She said, “With what?”
Thinking of Holly Ruche, I said, “Owning your life. Finally.”
“Really?” she said, as if finding that humorous.
Then she cried.
I supplied a box of tissues and a bottle of water. She dabbed, drank. I waited for her questions.
The first one she asked surprised me. “What do you think of my tribe?”
“They seem like a great bunch.”
“Four gems, Dr. Delaware. Four flawless diamonds. I’m not taking credit but at least I didn’t screw them up.”
“Prema, a friend of mine says happiness comes from taking all the credit and none of the blame.”
She clapped her hands. “I love that … but sometimes it’s hard to separate blame from credit, isn’t it? To know what’s real and what isn’t. Back when I was a public person, people who’d never met me had opinions about everything I did. One day I was a goddess, the next I was evil incarnate.”
“Celebrity’s all about love-hate,” I said, thinking, as I had a hundred times over the last few days, of the venomous contempt expressed by Brent Dorf, Kevin Dubinsky. Len Coates, who should have known better, because he’d been trained to analyze facts not rumors, had never laid eyes on her.
None of them had.
She said, “I’m not complaining, it’s part of the game. But I used to wonder where all that crap was coming from. People so sure. Alleged experts accusing me of swooping into orphanages at random, bribing officials so I could walk away with the cutest babies. As if building a family was as simple as choosing strays at the pound. Or, worse, I raided Third World villages with a private army and stole infants from poor people.”
Speaking in the singular.
She hugged herself. “True reality is I went through channels, got screened. Had the kids screened, too, because I’m not that selfless, forget all that sainthood crap they’ve also tried to lay on me—stupid diplomats at the U.N. making like I’m Mother Teresa. I’m a mother, small ‘m.’ Didn’t want an incurably sick baby or a mentally challenged baby. Didn’t want to be surprised by bad news. Does that offend you?”
“Not at all.”
“I mean I was willing to deal with whatever came up naturally, but why make life harder than it needs to be?”
“Makes sense.”
“I mean there’s no reason not to make your life as good as it can be, right? To feel worthy of happiness.”
She crumpled a tissue. “I was clueless. About creating a family. It’s a challenge under the best of circumstances. If you do it right, it’s daunting, you have to put in time, personal investment, doubting yourself. Educating yourself. You can’t just read books or dial it in, you can’t just delegate it to other people. So I decided to do it right and changed my life.”
She swiveled toward me. “Big insight to a psychologist, huh? But what did I know? Not that I’m some Suzy Housewife baking cookies. Keep me away from kitchens, keep me far away if you value your intestinal tract. And I know I’m lucky, I can pay people to do things I don’t want to do. But actually raising my children? The real stuff? That’s my job.”
She smiled. “Listen, I’m not some martyr, claiming I gave it all up for them. I lost nothing, gained everything. They bring me meaning every day, the other stuff never did. Now the thought of blabbing someone else’s lines makes me want to throw up.”
I kept silent.
“You think I’m a burned-out weirdo?”
“I think you’ve moved on.”
“Well,” she said, “whether you mean it or not, you say the right things—sorry, I tend to be a little cynical.” More hair fluffing, more ciliary rain. “So they seemed well adjusted to you?”
“They did.”
“Did you expect spoiled monsters?”
“I didn’t know what to expect, Prema.”
“Aw c’mon, ’fess up, Dr. Delaware, you had to have a little bit of expectation, no? Crazy Hollywood mom, crazy kids? But trust me, no way that was going to happen. No way they were going to have a childhood like mine. I don’t believe—I refuse to believe that we’re condemned to repeat our own crap.”
My personal mantra. When things got low I congratulated myself for not ending up like Harry Delaware.
I said, “If I didn’t agree, I wouldn’t do this job.”
Prema Moon’s eyes watered up again. The tissue had wadded so tightly it disappeared in her fist. “I don’t know why I’m getting into this. Why I feel the need to justify myself to you.”
I said, “It’s normal to feel judged in a situation like this.”
“You followed us. That was based on a judgment. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been trying to learn about you and your family. Haven’t been very successful because you’ve dropped off the grid. When families isolate themselves, it’s often because of serious problems and that’s what I suspected. I know now that you’ve been trying to take control of your life, are focused on protecting the kids. For good reason. You know that better than anyone.”
She bit her lip. “Great monologue, Doctor. You could’ve made a living in my old business. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“You need help, Prema. You know that. That’s why you’re here.”
She opened her palm, watched the tissue expand like a time-lapse flower. Crushed it again. “Maybe you’re being sincere, I hope you are. But with the good ones—the performers—you can never be sure. Meryl, Jack, Judi. Larry Olivier—I knew Larry when I was a kid, he was always sweet to me. But when he chose to be someone else? Good luck. Maybe that’s you, Dr. Alexander Delaware.”
“You’re the performer, Prema.”
“Me? I’m a hack. I made a ridiculous fortune doing crap.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“Not in the least, Dr. Delaware. I know what I am and I’m okay with it.” Her knuckles were white and shiny as ivory. “How long have you been learning about us?”
