When the phone rang early Monday morning I didn’t mistake it for an alarm, doorbell, or institutional siren. I knew it was the telephone and I woke instantly. I groped for my cigarettes, and realized my sleep hadn’t been littered with other bodies. The ringing phone had provided relief because the few corpses there were resembled me.
The relief was short-lived. Boots’ voice was flat and businesslike. “I tried to reach you during the weekend.”
“I wasn’t answering the phone.”
“No surprise.”
There was a long silence. It was my turn and I knew it. “I would like to talk.”
“So talk.” Her tone stayed flat.
“Not on the phone. I would like to see you. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, or anything between.”
“Maybe a between.” There was a note of hesitancy in her voice.
“Today?”
“Today?” Now there was genuine surprise.
“Yes. I don’t want this to sit. Of course if you want to wait, I’ll respect that.”
“Please, let’s not talk about respect. I can make it today. I’m just surprised by your sudden interest in talking.”
I ignored the sarcasm that replaced her uncertainty. I was due a lot worse than sarcasm. “Where would you like to meet?”
“My choice this time, is it?”
I kept quiet.
“Okay Matt, why don’t we meet at the wharf at four.”
“That’s fine. Where at the wharf?”
“I don’t know. What’s big down there? We can just meet in front of the Aquarium.”
My stomach jerked and I grunted.
“What’s the matter, changing your mind?”
“No. The Aquarium reminded me of something, that’s all.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Our meeting place also reminded me of the favor I never got around to asking for on Friday.
Her voice interrupted my thoughts. “Why are you so quiet?”
“I don’t know,” I lied, “just spacing out.”
Her voice suddenly got harsh. “You better fucking show up.” Before I could reply I heard the line go dead.
I felt impatient to get on with the day but the time limped by until I could reach Simon at work. I barely coughed before I got his, “Where the hell have you been? Are you working for me, or what?”
“I thought you were going to leave me alone and I was going to call you. Well, I’m calling.”
His voice did a 180. “You have new information?”
“It sounds as though you had a rough weekend.”
Simon sounded very far away. “I’m in Siberia again. Do you have something?”
“Not yet and probably never will. Why are you in the other room?”
“Her nightmares are getting worse and she’s ashamed for me to see her like that.” His voice was flat and empty of any emotion. I wondered if Fran was afraid of volunteering something she didn’t want Simon to hear. Maybe her affairs were finally catching up with her.
Simon broke into my thoughts. “I know I’m supposed to keep my hands off, but are you working?”
“I didn’t this weekend but I will this week. That’s what I want to talk to you about.” I was surprised at my honesty.
Simon’s voice was strained. “Nothing over the weekend?”
“I was busy.”
“Busy? With what, a house repair?”
“No. I spent some time with Boots. Why didn’t you tell me about her sugar daddy?”
His voice lost a little of its bite. “What’s to tell? He’s old and harmless and she lives good. Does it matter?”
“Probably not. But what was all the matchmaking shit about?”
“I don’t think Boots’ friend poses an insurmountable obstacle.”
“Think or hope?”
He chuckled. “Look, according to you, all this is irrelevant.”
I knew what he wanted but I wasn’t going to give it to him. “I just don’t like surprises.”
“Was it a good weekend?” He sounded curious. At least his annoyance was disappearing.
“Sure.” No amount of reformation was going to make me completely honest.
“Great.” I could hear the topic hit the floor. “You said you wanted to talk business, Matt man, what is it?”
I took a deep breath. “I want to talk money.”
“Money?”
I took another breath. “Yeah. I need money for this work.”
“I don’t see the problem. Keep track and charge me.”
“I want to charge more than our usual rate.”
“Why?” He didn’t sound antagonistic.
“Because I have to pay Charles to cover the house for me.” The weekend had left me too aware of my tendency to exploit those around me. Mrs. Sullivan’s quiet light was testimony that Charles had done enough unpaid labor. “The research work is different. I can set my own timetable. Now I don’t have that luxury.”
“It sure seems like you do.”
I chuckled politely. “What do you charge an hour?”
His laugh sounded more genuine than mine. “Get serious. I’m not going to pay you that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s way too much.”
The same thing Dr. James told me. Apparently professional identities come equipped with full commitment to financial superiority. “The usual is too little.” I could feel myself grow stubborn unnecessarily.
“That I accept. It’s the amount we’re negotiating.”
“Don’t lawyer me, Simon. I don’t want to negotiate. I don’t have a clue about what a real private investigator makes. You would know that better than I.”
“Why do you think I hire you?”
“Funny guy. I’m serious; what’s the real going rate?” He named a figure higher than I had imagined. Maybe he did hire me to save money. If the rate he quoted was significantly less than what he made, Simon was pulling in a bundle. At least I didn’t need to feel guilty about my request. “That seems okay to me if it is to you.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, “I’m not worried about the money. That’s fine, but I am worried about whether you’ll do the work. Did you ask Boots if she could trace the car?”
“Simon, we had other things to discuss.”
