Lost in His Eyes

by Andrew Neiderman

  ‘It wasn’t brain surgery,’ I said, trying not to sound egotistical. ‘The documents were easy to evaluate. There weren’t that many. When you’ve done it as many times as I have …’

  The little boy in him evaporated in an instant as he maneuvered into his business mind.

  ‘You could have dragged it out and made more money. You’re being paid by the hour since you’re just part-time, right? I mean, that’s what lawyers do anyway. I’m sure he wouldn’t complain. He’d just pass on the costs to the client,’ he whined. At least, to me, it seemed like whining.

  I was going to say I don’t like to cheat anyone. I almost said it wasn’t in my DNA, but I hesitated. It suddenly occurred to me that one major transgression affects every small indiscretion you might contemplate and makes it seem less important and too little to challenge your conscience. It’s not a license to steal exactly, but everything, no matter how contradictory to who and what you were before, suddenly becomes insignificant. If you’re a murderer, you don’t have pangs of conscience when you defraud someone or commit some other non-capital crime. It’s as if you’ve already crossed over; the devil has won your soul. Additional stains don’t matter.

  And yet this wasn’t true for me. The idea of fudging my time and squeezing out more money for the work I had done hadn’t even occurred to me. Did that mean I had successfully rationalized my adultery, that somehow what I was doing was not immoral and therefore I still had a lily-white soul to protect? Even now, even after all I had done, if I was Catholic and stepped into a confession booth, I’d look for a telephone to use or a magazine to read instead of a priest to hear my about my adulterous peccadillos.

  Before I could respond, Ronnie provided his own answer.

  ‘Of course, you’re not like that. I remember that time you actually returned to Target to show them they had made a mistake on your bill and forgotten to charge for something,’ he said.

  His voice had some light disdain, but it was also clear that he would bring up the incident to brag about my honesty when he was with friends. Unfortunately, most of the people he revealed that to would think me a fool. They would actually be embarrassed for him as well.

  The truth was that I wasn’t only this overly honest person; I was worried that the cashier, who was probably living hand to mouth, would be penalized for the mistake. Not only would that be damaging to her weekly budget, but it would put her up as top candidate for being let go if cutbacks hit.

  I stood there awash with guilt for a moment because of what he was saying. I always felt foolish when he said it in front of other people, too. I wanted to snap back at him and tell him to stop making me sound like some saint just because I had compassion for another person. If anything, that was an area he should improve. But I always swallowed back the words then and did so now. I just turned away. I had planned our dinner and wanted to get to it. He went to play in the echo chamber on his computer, but surprised me by returning to the kitchen after only ten minutes or so. He stood there in the doorway, watching me. Kelly hadn’t come down to set the table yet. At any moment she would pause in her texting and remember she had some responsibilities.

  ‘What?’ I asked, seeing the odd look on his face. I felt a chill, a shudder. Did he just realize something? Had someone seen me with Lancaster and called him to ask who that was? Did I leave some clue around? Maybe he had overheard a phone call. I could feel paranoia hovering and looking for an opportunity to slip into my psyche, like Satan waiting for a priest to have doubt.

  ‘I get the feeling you’re not really crazy about returning to work and that’s really why you did everything so fast. You wanted to get it over with,’ he said, nodding, happy at the conclusion he had reached.

  I didn’t respond. His insight actually took me by surprise. What else would he soon realize? I returned to the stove for a moment to finish the sauce I was making for the chicken dish I was inventing as I went along.

  ‘I feel …’

  ‘What?’ he asked when I paused too long.

  I turned back to him.

  ‘Confused. I was thinking that I might take a few days, go to Palm Springs.’

  ‘Palm Springs! You hate staying in your parents’ complex. You always say it’s like God’s waiting room, the lobby of impending death.’

  ‘I can ignore it, go for a hike in the Indian Canyons, meditate. I did it when you went on that insurance retreat a few years ago.’

  ‘You took Kelly.’

  ‘She hated it; she’d hate it now. She needs a little more concentrated time with you, anyway,’ I added. It was a perfect codicil, a nice tag to divert the attention from me to him. His eyes widened with surprise.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Why? She’s your daughter, your only child. She spends most of her free time only with me, Ronnie. These are important years. So many her age are drifting away, floating out there like pieces of satellites in weakening orbits, destined to fall back to earth.’

  ‘Satellites?’

  ‘Whatever. She looks like an adult; she wants to be treated like one, but she’s really still your little girl, Ronnie. She’s really afraid of what’s ahead. We were just like her. At least I was. I needed my father as well as my mother. I’m sure you did, too. My father was never there enough for me. You know how I felt, how I still feel about that. I don’t want to see Kelly feeling like me years from now.’

  ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of all that,’ he said, the guilt washing over him.

  ‘Well, think of it,’ I ordered. ‘Start right now by letting her know it’s time to set the table. Show her you know she’s part of what we are. If she doesn’t learn responsibility here, where will she learn it?’ I said, sounding like a lecturer in parenting. ‘It’s your responsibility as much as it is mine. This is a partnership when it comes to raising our daughter.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said and left to do it.