“I did a bit of digging right after that first appointment was made. Because the circumstances were odd: The person who called was evasive, wouldn’t even tell me who the patient was. I assumed I’d be seeing one of the kids, looked for anything I could find about them. Which wasn’t much but I did come across a photo. You and the kids, a theater lobby in New York. They seemed unhappy. Ill at ease. You stood behind them. You came across detached. Not exactly a happy family portrait.”
Her eyes flashed. “Detestable picture, you have no idea how much time and money it took to get it offline.”
“I’m glad I saw it before you succeeded. Now I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“I’d missed the emotional content. You were scared—all of you.”
She flinched. “Why would I be scared?”
I said, “Not why. Of who.”
She shook her head. Closed her eyes. Sat lower and got even smaller.
I said, “My guess is you—all of you—were scared of the person who set up the shot. Someone who doesn’t care about kids, but didn’t mind using them.”
The eyes opened. New shade of indigo, deep, hot. “You’re frightening.”
“Am I wrong?”
Silence was my answer.
I said, “You talk about your children in the singular. ‘I,’ not ‘we.’ You’re doing it alone. For good reason.”
She crossed her arms. Blanche licked her hand. Prema remained unmoved. Her lips set. Angry. I wondered if I’d lost her.
I said, “No matter what you do, he rejects them completely. It must be tough, living with that degree of callousness. Your kids are your world. Why can’t he see how wonderful they are? Understand the joy of being a parent. But he doesn’t. And now there’s a new level of fear and that’s why you’re here. Because of the other work I do.”
Shooting to her feet, she stormed out of the office, made it halfway up the hall where she stopped short, swung the big bag as if working up momentum to use it as a battering ram.
I had a clear view, stayed in my chair.
The bag grew still. Her shoulders heaved. She returned, stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb for support.
“My God,” she said. “The things that come out of your mouth.”
Then she returned to the couch.
CHAPTER
49
Another head shake. More hair fell. A woman coming apart strand by strand. She hugged herself. Shuddered. Ten fingers began working like Rubinstein on Rachmaninoff.
I said, “If you’re feeling cooped up, we can talk outside.”
“How did you know I felt that?”
Because you look like a caged animal.
I said, “Lucky guess.”
I told Blanche to stay in the office, paid her with a Milk-Bone. Prema Moon said, “She can come with us.”
“She needs to nap.” The real reason: Time to minimize distraction. And comfort.
I walked her through the house, out through the kitchen and down the rear steps to the garden, stopping by the pond’s rock rim. The waterfall burbled. The sky was clear.
“Very mellow,” she said. “To encourage confession?”
“I’m not a priest.”
“Isn’t this the new religion?”
“God doesn’t talk to me.”
“Only Freud does, huh?”
“Haven’t heard from him in a while, either.” I sat down on the teak bench that faces the water. The fish swarmed.
Prema Moon said, “What are they, Japanese koi? Pretty.”
She took in the garden. Robin’s studio, softened by trees and shrubs. A whine cut through the waterfall. The band saw.
“What’s that noise?”
“The woman I live with builds musical instruments.”
“She’s going to come out here and see me?”
“No.”
“You’ve trained her to stay inside when a patient’s here?”
“Once she’s in there, it’s for hours.”
“What if she does come out?”
“She’ll go right back in.”
“What’s her name?”
I shook my head.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just … I’m jumping out of my skin, this is … I don’t know what it is. Don’t know what to do.”
I uncapped the canister of fish food, scooped a handful of pellets, tossed.
She watched the koi eat. Said, “Well, yummy for them.”
Not a word out of her for a long time. When that didn’t look as if it was going to change, I said, “Tell me what frightens you.”
“Why should I?”
“You’re here.”
She reached for the koi food. “May I?” Tweezing again, she threw in one pellet at a time. “I like the silver one. Elegant.”
I said, “Okay, I’ll start. People who work for you seem to die unnaturally.”
Her arm shot out. She hurled the rest of the food. The fish feasted. “People? All I know is Adriana. And I only know about her because I heard it on TV and it freaked me out completely.”
“Did you contact the police?”
Long pause. “You know the answer. I didn’t. Because I couldn’t see what I could possibly offer. She worked for me only for a short time. I really didn’t know her.”
I said nothing.
She said, “What did you mean ‘people’? You’re freaking me out.”
“First Adriana, then Melvin Jaron Wedd.”
Her hand flew to her face. “What! Mel? No! When?”
“A few days ago.”
“Oh, God, no—what are you telling me?”
“He was murdered a few days ago. Was he a good employee?”
“What?”
I repeated the question.
“Sure, fine, he was great. Murder? What happened—”
“Reliable? Skilled at organizing?”
“Yes, yes, all that, what does it matter?”
I said, “In addition to all that, he had a special talent. Vocal impressions.”
“What? Oh, that, sure, yes, he’d do cartoon characters for the kids. So?”
“He did a pretty good imitation of Donny. When he called me for that appointment on your behalf.”
“What!”
“I thought it was Donny. But it was Mel, wasn’t it?”
She said, “Mel called for me but—I never told him to do that.”
“Guess he improvised.”
“Why would he?”
