by Larence Gold
“Not really. I really didn’t have the grades to get in, but two professional and generous alumni gave me a big leg up.”
Izzy studied Sylvia’s student file. “You certainly have the ability to succeed without cheating, so the big question is, why?”
“I see that you’re not unfamiliar with that question, Izzy. I read the papers, you know.”
Izzy felt dizzy with a sudden cramp in her abdomen. “We’re here to talk about you, not me.”
“Cop-out, Izzy.”
Izzy took a deep breath and shifted in her seat.
“Does deliberately trying to hurt someone make you feel better, Sylvia?”
“I wasn’t…”
“Oh, please,” Izzy said. “Own up to it. Take pride in your attack on me.”
“But, just like me, Dr. Kramer, you cheated—own up to that, why don’t you?”
It’s a mistake to talk about myself, she thought, but…
“I’ll tell you, but only because it may help. If you want an object lesson on being wrongly accused, I’m your gal. Like all humans, I have my faults, but cheating isn’t one of them. I’m not perfect. In moments of frustration, I’ve had my fantasies about using performance-enhancing drugs, but I know, when push comes to shove, that I could never do it. Winning under those circumstances would be a hollow victory.” She paused. “Enough said.”
“I’m sorry, Izzy. Why do I always slap away the helping hand?”
“Maybe, together, we can discover the answer. Getting back to cheating…”
“Maybe this is just my way of seeking attention,” Sylvia laughed, and then smiled at Izzy.
Izzy shook her head. “Sad, Sylvia. Very sad—truth expressed as a joke. Isn’t that at all difficult for you since you know the truth.”
Sylvia turned ashen. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“You’re missing the main advantage of talking with a psychiatrist—I’m here to help, not to judge. You may be here involuntarily, but I assure you that I owe nothing to the university—my obligation is to you, only.”
They talked for forty minutes, Izzy hearing Sylvia’s perspective on her life, and Izzy thought that, within limits, that this was Sylvia’s truth.
“Let me offer you some solace, Sylvia. To you, these problems are unique, but I see them all the time.”
“I must be some sort of a narcissist.”
Izzy laughed. “Hardly. Narcissism is ordinary self-regard on steroids, pardon the particularly apt metaphor. Don’t apologize for self-regard. A normal life’s virtually impossible without it.” She paused. “If you want to think narcissism, think Adolf Hitler, a few well-known real estate moguls, or certain talentless celebrities. You don’t have much in common with them, do you?”
Sylvia looked down. “I guess not.”
Izzy stood. “I think I can help you, Sylvia. You’re not obligated to see me again, but will you come?”
Sylvia faced Izzy. She looked down and then leaned forward to embrace Izzy. “I’ll think on it, but meanwhile, thank you, Doctor,” she said as her eyes filled with tears.
“I hope to see you again. If not, good luck.”
As Sylvia approached the door, she turned to face Izzy. “Will you be able to run the Boston Marathon? I’d love to see that.”
“I’m sure as hell going to try.” She paused. “And, Sylvia, speaking of narcissists, I’m not one; I’m simply stubborn.”
Chapter Forty-Three
When Izzy entered Mitch’s office he was on the phone. He signaled for her to sit.
“I just don’t know,” Mitch said. “The hearing on Dr. Kramer is in two weeks.” He listened, and then said, “No, not yet. We have people working on clearing her. We have a few leads.” Mitch listened, and then said, “Thanks. We’re gonna need that luck.”
After Mitch hung up, Izzy asked, “Who was that?”
“My brother. He’s a running coach, too. He wishes you…us, good luck.”
Izzy stared at Mitch. “So, tell me about those leads.”
Mitch remained silent. “Not to worry, Izzy, we’ll get them.”
“You’re an eternal optimist.”
Mitch stood and walked over to his massage table. “Okay, Doc, let’s take a look at those tortured limbs.”