I thought he was going to get angry but he just laughed and said, “That’s okay this time, but only this time.” The laughter left his voice, “I want that information. Do you need any money up front?”
“No. I’ll let you know.”
He began to say something but I recognized what was coming and cut him off. “I will let you know if anything is worth knowing. But what’s really going to happen is you’ll pay more for the same results.”
“You just do the work. That’s what I’m paying for. I know you can’t guarantee results.” He stopped and let out a long sigh, “Jesus, Matt, sometimes I really miss the old days. Things seemed so much easier.”
I kept bringing out the Sixties in Simon. “They weren’t any easier, Simon, we just knew less.”
I promised to keep in touch and we hung up. Two down, one to go. I expected the answering machine but got a human. “This is Dr. James, who’s calling, please?”
“It’s Matthew Jacob, Gloria. I’m calling to apologize for making an ass of myself on the phone the other night. I was wondering if we might have lunch?” Spontaneous me, I hadn’t expected to ask her out.
“When are you thinking of?” She sounded amenable.
“I don’t know. Today?” I certainly hadn’t planned that.
“I can’t make a regular lunch but I could do a late breakfast.” She paused, then asked, “Isn’t it a little early for you to be up?”
“You don’t forget much, do you?”
“As you’re quite aware.”
For a moment I wasn’t quite sure what my mouth had gotten me into. I pulled myself back into the conversation. “Sure, a late breakfast will be fine. Where and when?”
>
She told me and we rang off. I had an hour to kill. Plenty of time for a little dope and a chat with Charles.
“Somehow I never expected us to terminate in a pizzeria.”
“Nor I. I’m much more comfortable sitting behind my desk working through a rehearsed treatment plan, but you insisted that we meet.” She looked around the cafeteria, then returned her eyes to mine. “It seems a little late to rely on comfort.”
“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested lunch.” I checked my vital signs and, except for a lump of facsimile veal working in my belly, I felt numb but alive.
“What did you have in mind?”
I tried not to spill any of the red tomato sauce from the roll as I bit into my sub. “A couple of things became clear over the weekend. Especially my capacity to mistreat people. Like I said on the phone, I wanted to apologize for the way I sounded the other night.”
Dr. James looked at me strangely. “What happened this weekend?”
“Nothing in particular. Look, I’m not saying termination is wrong, I’m just surprised that you beat me to the punch, that’s all.” I could hear the petulance in my voice.
Dr. James shrugged. “It’s impossible to get you to be specific if you don’t want to. I’m glad we’re in a pizzeria; if we were in my office I’d feel compelled to work through your resistance.”
Gloria might not be in her office but she hadn’t left her jargon behind. “I don’t know about my resistance, but my appetite is gone.
Anyway, now that we’re terminating, you can be spared the bother.”
“You were the one to initiate termination, Matthew. My weekend was spent thinking and talking about our relationship. I discovered that you were right about ending our work, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.”
“You spent the weekend with Holmes?” An unexpected moment of jealousy filtered through my sullen shock.
She looked startled. “I spent time talking with Eban, yes. I didn’t consider it a betrayal of confidence. We spoke mostly about me.”
“That’s nice.” The image of the two of them huddled discussing my therapeutic fate flashed before me.
“I don’t understand your annoyance about terminating or my discussions with Eban. You weren’t reticent when the three of us met.”
I pushed the tray with my half-eaten sub to the side of the table, felt exposed, and pulled it back. “I’m not sure I understand it either.” Some feeling was returning to my body, and I realized that my panic might not last indefinitely. “A lot has happened in a short amount of time.”
She nodded. “A lot has happened, but the time hasn’t been all that short.”
“What do you mean?” As the numbness faded I found myself becoming curious about what she had to say.
Gloria took a deep breath and plunged into her words. “When we first met you were unable to see beyond your self-pity and rage. You were either violently self-loathing or completely despondent. There was no middle ground. My work was to help you create that middle.” Her voice was tense but her eyes resolute. “I thought I did a good job.”
“So did I.”
She waved off my interruption. “Until the past year, that is, when I found myself frustrated by your passivity.” A small tight smile flashed across her face. “Like every good therapist I blamed my frustration on you. You were no longer out of control or immobilized by depression; why wouldn’t you take the next step? Why weren’t you even thinking about something more creative than managing a building?”
“So you did use the burglaries as work therapy?”
“Not consciously.” She played with the salad in front of her.
“But I was right. Conscious or not, it was therapy.”
“It’s not that simple. Some of my motivation certainly had to do with your passivity, most was due to my frustration. Also the breakins really worried me. I didn’t lie to you about that.”
“I thought your frustration was about my passivity.”
“My frustration was an unfair projection. It isn’t your passivity that’s been the problem, it’s my attraction to the intensity you brought with you when we first met. Heaping expectations onto a client can’t be considered good work. If you are going to be angry you might as well start there.”
