Excuse Me for Living

by Ric Klass

  “Very funny. Your accent is decent, too.”

  “It is? I’m not sure I would have told it to you if I knew you’d like it.”

  “You feel you wouldn’t have told me if you knew it would make me laugh?”

  “Oh, oh. I feel a Rogerian coming on. Will my treatment consist of empathy, respect, unconditional positive regard and on-demand malted shakes with a maraschino cherry?”

  “Carl Rogers helped many people.”

  “And just when I hoped that if you’re not pushing drugs you might be my second favorite kind of voodoo doctor.”

  “Which is?”

  “The gestalt-ites.”

  “Gestalt therapy has its place. Why your second favorite?”

  “There’s no analyzing your navel. I don’t have to explain why I hate my mother and want to marry my father.”

  “You hate your mother?”

  “Well, I feel it would be highly improper to hate your mother, don’t you? I hardly know her.” Dan’s having fun. “Besides, when I was rudely interrupted I meant to append that my favorite therapy deals with the here and now. Let’s go forward together for a better tomorrow and all that rot. Why go back to ancient history exploring the tragic times when my evil sister locked me in the family crypt without bread or water for days at a time? The worst part? My socks always stank to high heaven. Or when my Tanta Sadie ripped off my underwear and. . . . ”

  A knock at the door.

  “That’s enough for now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re having guests just now it seems.”

  “But I’m just getting warmed up for your cure, kemosabe.”

  “Did you know that word originated with a boy’s camp, Kamp Kee-Mo Sah-Bee?” Jacob knows he needs to keep pace with Dan’s quick wit or lose his patient’s focus.

  “Yeah? Or is that b.s.?” Dan’s interest gets piqued. ‘Please don’t tell me Methuselah has a brain.’

  “Pinky swear.” Jacob goes to the paneled entryway. To the outside visitors, “Can we have just a few more minutes?” Sits close to Daniel. “I’ve examined your records.”

  “Pardon the girlish modesty, but I’m embarrassed at my accomplishments. Did you notice my high school record exceeding Jesse Owens’ nine-point-four-second 100-yard dash? And he was black.”

  “Can you cut the crap now for a moment?”

  Silence.

  “Good. You’re perfectly healthy physically, a little undernourished perhaps, and maybe slightly on the plus side of sanity and probably not a danger to yourself – unless you’re drunk or under the influence of drugs.”

  “I’ve been healthier. And as for my alleged sanity. . . .” but the doctor firmly cuts Dan off.

  “Be quiet,” Bernstein almost shouts. “Any more of your nonsense and I’ll call Linda and we’ll start all over tomorrow when you wake up.” Now perspiring for reasons unrelated to the discussion, Jacob’s close to losing his professional demeanor.

  Danny can see Bernstein’s flaming cheeks and not looking too well. Doc probably has it up to here with him. “OK. I cry uncle.” This guy’s going to be tougher to outfox than the others.

  “I’d like to tell to you about this discussion group I lead,” Bernstein gingerly begins.

  “Man oh man. Here we go with the group therapy,” interrupts Daniel. “If I have to listen to one more sad sack tell me the story of his pitiful life, I really will lose my mind. Forget it, doc.”

  Gaining composure, “No, no. It’s not like that at all,” entreats the 74-year-old psychiatrist. “It’s just a group of men getting together to kibitz. Really interesting guys. You’ll like them,” he tries to sell his patient.

  Now Dan’s darkly suspicious. He’s in unfamiliar territory and doesn’t like it one bit. And he doesn’t like to be sold. Nevertheless, his curiosity has been aroused. “So what’s the catch? I go and schmooze with some creaky stiffs and I’m out of here?”

  “Not precisely.” Jacob thinks he’s almost got Dan on the hook.

  “Not precisely?”

  “We’ll get together a few times, then. . . .

  “A few times!?” Now Dan gets worked up.

  “Well, yes, a few times. More or less.”

  “More or less!?” Dan starts to rise.

  Bernstein pushes him back onto the bed.

  “Sit down. Now listen up. If you ever hope to get out of here you ought to consider my offer, young man.”

  Dan remains seated.

  “Good. I want you to join the discussions in my senior men’s group.”