Izzy was wearing a long denim skirt with a back slit. She raised herself painfully onto the table and pulled up the hem to expose her legs. She stared at the swollen, red, purple and yellow legs with multiple injection sites. “Beautiful, ain’t they?”
Mitch examined one leg at a time, moving his thumbs against her shins and pressing gently as she winced. “God, Izzy, if this was from a fight, please send me the winner.”
“They actually look and feel a bit better this morning.”
Mitch shook his head. “Don’t like this. Don’t like it at all.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Izzy said.
“You’re still doing it all?” Mitch asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m just guessing, but if I were you, I’d stop the pulse wave therapy.”
“Why,” Izzy asked.
“At this stage, it doesn’t make any sense to me. Correct me, if I’m wrong, but the principle of pulse therapy is to create a small injury that stimulates the body’s healing process. To my mind, more injury is the last thing your legs need.”
“But…,” she said.
“Look, Izzy, we’re in unexplored territory. You and Ross probably know more about these treatments than I do, but, for what it’s worth, I’d continue the hyperbaric chamber high oxygen treatments and good old fashion, R.I.C.E., rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”
Izzy shook her head in despair. “Thanks for nothing…” She paused. “I’m sorry. Striking out at you makes no sense. I’m not myself.”
Mitch grasped her hand. “I’d send you to a witch doctor if that would help. We’re just going to have to wait it out.”
“How long can I delay my training without compromising my fitness?”
“If you were the average athlete, Izzy, I’d say, perhaps as long as two weeks, but a marathoner preparing for the race of her life—I just don’t know.”
“Wrong answer,” Mitch.
“The only answer, Doc.” He scanned the room for a moment in thought. “There are several things that you’re not doing that might help.”
Izzy sat upright. “What?”
“Get in the pool. Swim for fitness and walk with resistance to maintain your leg muscles without imposing additional weight-bearing stress on your tibias. I don’t believe that even a compulsive, maniacal Izzy Kramer could hurt herself under those conditions.”
“That was a compliment, right?”
Izzy hit the pool every morning just as the gym opened its doors for the day. She chose a lane and swam awkwardly for an hour. She rested for ten minutes sipping ice water, and then walked through the water with floats on her waist, arms, and thighs. The first time she tried it, she couldn’t believe the effort it took to walk at any reasonable pace through the water.
At home, she told Ross, “The exercise exhausted and satisfied me, and the discomfort was no worse, and perhaps a little better afterward.”
“Knowing you, Izzy,” Ross said, “try not to overdo it. You already look like a prune.”
“That’s a hell of a way to describe the love of your life.”
Ross started to reply, but Izzy silenced him with a simple stop gesture.
“It’s okay. It’s the blessing of the water, sweetheart, and Mitch said that even an Izzy Kramer couldn’t hurt herself.”
Two days later, a call from Hunter surprised Izzy.
“How’s it going,” Hunter asked.
“I really don’t know. I’m getting exercise through the water and my legs feel a bit better, but none of that is anything like running at a marathon pace.”
“I can come down and join you,” Hunter said. “You know how well you do with a little competitive challenge.”
; Hunter’s suggestion moved Izzy and she laughed softly. “Let me check my caller ID. Is this really Hunter Blake, the daughter of Cedric Drake?”
“The one and only. I may become an outcast from the Blake clan, but I really want to help. I’d do anything to get you back training and running with me.”
“You reawaken my faith in human nature, Hunter, but I must say no.”
“Izzy. Please.”
“With Boston so close, you must not compromise your training schedule. If you overdo it, you risk injury—I’m the perfect example. If I can’t run or do well in Boston, I can’t think of a better person to succeed. You’ve come a long way, baby.”
Hunter cried softly into the phone.
“Don’t,” Izzy said, “you’ll make me cry, too.”
Chapter Forty-Four
After Beatrice, her mother begged, Hunter agreed to stay overnight Sunday at the Blake’s Hillsborough mansion. She ignored Cedric as he was leaving and went directly to her old room.
