After Chandler finished, he handed the fax back to Madison.
“I felt the same way about our relationship as she did, Ryan. Trust isn’t something you can buy, for any amount of money. It’s earned. And once it’s lost, it’s real hard to get it back.”
“There’s no doubt she was very hurt by what she thought was going on, Phil. But things have a way of working themselves out. Let things calm down a bit. She’ll come around.”
Madison was staring at the letter. “She was a part of me, Ryan. I don’t know how to describe it. She gave me balance, made me see things in ways I was too busy to see. It’s like Harding destroyed a part of me when she made Leeza walk out that door.”
“Stop talking about your marriage in the past tense. She’ll be back, I know it.”
After a long moment of silence, Madison folded Leeza’s letter, shoved it back into the bin next to the telephone, and continued the story.
After reading the fax, Madison felt like running into the middle of the street and screaming as loud as he could. But he had patients to see, and a facade that was in need of some repair. He walked outside into the cool, still air, took a few deep breaths, and left for the office.
The day was routine, which was good: he needed that. No important decisions, no critical diagnoses, no unusual test results to interpret. Tomorrow three surgeries were scheduled. He had another fourteen hours to get his head into shape before taking the scalpel in hand.
Madison sat down at his desk and signed a few reports without even bothering to proof them. When his phone buzzed, he glanced at his watch. He had been sitting there, lost in a thoughtless daze, for nearly twenty minutes.
“Jeffrey Hellman on line two,” Monica said.
He looked down at the phone, noticing the blinking red light. He had not even retrieved his messages. “Have him hold for a moment,” he said as he dialed into his voicemail, hoping there was a call from Leeza. Nothing. Just Jeffrey teasing him with “finally some good news.”
He disconnected the voicemail and returned the call.
“Jeffrey.”
“I would’ve thought you’d have called me by now, with that message I left.”
“Just got it. Been a little preoccupied, I guess.”
“Want some good news?”
“Hit me with it,” he said in a monotone that reflected his emotional fog.
“I have a forty-thousand-dollar check in my hand. Certified funds, signed by Movis Ehrhardt.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He and I had a conversation yesterday about the picture. Both his and Harding’s prints were all over it. By sending it, she broke the terms of our agreement. I threatened to sue both of them for damages, pain and suffering, extortion, assault, and whatever else rolled off my tongue at the moment. He knew it wouldn’t be worth the thirteen grand he made off it. He cut us a check this afternoon.”
“That’s great,” Madison said flatly.
“Yeah, I can tell. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’m thinking about Leeza, my marriage, my kids. I’m not handling it very well. I didn’t think it would get this bad.”
“Maybe you should see a shrink.”
“I’ll put myself on some Elavil. Got some around here somewhere…”
“Be careful with that stuff, Phil.”
“Thanks, Doctor Hellman.”
“That has a nice ring to it,” Hellman said, trying to lighten the conversation. “Maybe I should’ve listened to you. Gone to medical school, become a surgeon. We could’ve been in the same class. Pity that instructor.”
The attempt at levity was futile. “I’ve gotta go,” Madison said. “I have to pick up some food at the market tonight. There’s nothing in the house.”
“You want me to come over later?”
“Nah, I’m not really in the mood for company.”
“If you need to talk, give me a call. I’ll be home.”
The neighborhood Food amp; More market was a bright, upscale full-service facility, complete with child- care-while-you-shop, a Bank of America branch, espresso bar, sushi counter, and Chinese take-out. He had wandered through the frozen foods section, stocking his basket with ready-made dinners on which he would subsist for the next who knew how many days until Leeza would allow him to explain the check and picture.
As he headed down the aisle to the registers, his basket collided with one that belonged to another shopper. He looked up to apologize and upon seeing Brittany Harding’s face, froze instantly. “What the hell are you doing here?” he managed to blurt. This was not the neighborhood he expected to find her in.
Her face contorted in anger as she opened her mouth and let loose a barrage of expletives at a volume that made the nearby checker down the aisle turn his head.
“…You bastard,” she continued. “You and your attorney think you’re so smart, huh? Rape never goes away. You’ll have to live with that, just like I will. What nerve you have thinking you can violate a woman’s body and get away with it. You cost me my job, you pervert!”
Between anger and the embarrassment of being called a rapist in his neighborhood market, Madison broke out into a sweat and his heart began to pound. Hiding his face, he looked down and noticed a six-pack of beer in her cart. Instantly, Jeffrey’s admonition about appearing confident popped into his head. He looked up, directly into Harding’s enlarged pupils. “Why don’t you go home and drown yourself in that beer? Drown out the pitiful life you lead. Look at yourself! What drugs are you on now, anyway?”
Her expression changed from anger to surprise; she clearly did not expect him to strike back at her so aggressively.
“You’re delusional,” he shouted. “Leave me and my family alone!” He was as taken aback by his tone as Harding appeared to be. Seldom-tapped feelings of anger were speaking, not Phil Madison, surgeon and philanthropist.
Harding took a deep breath; her chest was heaving.
He wheeled around her cart, away from her, down the aisle toward the checkout register.
“You bastard! You’ll pay! I’ll get you for this!” she yelled after him.
Madison hurried to get away from her as quickly as possible. Away from the embarrassment, the confrontation. Out of the market.
“Go home to your retarded brother!” he heard her shout in the distance.
Poor Ricky. How did he get dragged into this?
Madison took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself, then glanced up to see where he was. The checker was looking at him, a young man of perhaps twenty. He appeared tentative, unsure if he should say anything. “Hey, you okay?” he finally asked.
Madison looked up at the man, a bit disoriented. He turned and glanced around behind him. People down the aisle from where he had just come were staring at him. Harding was standing with them, no doubt filling their ears with detailed lies of the nonexistent rape her scheming, deceitful mind had dreamed up.
“How much?” Madison asked, realizing he had to pay in order to get the hell out of there.
“Twenty-one forty-two,” the man said, pointing to the green LED readout.
Madison fumbled for his American Express card.
“Cash only,” the checker said, craning his neck up to the sign above his head. “You’re in the-”
“Yeah, okay,” Madison said, still somewhat shaken, opening his wallet and pulling out a couple of twenty- dollar bills.
“What’s her deal?” the man asked.
“Huh? Oh, she’s got some emotional problems.”
The checker glanced at Harding as he handed Madison the receipt. “Take it easy.”
“I’ll get you for this, you son-of-a-bitch!”
Madison heard her shouting again, behind him somewhere, like a nightmare that returns after you fall back asleep.
She was on line behind him now, three people back as he strode quickly away from the register.
