by Rex Bolt
So he called Kay. “Listen, I appreciate this, what you did. If I’m ever back in Reno, let’s . . .”
“Have coffee?” she said.
“Yeah why not, I like doing that, especially new places.”
“So you’re abandoning me,” she said, and you couldn’t always read Kay but it didn’t seem like a big deal.
“I am,” Chris said, “unless you want to come to LA with me.”
There was a pause. “I could,” she said.
“Jeez. I was joking . . . mostly.”
“I have a girlfriend in Long Beach. Is that close?”
Chris said it was in the ballpark, and that man, you have girlfriends all over the place . . . and on top of it don’t you have to get back to work? . . . and Kay explained they’re working 6 on, 4 off right now, and she’s got a bunch of saved sick days too.
So what do you know, and soon enough they’re back on Highway 5 and Kay is reading a book in the passenger seat, her jeans rolled up to her knees, and Chris had no idea what book it was but she’d laugh occasionally and quote him a passage . . . and she told a couple stories about road trips with her mom and dad and brother when she was a kid, and they weren’t bad, there was always a punch line . . . and Chris had to admit it wasn’t the all-time worst way to travel.
***
He got her to Long Beach around dinner time, and it was more hip down there than he remembered, particularly on 2nd Street, which had a nice buzz to it.
Kay told him in front of a place called Nick’s is fine, and he did his duty and got out of there, though coming back up the 405 to Manhattan Beach he wondered if this could be a guy friend and maybe Kay didn’t want to get into that part.
Either way it was nice to return to the Cheater Five, despite the limp effort all around, and one thing, you couldn’t beat the good old recliner, and Chris settled into a YouTube video of a guy riding a bicycle from Hazleton, British Columbia, to Vancouver, and the thing was time-lapsed of course, condensed into an hour, and he almost stuck it out but not quite.
The problem then being, you fall asleep too early you wake up weird, and 1 in the morning Chris got the notion that maybe he could use that referral from Dr. Stride after all . . . there was someone he mentioned when Chris asked if there were any female shrinks in his stable, and Stride gave him one but Chris couldn’t remember who.
So he called the office in Santa Monica, not wanting to alarm anyone by ringing Stride’s cell at this hour, even to leave a message, and Jeeminy Christmas, like 20 minutes later, Stride calls him back.
“That’s why I left a message in the office,” Chris said. “No big deal, just getting my name into the rotation.”
Stride sounded like he’d gulped down some coffee, half way sharp and half way out of it. “It’s a concern,” he said, “to hear from a patient after hours . . . that’s why we have an answering service.”
“Hold on, I didn’t even speak to a live person,” Chris said.
“Understood . . . but the service personnel are trained . . .”
“Oh boy,” Chris said. “A man can’t even leave an innocent message anymore and keep it private.”
“Part of your message -- or possibly the anxiety in the tone -- triggered a red flag, and we get a call when that happens . . . What seems to be the issue Chris?”
“There’s no issue. I’ve been trying to make that clear since Day 1 . . . Like I said, I have a little time on my hands these days, talking to someone might give me some direction -- do I want to get a job, do I want to write a book, should I take another surfing lesson -- you know, the basics.”
“Unh-huh” Stride said.
“You know what? You have a way of ticking people off. It’s kind of what you don’t say. I’m assuming they teach you that shit in therapy school -- then when you don’t know what to say, you look intelligent.”
“Listen, I’m referring you to Lauren again. I’ll personally call her in the morning.”
“Fine, if you insist, I appreciate that . . . But you throwing it into crisis mode here, I’m not a big fan of that.”
“Chris, we want to make sure,” Dr. Stride say. “My assessment is you are reaching out. That may or may not have unintended consequences.”
“Unless you call a truckload of bull manure your fancy consequences . . . Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I know you’re looking out for me . . . Unnecessarily, but still.”