“I thought you might be able to tell me.”
“Well, I can’t, I have no idea why.”
“Then I’ll take a guess, Prema. Subtle hostility. He didn’t much care for Donny, because he’d learned what Donny is like. He knew that Donny wouldn’t be happy about your consulting a child psychologist. So he mimicked Donny. Mel’s little bit of nasty irony.”
She stared at the water.
I said, “Mel refused to tell me which kid I’d be seeing because the answer was none of them. The kids didn’t need help, they were doing fine. All things considered.”
She looked at me. Her eyes were wet. “I’m doing my best.”
“I believe that you are. So the question remains: Why did you want to see me? I’m a child psychologist so it wasn’t about therapy for you. That leaves some kind of family issue.”
She didn’t answer.
I said, “Maybe a marriage that’s unraveling? A concerned parent wanting to learn about the impact on the children? And how to minimize it?”
She covered her face with both hands.
I said, “You care about everyone and everything. Donny couldn’t care less. You always wanted kids, he never did. You convinced yourself his attitude would change once he saw how cute they could be. It didn’t, he cut them off completely. And they know it. That’s why that picture in the lobby was so stressful. It was his idea, the first time he’d shown any interest in family life, so there had to be an ulterior motive. What was he planning to do with the shot? Use it for publicity?”
She raised her arms, punched air clumsily. “Damn him! For a stupid movie! Big lead role for him, he was going to play a dad.”
“Typecasting.”
Her laugh was bitter. “Caring, bumbling, lovable dad. Can you believe the morons who thought of that?”
“Not exactly Citizen Kane.”
“Not exactly Citizen Sane. Piece-of-crap script, piece-of-crap casting, his big comedy debut, it was going to open a whole new world for him.”
She got up, walked several steps away, returned.
“His plan was to sell the photo to People for big bucks. He never asked me, knew what I’d say. Instead he sprang it on me as we drove from the airport into the city. He’d instructed the driver to go straight to the theater, his agent had paid to rent the lobby. The whole purpose of the trip was educational. Show the kids the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the planetarium. I was surprised when he offered to come along. Allowed myself to be hopeful, maybe he’d seen the light. Then he pulled that! Expecting them to pose for hours of pictures. Him with the tribe, both of us with the tribe. He wanted them to jump in the air and laugh and hug him and kiss him! Disgusting! I killed it. The rule from the beginning was always they never got used. For his crap or mine. He knew that and now he’s trying to change it? Because someone’s paying him to be a dad? He tried to force the issue, I stood my ground. It got ugly, I told the kids to wait in the limo. By the time I got back to the lobby, he was gone. He drove straight back to Teterboro, chartered a plane to Vegas, stayed there for weeks, doing his Vegas thing. The tribe and I tried to make the best of it. I’d rented a big quiet apartment on Sutton Place, doorman, security, off the beaten path. I managed to take them a few places without attracting attention. They wanted to know where he’d gone. I said he wasn’t feeling well but they knew I was lying. I tried to reach out to him, maybe we could talk, work something out. He wouldn’t take my calls. Then he texted me a picture of himself and some … girls. Let me know quite graphically that he didn’t miss
me.”
Her face tightened. “After that, we moved even further apart.”
“Lovable dad,” I said. “Don’t recall that film.”
“Never got made.”
“How come?”
“Maybe someone realized how bad he sucks as an actor?” Shrug. “That’s the way the business works, mostly it’s air sandwiches.” Her toe nudged the rock rim.
Time for me to nudge her. “Have you told the kids about Adriana’s death?”
“Of course not!”
“How did you explain her absence?”
“I said she went away on vacation. It would only matter to Boo, Adriana was Boo’s person, the others don’t need anything like that.”
“A nanny.”
“Not even a nanny, just someone to watch Boo when I’m tied up.”
“Four kids,” I said. “Sometimes you can get spread pretty thin.”
“I manage.” She sniffed. “There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”
Out of my pant pocket came a piece of paper. I unfolded, pretended to read.
She pretended to ignore me. But it had been a long time since she’d performed and she struggled with her curiosity. “What is that?”
I handed it over. Fumbling in her bag, she produced her glasses. Scanned the receipt from JayMar Laboratory. The copy I’d kept for myself. “Beetles? Scalpels? What is this?”
“Check the name of the recipient, Prema.”
“Who’s that?”
“Someone who buys stuff for you through Apex Management. For you only.”
Her mouth dropped. “What? That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard of this place! Beetles? Scalpels—a bone saw? What the hell’s going on?”
She tried to return the receipt. I kept my hands in my lap. “Kevin Dubinsky ordered all that stuff for you.”
“Mel handles my purchases.”
“You wanted something, you’d tell Mel, he’d pass it along to Kevin?”
“Who’s Kevin? I don’t know any Kevin. Everything’s done by email, anyway.”
“You’d email Mel and he’d pass it along to—”
“This is crazy.” She re-read. “Der-mestid—sounds gross. Why would I want bugs in my house? We pay a pest service to get rid of bugs, last year it took two days to clear a wasp nest. Kyle-Jacques is allergic to bees and wasps.”
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