Excuse Me for Living

by Ric Klass

  The two linger over the pushcart delicacies for an hour discussing what additional help the university Classics Department could use. “Ganymede told me you are an attorney. What kind of law do you practice?”

  “A divorce attorney,” she hesitates in answering, unsure of his feelings in this sphere.

  He smiles admiringly at her for a few moments, “Just from knowing your father and the short time I’ve known you, I’m sure you do your best to reconcile the parties. To at least try to find a balance and harmony between husband and wife. I am correct, am I not? I know I sound naïve. I’m not a modern man.”

  Charlotte’s watch buzzes, “I’m terribly sorry, professor. Let me answer your question another time. I must be going – appointments with new clients.” Charlie’s relieved to have an excuse to change the subject. “Let me have Thomas drop you off.”

  “Not at all, dear Zoë. I’m headed for the New York Public Library to study a rare book on Norse mythology they have. I’ll take a stroll from here on this beautiful afternoon. I look forward to seeing you again whenever you think you can tolerate the company of an old man.”

  “Sixty is young, professor.” Seeing his puzzled face, “The internet.”

  “Of course. We’re all so public nowadays. I am young,” he says with a vigor she hadn’t seen before in him. “Thank you for noticing. I pretend I’m old so people your age don’t think me foolish. Adieu, sweet girl,” and departs uptown with a strong stride. Fifty feet away he turns back, “And, Zoë, please call me Barry,” then resumes his journey at a faster clip.

  Charlotte waves down Thomas, who’s been circling the park during the lunch. Time for the meetings with the firm founder, Raoul Bleeder, to discuss a new case and one with another senior partner. Her father died only a few days ago. Work will comfort her best. But her thoughts linger over the physically imposing Professor Blackmun – Barry – who’s really not that old at all, she decides.

  “You’re Not

  That Old at All

  for a guy your age,” Ally tries to reassure Dan while they have a late lunch at the LFOD bamboo shack that same afternoon. “It’ll be months or even years before you’re really deecrept.”

  “She’s a scream. How did I live without her?” Dan, in an old varmint’s inflection while he reaches around his shoulder, “Why shucks, Ma’am, you’re really sweet to say so. Ouch! There’s goes my back, gol darn it. Guess they’ll have to shoot me like they did my horse, Trigger.”

  “Daniel, you’re soooo silly,” giggles Ally in a bogus deep tone.

  “Maybe they’ll stuff me and put me next to the Nipper at the Welcome Center,” roars Danny. He’s made up his mind to forget both Charlotte and Laura and feels better for it. Yakking with the tart-tongued girl cheers him up and helps to clear some cobwebs. Maybe the New Beginnings meetings aren’t so hard to take. Interesting even, sometimes. He sometimes pictures himself in Bernstein’s shoes, helping others to find a way out of their problems.

  From behind, “You didn’t tell me you were Charlotte’s lover, Dan.” Laura couldn’t wait until this evening to see him. She wouldn’t be able talk openly at the temple anyway with her father there. “Excuse us, Ally, while the grown-ups talk.”

  “Who’s Charlotte? What does she mean, lover? Is this your girlfriend, you liar? You promised me you’d never see this bitch again.”

  “Ally, be reasonable. I never said. . . .”

  “You’re a big fat fucking booger. That’s what you are, and I hate you both,” and she runs away hysterical.

  “Maybe I should go see if she’s OK.”

  “You’re one of the patients, remember, Dan? This isn’t the temple meeting where my father lets you pretend you’re a medical student. They have real psychiatrists here to help Ally. If we’re ever going to talk this over, for me it has to be now.”

  Lars still skulks after Ally. He’s been taking in the unfolding drama from a few tables away. Now Dan sees him stand up and trail the disappearing teen. Dan takes off, “Be right back, dreamboat,” he says to Laura.

  Fifty yards away, Lars sounds sane for starters, as his custom, “Would you like to talk about it, Ally? I’m a doctor.”

  Dan catches up, “No Lars, she wouldn’t.”

  “Would you two old guys just beat it,” Ally says.

  They both watch Ally stomp indoors to the HDTV lounge, ignoring both of them. Dan waits by the door and tries to stare down Lars. But the other patient glares back.