  Talk about a murder case that had at the heart of the defense the concept of psychological manipulation … I’m a helluva manipulator, I thought. Am I better at it now or was I always this good? Shouldn’t I feel guilty about it, about how dishonest it was? Considering what I was doing, how could I sound so sanctimonious?

  But really everyone is a manipulator in one way or another. Granted, it is for much smaller and less significant consequences, but men tell their wives things they want to hear just to get them to agree to something, don’t they? And wives do the same to their husbands. Children manipulate their parents to get their parents to give them permission to do something. Everyone else is doing it. You’re treating me like a child. I’ll get something educational out of it. I need to be given more responsibility. There are so many subtle ways family members manipulated each other.

  And what about salesmen manipulating customers into buying their products, their cars? Or politicians who hire consultants just to figure out ways to manipulate the voters? Of course, there was a limit to what you could or should get an intelligent, moral person to do, but sometimes it’s not because they’re not intelligent or moral enough to resist. Sometimes the manipulator can see there are other weak spots, self-image problems, dependencies, and if he or she is good at it, they can get their subjects to do what they want them to do.

  Othello was insecure because he was black. Macbeth was driven by ambition. Both were competent, even superior, in what they did, and they did suffer pangs of conscience, but they were susceptible.

  I knew that Ronnie was susceptible to feeling guilty about his neglect of Kelly and I took advantage of that. It wasn’t my fault that he was too driven in his work and too distracted with his other nonsense. The truth was that he was never as close to her as he should have been and should be now, and I knew that he knew that, too. Kelly had to drum up a school assignment to get him to sit down with her for an intense hour or so. I could bring him to tears about it if I wanted to. Getting him to ignore and not question my little getaway was a slam dunk.

  I could imagine Lancaster sitting there at the kit
chen table, smiling at me.

  ‘I knew you had it in you,’ he would say.

  ‘Shut up,’ I would tell him playfully, and he would laugh.

  This was a short conversation we were destined to have once I left and met him.

  I imagined him putting up his hand, so I would stop talking and listen to what was going on outside the kitchen right now.

  I heard the banter between Kelly and Ronnie after he called her down to set the table. He wasn’t exactly establishing rapport with his ‘Chop, chop. Why do we have to remind you to do your part? Can’t you think of these things on your own?’

  Mr Sledgehammer.

  He was inserting himself in her life, letting her know he wasn’t oblivious to her comings and goings. I’ll grant that. The irony is young people like that. They’ll complain about being nagged, but, deep inside, they like the fact that their parents care enough to complain and show how they’re interested in what they do, how they mature and what they feel.

  Of course, she marched in like an errant but abused child, her lips so tight, her cheeks puffed. She looked as if she was holding back the regurgitation of a stream of profanities. Ronnie’s involvement was sudden, unexpected and a little over the top. I made a mental note to tell him how to tone it down but still sound authoritative, but authoritative with real concern for her.

  ‘Easy,’ I said when she nearly broke a dish. She glared at me, saw there was no sympathy and then calmed and set the table. Ronnie didn’t ease the situation by putting on dinner music she hated. I wasn’t that fond of it myself. If any two had to get to know each other better, it was my husband and daughter, I thought, strengthening my rationalization by telling myself that I was doing a good thing, leaving them in each other’s company.

  Surprisingly, as if she had witnessed my conversation with Ronnie, Kelly started our dinner conversation by asking me how I liked working again. She had given me the opening I was looking for.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I think I have to think about it a little more without any distractions.’

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Well …’ I looked at Ronnie, who seemed genuinely interested in what I would say, as if this was a question he had been asking himself.

  ‘Well, first you have to clear your mind, set the table for a new dinner of thoughts.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Kelly asked, grimacing the way she did when she didn’t grasp something quickly enough.

  ‘I’ve told you many times, Kelly, that when you make that face after you ask a question, you not only annoy and offend the person, but you look ugly and mean. Just ask your question calmly. Don’t be so condescending.’

  ‘Am I still in an English-speaking home?’ Ronnie joked.

  I glanced at him sternly, and he dropped his smile as if it had begun to burn away his face.

  ‘You will come to realize,’ I began, directing myself only to Kelly and in a much calmer voice, ‘that your day-to-day life is more complicated than you would think. The majority of your time is consumed by what I call the business of life, especially for a wife and mother.’

  She didn’t say, ‘Huh? Please. Give me a break.’ But her eyes and her mouth were resonating with it.

  ‘There are responsibilities to keep up the house, to look after everyone’s needs, including your own. Schedules, appointments I set for all of us with doctors and dentists, even your hairdresser, as well as your father’s barber,’ I added, shooting him a look they made him glance down, ‘repairs when appliances break down, shopping for your clothing needs as well as my own, maintaining friendships, sometimes just to be social, all of it. Getting my car serviced and then house cleaning, preparing meals … exhausting.

  ‘If we pro-rated what a wife and mother gets an hour, even if she gets half of the husband’s net worth in a divorce, we’d see how underpaid she is.’

  ‘We had a maid. You decided to fire her,’ Kelly said.

  ‘This isn’t just about vacuuming and polishing furniture,’ I replied sharply. ‘The problem in most homes is the children never think about what it takes to keep them safe and happy.’

