Time Bomb

The kids started laughing. She bent- awkwardly be-cause of the tight dress- and retrieved it. They laughed harder.

I said, “Hold on a minute, guys,” and asked her to come out into the hall. I closed the door. She put her hands on her hips and said, “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Good question, Dr. Mendez.”

“I’m here to do therapy with them- for the sniping.”

“So am I. I’ve been doing it since yesterday.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, flustered.

“The police called me in.”

“To investigate?”

“To help.”

“This makes no sense at all,” she said.

I said, “Do you work with Dr. Dobbs?”

She pulled out an engraved business card and handed it to me. PATRICIA MENDEZ, M.A. COGNITIVE- SPIRITUAL ASSOCIATES, INC. Two addresses: on Olympic Boulevard in West L.A., and in Whittier. Four phone numbers. Tiny print at the bottom identified her as a Psychological Assistant to Lance L. Dobbs, Ph.D., and gave his license number.

I handed it back to her and said, “Have you checked with the principal? She should be able to clear things up.”

“She wasn’t in. But I’m here on authority of the School Board- they’re really in charge, you know, not the police.”

I said nothing.

Her briefcase was making her shoulder sag. She lowered it to the floor.

I said, “I think you should check in with the principal, anyway.”

“Well”- She folded her arms across her breast- “I only know what I was told.”

“Sorry you wasted time coming down here.”

She frowned, thought. “Look, I’m just here to do my job. Couldn’t you go to another class?”

“These kids have been through plenty. They need the comfort of routine. Predictability.”

“I can provide that,” she said.

“By walking in right in the middle of my session? Fitting them to your agenda?”

She tensed but smiled. “You seem to be coming from a hostile place. Possessiveness.”

“And you seem to be coming from a deceptive place, Ms. Mendez. Billing yourself as a doctor with just a master’s degree. Pretending to be a psychologist when you’re an assistant.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Tha… that’s just a technicality. Next year I’ll be a Ph.D.”

“Then next year you’ll be telling the truth.”

“If you’re implying there’s something-”

“How many classrooms have you been to, so far?”

“Seven.”

“Didn’t anyone mention I’d been there?”

“They didn’t… I-”

“You didn’t really take the time to talk to them, did you? Just blew in, did your canned bit, and blew out.” I looked down at the briefcase. “What’s in there? Bro-chures?”

“You’re a very hostile man,” she said.

A wave of laughter rose from inside the classroom. Then a thump- overturned furniture.

I said, “Look, it’s been fun but I have to go. Until you check in with the principal and clear this up, please stay away from the kids. For their sake.”

“You can’t order me-”

“And please think twice about misrepresenting yourself. The Board of Medical Examiners wouldn’t be pleased.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just sound advice.”

She tried to look tough and failed miserably. “It’s my job,” she said, almost pleading. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Check in with the principal.”

“You keep saying that,” she said.

“It keeps being a good idea,” I said, turning the doorknob. The sound on the other side grew louder.

“Just a minute,” she said. “Are you bilingual?”

“No.”

“Then how in the world are you going to help them?”

“Their English is fine.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.”

“Then you’ve been misled. In more ways than one.”

***

The sky was dimming as I left the yard. I saw Linda Overstreet just outside the gate, talking to the man with the cross. Trying to explain something to him. He stared at the sidewalk, then raised his head abruptly and seemed to swoon.

She backed away. He moved toward her, went nose to nose with her, wagging his finger. She attempted to talk back; he talked over her, gestured more wildly. She finally gave up, turned her back on him and walked away. He opened a toothless black hole of a mouth and began shouting- something raw and incoherent.

She made it to the gate before noticing me, gave a what-can-I-do shrug, stopped and waited until I caught up with her. She was wearing a black linen dress, simply cut, suitable for mourning. But the contrast with her blond hair and fair skin lent a touch of unintended glamour.

“Getting religion?” I said.

She grimaced. “Crazy old jerk. He showed up early this morning, screaming about the whore of Babylon, suffer the children, all this other garbage. I tried to explain to him that the kids didn’t need any more disruption, but it’s like talking to cement- he has this tape in his head, keeps on playing it.”

“What about the school cop?”

“See him anywhere?” she said, pointing to the un-guarded gate. “Gone at three, won’t stay a minute later. And not much good when he is here, standing around with his clipboard. Claiming he’s not authorized to deal with Old Screamo as long as all he does is mouth off- right to free speech and all that. He’s giving me a civics lesson.”

The cross-bearer howled louder.

“What is it, the phase of the moon?” she said. “Brings them crawling out of the woodwork? Speaking of crawlies, you’ve already made an enemy.”

“Ms. Red Dress?”

She nodded. “She came bursting into my office on the verge of tears, claiming you’d humiliated her.” She gave her arm a dramatic wave. “What really happened?”

I told her.

She said, “You really need this, don’t you? Try to help us out and get embroiled in all this political garbage.”

“I can take it in small doses,” I said. “The question is, how do you stand it?”

She sighed. “Sometimes I wonder. Anyway, don’t worry about her. I told her not to come back until I see the proper forms- gave her a stack to fill out. If there’s a call from the Board, I’ll deal with it the way they deal with nuisances- ignoring them, putting them on hold, memo blizzard. By the time they take a meeting and decide what to do, you’ll probably be finished and out of here and the kids will be all right. How’re they doing?”