  “You’re not exactly on the outside of this zoo looking in a glass window, are you, my boy?” says Lars with a smirk.

  “You’ve got to lose this doctor crap, Lars. They might put you in a real jail.”

  “I am a real doctor, young man. I told you. A psychoanalyst,” he replies with a steely look.

  “Such crap,” Dan counters. But he’s not so sure just now.

  “Oh? A dazed, directionless drug addict who’s never done a lick of work knows what’s real? Don’t you realize many psychiatrists choose their career to solve their own problems? Jack Bernstein often asks my advice about cases. Get a hold of yourself before you criticize me, you junkie. At least I’m a has-been and not a never-were like you, Dandy Man. Isn’t that what they call you?”

  Dan blanches at the insult. Lars hit his mark. The maybe-doctor sees it’s no use hanging around and shuffles away – bunny rabbit slippers and all – without a further word. Daniel watches him go and wonders if Lars is telling the truth about his MD and working with Bernstein. One thing’s certain – for a madman, Lars sure clocked him. He returns to try to find Laura. But dreamboat has sailed away.

  A Mischievous Elf

  describes nearly everyone’s first impression seeing Raoul Bleeder, the founder and head partner of the feared Raoul Bleeder & Associates law firm. With his bald head – except around the sides – and his full, close-shaved gray beard and pointy eyebrows, he could double for a Shakespearean Puck grown up to be a seventy-year-old divorce shyster.

  The infamous leader claims – legitimately, perhaps, though if untrue wouldn’t stop the boast – to be the first lawyer to inveigle the benevolent and honorable divorce court of the State of New York to deny all property, alimony, and child support claims to a legitimate and faithful pregnant-again wife on behalf of his cheating-husband client. Wild party after the decision – in the good old pre-lady law-partner days – including soft and maybe-not-so-legally-compliant feminine consorts booked by a young and upcoming tuxedo-clad specialty talent agent for that sort of thing – a certain Pirot (no last name known). And all arranged by the firm but paid for by. . . . Whom else? “You,” Raoul once told a callow yet well-heeled client.

  The opulent décor of the office-building lobby upset him. And now the new client, Albert Topler, detests sitting in the forty-by-twenty-foot mahogany-wainscoted conference room at a thirty-seat, oval cherrywood table waiting for Bleeder to make his appearance. Could those be real Picassos on the wall? he asks himself. He’s looks at his watch. It’s been twenty minutes. The side table stocked with numerous choices of hot and cold drinks, an overstuffed fruit bowl, and a sizable plate of miniature mandelbrot and rugalah only confirms suspicions that his retainer of fifty thousand dollars will have to be replenished often. He knows it’s the clients who pay for this extravagance.

  Finally, in walks Bleeder accompanied by a luscious – Albert thinks – but somewhat severe young woman in a black suit. “Raoul, is there some mistake?” she asks after seeing Albert.

  “Mr. Topler? Very happy to meet you,” Raoul addresses Albert, who politely stands when a lady, even a young one, enters the room. “I’m Raoul Bleeder, the firm’s founder, and this is Charlotte Davison, one of our rising stars. Charlotte normally handles only our female clients, but I’ve been trying to persuade her to branch out to the weaker sex.” Albert smiles weakly at the small joke.

  “Topler? Are you a relative of Daniel Topler, by any chance?” Charlie asks. Nothing but revelations lately, it seems to her.

  �
��Do you know my son, Danny? It’s very sad. My handsome boy’s brilliant, but he’s in a rehab clinic on Long Island. He would have gone to medical school if it hadn’t been for that junk he takes. Maybe that’s why Harriet and I have had so much trouble.” Albert plops down, all choked up. He can’t help spouting out his boy’s problems, though they aren’t really anybody else’s business. His daughter’s on his mind, too. Hasn’t showed up for work in days. “We used to have fun, the two of us, Harriet and me. There used to be a balance. Harmony in our marriage. But now. . . .” Al’s voice trails off without completing the thought.

  Raoul doesn’t have much hope of converting the stunning protégée into representing the other gender on the firm’s coldblooded attack team, but in his long years of experience it never hurts to try. He’s used to winning. Still, he’s taken aback when Charlotte sits down next to the roly-poly client. She’ll take on a male client? he asks himself.

