by Ric Klass
“Patients Are Funny,
Daniel Topler,” the doctor in a white coat says to him, as the lad approaches the pool area the next AM.
“You know my name? And why funny?”
“The doctors know all the guests here – you know we have to call them that, God forbid we call them patients. Have a seat, Daniel.”
Dan sits as told. He needs to take his mind off last night. “Do the MDs here have meetings to dissect us, doc?”
“Please call me doctor. I’d know you anyhow. You always pop up from your seat next to that little dish you always talk to when your name is called. Why funny? Well, for example I have this one . . . uh . . . guest, who never arrives on time. I can’t tell you his or her name of course – confidential. He’s a control freak. Coming late is a way of showing me that he calls the shots around here.”
Dan beams, “Have I joined the medical staff?”
The doctor returns the smile, but perhaps not so warmly. “So the last appointment I say to him when he comes in twenty minutes late, ‘You’re a bit tardy again. Why do you think that is?’ Very chatty and low-key. I’m not threatening him a bit, you see. By the textbook professional with all that rigmarole I learned at Harvard Medical School.”
Impressed, “What did he say?”
“What did he say? Why he says he’s not late at all. That’s what he says. Can you imagine it?”
“Well, some of us here need psychiatric help, I’m told.” Dan jests and gives the doctor a gentle nudge with his elbow in a familiar way. “Then what did you say?”
“See, that’s what I mean,” pointing at his poked rib. “You patients here take liberties. I’ll tell you what I said. ‘My time here is valuable. I can’t waste it waiting for half-wits like you to wander in when they feel like it.’ That’s what I said.”
“Pretty strong stuff.”
The doctor rises and leans so close to Dan that he feels the physician’s breath. “Now this patient says, and what gall he has – listen carefully, ‘Twenty minutes is nothing.’” The doctor’s face gorges red in the telling – his voice rises – “So I say to him, ‘Maybe twenty minutes is nothing to you, Lars, Goddamn it. . . .’”
“Never met a Lars I didn’t like,” Dan says.
“ . . . but the good Lord Yahweh made the Earth in seven days. . . .”
“Six, really,” Dan offers.
Now waving his arms around wildly like a windmill and bellowing red-faced with rage, “. . . and twenty minutes is enough time to fill the waters with fishes and make our blessed earth green or my Jehovah-given name isn’t Dr. Jacob Q. Bernstein.” His dripping saliva wets his white frock.
Danny considers his best option: Run for his life or, since he’s not in all that great shape, cover his vital parts and scream bloody hell for the CAs. Too late he noticed the man’s bunny slippers.
“Lars, I’m glad I found you,” the real Dr. Bernstein says, taking a friendly but solid hold of his patient’s shoulder. “Daniel, please excuse us. I’d like a chat with this guest just now.”
Now suddenly soothed and apologetic, “Sorry I’m a bit tardy, Doctor. I think I’m only twenty minutes or so late to see you.”
“Not a problem, Lars,” as Bernstein leads him away, “Twenty minutes is nothing.”
“He’s One of the Perverts
Mom’s always telling me to watch out for,” Ally says to Dan. She points at Lars led by Bernstein as they go inside the Helper Campground where the doctors have offices. “Always sitting across the pool from me and staring at me like a weirdo.”
Now that Lars has gone, Ally has the courage to come up to Danny and whisper to him, “I told mom about him and she said to tell the CAs if the creep ever bothers me to kick him in the balls and run like a bat outta hell but he’s never done nothing but stare so I just kind of ignore him. I don’t think he likes us talking together cause he always has this freaky frown on his face when you sit next to me so then I sort of give him a too-bad-if-you-don’t-like-it-asshole look right back and then he turns away and pretends he’s wasn’t watching me like I see you look at Elaine. Funny, huh?”
“Yeah, very,” Danny says, thinking it’s not one damn bit funny.
“So you do think Elaine’s cute or somethin’? I know she’s prettier than me and got big you-know-whats and I’m still sorta flat but mom says she didn’t fill out until she was. . . . ”
“Ally, you’re A-OK by me.”