  “Owens was a senior when he set his record, but I was just a junior when I lit up. . . . ”

  Bernstein gets up and briskly walks towards the door.

  “Lin-”

  Before Bernstein’s call is fully formed: “OK. OK. All right already. I thought you could take a joke.” Danny sensed Linda and her serum would have come next. Now changing horses. “You are kidding, aren’t you? Me join this group?”

  “We meet at Temple B’Nai Israel in Great Neck on Sunday and Wednesday nights. You’ll still have to stay here when not at meetings.”

  “A temple men’s group for dying people? This really is rich. Wait, don’t tell me. You call yourselves A Better Tomorrow.”

  “New Beginnings. And maybe we’re not as dead as you think.”

  “And you? You’re the lead nefarious conspirator of the cabal?”

  “I’ve volunteered to run the meetings.”

  “This is too much to ask of anybody. Why don’t you just take my blood, for cryin’ out loud?” Dan thrusts out his arm. “Here, open my veins.”

  Jacob coolly replies, “I have your college reports, too. Despite your corny theatrics, I see your elective acting courses at the Yale School of Drama prove invaluable to you.”

  Now talking turkey in his most steely tone, “When I talk to my dad, I’ll ask him to take care of this matter.” Dan taps Bernstein’s knee. “I’ll be out of here in nanoseconds. Fun time is over.”

  Dan has finished his comic performance for the time being. No pill pusher’s going to push him around.

  “The court put you in my custody. Besides, your father thinks it’s a good idea. Well?”

  “I’ve just given your business proposal the utmost careful consideration. No.”

  “OK. I’ll be back here in a month when you’ve had time to reconsider. See you in June.” Bernstein strides to the door. “Linda, Joe,” he shouts.

  Linda shuffles in followed closely by Joe, a six-six orderly, missing neck, two hundred eighty pounds if he’s an ounce. Unmistakably the former NY Giants linebacker he was in his glory days. And they’re carrying the dreaded straitjacket. They yank Dan from the bed and commence to wrap up the jejune loudmouth once again.

  Dan, shocked at this unwelcome turn of events, reconsiders. “Wait. Wait. This is fucking blackmail. OK. I’ll sit in on your mummified decaf coffee klatch.”

  Bernstein nods at his helpers. They untie the long-sleeved apparatus.

  “Good decision,” Linda says to Danny as they leave.

  Dan sits. Trying to regain a smidgen of dignity, “Should I bring my own dentures or do you pass one set around for everyone?”

  Ignoring Dan’s intended insult, Jacob warns, “7 PM Sunday. That’s tomorrow. Temple B’Nai Israel. We meet in the library. Be there or you’ll be too tied up to attend the next meeting.” He smiles at his quip. “Nurse Linda will give you a prescription later to help you sleep tonight. Do not, I repeat – do not take any alcohol or drugs here or you’ll really feel like you’re dying. And leave early. Traffic is a killer. And keep this in mind, as well. If you fail to follow my rules here, I’ll have you transferred to Bellevue Hospital where they have more persuasive techniques for patient compliance. Then, addressing visitors waiting in the hallway, “Please come in. I think he’ll be fine.”

  Pater Familias Et Soror

  await to comfort the invalid.

  “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, how could you do this t
o your mother and me?” Albert’s 260-pound body stacked on only five-feet-seven inches including elevator shoes ripples with the same emotion as his quivering voice.

  “Again,” elaborates Dan’s not very adoring sister, smiling falsely. The siblings exchange drop-dead-asshole looks. Her forced presence and boredom casts gloom on the otherwise sunlit room. Daddy made Coco come to pay yet another visit to her sicko brother, but nobody can make her enjoy it (the promise of a new BMW convertible did ease the pain, however). “Dad, can we get this over with? Dan-Dan’s just trying to get more attention.”

  “Oh, and is that your medical diagnosis, Dr. Coco?” Mere seconds with his sister suffice to ruin for Dan what has so far been a fairly interesting day. Turning to Albert, “And why is everything that happens to me always about you and mom?”

  “What medical school did you go to, I’d like to know, Mr. Smart Ass? For all the awards you won at Yale, here you are in a high-priced nuthouse while I at least have a job.” Coco stews inside herself. Danny has some nerve spreading invective around when it’s him who’s always making trouble for the family.