  “Perhaps I can be of help to you, Mr. Topler.” Albert’s sentiments echoed the professor’s. Maybe next time Charlie can tell Barry more about her law practice without having to change the subject.

  “Meet Harriet Topler,

  she’s a new client for our firm, Charlotte,” says Evan Roth, the second attorney to join Raoul Bleeder’s firm when it first started over thirty years ago. Neither of the Toplers has been registered yet in the large firm’s client database, allowing for the mishap of opposing sides in the proceedings to be invited for simultaneous prelim conferences.

  Charlie’s meeting with Albert continued in her office for an hour, and he had left a few minutes before. She discovered where The Dandy Man got his charm and gift of gab. The saying’s true: appearances can be deceiving. The fat senior citizen has a winning demeanor and no small flair for keeping up his side of a conversation. He must have been quite a ladies’ man in his day, she laughed after he left.

  By this time, Charlotte’s beyond surprise. There are no coincidences, her dad once told her – only the unwinding of the cloth spun by Clotho, the sister of the Fates who spins the fortune of mankind on divine thread. Charlie startles Evan and Harriet. “I just met your husband, Mrs. Topler,” thereby beginning a new chapter in the billing statements of Raoul Bleeder & Associates. “Perhaps I can be of help to you.’

  “Let’s Start Where

  We Left Off,”

  Jack was going to say, but then realizes Sam hasn’t arrived yet. The discussion was supposed to begin with the problems of facing depression that Sam expressed at the end of the last meeting. It’s 7 PM, so Jacob decides to begin the Wednesday night session promptly, anyway. “Dan, since I’ll be having surgery soon and you’ll be leading the group, why don’t you take over tonight?”

  “Well, I . . . uh . . . don’t think. . . .”

  “Come on, my boy. We’re all comrades here,” Barry says with a warm smile.

  Dan notes that the sociable Goliath seems particularly forthcoming and dressed a little more put together tonight. It’s hard to say no to such an imposing guy. “Well . . . depression can hit any of us as we grow older,” draws laughs from the men. “OK. OK. I’m not as old as the rest of you. . . .”

  “Not by half,” interjects Sam as he limps into the library with the help of his cane. “Sorry I’m late. I almost didn’t come at all. I told you last time. I don’t want to do anything – sometimes not even see you guys. I’m not young and healthy anymore like Dan here.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Dan replies somberly, “Even at my age it’s not that easy. I have to force myself to get out of bed. Not get dragged down by negative thoughts. Figure out why I should live each day.” Dan feels the men’s eyes on him. Probably questioning how a young man like me has any problems at all. What could possibly concern a young medical student?

  Sam unloads his suppressed anxieties. “I don’t do anything. Here I was a big deal at Bell Labs for twenty-five years in solid-state physics – a department head. We filed over 100 patents. Dozens of everyday products we all use wouldn’t have happened without me.”

  Dan leans forward, absorbing the fact that this pathetic-sounding man had a dynamic career. “The last few years I didn’t enjoy it anymore. The constant change in priorities. New division bosses. But I was terrified to quit. I didn’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have an office to go to. Since my operation I can’t get around very well. They said it would heal. I don’t know. Sometimes I turn the TV on and I don’t know what the hell the program was an hour later. I just stare. My mind blank.”

  “Do you see your grandchildren, Sam?” Dave volunteers. “I love to play with mine,” glancing at the others to seek cheerful confirmation.

  “They’re babies. They make noise and run around. I know we’re not supposed to say this as grandparents, but my grandchildren are a pain in the neck.” Sam sinks more.

  “Like W.C. Fields, a man who hates babies and dogs can’t be all bad.” A little relief from the tension. The men welcome Glen’s levity. “As for me, I’m working harder than ever. My international tax practice takes me all over the world. That’s why I guess my third marriage didn’t work out, either. I thought a commercial real estate agent might have a better head on her shoulders. I haven’t seen my daughter in months. I’m seeing several women. Nothing serious of course – I’m already a three-time loser. For relaxation I go to the Cosmopolitan Club in the city to play billiards or poker.”

