The Night, The Day

by Andrew Kane

  chapter 36

  Ashok Reddy looked aghast. It was the third time in a row Martin had topped the ball, and they were only getting started. Sure, every golfer had a bad day now and then, but this was ridiculous.

  The ball dribbled about ten yards, Reddy and Martin both watching in dismay. Martin didn’t bang his clubhead into the ground, nor did he yell any profanities – as many golfers would have. All he did was softly say, “Ouch.”

  “Something’s still on your mind,” Reddy said as Martin approached the cart.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Translation: Put a lid on it, Ashok.

  Reddy took the hint, stepped on the accelerator and drove the cart to Martin’s ball. At this rate, it would be a while before they reached Reddy’s 230-yard drive.

  Martin stepped off the cart, grabbed a club from his bag and walked to his ball. He was an awfully long way from the green to be hitting his fourth shot, but the hole was par five. With any luck, he could get on the green with two more shots, one putt, and end up with a bogey. It would be close to miraculous, considering his performance thus far, but as they say in the PGA: Anything can happen.

  He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of everything but the task at hand. That is the liberating force of golf; it reduces all of life’s concerns to one thing: hitting a little white ball. And to do it properly, nothing else could matter. Whether Martin was able to attain such liberation at this point would soon become apparent.

  He swept the club back, turning his shoulders counterclockwise, then reversed the motion, bringing the clubhead through the ball. It might have turned out perfectly, had the stress he’d been under not found itself in his wrists, causing him to unintentionally open the face of the club. He watched as the ball took off to the right, and kissed that bogey goodbye.

  Martin sat down next to Reddy, feeling forlorn.

  “Maybe this is just not a good day to play,” Reddy said.

  “No, I need to play.”

  Reddy hit the gas. “Is it the girl?”

  “And a few other things.”

  “You want to talk about any of them?”

  Martin considered the offer. His apprehensions about Cheryl felt less pressing than the matters of Benoît’s brooch and Gifford’s sudden termination of treatment, both of which he was eager to explore with Reddy. Only, there was the small dilemma of patient confidentiality. With Gifford it was easier, because Reddy didn’t know Gifford and would have no way of guessing his identity. With Benoît, however, Reddy had been the referring doctor. Even if he disguised the details, Reddy might still figure it out. But Benoît was Martin’s most recent conundrum, and the issue he felt most compelled to air. He decided to take a stab at presenting the problem as generically as possible.

  “Tell me this, without getting into specific details: What do you think about gifts from patients?”

  “Receiving them or accepting them?” Reddy asked.

  “Good distinction. Let’s start with the former.”

  They pulled up alongside Reddy’s ball. Reddy gently slapped Martin’s knee and said, “To be continued.”

  He returned two minutes later, after hitting another good shot.

  “You’re going to clean me out today,” Martin said.

  “Consider it a consulting fee.”

  Martin smiled for the first time all day.

  “Anyway, back to your question,” Reddy said. “First, you and I do different things. I write prescriptions, you listen to heartaches. The relationship I have with a patient is different from the one you have.”

  Martin nodded.

  “So, when I receive a gift from a patient, I usually take it at face value, as a sign of appreciation for whatever help I have provided. I don’t interpret it any further. I’m not saying that there may not be some additional underlying meaning, only that I do not concern myself with such things.”

  “And you don’t think you should?”

  “Perhaps I should, perhaps I shouldn’t. You must always analyze why a patient is giving you a gift. And that includes not only the patient’s intentions but also the specific nature of the gift.”

  Martin already knew all this, but discussing it with Reddy still seemed helpful.

  “And there’s also context,” Reddy said. “At holidays, a lot of patients give gifts, as well as when they terminate treatment. In these instances, there is less to interpret than if a patient gives me something out of the blue.”

  They came upon Martin’s ball, which was in the wrong fairway, about thirty yards from another green. “Not a bad shot,” Reddy said, “if you were playing the fifth hole.”

  “Who says I’m not?” Martin said, grabbing his eight iron to get his ball back into play on the first hole.

  Reddy looked at the row of trees separating Martin’s ball from the first fairway. “Those trees look pretty high. You might want to take a more lofted club than that.”

  “The green’s far away. I have to go for the distance.” He swung his club smoothly and connected for the first time.

  Reddy clapped as the ball flew over the trees toward the first green. “You may be on.”

  “May even be close enough for a double bogey.”

  “Wishful thinking.”

  “A positive outlook is a healthy thing.”

  Reddy smiled and Martin climbed back on the cart.

  “It seems you are feeling a bit better,” Reddy said. “Have we come close to solving your problem?”

  “No, not really,” Martin said. “But I do have more perspective.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, now I understand what bothers me about this particular patient. It’s not the gift, per se, but the fact that I don’t feel I really understand him. If I understood him and his motivations, my decision would be easy.”

  “It’s a him?”

  “That’s all you’re getting.”

