by Lissa Staley
“Oh…pardon my dog,” she said.
“Animals don’t bother me,” he replied.
Beau indulged himself in the dusty leather of the boots, their barnyard scent apparently a delight to him. Despite Melanie’s tugs, the dog sprawled his short, white body on the top of the boots. The man reached down and sank his fingers into Beau’s curly white fur. Man and beast seemed in need of each other, so Melanie sat to the man’s left, noting the last glimmers of sunlight sparkling across the pond.
“Don’t you love this garden?” she said. “They created it the same year I started as a freshman at the new high school building, back in 1931.” She sat back and analyzed how the garden had matured. “I can’t believe that was nine years ago. My two favorite places in Topeka—the rock garden and Topeka High—both finished in the same year. I’d never considered it.” He didn’t respond, but remained slumped over, his fingers woven in Beau’s fur while the dog appeared quite content. Melanie continued: ”What’s your favorite place in Topeka?”
“I live in the country,” he said after a long silence. “But I guess it would be the grain elevator.”
An unusual response she thought. “I assume you’re a farmer.”
“I won’t be for much longer,” he replied, choking on the last word. “I have to sell the farm.”
“Why?”
“My fiancée is very ill. The last few years have been difficult for her—her father passed away. Then her mother got influenza during the winter and…Loraine…she...” He shook his head but never revealed his face. “She would never let me help her. Her mother died and Loraine blamed herself. She…she…well, she’s in the hospital on the hill.” He nodded to the north, and Melanie knew exactly what he was referring to.
“She’ll get excellent care there. I promise.”
“Expensive care,” he added.
“Yes.” She knew dinner at her parent’s house would be served at eight o’clock sharp, but walking away from this man and his pain seemed heartless. “What’s your name?”
“Reginald.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Melanie.” His face remained hidden, but a bit of black hair protruded under the bottom of his straw hat. “I’m a graduate student at Kansas University,” she said. “It’s spring break week, and I had planned to spend it at the Gulf of Mexico with my sorority sisters, but after a few days I was bored. Perhaps I’m too grown-up for that sort of thing now.” No response from the man. “So I came back early. Maybe for the company of adults.”
Reginald let go of Beau and slapped that hand over his face, loud sobs causing Melanie to regret her words. “This pond is so pretty,” she said quickly, hoping to plant happier thoughts in his head. “But all the years I’ve been coming here with my family and Beau, I’ve never left without having this one thought.” She pointed to the clearing. “I’d like to see a water fountain in that spot. European. Romantic. Poseidon, the Greek God of the sea, standing tall in the center of a pool, with water shooting straight up in the air from the tips of his trident. And off to the side of the pool,” she motioned, “I imagine Pegasus playfully splashing in the water.” Melanie sighed, looking up to the heavens. It was going to be a wonderful night. Even though her mother was on the east coast visiting her grandmother, Melanie was so looking forward to time with her father. She’d have a quiet dinner with him, maybe a few games of cards, then she’d sleep in her own bed with Beau snoozing by her feet.
Reginald stood up but still kept his head twisted away from her. Beau jumped on her lap nuzzling his face into her dress. “An awful waste of money if I ever heard one,” Reginald said. “I apologize for being bad company. Good night, ma’am.”
He walked down the path, then down the road. Melanie didn’t move an inch until he was out of sight. She allowed her back to relax, enjoying the sunset for twenty minutes or so, imagining evening sunrays sparkling across the splashing water of her imaginary fountain.
Before she’d even closed the front door behind her, Beau leapt from her arm and ran up the stairs. This was unexpected, as he normally headed straight for his water dish in the kitchen. A wonderful smell caught her attention, and she moved quickly through the dining room and into the kitchen, but Mrs. Lewis wasn’t there. Opening the oven door revealed rosemary chicken, a longstanding special occasion dinner. She strolled through the house and was almost to her bedroom at the top of the stairs when Mrs. Lewis popped out from behind the hall wardrobe door. She rushed toward Melanie with a stack of sheets and towels but went right on by her and into Melanie’s bedroom.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Lewis?”