Nearly in tears, “No you don’t think so. You don’t think that at all.”
“Do you remember our deal? What did we say?”
Eyes cast down and maybe still not believing it, “That we’d never lie to each other.”
“OK, then. So that’s that.”
Brighter, “Well, if I’m really A-OK why can’t we. . . . ”
“Ally, do you want me to go to jail? You’re thirteen. If your mom or anybody here thought we were even having this conversation, I’d never be allowed to talk to you ever again.”
Nearly in tears again, “I bet you have a girlfriend you like better – who’s cuter than I am.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend. Or maybe any real friends.” Dan recalls the vial of coke Bruce slipped into his pocket at Monday’s binge. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one I can talk to and I don’t want to lose you, OK?”
Feeling thrilled by this revelation and taking on a phony, mature tone, “Certainly, Daniel. We’ll always be friends.” She pats his knee, assuming her take on a therapist’s comforting role. What fun I’m having makes her tremble with excitement.
Daniel again? At least I think I’m safe for now, Dan concludes. “Catch you later. Got to go,” one second before. . . .
Over the loudspeaker, “Mr. Daniel Topler, please report to Nurse Linda. I repeat. Daniel Topler, please report to Nurse Linda for your morning urinalysis.”
Calling behind him, “I know you’ve got to go,” Ally giggles. “They make you pee three times a day into a bottle, don’t they?” she says practically falling off the chaise lounge with glee.
Vexed at the intrusion, Dan remembers Bruce’s dad has a Beretta at home in his library. Showed it to me once. I have an alibi. I’m already in a nuthouse so. . . . mumbles Dan to himself as he pokes along on his way to Nurse Linda to prove himself on the path to rehabilitation.
“Goodie, My Favorite,”
exclaims Dan clapping his hands together in a rather lame imitation of a circus pinhead.
Although forewarned of tomfoolery for this daily session, Bernstein decides, I’m going to plow ahead with my standard Rorschach test with this over-the-edge comedian.
“Tell me the first thing that comes to mind, Daniel.”
“Sex.”
“No. I mean after I show you the ink blot.”
“It won’t change. It’ll still be sex.”
“Listen to me, if you can. I’m trying to help you, and you’re intelligent enough to know you need it or wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
“All right. OK. I’ll try to be good.”
Bernstein first takes out a red, orange, and white multicolored card. Although the inkblots theoretically shouldn’t represent any particular object – it’s the patient’s interpretations of the images that count – in Bernstein’s experience, sooner or later this particular flower-shaped blot evokes a vagina response from most men.
“Well?”
“Which part of the picture do you want me to X-ray?”
“What difference do you thinks it makes?”
“Observing the projection of my personality onto the pictures is the point of the test, is it not?” inquires Dan.
“Yes, that’s correct. I see you’ve done some reading on the subject.”
“Well then. Are you interested in the anal part of my personality that deals with just a small portion of the inkblot? Maybe I should focus on the human forms of the upper half or perhaps the terrifying savage forms on the lower half. That’s supposed to tell us if I’m alienated.”
“A porcupine.”
“At last some cooperation. And what is the porcupine doing, Daniel?”
“It’s playing with its vagina.”
Thereby ending this day’s session with Dr. Bernstein.
“Live Your Narrative,”
Professor Elmer Blodgett exhorts ad nauseam to Laura, the Graduate English department catechumen and doctoral candidate at Princeton under his worthy wings. “Write what you know” describes the same advice she was taught in undergrad composition. Laura has begun to take the counsel to heart. While one of the up-and-coming stars in the department, she believes her sheltered life – living at home and still technically a virgin – prevents her blossoming into a full-fledged literary lioness.
Deep in her inexperienced psyche, Laura has come to a fundamental crossroads – she must begin to live, with a capital L. On the way home with his daughter, Jacob Bernstein at first bravely resists attempts by Laura to get the skinny on Dan. He tries to maintain the professional confidence of privacy concerning Daniel, with the same result any father would have with his darling, loving, and unimaginably persistent baby girl. He fails utterly, and completely spills the beans on Dan.