  Reddy chuckled at the rebuke. “A gift from a male patient you don’t understand,” Reddy reflected. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “It is.”

  “Speaking of intrigue, what is happening with the woman?”

  “I’m glad you brought that up.”

  “You’ve decided to let me hypnotize you?”

  “Not quite. But I have decided to give you and Savitri a crack at her.”

  “You mean we are going to meet her.”

  “I’m waiting for a call as we speak to see if she’s available tonight.”

  “That isn’t a lot of notice.”

  “We could do it another time,” Martin said nonchalantly, fully knowing that his friend wouldn’t want to wait.

  “No, no, no! Give me your phone. I will call Savitri and clear it.”

  Martin smiled and handed Reddy his phone. “How come you never bring your own phone?”

  “Because you always have yours.” He patted Martin on the shoulder and dialed his home. “Hello, Savitri, I am on the golf course, so I have to keep it short.” Pause. “Uh huh… uh huh… I am calling to find out if we have any plans this evening, because Marty has offered to introduce us to his significant other.” Another pause. “It isn’t definite. He has to see if she is available…”

  Reddy gave Martin a thumb’s up.

  “Good, good,” he said to Savitri. “I will call you as soon as I know.”

  He hung up, turned to Martin and said, “She is intrigued, as am I.”

  Amused by his friend’s eagerness, Martin chuckled.

  Martin’s cell rang about twenty minutes later. He had lost the first hole, pushed the second, and was now working toward a win on the third. “Hello,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice down because Reddy was about to putt.

  It was Cheryl.

  He walked off the green in order to talk in privacy.

  “You’ve got me burnin
g with curiosity,” Cheryl said.

  “It’s nothing, really. Just that my friend Ashok and his wife demand to meet my mystery woman, and I was wondering if you were up to it tonight.”

  “These were friends of yours and Katherine’s, I take it?”

  He had considered she might be anxious about that. “Yes.”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end, then, “I suppose I should be flattered?”

  “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”

  “This is quite different than meeting a 4-year-old.”

  “I know. But we have to start somewhere.”

  “Okay.”

  He wasn’t completely sure he’d heard her. “Okay?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Then I’ll pick you up at your place at 7.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Their place. I hope you like Indian food.”

  “I hate Indian food.”

  “Ha. So do I. I’ll see you at 7.”

  Martin hung up the phone, placed it in the cup holder on the golf cart and walked back onto the green with his putter.

  “So?” Reddy asked.

  “It’s on. Just tell Savitri to go easy on the spices.”

  “Don’t worry, we have plenty of bathrooms.” Reddy laughed.

  Martin squatted down behind his ball to get a read of the terrain of the green. “Looks to me like it breaks left,” he said, realizing that he should hit the ball toward the right of the hole.

  “If you wanted to know, you should have watched my putt,” Reddy said.

  Martin stood square to his ball, about ten feet from the hole. It was a difficult putt, but he had to make it to win. More than that, he was dying to give Reddy some just deserts. He pulled his club back a few inches and gently eased it forward, hoping to strike the ball with just the right speed and accuracy. His eyes followed as the ball rolled toward the right side of the hole, then turned slightly on its approach. The line appeared perfect, but it looked as if the ball was going to stop dead at the lip of the hole. Which was what it did, before it fell in and created what was, for Martin, the sweetest of sounds.

  Galit Stein sat in a daze as she hung up the phone.

  “What is it?” Arik demanded.

  She didn’t answer.

  “We are wasting our time with this psychologist,” Arik said. “In fact, I think we are wasting our time with this whole operation. In the end, we will have nothing!”

  Kovi looked at her for an answer.

  “He wants me to have dinner with his closest friends.”

  “You mean the psychiatrist and his wife?” Kovi asked.

  Galit nodded.

  “So what?” Arik snapped. “He wants you to have dinner. What the hell does that mean? He is in love with you. You are in love with him. Everybody is in love and Benoît goes free. Great plan.”

  “What is it that you want?” Galit asked.

  “I want something on Benoît,” Arik answered. “If we can get something from the shrink, let’s do it. If not, then let’s look elsewhere. But what I do not want is to sit and wait while you figure out your life.”

  “Is this what it all comes down to, that we care nothing for each other? All we care about is getting Benoît?”

  “That’s a lot of shit,” Arik said. “We have always given our all for each other. We have risked our lives for each other. How can you say that?”

  She knew he was right. Until the past few weeks, no one in her life had been closer to her. “I’m sorry, that was out of line,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” Kovi jumped in. “We will figure it out.”

  Arik appeared unconvinced.

  “No,” she said, “it’s not all right. Arik is correct, I have lost control and perspective, and I think it may be too late.”

  “Too late?” Kovi asked.

  “For me,” she said in a resolved tone.

  The three of them looked at one another.

  “Don’t worry,” she said unconvincingly, “Schwartz will dig something up. Anyway, we are technically here only to observe.”