“No child.” She threw the stack of linens on the upholstered chair next to the bed. “Next time you decide to come home for dinner please give us more warning than a note on the kitchen counter.”
“You don’t need to do anything special for me,” Melanie insisted. Mrs. Lewis pulled a sheet off the top of the stack and quickly tucked it around the bare mattress as Melanie rushed around the bed to help.
“Well, we are doing something special, so you need to dress appropriately.” She grabbed the next sheet, unfolding it across the bed with a quick flick of the wrists. Melanie grabbed the hem on her side and began straightening.
“Why?” Melanie asked.
“Orders from your father,” the maid snapped. “Oh…” She slapped her hand on her forehead, “I forgot about the asparagus.” Melanie stepped toward her, but Mrs. Lewis waved her away.
“I can finish this,” Melanie insisted. “You go back to the kitchen, and I’ll be down to help in a minute.”
“There’s not time,” Mrs. Lewis explained, walking to the door. “Look your best,” she said. “And for goodness sakes, be at the table by eight.” She hurried out of the room, closing the door.
Melanie moved the bedspread and towels from the chair to her bed and sat down. She picked up her alarm clock, then tossed it on the bed. Seven-fifty. She had nine minutes to freshen her hair and makeup and see what might be hanging in her closet.
As she hurried down the stairs, Melanie reached behind her and tugged the zipper on her white shimmering gown all the way up, to the middle of her back. She was ecstatic that this dress, which she had worn to the hospital’s fundraising gala, was still in her closet. She swayed across the marble in the foyer, almost gliding to the dining room entrance. The dining table, which she could see from the foyer, looked glorious, set with her mother’s silver rimmed china. She caught a whiff of the soup, probably a broth laced with herbs and, maybe, mushrooms. About to step into the dining room, Melanie realized the man sitting in her father’s seat was not her father. She did a quick spin and leaned against the foyer wall.
Melanie searched her mind for all her father’s friends and the other doctors at the hospital, but no one looked even similar to the man she had just seen. His dark hair, brown eyes, and handsome features would be unmistakable. She had never met this man.
She ran through the foyer straight to the other kitchen entrance. Mrs. Lewis was about to push through the swinging kitchen door to the dining room. She held a silver tray which carried the soup bowl and silver ladle, but when she saw Melanie she stepped away from the door. “Why aren’t you at the table?” Mrs. Lewis whispered.
“Who is that man?” Melanie demanded.
“Shhh….” Mrs. Lewis placed her finger over her lip. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
“He’s our guest. Staying with us tonight. Very important man. You need to impress him.”
“Where’s Father?”
“Delayed. One of his patients…I don’t know,” Mrs. Lewis finally said. “There’s a problem at the hospital.”
“So I’m entertaining this man—a complete stranger—alone?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Lewis snapped. “You have ten seconds to get in your chair so I can get this soup in front of you. You know I don’t like—.”
“Oh, I know.” Melanie said. “You don’t like serving cold soup. And I don’t like eating i
t.” She hustled back to the dining room only to find herself alone in the room. She sat down just as Mrs. Lewis pushed through the door and dropped her jaw.
“Where is he?” the maid whispered.
“I don’t know,” Melanie replied.
Mrs. Lewis ladled soup into Melanie’s bowl and then placed the large soup tureen next to the place set for the guest. She went back into the kitchen, shaking her head. Melanie retrieved her soup spoon and scooped up a bit of broth, blowing across it gently.
“My apologies.” At the sound of his voice, Melanie dropped the spoon and stood straight up. The unknown gentleman was beside her, reaching for her hand. Melanie offered it, and he kissed it gently. “I’m sorry to delay dinner, but I had to adjust my eyeglasses.” He tweaked the black frames on his face, but Melanie couldn’t remember seeing them on him before. “I’m Dr. Fritzl,” he said in a heavy German accent.