  “I’d like to do that, Glen. How can I join?” asks Sam.

  “Well, it’s . . . uh . . . not easy to join. It’s expensive, for one thing.”

  “That’s not a problem. My pension’s done well over the years.”

  “I had my law firm sponsor me. You need several recommendations from existing members. It’s very hard to get in.” Glen has made it clear to everyone – he won’t help. His friendship stops at the clubhouse door.

  Sam knows to drop it and turns to another friend, “And you, Rob? What are you doing now that you’re recently retired?”

  “I go to my club, too. I’m an Elk.”

  An Elk? wonders Dan. “You mean like a Moose?” he says to Rob. For Dan, it’s like hearing a man describe ancient history. He’s never met anybody who said they belong to what he thought was a relic from another century.

  “Yes, like a Moose, but we’re Elks.”

  “Are they the ones with the funny red hats?” Dan can’t leave this alone.

  “You’re thinking of the Shriners, Dan. I didn’t know you’re an Elk, Rob,” Harry says.

  “I don’t hear much about the Elks. They’re still around?” asks Barry.

  “Of course. The Benevolent & Protective Order of Elks does loads of philanthropic events. Fundraising for needy kids. Stuff like that. We got our lodge clubhouse renovated not long ago. Pretty nice. The wives come too, sometimes, and we put on some music and dance.”

  “Sounds good. What do you normally do when you go there?” asks Sam, trying to find something tonight to hang onto.

  “We sort of, uh, stand at the bar, chew the fat, and watch TV. The drinks are cheap. It’s great. But I only go for an hour or two. It’s not something you can spend the whole day doing, you know.”

  “Oh, yeah, I see.”

  A dart from Morty, “Who are you kidding? You guys just watch porno movies all day.”

  Ignoring the jibe, “I’d be glad to introduce you, Sam. We’re always prospecting for new members.”

  “Thanks, Rob. Let’s do that,” Sam replies politely, making it clear that he has zero interest in pursuing it.

  For the first time Dan wholeheartedly enters the conversation in the men’s group, “If you don’t mind me asking, guys, is a lack of visibility a problem in retirement? No office or daily routine?”

  “Morty and I are on several community projects,” Harry answers. “I have more visibility than I ever had. Now my neighbors know who I am. When I go into the pharmacy, five people say hello. I used to not know anyone because of my work hours. The more help the merrier, Sam. I’ll keep you so busy
the time will fly. Nights, too, when a lot of the civic association meetings are held.”

  “The committees keep me alive, too. Get on board, Sam. You know, I used to be a senior business consultant. I loved it. I got to push people around without having to do the work,” glows Morty. “Now that I’m retired, I push planning board members around. They’d get rid of me if they could. But they can’t. They need me cause they know I’m right, and some of the meetings are open to the community anyways.” He speaks his mind half in jest, but only half.

  Morty’s hard edge shows itself to Dan even in public service – a tough nut. Dan goes back to Sam. “What would you like to do if you could?”

  Sam smiles sheepishly, “It’s dumb.”

  “You men just told this youngster that we’re all friends here,” cajoles Dan.

  “Well, I love baseball. I’ve always wanted to. . . . ”

  “Spit it out,” says Morty.

  “. . . run a hot dog stand at Yankee Stadium. See the games. Everyone’s glad to see you. Stupid, huh, for guys like us?”

  “Doing nothing is what’s stupid,” Morty says – never one to sugarcoat.

  “Carpe diem, Sam,” Barry urges in his characteristically urbane manner.

  “That sounds fun. Why don’t you just do it? Forget you were a corporate pooh-bah,” David chimes in.

  The group breaks for a ten-minute coffee break and pit stop. Meanwhile, Dan takes a book off the library shelf and starts to read until Jack calls for order. The conversation drifts back to Shriners and Masons.

  “What does thirty-second degree mean? I always get the third degree from my wife,” one of them cracks.

  “Weren’t they mentioned in War and Peace? Tolstoy has several characters, such as Joseph Alexeevich, discuss Freemasonry extensively,” Barry volunteers.

  They all feel relieved to retreat from the real, hurting problem of a member. “Time’s up, men. See you Sunday,” concludes Jack.

  I’ll Wait Here