  Arik cast her a look of disbelief.

  “You really think so?” Kovi asked.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Look,” Arik said, “maybe you should just push a little harder with the shrink.”

  “He knows nothing. Benoît has him duped,” she said.

  “How can you be sure?” Kovi asked.

  “Do you think if he knew he was treating a Nazi butcher he would be playing golf and planning dinner parties? Trust me, the only person he is suspicious of is me.”

  “Then you have to tell him the truth,” Arik said. “Tell him about yourself and all about Benoît. Maybe he will turn the cards on Benoît and help us get something.”

  “I don’t think it would work.”

  “Is that the reason,” Arik said, “or is it your fear of losing him once he learns you have been lying?”

  “He is going to learn that at some point anyway,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Galit,” Arik said, “but I just cannot believe that this man, a Jew, wouldn’t help you capture someone like Benoît.”

  She read the jealousy in his voice but didn’t want to go there. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “How so?” Arik said. “You mean to tell me that his ethics as a psychologist are more important to him than his obligations as a Jew?”

  She gave him a blank expression.

  “That’s enough, Arik,” Kovi said.

  “Is it?” Arik said, looking at Galit. “Is it enough?”

  Silence.

  “Maybe I need more time,” she said.

  “How much time?” Kovi asked.

  “I don’t know. A few days, maybe?”

  “A few days and what?” Arik said.

  She stared into space for a moment, then turned back to her friends. “I will tell him.”

  chapter 37

  Cheryl Manning dried her forehead with a tissue as she looked in the mirror. The lighting in the Reddys’ guest bathroom was too dim for her to tell if her perspiration was obvious. She’d felt unnerved all evening. It wasn’t the Reddys. They had been perfectly pleasant. It was her anticipation that soon everything would change.

  The Reddys were just as Martin had described. Ashok was tall, thin, and handsome, with youthful olive skin and no signs of graying or thinning in his jet-black hair. Savitri seemed equally immune to the effects of time. She was shapely, dressed tastefully and conservatively and, though she comported herself with an aristocratic demeanor, she was not the least bit pretentious. Like her husband, she was born in India. Unlike him, she had been raised and educated in the U.S., with a degree from Berkeley College, and a Master of Fine Arts from the Pratt Institute. Her vocation was interior decorating, and Cheryl noted from the surroundings that she was obviously good at it.

  Dinner had come off nicely. Cheryl and Martin had been expecting Indian food, but were surprised by a simple continental menu: poached salmon, scalloped potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. Martin had been overtly thankful, as his feelings about Indian delicacies were well known to his hosts. Savitri Reddy’s explanation for the change, however, had nothing to do with Martin’s preferences. She simply hadn’t had sufficient notice to come up with anything more elaborate.

  Cheryl took a deep breath, came out of the bathroom and walked through the foyer to the dining room. The sound of her footsteps on the oak floor softened as she neared the conversation.

  “Ah, Cheryl,” Ashok Reddy said, “we were just discussing the impact of public relations on medicine these days. Right up your alley, I bet.”

  “Well, actually,” she said, “I’ve never represented any hospitals.” She picked up her coffee and sipped it.
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br />   “How about doctors?” Savitri Reddy asked.

  “No doctors either,” Cheryl said.

  “I have been thinking about getting someone,” Ashok said.

  Martin looked at him incredulously. “You? What for?”

  “One needs all the help one can find. Not everybody has the benefits of a best-selling book.” He smiled at Martin. “When an ordinary person sees a doctor on a television show, he thinks the doctor must be the best. People have no idea that the only reason the doctor is there is because of a good PR agent.”

  “Ashok is just talking,” Savitri said, looking at Cheryl. “He enjoys needling Marty.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Martin said, raising his coffee cup.

  “So, Cheryl,” Ashok said, “Marty tells me you went to Oxford.”

  Cheryl nodded, wondering where this was leading.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Very much so.”

  “I visited there once,” Reddy said. “I actually delivered a paper there at an international conference on psychopharmacology a few years ago. A beautiful place.”

  “Yes. That it is.”

  Savitri Reddy rose from the table and began clearing the dishes.

  “Let me help you,” Cheryl said, picking up her and Martin’s plates, eager to escape any more questions about a place she’d never actually been. She followed Savitri into the kitchen while the men got up and went into the den.

  “They will probably help themselves to some brandy,” Savitri said, placing the dishes in the sink. “Would you like something?”

  “No thank you,” Cheryl replied.

  Savitri smiled, sensing Cheryl’s preference to be with her at that moment. “We’re a difficult crowd,” she said.

  “Not that difficult.”

  “But it’s hard for you, meeting Marty’s friends?”

  “You two are the first friends of his I’ve met.”

  “We are probably the only ones you will meet. Marty is somewhat of a loner, he spends his time on his career and with Elizabeth, but doesn’t do much socializing.”