“You’ll hear from Lauren -- Dr. Moore -- in the morning,” Stride said.
Chris said whatever, and thanks again, and after a while he went back in the bedroom and put on an overnight radio talk show and it didn’t help much.
***
Dr. Lauren Moore was a medium-heavy set woman about 50 who laughed a couple times as they were making the introductions in the lobby, so Chris thought that was a decent sign. For what it’s worth, she had strikingly heavy breasts as well, he noted, and you couldn’t disguise that element.
She sat behind her desk and Chris took a wooden chair, and she was looking at some paperwork and he said, “Before we get started, I’ll fire a couple questions at you. Inform myself who I’m dealing with.”
“Certainly,” she said, and Chris appreciated the reaction, that this was a gal who’d probably been in the trenches a bit.
“First,” he said. “No couch. In fact nothing comfy. What’s that all about?”
“It’s personal preference. I like the patient to be sharp.”
“What you’re getting at, some of ‘em were falling asleep on you.”
“I won’t disagree entirely,” she said. “Any other questions or concerns before we proceed?”
“Yeah. Are you happily married?”
A beat. “I am, as a matter of fact.”
“First marriage? Solid all the way through?”
“I’m afraid it’s my second,” she said.
“Okay then, what happened with the first one?”
“Mr. Seely, we’re extending the boundaries now. I’m going to leave it right there.”
“Reason being,” Chris said, “and I brought this up to Dr. Stride . . . but how do you guys expect us to take your advice, when you’ve screwed things up yourselves?”
“That’s a fair question,” Lauren said, “and the short answer is, that we’re trained.”
“Okay shoot,” Chris said.
“I’m assuming that means I can ask the questions now . . . What’s the most significant thing that’s happened, in your estimation, between when you saw Dr. Stride, and last night, when you telephoned us?”
“See now, you guys with the latching on to last night . . . But okay, if you want to know the truth, I thought I might have something wrong with me originally -- physically, don’t get all excited -- and I think recently it passed.”
“So do you think this ailment was a figment of your imagination?”
“No. Of my doctor’s. I mean I didn’t think it at first, but I arrived at that conclusion.”
“And how did this ailment manifest itself?”
“Oh for God sakes. I already explained it. It didn’t.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“Let’s move on, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“What should you have brought up then? As an important event since you last saw Dr. Stride?”
“I don’t know, there’ve been a few things . . . Recently you mean? Some guy held me up, does that qualify? Actually two guys. I’m over it, no biggy. I’m not going to do anything about it . . . But significant shit you’re asking? . . . I would say my friend Rosie might fit, who I met in New York and I thought we were hitting it off pretty good . . . and then that goes a different direction.”
“Is that common, what happened with Rosie?”
“Relationships? Didn’t use to be as common, no. I used to be able to sustain ‘em better.”
“Is the issue typically with you, or with your companion?”
“Me . . . I’m not sure how, but I think I scare ‘em off . . . Okay
not scare scare, uh-oh I see you making a note.”
“How do you scare them?”
“Wrong word, start all over. Let’s go with discombobulate. I kinda screw them up, is what it is. They’re not sure where I’m coming from -- and coupled with me not being exactly a matinee idol, they move on.”
“Your view is if you were somehow more attractive, your women friends would overlook your shortcomings?”
“Maybe. I’ve seen that aspect with my brother. Also this guy Ned, sort of a friend of mine . . . Something else too, you asking for the truth here, I feel like my organ got smaller. Sorry for the plain usage.”
“I see. And what do you attribute that to?” Dr. Moore said.
“Watching a pornographic movie being made, first hand. A few of them in fact.”
“Did you participate in these activities as well?”
“No. I was an innocent bystander. It was all interesting enough, but I came out of there intimidated as shit, and that hasn’t gone away.”
Dr. Moore said, “So do you feel your manhood has been under siege? And that could be precipitating your apparent failed relationships with women?”