Thirty minutes later, Hunter and her mother were sitting on the patio having lunch.
“Why are you two constantly at each other’s throats?” Bea asked.
“I love you, Mother, but do you have any idea what kind of man you married?”
“Cedric is a lovely man, and a wonderful provider. You certainly should know that.”
“He’s a ruthless controlling man. You choose to tolerate it, but it’s killing me.”
“He just wants what’s best for you,” Bea said.
Hunter squinted in the bright noon sunlight. “And, who chooses what’s best for me?”
“Secretly, we all want a strong leader to show us the way,” Beatrice said. “Cedric has always done that for you.”
“I love you, Mother but you’re living in a different age.” Hunter extended her hand to her mother, and said, “Let’s go shopping. That’s the one area where we agree.”
They returned four hours later from the Stonestown Mall with five Nordstrom’s shopping bags and three from Forever 21.
Cedric was sitting on a sofa in the great room. He was resting his arms with his hands on the coffee table and signaled Hunter to sit with him. When Beatrice entered the room, he said, “Bea, if you’ll excuse us.”
Beatrice managed a pained smile and left the room.
“You shouldn’t treat her that way, Father.”
“Don’t tell me how to treat my own wife, Hunter. It’s none of your business.”
Hunter remained standing. She crossed her arms and said, “What is it now?”
“Please sit,” he said. “It hurts my neck to look up at you.”
Hunter sat. Her arms remained crossed.
“I wanted to touch bases with you now that this Izzy person is out of the picture—I say good riddance.”
“Why do you call her that? She’s Isabel Kramer, a highly respected psychiatrist and educator, the best runner I’ve ever seen, and she’s my friend.” She paused. “Or can’t you stand that I have such a good friend.”
“She and that coach are simply not our kind of people.”
“Meaning,” Hunter said, reddening with anger.
“Enough said. I’m in a position to assist you, Hunter. It would please me greatly to do so.”
“I don’t want your help,” Hunter said. “I’m doing this on my own.”
Cedric tightened his grasp on the coffee table and reddened with anger. “So you say.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about helping my ungrateful daughter to achieve her dream. We Blakes are winners, you know.”
“To repeat myself,” Hunter said, “I’m doing this myself.”
“My, how soon they forget,” Cedric said. “Everything you have, everything you do, and everything you’ll ever be was my doing, one way or another.”
“Have I forgotten to thank you, Father?”
“I’m not soliciting your gratitude, Hunter, just your memory.”
Hunter brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Materialism only goes so far, Father. At school everyone envied me for my car, clothes, and jewelry. They hungered for our parties, cruises, and fancy vacations with trips to New York and Paris. And,” she paused, “I bought into it, too—all of it.”
“I’m still waiting,” Cedric said.
“Don’t hold your breath.” Hunter said. “If I’d known the price, I might have reconsidered, and now that I do know, I want no part of you and your overbearing intrusion into my life.” Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, “Both Izzy and Mitch saw it from day one, and as obnoxious as I was to them, they tried to make me a part of their group despite my offensive behavior.”
“Who cares what people of that sort think?”
“I care. They’re the first real friends I’ve ever had.”
“You just don’t get it, do you Hunter. Now that Izzy’s injured, Mr. Silverman’s success is dependent on you. We have him just where we want him. I worked hard for that, and now we’re going to collect our bounty.”
“You’re pathetic, Father.”
“If it weren’t for me, Hunter, your highest achievement would have been a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. You’re pretty enough for that in a cheap sort of way.”
Hunter gasped, bent forward, and then burst into tears.
Cedric sat in silence, then reached over and touched Hunter’s hair. She reacted as if she had received an electric shock. She startled, stood, and walked from the room.
A minute later, Hunter walked down the staircase with her overnight bag, kissed her mother, got in her car and drove away.
Beatrice turned to Cedric. “My God! What did you say to our daughter?”
