by Andrew Kane
“Did this happen in Chicago?”
“Well, I met someone there too, but that was… I don’t even know what that was.”
“So, tell me about the other one.”
“I’m not sure I know what that’s about either,” he said.
“I have to tell you, little brother, you’re confusing me. Sounds like you’re avoiding the topic.”
“I always thought you’d make a terrific therapist.”
“Thanks for the endorsement, but I’d really like to hear about the woman.”
Martin smiled. He loved the way his sister cut to the quick. “I met her briefly the other night while I was having dinner. We talked, I walked her home, that was it.”
“That was it?”
“I’m not sure.” Hesitation. “There was something about her…”
“You know, Marty, it has been a while,” she said.
Silence.
“I just want you and Elizabeth to be happy,” she added.
“I know you do.”
“Maybe we can get together one Sunday? The girls really do want to get to know their cousin better.”
Since Katherine’s death, Esther had said this numerous times and Martin had consistently shied away. It wasn’t that he doubted her sincerity, only that he didn’t want to cause problems between her and her husband. Now, however, after his last conversation with Elizabeth, he wondered.
“How would Zev feel about it?” he asked.
“I know you’re worried about that, but you don’t have to be. Zev’s mellowed some. I think he’s even in favor of the idea, probably believes the exposure might bring you to do t’shuva.”
“T’shuva?”
“You know, ‘repent,’ become Orthodox again, convert Elizabeth, the whole nine yards.”
“Do you think that?”
“Who, me?” Laughter. “Come on, Marty, I know you better. But I would like to see you.”
“It would be nice.”
“So, let’s make a date.”
“Good idea. I’ll call you next week.”
“I look forward to it,” she said.
“By the way, how are Mom and Dad?”
“The same.”
“Healthy?”
“As ever. They’ll probably outlive both of us.”
“No doubt.”
A moment of silence. There was nothing more to discuss on that front.
“Look, Marty, about this woman, it would be nice if you could give someone a chance.”
“I don’t think she’s Jewish, Esther,” he said matter-of-factly, though he’d been anxiously waiting for the right moment to inject that into the conversation. The truth was, he had no idea what religion Cheryl was, nor did it matter. He was only trying to prepare his sister and, if he looked even more deeply into his motivation, perhaps he was fishing for her approval.
“Marty,” she said earnestly, “all I want is for you to be happy. I hope you believe me.”
“I do.”
“Good, so we’ll talk soon and make plans.”
“Yes, we will.”
“Okay then, little brother. Take care of yourself.”
“You take care too.”
“Will do. And call that girl!”
“Okay. Have a good night.”
“You too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
He hung up and, before he could catch his breath, the phone rang. He lifted the receiver, thinking it was Esther calling back. “Forget something?”
“Excuse me?” a different female voice said.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” Martin said, not knowing to whom he was speaking.
“Oh you did?” the stranger asked.
“Yes… um… who is this?”
“Someone you called earlier,” she answered.
“Someone I called?”
“Well, whoever you are, your number’s right here on my caller ID.”
Martin suddenly figured out what was happening. “Cheryl?”
“Yes, that’s me. Now, who are you?” she asked.
Martin wondered for a moment why his name didn’t also appear on her caller ID, but then realized that it was probably because his home phone number was unlisted. “Marty Rosen, from the other night. Remember me?”
“Oh, the head-shrinker! Hi!”
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Right now, a little flustered. Your call took me by surprise.”
“And you probably don’t like to be caught by surprise.”
Martin couldn’t argue with that, but he hated being figured out this early on. “Well, in this case, it was a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I had called to see if you might want to get together,” Martin said.
“You mean a date?”
“I suppose that’s what I had in mind.”
“You haven’t done this in a long time, have you?”
“How can you tell?”
“Lucky guess.” She hesitated. “I’d love to,” she finally said.
They made plans to meet for dinner the following evening, said their goodbyes and hung up.
Sitting on his bed, Martin stared into space, wondering what he was getting into and why he felt compelled to see this woman again. He searched his psyche for the feelings that had restrained him these past two years, the sacred images of Katherine that had marred all contenders for what he had believed would be an eternity. And in the absence of those images came the realization that there was something about this Cheryl Manning, and a voice down deep in his gut telling him it was time.
chapter 12
Martin Rosen noticed that the woman sitting in his waiting room appeared a great deal younger than he’d expected. Having the advantage of knowing her exact age, he wondered if her countenance was the result of some cosmetic surgeon’s wizardry or a gift of nature. Either way, it surprised him.
“I’m Martin Rosen,” he said, extending his hand.