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Melanie Rains. Please sit down, and I’ll serve you some soup.”
Melanie followed him to his chair, but before she could pick up the ladle Mrs. Lewis burst through the door and gave her a “find your seat, child,” stare. Melanie obliged, allowing the maid to do her job. As Melanie was about to taste the soup she heard the rattle of tags on Beau’s collar. He wasn’t allowed in the dining room, so Melanie assumed he was stretching out on the cool marble floor just off dining room.
“Do you work with my father?” Melanie asked the gentleman.
“I will be for a short time.” Dr. Fritzl took a spoonful of soup and smiled at her. “I hope to observe his methods and understand his research while taking in the management of the clinic, sanitarium and the peaceful grounds.”
“Oh…Menninger’s is a wonderful place,” Melanie confirmed. “Renowned.”
“Yes.” The doctor smiled at her again, and she found herself sincerely smiling back.
Melanie ate her soup, not minding that it was cold. She heard the jingle of Beau’s tags again, and glanced to the foyer, but he wasn’t to be seen. “I assume you’re a psychiatrist, like my father.”
“I studied in Vienna,” he said.
“Really? At the University?” She put down her spoon for the last time. “Under Freud?” Mrs. Lewis brought in the main course and side dish.
“Oh yes. I attended many lectures by Dr. Freud.”
“May he rest in peace,” Melanie quickly added.
Dr. Fritzl shifted his weight and took a sip of wine. “Yes. Good man.”
Melanie cut into her chicken. “I’m so happy you’re dining with us—I mean, me—tonight. Rosemary chicken is Mrs. Lewis’ specialty.”
“Divine,” he said after a bite. “Simply divine.”
Melanie sat down her silverware and leaned back. “You remind me of someone,” she said. “But I can’t place whom.”
“Perhaps I have a common face.”
“Oh, no,” she remarked. In fact his face was markedly uncommon.... good looking enough to cause her to blush. She quickly reached for her wine. “I think you look like someone who I’ve seen recently.”
He took another bite of chicken then tapped his fork in the air. “I’ve got it. Perhaps you’ve seen my picture in one of your father’s medical journals.”
“Never read them.”
He shrugged while cutting his asparagus.
“But I do know a lot about psychiatry and psychoanalysis,” she explained.
“Are you studying that at the Kansas University?”
She swirled her wine for a moment. “I don’t remember telling you I went to school there.”
“Your father told me, but he didn’t mention your field of study.”
“Anthropology.” She finished her wine and wondered where Mrs. Lewis was with the wine bottle. Melanie guessed the woman’s ear was glued to the other side of the door. “But I was telling you about my understanding of psychiatry—from growing up and listening to my father. Just this afternoon I had the most interesting experience. I wish you could have been there.”
“Tell me about it.”
She recounted meeting Reginald in the park and explained that she was confident his fiancée, Loraine, was being treated at Menninger’s. When Melanie told Dr. Fritzl that the poor man was contemplating selling his farm she began to tear up, and noticed Dr. Fritzl doing the same. When she finished her story he sat back with his wine, spinning the stem of his glass between his fingers, watching the liquid react against the movement of the glass.
“Tomorrow I’m going to find out exactly who this Loraine is,” he said. “I’ll assist in her care.” He finished off the glass. “I’m here on a special grant, Miss Rains, and can do with the funds as I see fit. If Loraine is my patient, and I document her situation and my conclusions, it’s reasonable to me her care should be funded by the grant. I’ll make it my mission to track down Reginald before he sells his farm. No one should have to lose their home and livelihood to get treatment. Not if I have a say.”
Melanie pressed her hands over her face and tears released everywhere. “That’s…I…” she wiped her eyes with her napkin. “You’re so generous and compassionate. I could kiss you.”
