile."
"She is fragile! Everything she's been through has made her fragile."
"Have you talked to Dr. Ursula about the impact of your going away?"
"No," she said, suddenly grim. "No, I haven't."
"I get the feeling," I said, "that even though Dr. Ursula has helped your mother a lot, she's still not your favorite person."
"That's true. She's a very she's cold."
"Is there anything else about her that bothers you?"
"Just what I said. About her analyzing me I don't think she likes me."
"Why's that?"
She shook her head. One of her earrings caught the light and flashed.
"It's just the... vibrations she gives off. I know that sounds Imprecise but she just makes me feel uncomfortable. The way she was able to tell me to butt out without having to say it. So how can I approach her about something personal? All she'd do is put me down I feel she wants to shut me out."
"Have you tried to talk to your mother about this?"
"I talked to her about therapy a couple of times. She said Dr. Ursula was taking her through steps and she was climbing them slowly. That she was grateful to me for getting her into treatment but that now she had to be a big girl and do things for herself. I didn't argue, didn't want to do anything that would... ruin it."
Wringing. Flipping her hair.
I said, "Melissa, are you feeling a little left out? By the treatment?"
"No, it's not that at all. Sure, I'd like to know more especially because of my interest in psychology. But that's not what's important to me. If that's what it takes to work I all that secrecy then I'm happy. Even if this is as far as it goes, it's still major progress."
"Do you have doubts it will go further?"
"I don't know," she said. "On a day-to-day basis it seems to go so slowly." She smiled. "You see, Dr. Delaware, I'm not patient at all."
"So even though your mother's come a long way, you're not convinced she's gone far enough for you to be able to leave her."
"Exactly."
"And you feel frustrated not knowing more about her prognosis because of the way Dr. Ursula treats you."
"Very frustrated."
"What about Dr. Leo Gabney? Would you be more com
fortable talking to him?"
"No," she said. "I don't know him at all. Like I said, he only showed up at the beginning, a real scientist type-walking very fast, writing things down, ordering his wife around. He's the boss in that relationship."
Following that insight with a smile.
I said, "Even though your mother says she wants you to go to Harvard, you're not sure she can handle it. And you feel you can't talk to anyone to find out if she can."
She shook her head and gave a weak smile. "A quandary, I guess.
Pretty dumb, huh?"
"Not at all."
"There you go again," she said. "Telling me I'm okay."
Both of us smiled.
I said, "Who else is around to take care of your mother?"
"There's the staff. And Don, I guess that's her husband."
Dropping that nugget into the bucket, then draping it with a look of innocence.
But I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. "When did she get married?"
"Just a few months ago."
The hands began kneading.
"A few months," I repeated.
She squirmed and said, "Six."
Silence.
I said, "Want to tell me about it?"
She looked as if she didn't. But she said, "His name is Don Ramp. He used to be an actor never a big one, just a bit player.
Cowboys and soldiers, that kind of thing. He owns a restaurant now.
In Pasadena, not San Lab, because in San Lab you're not allowed to sell liquor and he serves all kinds of beers and ales. That's his specialty. Imported beers. And meat. Prime rib. Tankard and Blade, it's called. Armor and swords all over the place. Like in old England.
Kind of silly, actually, but for San Labrador it's exotic."
"How'd he and your mother meet?"
"You mean because she never leaves the house?"
"Yes."
The hands kneaded faster. "That was my I introduced them. I was at the Tankard with some friends, a school thing for some seniors.
Don was there, greeting people, and when he found out who I was, he sat down and told me he'd known Mother Years ago. Back in her days at the studio. The two of them had been on contract at the same time.
He started asking these questions about how she was doing. Talking on and on about what a wonderful person she'd been, so beautiful and talented. Telling me I was beautiful, too." She snorted.
"You don't think you're beautiful?"
"Let's be real, Dr. Delaware! Anyway, he seemed so nice and he was the first person I'd met who'd actually known Mother before, back in her Hollywood days. I mean, people in San Labrador don't usually come from an entertainment background. At least they don't admit it. One time another actor a real star, Brett Raymond wanted to move in, buy an old house and tear it down to build a new one, and there was all this talk about his money being dirty money because the movies were a Jewish business and Jewish money was dirty money, and Brett Raymond himself was really Jewish and tried to hide it-which I don't even know if it's true or not. Anyway, they the zoning board made his life so miserable with hearings and restrictions and whatever that he changed his mind and moved to Beverly Hills. And people said good, that's where he belonged. So you can see how I wouldn't meet too many movie people, and when Don started talking about the old days, I thought it was great. It was like finding a link to the past."