She stood and took his hand firmly, as if meeting him was the most important thing she could possibly be doing at that moment. She was tall, and had a languid smile that betrayed some underlying distress. Her hair, auburn and wavy, was cropped a touch above shoulders, and her makeup and perfume were just subtle enough to do their job. She was quite attractive, he noted, and exquisitely attired in a navy suit that he guessed was a custom Versace or the work of some such guru.
“Martha Benoît,” she responded.
Martin escorted her into his office and invited her to take a seat on the couch while he took his place in his chair.
“I want to thank you for agreeing to see me,” Martha said. “I know it’s unusual to meet with the spouse of a patient.”
“There really is no problem. It’s done fairly often these days. The strict analysts believe that meeting with a patient’s family members can somehow contaminate the process, but I don’t ascribe to that. So long as I have the patient’s permission, I find it can sometimes be helpful.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. The last thing I want is to intrude upon Jacques’ privacy.”
Martin detected anxiety in her tone, but didn’t yet assume what it was about. There was, of course, the usual nervousness that everyone had upon meeting someone in his profession, but he suspected something more. He also sensed that Martha Benoît was a woman who didn’t typically get nervous.
“Well,” Martin said, “I can assure you that Jacques was wholeheartedly in agreement with our meeting. If I suspected he was feeling coerced by you, I would have declined.”
Martha attempted a smile, this time more naturally.
Martin saw she was having difficulty opening up. “I understand you’re an attorney,” he said.
“I used to be, before I met Jacques, that is. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced.”
Martin noted that she wasn’t defensive about the fact that she had stopped being a professional; on the contrary, she appeared at ease with the subject. “How long?”
She started counting in her mind, then answered, “Oh, it must be at least twenty years.” There was resolution in her voice, an awareness that she couldn’t defy her age in every aspect of her life.
“And how did you and Jacques meet?”
“You mean he hasn’t gotten around to that?”
“We’ve only had two sessions. It takes a while to get to the important things,” he said.
“Yes, I understand.” Reflective. “Well, I was his lawyer, at least one of his lawyers. I was heading up a team working on a deal he was making with Ameresort, a U.S. company that manages vacation resorts in the Virgin Islands, Bahamas and Hawaii. Jacques was in New York, arranging some joint ventures with them, and apparently with me as well.” Her eyes became watery.
“This has all been quite difficult for you,” Martin said sympathetically.
She reached for the tissue box on the end table. Whenever a patient did this, Martin recalled one of Katherine’s unforgettable statements about his vocation: All you really need is a room, two chairs, and a box of tissues. His heart sank for an instant.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Sorry for what? This has been a crisis for you. If it didn’t bring tears, then I would worry.”
“You’re very kind. I can see why Jacques likes you.”
Martin was skeptical of that last remark. He was usually able to get a quick read on a patient’s feelings about him, but with Jacques Benoît, it was different. Notwithstanding the billionaire’s geniality, and despite whatever impression the man may have given his wife, Martin still wasn’t convinced. “I’m glad he feels that way. It certainly makes the work easier.”
“Perhaps that’s so, with other people. But with Jacques, I can assure you, doctor, nothing is easy.”
“So I gather.”
She reflected a moment. “He told me that he gave you permission to discuss his case freely.”
Martin nodded. In most cases, he would have felt uncomfortable with so broad a release, but in this situation, there was no need to be concerned. So far, Jacques Benoît had revealed nothing.
“Well then, can you tell me how you think he’s doing?” she asked.
“I could if I knew. To be honest, I’m not really sure at this point. I believe it would be more useful for you to tell me how you think he’s doing.”
“That’s just it, I’m not sure either.”
“I suppose that’s why you wanted to see me,” Martin said.
“And why you agreed,” she responded.
They looked at each other in silence. “Tell me,” Martin said, “is he being his usual self?”
“He’s trying to be.”
“So you sense something unnatural about his behavior?”
“I think so,” she said. “He tries to hide things from me, but when you know a person for so many years, you begin to see him more clearly than he sees himself.”
“It doesn’t necessarily take years.”
“So, you see it too?”
“I suspect so.”
“What do you think it is?”
“I was hoping you might shed some light on that,” he responded.
“I’m absolutely clueless,” she said. “I have no idea what was bothering him then, and I have no idea now.”
“But you did know that something was bothering him?”
“I suspected. I believe that our minister also noticed it. He was going to stop in on Jacques the day…” She appeared unable to finish her thought.
“The day he tried to kill himself.”
She nodded, dabbing her eyes.
“What do you think of his explanation?” Martin asked.
“You mean about the business getting away from him?”
Martin nodded.
