"Sounds like a huge room," I said.
"Not just one room, a bunch. There's a sleeping room and a bathroom and a dressing room with mirrors and lights all around them, next to my closet. And a playroom that's where most of the toys are, but the stuffed animals are in the sleeping room. Jacob calls the sleeping room the nursery, which means a baby room.
Frown.
"Does Jacob treat you like a baby?"
"No! I haven't used a crib since I was three!"
"Do you like having such a big room?"
"No! I hate it! I never go inside it."
The guilty look returned.
Two minutes until the session was over. She hadn't budged from her chair since she'd sat down.
I said, "You're doing a great job, Melissa. I've really learned a lot.
But how about we stop for now?"
She said, "I don't like to be alone. Ever."
"No one likes to be alone for a long time. Even grown-ups get afraid of that."
"I don't like it ever: I waited until my birthday till I was seven to go to the bathroom by myself. With the door closed and privacy."
Sitting back, daring me to disapprove.
I said, "Who went with you till you were seven?"
"Jacob and Mother and Madeleine and Carmela kept me company till I was four. Then Jacob said I was a young lady now, only ladies should be with me, so he stopped going. Then, when I was seven I decided to go there alone. It made me cry and hurt my stomach and once I threw up, but I did it. With the door closed a little, then all the way-but I still don't lock it.
No way.
Another dare.
I said, "You did great."
Frown. "Sometimes it still makes me nervous. I'd still like to have someone there-not looking, just there, keeping me company.
But I don't ask them."
"Good for you," I said. "You fought your fear and beat it."
"Yes," she said. Astonished. Translating ordeal into victory for what appeared to be the first time.
"Did your mother and Jacob tell you you did a good job?"
"Uh-huh." Dismissive wave. "They always says nice things."
"Well, you did do a good job. You won a tough fight. That means you can win other fights beat up other fears. One by one. We can work together and pick the fears you want to fight, then plan how we'll do it, step by step. Slowly. So it's never scary for you. If you'd like, we can start the next time you're here-on Monday."
I got up.
She stayed in her chair. "I want to talk some more."
"I'd like to, too, Melissa, but our time is up."
"Just a little." Hint of whine.
"We really have to end now. I'll see you on Monday, which is only.
.
I touched her shoulder. She shrugged me off and her eyes got wet.
I said, "I'm sorry, Melissa. I wish there She shot out of the chair and shook a finger at me. "If your job is to help me, why can't you help me now?" Stamping her foot.
"Because our sessions together have to end at a certain time.
"Why?"
"I think you know."
"Cause you have to see other kids?"
"Yes."
"What're their names?"
"I can't talk about that, Melissa. Remember?"
"How come they're more important than me?"
"They're not, Melissa. You're very important to me.
"Then why are you kicking me out?"
Before I could answer, she burst into tears and headed for the door to the waiting room. I followed her, wondering for the thousandth time about the sanctity of the three-quarter hour, the idolatry of the clock. But knowing, also, the importance of limits. For any child, but especially this one, who seemed to have so few. Who'd been sentenced to live out her formative years in the terrible, unbounded splendor of a fairy-tale world.
Nothing scarier than fairy tales When I got to the waiting room she was tugging at Hernandez's hand, crying and insisting, "Come on, Sabino!"
He stood, looking frightened and puzzled. When he saw me, puzzlement changed to suspicion.
I said, "She's a little upset. Please have her mother call me as soon as possible."
Blank look.
"Su madre," I said. "El telefono. I'll see her Monday at five.
Lunes.
Cinco."
"Okeh." He glared and squeezed his hat.
Melissa stamped her foot twice and said, "No way! I'm never coming back here! Never!"
Yanking at the rough brown hand. Hernandez stood and continued to study me. His eyes were watery and dark and had hardened, as if he were considering retribution.
I thought of all the protective layers surrounding this child, how ineffectual all of it was.
I said, "Goodbye, Melissa. See you Monday."
"No way!" She ran out.
Hernandez put on his hat and went after her.
I checked with my service at day's end. No messages from San Labrador.
I wondered how Hernandez had communicated what he'd seen.
Prepared myself for a cancellation of the Monday appointment. But no message to that effect came that evening or the next day. Maybe they wouldn't offer that courtesy to a plebe.
I phoned the Dickinson household and got Dutchy on the third ring.
"Hello, Doctor." That same formality, but no irritation.