“It could indeed . . . Except I wasn’t having tremendous luck the last few years, before my manhood got downgraded.”
“I see . . . and back to your experience getting held up . . . did you interpret that as a type of violation of your manhood as well?”
“What? . . . No, of course not. Nothing to do with it.”
“I believe you said,” and she was checking her notes, “I’m not going to do anything about it. What does that mean?”
“It means . . . like I didn’t file a report or anything. I chalked it up to a bad day all around.”
“What else happened bad that day?”
“I couldn’t find a guy. I wasted major time and energy.”
“I’m interested why you volunteered that you aren’t going to pursue it . . . I didn’t ask that question. That implies, you were considering pursuing it at one time. How long ago did this happen?”
This gal was twisting and turning everything, so Chris figured he better cut her off at the pass. “I don’t know, 5, 6 weeks ago. I’d forgotten all about it, frankly, until you made me dredge it up.”
More notes from Dr. Moore. She said, “Is there anything else Mr. Seely? That you’d like to add? In maintaining total honesty?”
Chris said, “Well, you asked. I wouldn’t mind hugging you. You look huggable.”
Dr. Moore said, “Let’s explore that a moment. What was your relationship like with your mother?”
“Oh brother. Fine.”
“You felt she nurtured you sufficiently?”
“Okay that’s enough, you’re getting off track.”
“I don’t think so. I believe we need to establish a correlation.”
“The correlation is, you’re a warm person, I can tell. And as a sidelight, your . . . physique . . . is impressive. You have to know that, let’s not kid around here.”
Dr. Moore cleared her throat, and started down a new path, the usual childhood stuff and were you ever prone to, or a witness of, any violence, and Chris did his best to give her the stock answers, and the session wound down.
“So lemme put it to you,” he said. “Same as I asked Bruce at the end of that one . . . Do you think I’m a candidate for more? . . . Or we’re good? Meaning I aired my dirty laundry effectively.”
“My recommendation is continued therapy, absolutely,” Dr. Moore said, and they shook hands and Chris said thanks for putting up with him, and he threw in a little extra thanks for seeing him on a Saturday, which he hadn’t thought of before, that she may have come in special after Stride apparently alerted her . . . though if she had, Chris had no doubt it would be reflected in the bill.
It turned into a pretty sweet day outside, so he swung by Venice Beach and got lucky with a parking spot and hung out for a few hours -- and the good thing, if you think you might be a little nutty, check out the crazy scene at Venice and by comparison you’ll be fine.
Chapter 13
On the way home though Chris graded his performance from this morning, and damn it, once again, just like that session with Dr. Stride, it was puzzling -- not to mention embarrassing -- why he was rude and forceful, and of course crude in there. Not to mention a classic male chauvinist pig.
Why did he need to show off, and hold the upper hand? These people were trying to help him.
He was thinking if he met this Lauren lady, or Stride too -- and that had already been proven with him -- in a normal social situation, there’d be no way he’d be such an ass. It must be . . . something about the office environment, and what else? . . . That he can’t take constructive criticism from well-meaning professionals? . . . Or worse, he’s afraid of being judged, and therefore tries to turn it around on them?
He had to admit, that might be an interesting question to ask Lauren -- if there ever was another session.
There was a text from Kay, what’s happening tonight -- so she’s halfway back on the radar maybe . . . and Chris told her he’d pick her up in Long Beach at 6 and they’d figure something out.
The mood took a substantial dive when he got back to the Cheater Five.
The same nice young couple with the toddler was in the pool, but when the dad saw Chris he got out and motioned to him.
“I don’t know if it means anything,” the dad said, “but there was an officer here looking for you earlier. At least I assume so. He was outside your apartment, knocking.”
Chris tightened up and the only question he thought to ask was when, and the guy said about 45 minutes ago, and Chris lumbered up the stairs and hoped he’d thanked the guy for the heads up but he wasn’t sure he did.