“I’m sure it’s true, partly, but that’s been happening for a few years and he’s handled it. There has to be something else that drove him over the edge.”
“I agree. It must be very difficult living with someone in such a predicament, feeling closed out and helpless.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m… frustrated.”
“Yes you are, and you’re also angry.”
She torpedoed him with her eyes. “Okay, so I’m angry. How does admitting that enable me to help Jacques?”
“I don’t know that it does, but I do know that it’s unhealthy to hide your feelings.”
“Believe me, Dr. Rosen, I’m not one to hide anything. I just don’t see the purpose in walking around in a huff all the time.”
“Fair enough,” Martin said.
She eased up a bit. “Word is, you’re good at what you do.”
“Well,” Martin said, reflecting, “even if what you’ve heard is true, it may not make a difference with someone like Jacques.”
“You mean, you may not be able to help him?”
“I don’t know. I’m a psychologist, not a dentist.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t pull teeth.”
Her face offered some appreciation of the levity. “So, what do we do?”
“We keep trying.”
She appeared pensive. She had known from the start that she was going to have to help bring Jacques around to face whatever it was that plagued him, only she had felt more confident that therapy would help matters along. And now, realizing she had been naive in her expectations, she felt like a fool.
“You’re disappointed in my response,” Martin said.
“I suppose. But it’s the truth.”
“You know, if I may, there’s an old joke that we psychologists like to tell.”
She looked at him with interest.
“It goes like this,” he said. “How many shrinks does it take to change a light bulb?”
She managed a smile, waiting for his answer.
“One,” he answered. “But the light bulb has to really want it.”
Her smile widened a touch, but only briefly. “And you don’t think Jacques wants it?”
“I’m not sure at this point what Jacques wants.”
“Neither am I.” She paused a moment. “Tell me, do you think he’ll try to kill himself again?”
“I honestly can’t say.”
“So my husband is an enigma to you?”
“At this point. And it seems he’s a bit of one to you as well.”
“Maybe even to himself,” she muttered.
“That, I don’t completely buy. People don’t try to kill themselves without a reason.”
She kept silent.
Martin shrugged.
“Well, doctor, I thank you for your time. And your honesty.”
Although the meeting had been short, Martin felt no reason to prolong it. “You’re quite welcome. I only wish I had more to offer.”
“Perhaps you will, in time.” She rose from her seat.
“I do hope so,” Martin said as he stood to shake her hand.
Noting the elegance with which she carried herself, he watched her depart and wondered about what she had said.
There has to be something else that drove him over the edge…
Not only were her suspicions regarding her husband’s motives consistent with his own, they also told him something about the relationship the Benoîts shared.
He tries to hide things from me…
Martin walked behind his desk, sat down in his chair, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He had never doubted tha
t there was more going on here than Jacques Benoît had been presenting. And now, having met Martha, it was apparent that the deception was indeed deliberate.
He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind for a few minutes before his next patient.
chapter 13
Martin Rosen looked into his daughter’s eyes and found not even a hint of weariness. It was well past her bedtime, and still she appeared ready for a full day’s play. It hurt him to put her to sleep at moments like this. He never seemed to have enough time with her. But it was late, and he had somewhere to be.
“Will you be home soon?” she asked, touching his face.
“Not too late, but hopefully you’ll be fast asleep by then.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Jamilla’s downstairs. She’ll be up in a few minutes to check on you.”
She looked at him in silence.
“Okay, princess?” he asked.
“Okay, Daddy.”
He kissed her lips, her cheek, and her forehead. Kissing her was addictive. He then tucked in her blanket. “Snug enough?”
“Yes,” she answered, turning over on her side, a final sign of surrender to the inevitability of sleep.
It amazed him each time he saw the way she could transform herself so suddenly from fully charged to absolute fatigue. It was a common behavior in children, he knew, but watching it happen was something else. He smiled widely, leaned over and kissed her again. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Daddy,” she said, already half-unconscious.
Martin Rosen watched Cheryl Manning come through the door of the restaurant, and was hit with a sudden moment of clarity. He had been waiting at the bar about five minutes, nursing his Glenlivet, contemplating what he was getting into. And now he understood that he was exactly where he wanted to be. Their eyes connected, and he watched her move through the crowd, his jitters intensifying as she drew nearer.
“Hi,” she said, offering her hand.
“Hello,” he reacted, reaching out. It felt good to make contact.
“I’m glad you called.”
“So am I.”
The room was noisy, another typical night at Millie’s Place, but somehow their voices managed to resonate above the fanfare.
Dutiful bartender, Steve, appeared. “What’ll it be for the lady?” he asked.