"I'm calling to confirm Melissa's appointment on Monday."
"Monday," he said. "Yes, I have that. Five o'clock, correct?"
"That's it."
"Is there anything available earlier, by chance? The traffic from our side of "That's all I've got, Mr. Dutchy."
"Five it is, then. Thank you for calling, Doctor, and good eve "One second," I said. "There's something you need to know.
Melissa got upset today, left the office in tears."
"Oh? She seemed in fine spirits when she got home."
"Did she say anything to you about not wanting to come on Monday?"
"No. What was the trouble, Doctor?"
"Nothing serious. She wanted to stay past the appointed time, and when I told her she couldn't, she burst into tears."
"I see."
"She's used to having her way, isn't she, Mr. Dutchy?"
Silence.
I said, "I'm mentioning it because that may be part of the problem lack of limits. For a child it can be like drifting in the ocean without an anchor. Some changes in basic discipline may be in order."
"Doctor, I'm not in any position to "Of course, I forgot. Why don't you put Mrs. Dickinson on the phone right now and I'll discuss it with her."
"I'm afraid Mrs. Dickinson is indisposed."
"I can wait. Or call back, if you can let me know when she will be disposed."
Sigh. "Doctor, please. I'm not able to move mountains."
"I wasn't aware I was asking you to.
Silence. Throat clear.
I said, "Are you able to deliver a message?"
"Certainly."
"Tell Mrs. Dickinson this is an untenable situation. That although I have compassion for her situation, she's going to have to stop avoiding me if she wants me to treat Melissa.
"Dr. Delaware, please this is quite- You really mustn't give up on the child. She's so... such a good, smart little girl. It would be a terrible waste if "If what?"
"Please, Doctor."
"I'm trying to be patient, Mr. Dutchy, but I'm really having trouble understanding what the big deal is. I'm not asking Mrs. Dickinson to leave her house all I want to do is talk. I understand her situation I did my research. March 3, "69. Does she have a phobia of the telephone, too?"
Pause. "It's doctors. She had so many surgeries so much pain.
They kept taking her apart like a jigsaw puzzle and putting her back together again. I'm not denigrating the medical profession. Her surgeon was a magician. He nearly restored her. Externally. But inside... She just needs time, Dr. Delaware. Give me time. I'll get her to see how vital it is she contact you. Bu
t please be patient, sir.
My turn to sigh.
He said, "She's not without insight into her into the situation. But after what the woman's been through-" "She's afraid of doctors," I said. "Yet she met with Dr. Wagner."
"Yes," he said. "That was... a surprise. She doesn't cope well with surprises."
"Are you saying she had some sort of adverse reaction just to meeting with Dr. Wagner?"
"Let's just say it was difficult for her."
"But she did it, Mr. Dutchy. And survived. That could be therapeutic in and of itself."
"Doctor-" "Is it because I'm a man? Would it be easier for her to deal with a female therapist?"
"No!" he said. "Absolutely not! It's not that at all."
"Just doctors," I said. "Of any gender."
"That's correct." Pause. "Please, Dr. Delaware"-his voice had softened- "please be patient."
"All right. But in the meantime someone's going to have to give me facts. Details. Melissa's developmental history. The family structure.
"You deem that absolutely necessary?"
"Yes. And it needs to be soon."
"All right," he said. "I'll fill you in. Within the limitations of my situation."
"What does that mean?" I said.
"Nothing nothing at all. I'll give you a comprehensive history.
"Tomorrow at noon," I said. "We'll have lunch.
"I don't generally have lunch, Doctor."
"Then you can watch me eat, Mr. Dutchy. You'll be doing most of the talking anyway.
I picked a place midway between the west side and his part of town, one I thought sufficiently conservative for his sensibilities: the Pacific Dining Car on Sixth near Witmer, just a few blocks west of downtown.
Dim rooms, polished mahogany paneling, red leather, linen napkins.
Lots of financial types and corporate attorneys and political backstagers eating prime beef and talking zoning variances, sports scores, supply and demand.
He'd arrived early and was waiting for me in a back booth, dressed in the same blue suit or its twin. As I approached he half-rose and gave a courtly bow.
I sat down, called for the waiter, and ordered Chivas straight up.
Dutchy asked for tea. We waited for the drinks without talking.
Despite his frosty demeanor he looked out of his element and slightly pitiable a nineteenth-century man transported to a distant, vulgar future he couldn't hope to comprehend.
Caught in an awkward position.