  “Arranged by Dad,” Dan counterpoints. She’s scoring some flesh wounds, and it hurts a bit.

  “You tell everyone that will listen to your horseshit that your big sister mistreated you when you were a snotty little kid. Now that you’re a snotty big kid, I’m sorry I didn’t beat you unconscious. It would have saved you the trouble doing it yourself.”

  For Coco, years of unfavorable comparisons to Daniel’s prep school and college achievements still thrust up their ugly head.

  Albert pokes his head out the window and catches sight of the activities director on the beach. “Say, this is a beautiful view, Daniel,” he says, hoping to diffuse the familiar battle between his progeny. “Have you looked out today? Just gorgeous.”

  “You’re licking your chops over Elaine, no doubt,” the somewhat jealous son muses. “Is she on the beach bouncing her tits in volleyball?”

  He hasn’t scored a piece of her himself, and it’s vaguely upsetting to be outdone by a fat septuagenarian, particularly if it’s his own father.

  “Don’t think mom doesn’t know about her, Daddy,” Coco’s brown eyes seem to turn yellow while piling on the new prey. Attacking a common enemy singularly unites bro and sis.

  “That’s very rude of you, Daniel. And I don’t think it’s funny one bit, Coco, for you to suggest that Mother has any reason to suspect me.”

  Albert’s pressed to get to the point of the visit. He has a lunch date with a certain someone at an exclusive and secluded spot nearby and can’t be late again. Subtly sniffing his underarms, I think she likes the smell of Old Spice.

  “And just where is mommy dearest, daddy dearest?” asks the needling convalescent.

  “She’s not feeling well,” lamely fibs the father.

  “She’s at the hair salon having her hair done, doing something useful with her time,” reports his odious sister, delighted to make Danny feel small.

  “Very unnecessary, Coco.” Albert’s aggravated at her, but now returns to the task at hand. “How can you throw your life away like this, Daniel? You, with every advantage in the world. Every possibility.”

  “Every possibility? Is it too late for me to be a penguin?” Danny’s eyes gleam at upsetting papa.

  “Your life is no sitcom, boychick. You should be ashamed to be so thankless.” Dad knows the guilt routine will prove fruitless and decides to change tactics, “Why don’t you come to Universal like your sister. We’ll make you vice-president of something.” Turning to his charming daughter, “What’s your title, darling?”

  “Vice President of Public Relations,” 29-year-old cute-ikins replies dolefully. I’m heading right to the dealership before daddy reneges on our deal, she vows to herself.

  “See. You can have a title just like that. And the pay’s not bad either, honey, is it? One hundred grand a year will keep the wolf away as long as mommy and daddy throw in a little holiday bonus and a new car now and then. What about it, Daniel?” Albert’s been through this a million times before with his baby boy but can’t resist a millionth and first. My entire meshpuchah, the whole family, is on the dole, but I’ve got a son who wants to kill himself, anguishes the patron of the ever-burgeoning Topler family.

  “Waste my life like you with junk and trash? Is that what I’m supposed to do?” This acid-tongued Demosthenes of Long Island instantly regrets the slur.

  “Watch your mouth, son. My pitiful and undignified-for-an-Ivy-league-college-boy company keeps you here in luxury, and don’t you forget it.” Albert has pride in his success, son or no son. “I didn’t have a father that gave me everything under God’s creation.”

  “Why send me to a school like Yale if you just want me to take over the business some day?”

  “He’s thinks he’s too good to earn a living like you did, Dad. He’s pathetic and a loser. Let’s leave. He can go kill himself if that’s what he wants.”

  “God forbid. How can you say that, Coco, even in anger? What kind of kids did I raise anyway?” Real tears stream down Albert’s face. He knows Coco will get married and leave Universal. Why did he spend his life building a junkyard colossus if his children don’t take over? Albert doesn’t know if the drops of lysozyme, lipids, and saline running down his cheeks have been shed for his son or himself.

  He won’t show it, but Dan is genuinely touched by his father’s torment. They were so close before he got into drugs in his junior year at prep school and then deeper in college. Since then he can’t talk to his father without an argument. Even he and Coco used to get along. As for mom, they haven’t talked about anything but the weather in years. He knew his nanny better. Why do people have to have a family, anyhow? None of his college philosophy courses answered this question.