  She rolled her eyes.

  ‘You’ll see,’ I said. ‘Someday you’ll be in my shoes.’

  ‘I’m never getting married, and don’t worry, I’ll never get pregnant so I have to or anything.’

  ‘What?’ Ronnie exclaimed, as if it just had occurred to him that Kelly could have sex. To this day, he didn’t know exactly when she’d had her menarche, not that a father had to know that exactly, but when it came to being the father of a teenage girl these days, being oblivious to her sexual development was like driving with blinders on.

  ‘Anyway, getting back to your question,’ I said, returning to my softer tone of voice, ‘to clear your mind, you need to pause, take a breath, maybe go out into nature. Alone.’

  ‘You mean like meditate or something?’

  ‘Yes, exactly. It doesn’t have to be a long pause, but enough to help you find perspective,’ I said.

  She looked sufficiently bored now.

  Ronnie still had his mouth slightly open. I gave him one of my stinging glares.

  ‘Yeah, your mother’s right,’ he said. ‘I’m guilty of not pausing enough myself. I’m Mr Workaholic.’

  ‘Please,’ Kelly said. ‘Spare me, Dad. You golf, you go out with your friends, you—’

  ‘Golf’s a killer,’ he interrupted, picking up on one of his favorite subjects. ‘Everyone thinks people talk business and relax, but you’re out there constantly competing and criticizing your own performance. In what other sport can a man thirty pounds overweight, wearing ridiculous-looking shorts revealing his stick legs, hit a ball farther than you and kick your ass over eighteen holes? I can beat him in most anything else!’

  Blood actually rushed into his face to highlight his indignation.

  ‘So why do you play?’ she fired back. She’s more my daughter than his, I thought.

  ‘I play. Everyone plays,’ he replied calmly, which brought back her now famous smirk. ‘Everyone complains about themselves, but everyone plays,’ he added, sounding now like someone who had been defeated, made to face the truth.

  Kelly turned back to me. ‘How do you intend to clear your mind this time?’ she asked.

  ‘I think I’ll spend two days with my parents in Palm Springs, take walks in the Indian Canyons, do some reading, listen to music, classical music. In short, I won’t think about any responsibilities. You’ll be on your own and so will your father.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You can order in or go out for dinner.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll go out,’ Ronnie said quickly and turned to her. ‘Right?’

  ‘Whatever,’ Kelly said. Then, out of the blue, she asked, ‘Are you looking for a mystical experience?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was just reading something about that.’

  ‘I hope it didn’t involve drugs.’

  ‘Like no, Ma,’ she said. ‘It’s an assignment we were given in literature class. We have a collection of mystical experience descriptions and we have to write about the one we believe the most and why. Maybe when you come home, you’ll tell me about yours,’ she said.

  I looked at Ronnie.

  He had a big idiotic smile on his face.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘One thing is for sure: I wouldn’t get one here.’

  Ronnie lost his smile. Kelly went back to eating. Silence fell like an iron curtain, but something came of it. Kelly was at the dishes beside me and Ronnie didn’t rush off to his computer. He went into the living room and read the LA Times.

  ‘When are you going to Palm Springs?’ Kelly asked me.

  ‘I was thinking of going tomorrow.’

  ‘I could be sick and go with you.’

  ‘You hated being there last time, Kelly, and I thought I explained how it was important for someone to be alone when she wants to clear her mind. I’m not blaming you for anything,’ I added quickly, ‘nor am I
saying I don’t like being with you. This is different.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she said.

  ‘Just take care of your father. Go into the living room now and plan on some things to do over the next few days.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘I’ll finish up here. Go on,’ I said.

  She shrugged and left.

  Manipulator, I thought I heard Lancaster whisper. I actually turned around to see if he had snuck into our home and listened to it all. Of course, he wasn’t there. Sometimes, when you’re involved with someone as quickly and as intensely as I was with him, you feel as if he’s always with you, hearing your very thoughts. It’s easy to imagine how he would react and what he would say. I wouldn’t call it love, exactly. It’s more. There is something more. In spite of what I told Kelly, I did believe that people could fall or grow into love, but they don’t always take each other so deeply into themselves that they truly do become like one. That’s special.

  I slipped by Ronnie and Kelly and went upstairs to our bedroom to call Lancaster on my cell phone. I didn’t want either Kelly or Ronnie to see the house phone was being used and then start asking me who I had called. Lancaster picked up almost before it rang. He saw the call was coming from me. Otherwise, he would have said hello first.

  ‘Where and when?’ he asked instead.

  ‘There’s this place I know in Idyllwild. It’s a nice little village in the San Jacinto mountains, the whole enchilada … pine trees, cedar … great rock formations and ideal for hikes. It’s the middle of the week, colder there, so it won’t be touristy. The place has cabins. I’m familiar with one cabin resort and I’ll make arrangements. It won’t take us that long to get there. I’ll pick up groceries. We’ll eat in every night, sit by the fireplace and tell each other ghost stories or something.’

  ‘Something,’ he said and laughed. ‘Sounds perfect. A real escape for you.’