There was a business card wedged in by the door handle, and it said
Richard Lucchessian, Sergeant 2, LAPD
and a phone number.
And the usual assorted thoughts were racing around. They found Ken? . . . Emma? . . . They’re hounding me for more information? . . . or God forbid, there’s some new different follow-up re the other cops who’d been here the last few months, namely that guy Hamm, the detective, and his sidekick, both grilling him pretty good back then on (supposedly) the Modesto deal?
Chris picked up the phone but instead of calling this Lucchessian back he called Chandler.
“Yeah,” Chandler said. “Make it quick if you can, I got golf on. McIlroy’s on 17.”
“I received another knock on the door just now,” Chris said. “LE. Guy left his card.”
“What’s the name?” Chandler said, and Chris gave it to him.
“Okay now that guy,” Chandler said, “he’s around. You see him.”
“Well whoopee,” Chris said.
“He doesn’t typically handle murder investigations, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Chandler letting that one hang, making his point, strong, clearly wanting to get back to the golf.
“Oh,” Chris said. “What does he handle then?”
“He’s kind of a specialist, sort of like the old beat cops. You know, deflect something diplomatically before it gets out of hand. Of course he could be working any kind of case, I’m just giving you my experience with the guy.”
“Ah.”
“You threaten anyone?” Chandler said. “I’m sort of joking -- maybe -- but I know you by now. You seem like a nice enough guy, but you have that short fuse . . . Remember your CraigsList friend.” And you could hear Chandler chuckling, which through the phone sounded like a dumb giggle.
It occurred to Chris he better mention the therapist visit, even though it killed him to admit to it . . . and the part about saying he wouldn’t mind hugging the woman.
You could tell Chandler was thinking about this one. “It’s quite conceivable,” he said. “Not that the therapist necessarily felt threatened, but there are state requirements, and to cover their ass, they will report those kind of actions.”
Chris was thinking what acti
on, nothing happened . . . but he was also considering his reaction when Dr. Moore asked him about the robbery, maybe he was exhibiting some extreme hostility there without realizing it . . . and she thought he might be taking the law into his own hands or something.
“Hmm,” Chris said. “Never good, but better than the alternative I guess . . . I mean your line of thinking is . . . Would you recommend . . . calling him back, this Richard?”
“Up to you. You want to be a solid citizen, then by all means. On the other hand, these type of inquiries, they’ve been known to go away -- if that’s what we’re dealing with here. Provided you don’t put the moves on any other therapists for the foreseeable future . . . and don’t fly on the radar any new particular way.”
You wanted to kill the guy when he was sarcastic and stuck the needle in like this, but it wasn’t worth arguing that you hadn’t put the moves on any therapist.
Bottom line, Chris was a bit relieved now, much as you can be, and he asked Chandler was there any word on Kenny?
Chandler said not a thing, though he heard Mancuso was on it now too.
Chandler not adding on to that comment, and Chris thinking whatever that meant.
***
He decided what the hay, speaking of putting the moves on, the future didn’t look abnormally bright with Kay, so why force the issue . . . and he invited Finch to join them for dinner, and told Finch bring Holly too if she’s around.
On the way there Chris said to Kay, “This old guy, I think you’ll enjoy him. He’s a character. Some of the stuff out of his mouth is kinda scripted out of a 1960’s movie -- you familiar with any of those?”
“I liked ‘The Sterile Cuckoo’,” she said.
“Dang. Good find, I have to hand it to you. Haven’t thought of that one in forever. Who was the actress?”
“Liza Minnelli.”
“No way . . . now that could win you Final Jeopardy, at the very least.”
“I like 60’s music too,” she said. “We used to have an oldies station in Reno, but they canned it.”
“Tell me about it,” Chris said, himself missing the old KFRC up north. “Meanwhile, there’s this gal, reporter friend of Finch’s. A lot younger. I’m betting she shows up too.”