There was something about Dr. James’ vulnerability, however discrete, that shattered my hostility. I leaned back in my chair, rubbed my face, and spoke through my hands. “The truth is I’m not angry at you, especially about our work. I’m scared. Now that it’s official, I’m scared.”
She shook her head ruefully. “What I’m saying probably just makes it more difficult for you, but it’s too late for me to cloak honesty under a veneer of professionalism.”
I smiled. Although my anger and fear were disappearing, the sub still felt like a cannonball in my gut. “That last part sounds straight out of ‘the world according to Eban Holmes.’ ”
Gloria wasn’t finished being earnest. “In most instances it is Eban. This time it’s me. I’m trying hard not to hide from myself and I don’t want to fabricate to you. I haven’t had so many crises like this one not to realize its importance.”
I leaned forward and spoke through the noise of the burgeoning lunchtime crowd. I tried to match her honesty. “You might have been attracted to the intensity that originally walked into your office, but I couldn’t live with it. At least not the way it was. My insides were on fire and I was consumed by what I saw as the injustice of my entire life. The fight with the bartender was suicidal. Even I could recognize that. I don’t know how, but you pulled me out of it.”
I looked at her. Lines of worry tugged at her eyes. She had pushed her salad to the side, creating an ocean of formica for me to cross.
“Regardless of my fears I think I’m ready to do without therapy. How many times have you reminded me that fears aren’t the same as reality? If I’m wrong, I’ll find another shrink; hell, the town’s filthy with ‘em. I bitched and moaned all during our work together.
But the truth is you’ve given me gifts I’ll never be able to repay.”
There was a tinge of rose on her cheeks. “Gifts?”
“Gifts. I’ve had a long, sorry set of relationships with women—even the good one turned into a disaster. You and me worked. Beginning, middle and end. Yeah, I’m shocked by the suddenness, the suddenness of everything these days, and I might even get angry again later about this. But I want you to know that you saved my ass when we first met, and your unconscious may have done it again.”
“My unconscious?”
“The work therapy. The case has put me on my feet. That’s some of why I wanted to meet. To tell you.”
“The case has gotten you beaten up.”
“Since my body has stopped hurting it seems like a small price. I’m not going to become another Sam Spade, but there’s something about this sort of puzzle I enjoy. There is a niche here, some kind of crack I may fit into. No matter how I’ve acted or what I’ve said, pulling me into it has been good.”
“You sound so sure. I know it’s the right thing, but a part of me sits here wondering what the hell I’m doing. I’m still terribly worried about your drug usage. Only I don’t think there is anything I can do about it.” She looked around the room and lifted her arms in a gesture of helplessness.
I nodded at the remains of our lunch. “You could have picked a greasy spoon with better food. Look, I’m not a junkie but you’re right, there’s nothing you can do about it. Maybe since our counseling relationship is officially over, it will be easier to trust what we say to each other. At least the case will go smoother.”
She started to reply but stopped. Some of the anxiety seemed to clear from her eyes. “Do you really think there is a case? I’ve been so focused on our therapy that the burglaries seem almost beside the point.”
“That’s the weak link in psychotherapy. Yes Virginia, there is a real world. Of course I think there is a case. My body might not hurt but it remembers.”
“You’re still concerned that I might be involved though other doctors’ records were also taken?”
“I believe it’s a good possibility.”
“Eban said you would think that.”
“It’s nice to know that all three of us agree. So it’s clear about my continuing?”
Gloria nodded.
“Good, but I want to be paid.”
“I have no idea what a private investigator makes. We went through that once before.”
“You won’t feel so happy when I tell you.”
“Try me.” Her relief was evident. She hadn’t even tried to dissuade me from pursuing the break-ins. I didn’t want to guess about her motivations. I thought of the figure that Simon quoted and gave her a number that was considerably less. There was no complaint and for a moment I wondered why I lied about the price. Then I realized I didn’t want to question my motivation either.
I sat in the car smoking a cigarette while I thought about the conversation with Gloria. I felt stirred but not shaken. Although plenty of ambiguity remained, the animosity I usually experienced after a Thursday session was absent. I was oddly satisfied though a little lonely.
The satisfaction lessened and the loneliness grew when I looked at my watch and focused on my next piece of business. I pulled a joint from the ashtray and smoked, but the call of my living room couch grew insistent so I stubbed the dope out. In no rush to move, I still wasn’t ready to retreat.
I got to the Aquarium in time to see Fran’s shock of blonde hair blowing in the ocean breeze as she walked the ramp onto the dolphin boat. I quickly crossed the courtyard to the ticket booth and knelt to avoid being seen if she should suddenly turn around. The ticket collector admonished me to stop holding up the line. It pissed me off because there was no one behind me, so I untied my shoe and stayed hunched over until I felt too stupid to continue. I stood, apologized, and bought a ticket. I hung around the huge glass doors of the main building until there was a cluster of people at the kiosk, gritted my teeth, and ambled over to the boat. I didn’t have my gun, regretted it, but no one stopped me so there was no call to shoot.
The Complete Matt Jacob Series Page 16