“I’ve given her a taste of reality—it’s about time, don’t you think?”
Chapter Forty-Five
When Izzy arrived at Redwood Park, Mitch walked up to her car and signaled her to roll down her window. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Take it easy, Mitch,” she said, leaving her car, “I’m going for a jog.”
Mitch laughed. “You’re incapable of jogging, Izzy. You don’t have the self-control in you.”
Hunter had been standing by the trailhead, stretching. She walked over, hugged Izzy, and examined her legs. “Not beautiful, but a lot better. I hope you’re not running today.”
“No, only jogging, if my overprotective coach will move out of my way.” Izzy moved to the bench and changed into her running shoes.
“Izzy,” Mitch said and paused, “how do they really feel?”
“When this is all over, whichever way this turns out, I’m going to become an advocate for water training especially for anyone injured. My endurance is back to my pre-injury level, and I’m working so hard moving through the water that I’m betting my legs are ready to race again—only time and trial will tell.”
“Any news from Mike and Al?”
“Nothing. If they don’t come through soon, I have zero defense at the USADA hearing.”
“There must be something,” Hunter cried. “I might have some…” she paused.
“What?” Mitch asked.
“No, it’s nothing,” Hunter said. “It’s all so unfair. If I could do anything, you know I would.”
“They met again at the start. “Don’t you even think of holding back so that I can keep up,” Izzy said. “You do that, and I’m out of here. Your training’s critical now.”
Hunter took off like a shot while Izzy jogged slowly down the trail with Mitch right behind. She took special care with her footfalls to avoid tripping or straining her legs. After fifteen minutes, the initial ache subsided and she was jogging comfortably.
“Looking good, Izzy,” Mitch said. “After another hour, Mitch said, “I’m cutting away to catch up with Hunter. Be careful.”
“Yes, daddy,” Izzy said with a smile.
Afterward, they all sat at a picnic table, relaxing and drinking ice water.
“So,” asked Mitch, “how do they feel?”
&n
bsp; “A twinge here and there, but overall, pretty good.”
“Don’t con me, Izzy,” Mitch said. “We’ve got to play our cards carefully if we’re to get you back for the Boston Marathon.”
“Listen, Mitch,” Izzy said. “I’ll do just about anything except injure myself again.” She paused. “But what good is it going to do, if they won’t let me run.”
“I heard from the First Lady again,” Mitch said, “she even offered to talk with the USADA.”
“My God!” Izzy said, “that’s nuts. She can’t involve herself in any way. The downsides for her and for me would be horrendous.”
“Oh,” Mitch said, as he picked up his iPhone. “I’ve got the First Lady on speed dial. Let me give her a shout.”
Izzy laughed. “Right. When you’re finished, let me talk to POTUS, I have a few gripes.”
When Hunter got home, her phone was blinking red for a message. She pushed the play button. It was her mother. “Hunter, sweetheart, please give me a call.”
When Hunter reached Beatrice, it was clear that she was upset.
“I just can’t stand the anger between you and your father. It upsets me. I can’t sleep.”
“Meet me for lunch tomorrow and we’ll talk,” Hunter said.
“Where?”
“I’ll meet you at Trader Vic’s in Emeryville. I know how much you love that place.”
“See you then,” Beatrice said. “I love you, my darling.”
“I love you, too, Mother.”
As Hunter exited highway 880 in Emeryville, she turned left towards the marina. About a quarter mile west, she turned into Trader Vic’s and had the valet park her BMW. Although she was on time, she knew that Beatrice would be waiting.
She leaned over and kissed her mother before sitting. “One of these days I’ll beat you to an appointment.”
Bea smiled. “I don’t think so. People of your generation have never learned the virtue of punctuality.” She studied Hunter’s face and reached across the table to caress it. “You’re so thin—it looks unhealthy.”
“It a marathoner’s build, Mother. I’ve never been healthier.”