My ire had faded since yesterday and I'd pledged to avoid confrontation. So I started by telling him how much I appreciated his taking the time to see me. He said nothing and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Small talk was clearly out of the question. I wondered if anyone had ever called him by his first name.
The waiter brought the drinks. Dutchy regarded his tea with the inherently disapproving scrutiny of an English peer, finally raised his cup to his lips, sipped, and put it down quickly.
"Not hot enough?" I said.
"No, it's fine, sir."
"How long have you worked for the Dickinson family?"
"Twenty years.
"Long before the trial, then."
He nodded and raised his cup again but didn't put it to his lips.
"Being assigned to the jury was a stroke of fate not one that I welcomed, at first. I wanted to apply for exemption, but Mr. Dickinson preferred I serve. Said it was my civic duty. He was a civicminded man." His lip trembled.
"When did he die?"
"Seven and a half years ago."
Surprised, I said, "Before Melissa was born?"
"Mrs. Dickinson was expecting Melissa when it " He looked up, startled, and swung his head to the right. The waiter was approaching from that direction, bearing the blackboard. Imperious and well-spoken and black as coal; Dutchy's African cousin.
I chose the T-bone steak, bloody rare. Dutchy asked if the shrimp was fresh that day and when informed that it certainli was, ordered shrimp salad.
When the waiter left I said, "How old was Mr. Dickinson when he died?"
"Sixty-two."
"How did he die?"
"On the tennis court.
The lip trembled some more but the rest of his face remained impassive.
He fumbled with his teacup and tightened his mouth.
"Did your serving on the jury have anything to do with getting them together, Mr. Dutchy?"
Nod. "That's what I meant by a stroke of fate. Mr. Dickinson came with me to court. Sat in during the trial and was... entranced by her. He'd followed the case in the papers before I was impaneled.
Had commented several times over his morning paper on the profoundness of the tragedy."
"Had he known Mrs. Dickinson before the attack?"
"No, not in the least. His concern, in the beginning, was thematic.
And he was a kind man."
I said, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean by thematic."
"Grief for beauty lost," he said, like a teacher announcing an essay theme. "Mr. Dickinson was a great aesthete. A conservationist and a preservationist. He'd spent much of his life dedicated to be I utifying his world, and was terribly hurt by the degradation of beauty.
However, he never allowed his concern to cross ethical bounds. When I was selected for the jury he said he'd be accompanying me to court but that both of us needed to be quite scrupulous about not discussing the case. He was also an honest man, Dr. Delaware. Diogenes would have rejoiced."
"An aesthete," I said. "What kind of business was he in?"
He looked down his nose at me. "I'm referring to Mr. Arthur Dickinson, sir."
Once more, no bells. This guy had a way of making me feel like a D student. Rather than come across a complete philistine, I said, "Of course. The philanthropist."
He continued to stare at me.
I said, "So how did the two of them finally meet?"
"The trial intensified Mr. Dickinson's concern hearing her testimony, seeing her face bandaged. He visited her in the hospital.
As chance had it, he'd been a benefactor of the very surgical wing in which she'd been placed. He conferred with the doctors and made sure she was receiving the very best care. Brought in the top man in the plastics field Professor Albano Montecino from Brazil, a true genius.
The man had done pioneering work in facial construction.
Mr. Dickinson arranged for him to obtain medical privileges and exclusive use of an operating room.
Sweat had glossed Dutchy's brow. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted.
"Such pain," he said, facing me squarely. "Seventeen separate surgeries, Doctor. Someone with your background can appreciate what that means. Seventeen invasions each one excruciating.
Months of recuperation, long stretches of immobility. You can understand why she's taken to solitude."
I nodded and said, "Were the operations successful?"
"Professor Montecino was pleased, pronounced her one of his grand triumphs."
"Does she agree with him?"
Disapproving look. "I'm not privy to her opinions, Doctor.
"Over how long a period was she operated on?"
"Five years.
I did some mental calculations. "So she was pregnant during part of it."
"Yes, well... the pregnancy interrupted the surgical process tissue changes brought about by hormones, physical risks. Professor Montecino said she'd have to wait and be monitored closely. He even suggested.
.. termination. But she refused."
"Was the pregnancy planned?"
Dutchy blinked hard and drew back his head the turtle once more as if unable to believe what he'd heard. "Good Lord, sir, I don't pry into the motivations of my employers."
Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes Page 5