“You’re too kind. It’s my obligation,” he said. Dr. Fritzl had the last few bites of dinner and lavished praise upon Mrs. Lewis when she came through the door with the wine bottle. After she filled both glasses and went into the kitchen, he leaned forward toward Melanie. “I feel we’re being chaperoned, don’t you?”
Melanie burst out laughing. “Yes. She treats me like a child, but so do my parents. You’ve had time to analyze me, Doctor. Is my inner child dominating?”
“Your outer woman dominates,” he said. “And your inner woman is running a close second.”
She put the chilled wine glass to her cheek. “That’s romantic.”
“I assume Mrs. Lewis has prepared a tasty dessert for us.”
“Oh…I’m sure.”
“And that she will be serving it any minute.”
“Yes.”
“And that you’re looking forward to it, as I am.”
“Well…”
“But what would happen if we weren’t here when she brought in the desserts?”
Melanie moved the cool wine glass to her other cheek. “Go on…”
“What if we were in the drawing room, listening to something on the phonograph?”
“Mrs. Lewis would never take dessert into the drawing room. Or more wine. It would be improper for her to do so without us asking.” Melanie leaned closer to him and whispered: “She’s not my nanny.”
Dr. Fritzl stood up with his glass, and Melanie did the same. As he walked toward her she noticed Beau beside his feet. Obviously the dog must have been there throughout dinner. She wanted to scold him but it would spoil the moment. Melanie led the doctor and her dog to the drawing room and put a Glenn Miller record on the phonograph. She turned around to find Dr. Fritzl right behind her.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
He drew her close. “Would your father object to this?”
“I’ve danced with boys in this room for years.”
“I’m not a boy, Miss Rains,” he whispered. “Perhaps you do need a chaperone.”
She noticed Beau hovering around his feet. She pulled back and glanced at the doctor’s lips, and then to his eyes behind the thick glasses. “Bringing up Baby,” she whispered. “That’s who you remind me of—the actor in that movie. He played a doctor—a paleontologist. But I can’t remember his name.”
“I never pay attention to the movies,” he said, kissing her softly.
As the kiss grew she closed her eyes and imagined her water fountain in Gage Park. “You make me feel like Aphrodite,” she said when the kiss broke. “With water streaming over my hair, down my back…all the way to my feet.” He kissed her again, and she felt those same waters pouring over her heart, removing any trace of any kisses that had been planted there before.
With Beau under one
arm and a picnic basket handle on the other, Melanie strolled across the Menninger campus. The clock tower was beautiful with sunshine flooding down over it. If her father had made it home at all last night, it had been long after Melanie went to bed, and both he and Dr. Fritzl had left before she awoke. In her mother’s absence, Melanie had decided to take a warm lunch to her father at work. It was a Friday tradition that dated back to before Melanie was born. As they got closer to the tower Beau squirmed in her arms. He wiggled free and ran toward a group of people on the east end of the tower base. Melanie approached the group and discovered Beau at the feet of a man wearing a tattered straw hat. Overjoyed, she ran to him. “Reginald,” she cried when she was just a few feet behind him. He turned around.
The picnic basket slid along her arm. “Who…?” she muttered. He didn’t say a word, but looked at her for a moment. She pulled off his straw hat, and he closed his eyes. “Dr. Fritzl? How…? Are you…?” She glanced down to Beau, brushing against his dusty boots. “There was a dog in the movie,” she finally said. “In Bringing up Baby, there was a dog.” She looked deep into the eyes of Reginald or Dr. Fritzl or whoever this man really was. “I can’t remember. Was the dog named ‘Baby’?”
The man shook his head. “Baby was the leopard.”
His voice didn’t match Reginald’s or Dr. Fritzl’s. It sounded English. Melanie studied the group. A young man holding a camera lingered about ten feet away, and another man with glasses similar to Dr. Fritzl’s stood near, holding a clipboard. Melanie pointed, “Are those the glasses you wore last night?”
“Yes. That’s why I left the table before you came in for dinner. Mr. Cukor was outside the front door waiting to hand them to me.”