He informs her that the arrogant and brilliant Daniel has suffered from a directionless and drug-addicted life. He’s become suicidal. Jacob has carefully raised his stable and thoughtful daughter since his wife’s death ten years ago. Now that she knows about the young man, it’s inconceivable to him that she could have interest in hearing from his troubled patient – ever.
“You’re absolutely right, dad. Not my type. I won’t speak to him again,” she reassures daddykins. Laura’s attracted to Dan’s wit and has a strong physical attraction for him. But she’s also inflamed to think he’s the possible link to the more thrilling life she seeks. Her thoughts, What universe does dad live in? and, How can I get my number to Dan? fill the time on their way home from the temple. The latter question now occupies her mind most of her next day, too, as she slaves over her thesis:
Deranged U.S. Presidents – A New Theme Trend For Twenty-First-Century Short Stories?
Then a call from Charlotte, “We’re still on for Brucie’s shindig this Saturday aren’t we, Laura?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Charlie’s invitation to go to a lascivious party of spoiled socialites is just what the doctor – though definitely not her father – ordered. And she needs to take her mind off Dan.
“I also want you to meet my next sex slave if he can manage not to puke all over us.”
“Who’s your latest conquest?” Laura relishes that Charlie’s personal and professional life is diametrically opposite hers. It only enhances their close friendship. To Charlotte’s amusement, more than once her sexcapades appeared only with name changes in Laura’s stories. But now Laura seeks to shed her inhibitions and create material for a spicy memoir instead of ersatz literary journalism.
“They call him The Dandy Man, and he is.”
“He upchucked on you?”
“Must have been a stomach virus or something. They had to call an ambulance. And just when we were in flagrante delicto, I might embellish.” Charlie has no idea Dan’s in rehab. Bruce didn’t tell her. Though they don’t hesitate to jibe The Dandy Man to his face about his frequent sojourns to LFOD, the prep school fraternity brothers maintain their childhood pact to keep secrets that concern each other.
“You lawyers have a Latin word for everything, Charlie. Are you serious? You were in bed together when he got sick?”
“You know that cute Galliano pink dress?”
“Not that one?!”
“I should make the dickhead pay for it. And speaking of dicks, he’s definitely got the goods and a slim, trim bod the way I like it.”
“Wait a sec, I need to take some notes for my next roman à clef. What’s his name?”
“Later, Laura, got to take this call. Pick me up at 10 PM on Saturday.
Tout à l’heure, dearie.”
Laura’s thoughts return to Dan, whose appeal magnifies every minute. Maybe I should pay an unexpected call on dad at LFOD just to say hello, suggests itself.
Laura writes in the full-sized white pad she uses for future story notes:
“Seeing the impoverished, handsome, and needing-a-caring-woman John at the mental clinic by coincidence would just be an act of mercy. He practically begged for her telephone number.”
She nearly forgets to substitute “John” for “Daniel” and will take care of the syntax later. She’ll “accidentally” run into him on Saturday and can share the adventure with Charlotte that night at the party.
Humiliated and Depressed
without the help of drugs or champagne, Dan tells himself, I can’t go on this way. He’s had criticism from judges, psychologists, and the police before, but in his entire dissolute life he has never suffered the sting of rejection from someone he respects. It’s Friday afternoon and Dan’s still reflecting on Bernstein’s treatment of him Wednesday night.
Despite his smart-aleck demeanor, he admires the doctor. He can’t shake off the recurring thought that this man considers him unworthy of his daughter. That cute stuff. Laura. Hardly had a chance to talk to her. Beautiful. Sweet. Got to be smart if she’s Bernstein’s kid. I bet Laura loves movies. Maybe I should try graduate school. Get a job. Bernstein would beg me to date his precious little girl, Dan fantacizes. Stay away from my prep school playmates. Somehow even with an occasional white line in their nostrils or a drunken binge they’ve managed careers.