I said, "It's a bit of a leap from that to marriage."
She gave a sour smile. "I invited him over as a surprise for Mother.
This was before she was getting treatment. I was looking for anything to get her going. Get her to socialize. And when he arrived he had three dozen red roses and a big bottle of Taittinger's.
I should have known then he had... plans. I mean, roses and champagne. One thing ted to another. He started coming over more often. In the afternoon, before the Tankard opened. Bringing her steaks and more flowers and whatever. It became a regular thing I just kind of got used to it. Then six months ago, just around the time she started to be able to leave the grounds, they announced they were getting married. Just like that. Brought in a judge and did it, at the house."
"So he was seeing her when you were trying to persuade her to get treatment.
"Yes."
"How'd he relate to that? And to treatment?"
"I don't know," she said. "I never asked him."
"But he didn't fight it."
"No. Don's not a fighter."
"What is he?"
"A charmer. Everyone likes him," she said, with distaste.
"How do you feel about him?"
She gave me an irritated look, brushed her hair from her forehead.
"How do I feel? He doesn't get in my way."
"Do you think he's insincere?"
"I think he's shallow. Pure Hollywood."
Echoing the prejudices she'd just decried. She realized it and said, "I know that sounds very San Labrador, but you'd have to meet him to understand. He's tan in the winter, lives for tennis and skiing, always smiling even when there's nothing to smile about. Father was a man of depth. Mother deserves more. If I'd known it would get this far, I'd never have started it."
"Does he have any children of his own?"
"No. He was never married. Not until now."
The way she emphasized "now" made me ask, "Are you concerned that he married your mother for her money?"
"The thought has occurred to me-Don's not exactly poor, but he's not in Mother's league."
She gave a wave of her hand, so choppy and awkward that it made me take note.
I said, "Is part of your conflict about Harvard a worry that she needs protection from him?"
"No, but I can't see him being able to take care of her. Why she married him I stilt can't figure out.
"What about the staff in terms of taking care of her?"
"They're nice," she said, "but she needs more."
"What about Jacob Dutchy?"
"Jacob," she said, with a tremor in her voice. "Jacob died."
"I'm sorry.
"Just last year," she said. "He developed some kind of cancer and it took him quickly. He left the house right after the diagnosis and went to a place some sort of rest home. But he wouldn't tell us where.
Didn't want anyone to see him sick. After he.
Afterwards, the home called Mother and told her he was... There wasn't even any funeral, just cremation. It really hurt me not being able to help him. But Mother said we'd helped by letting him do it his way.
More rears. More tissues.
I said, "I remember him as being a strong-willed gentleman."
She bowed her head. "At least it was quick."
I waited for her to say more. When she didn't, I said, "So much has been happening to you. It's got to feel overwhelming. I can see why it's hard for you to know what to do."
"Oh, DL Delaware!" she said, getting up and coming forward and throwing her arms around my neck. She'd put on perfume for the appointment. Something heavy and floral and much too old for her.
Something a maiden aunt might wear. I thought of her making her own way through life. The trials and errors.
It made me ache for her. I could feel her hands grip my back.
Her tears moistened my jacket.
I uttered words of comfort that seemed as substantial as the gilded light. When she'd stopped crying for a full minute, I pulled away gently.
She moved away quickly, sat back down, looking shamefaced.
Wringing her hands.
I said, "It's all right, Melissa. You don't always have to be strong.
Shrink's reflex. Another yea-say.
The right thing to say. But in this case, was it the truth?
She began pacing the room. "I can't believe I'm falling apart like this. It's so... I planned for this to be so. businesslike. A consultation, not.
"Not therapy?"
"Yes. This was for her: I really thought I was okay, didn't need therapy. I wanted to show you I was o
kay."
"You really are okay, Melissa. This is an incredibly stressful time for you. All the changes in your mother's life. Losing Jacob."
Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes Page 10