  Danny sees his progenitor has reached the end of his rope and changes the familiar tune to a more pressing melody, “Pop, try not to get so worked up. You’ve always said that things have a way of working out.” He eyes his father closely to see if he’s a bit mollified before, “I’m glad you came, dad. Really.” No sign of appeasement yet from Albert. “In fact, the funniest thing just happened. You won’t believe it,” lamely trying to whip up some frivolity at this funeral. “The shrink that left as you walked in says I’ve got to attend some alte cocker discussion group.”

  Generally speaking, Daniel hates Yiddishisms but isn’t above using them now to describe old men for effect if the occasion arises. He knows how to hustle his dad when necessary.

  “Isn’t that a yuk-and-a-half?” Faked laughter from Dan.

  But this time he miscalculates.

  “I think it’s an excellent idea, Daniel,” beams daddy. “Dr. Bernstine. . . ”

  “Bernstein,” corrects Dan, who – like all children – never wants a parental error to go unheralded.

  “OK – Bernstein – and I chewed over it earlier. They say he’s a highly regarded specialist for cases like yours, Daniel. It will be good for you.”

  Seeing Dan-Dan denied for once thrills Coco. Her face nearly breaks in two with pleasure.

  “Now just a second, dad,” panics the prisoner.

  “No. You wait just a second, sonny boy.”

  Just recently, Dan’s heard this condescending, noxious phrase but can’t place where.

  Daddy continues, “I’ve placed your welfare completely in the doctor’s hands. Lord knows I’ve gotten nowhere with you. You always get around me and your mother, and look where you are. Whatever Dr. Bernstine. . . .”

  “Bernstein.”

  “OK, dammit. Whatever Bernstein says. . . ,” a caesura and a pointed finger in the air for their dramatic effect, “. . . goes. And that’s that.”

  Dan’s eyebrows rise of their own accord. Dan’s amazed expression convinces Albert that he’s finally taken the right path with his prodigal son and can’t stifle a grin.

  “Let’s go, dear.” Albert remembers he has other pressing business and, to Coc
o’s amazement for its unfamiliarity, takes her hand.

  “Father!” This completely unused word in Dan’s lexicon when speaking directly to Albert punctuates his dismay at not manipulating his pater – as his mother refers to him – for the first time in as long he as can remember.

  “I love it when you call me that. Don’t forget to write,” Albert joshes on his way out. Dad knows to leave in a hurry before he can be hypnotized as usual by his silver-tongued youngster.

  Death By Boredom

  fits this dump better than Live Free or Die, mumbles Danny. The dismal visit by dad and sister Coco washed over him, leaving him dry-docked. Feeling alone in his luxury cabaña, he meanders out of his room over to the Welcome Center and feels the real Nipper staring unblinkingly at him. “A stuffed dog in the lobby and these lunatics think I’m crazy,” he says out loud – now an increasingly common habit with Dan.

  “What’s that, Danny?” asks Helen Clausen, the petite, outwardly refined receptionist of a certain age. Her still-sparkling blue eyes and Prince Valiant hairdo perfectly showing off her snow-white hair belie her truck driver mentality and the vernacular she’s capable of.

  Dan has loved Helen ever since the time when years ago two police officers in hot pursuit chased his car. Dan hid under the counter while she brazenly lied, “Daniel is in Africa,” without blinking or a trace of a smile.

  “Africa? What’s he doing there?” quizzed the cops.

  “Joined the Peace Corps,” said Helen in a firm, no-nonsense timbre that also claxoned: I’m busy, and why don’t you get going before I get rough?

  “Guess we had the wrong tag. Swore I got it right,” said the corpulent cop in blue to the dime-thin one as they backed away from her. It never occurred to the flatfeet that LFOD wasn’t an ordinary residence and how in blazes would this old lady even know sixteen-year-old Danny?

  “Just talking to myself, Helen. Do you have the keys to my car?”

  “If you’re talking to yourself, then maybe you really do have problems, Danny.”

  Dan sees that Helen’s worried. “I’m fine. Don’t you worry. The keys?”

  “Even if I had them, I wouldn’t give them to you. Doctor Bernstein said you had to stay here until you get better, except that you can drive to his group meetings on Sunday and Wednesday nights.”