Dan knows if he goes to Brucie’s again he’ll melt under the lure of the champagne and cocaine, a rush that lifts him up beyond the solar system and then casts him over a void into an exploding nebula. Just the thought of it makes his mouth dry with anticipation. And there’s Charlotte – Bruce says she’s waiting for me. He’s met many temptresses and ravished all of them with an equal dose of suavity and dispatch. But Charlie. She must have been born in a different galaxy, he broods. While his education, prep school, and family wealth pushed Danny into his current orbit, Charlotte has the intensity and power of a different species altogether. As soon as they met, Danny sensed she’s a warrior sex goddess.
I hope to Christ she’s there Saturday, now captivates his tired mind. Whether or not he takes the little tiny red pills that will make him violently sick if he imbibes or takes drugs, he knows Charlie will pour death down his willing gullet again if she gets the chance. The fleeting thought of a career and normal life speeds away to Alpha Centauri. The cacophony: Charlotte – cocaine – Laura – champagne – march in an endless parade echoing throughout his cerebellum. At least the disgrace of Bernstein’s repudiation has receded.
Still, not even with his depression, and maybe because of it, does Daniel lose his grip on his savoir-faire. He met Lars for the first time only moments earlier and now banters with Nurse Linda as he hands her a urine sample. “Did you catch that guy outside going berserk on me? They have some real psychos here, don’t they?” Her look-who’s-talking stare back at him gives him the reaction he hoped for and provides him with a well-needed laugh.
In Linda’s windowless office he can taste the pungent smell of medicine on his tongue – and he hungers for it, as might any junkie. Dan checks in at the gym for his treadmill routine: 10,000 paces at a 12-minute-per-mile clip, and then pushups and calisthenics – part of the rehab. Dan knows Bernstein would keep his word and tie him up again like a doggie at a rodeo if he blows off the prescribed regimen – death sounds better. Anyhow, though he’s feeling down, the exercise works its own curative. Dan can feel the physical strength of his college years returning, and he’s gained a pound or two. Then shower and off for the pool area where he knows at least one real friend waits for him – spectacles and all.
The Alarm Rings
loud and clear noon Saturday when the female competitor enters her
turf. Her feminine instincts have matured beyond her juvenile emotions. Maybe the smell of a new perfume in the air set her sixth sense in motion. Ally knows before Daniel has a clue that a she-wolf hunts for him on the LFOD grounds and that she, Alicia, must protect the lair.
Laura approaches a young girl at the pool and inquires about Dan’s whereabouts.
“Daniel left for the South Pole,” she tells Laura.
“The South Pole? What’s he doing there?”
Danny told Ally just yesterday the funny police chase story about his lasting gratitude to Helen for saving him. But this ugly blond woman with huge knockers – why does this type always follow her boyfriend around? she wants to know – poses a much bigger threat for her Daniel than the police would. When the monster asks Ally if she knows Dan – it hurts to hear another woman say his name – and which cabaña is his, Ally sees the woman’s eyes grow just this much wider and brighter. Ally knows this old lady means trouble. “The peace corn. He joined the peace corn.” Man, she looks like a school teacher or somethin, Ally says to herself to stay calm. Nobody can be interested in one of them. Now the situation grows graver. This grandma laughs at her.
“Peace corn? You’re really funny. What’s your name?”
The defender of the LFOD territory sees what’s coming next – Dan’s coming. Now the ancient female ogre – who does have MTV-sized thingies – catches his eye and she smiles real big.
“Hey, Laura. What are you doing here?”
The end of the world has come for Ally. Daniel appears from nowhere just as I might have had this booger on the run. And he knows her! I might as well be invisible. He never looks at me like that. Ally’s on the verge of tears.
“Thought I’d stop and say hello to my father. Haven’t done that in a while.” Not bad with his shirt off. I should have brought my swimsuit, too, Laura muses. Dan’s exercise program and tan make him glow, regardless of his confusion. I can’t let this catch get away, she thinks.
Dan and Laura explore each other’s faces and acknowledge the excuse they both know is a lie.
Ally can’t quite read their expressions, but not for a lack of trying. “Oh, yeah? Then why were you asking for Daniel? She’s a liar. Tell her to go away! We don’t like liars here, do we Daniel? Remember what we said?”