Private Eyes

“She is fragile! Everything she’s been through has made her fragile.”

“Have you talked to Dr. Ursula about the impact of your going away?”

“No,” she said, suddenly grim. “No, I haven’t.”

“I get the feeling,” I said, “that even though Dr. Ursula has helped your mother a lot, she’s still not your favorite person.”

“That’s true. She’s a very- she’s cold.”

“Is there anything else about her that bothers you?”

“Just what I said. About her analyzing me… I don’t think she likes me.”

“Why’s that?”

She shook her head. One of her earrings caught the light and flashed. “It’s just the… vibrations she gives off. I know that sounds… imprecise- but she just makes me feel uncomfortable. The way she was able to tell me to butt out without having to say it. So how can I approach her about something personal? All she’d do is put me down- I feel she wants to shut me out.”

“Have you tried to talk to your mother about this?”

“I talked to her about therapy a couple of times. She said Dr. Ursula was taking her through steps and she was climbing them slowly. That she was grateful to me for getting her into treatment but that now she had to be a big girl and do things for herself. I didn’t argue, didn’t want to do anything that would… ruin it.”

Wringing. Flipping her hair.

I said, “Melissa, are you feeling a little left out? By the treatment?”

“No, it’s not that at all. Sure, I’d like to know more- especially because of my interest in psychology. But that’s not what’s important to me. If that’s what it takes to work- all that secrecy- then I’m happy. Even if this is as far as it goes, it’s still major progress.”

“Do you have doubts it will go further?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “On a day-to-day basis it seems to go so slowly.” She smiled. “You see, Dr. Delaware, I’m not patient at all.”

“So even though your mother’s come a long way, you’re not convinced she’s gone far enough for you to be able to leave her.”

“Exactly.”

“And you feel frustrated not knowing more about her prognosis because of the way Dr. Ursula treats you.”

“Very frustrated.”

“What about Dr. Leo Gabney? Would you be more comfortable talking to him?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t know him at all. Like I said, he only showed up at the beginning, a real scientist type- walking very fast, writing things down, ordering his wife around. He’s the boss in that relationship.”

Following that insight with a smile.

I said, “Even though your mother says she wants you to go to Harvard, you’re not sure she can handle it. And you feel you can’t talk to anyone to find out if she can.”

She shook her head and gave a weak smile. “A quandary, I guess. Pretty dumb, huh?”

“Not at all.”

“There you go again,” she said. “Telling me I’m okay.”

Both of us smiled.

I said, “Who else is around to take care of your mother?”

“There’s the staff. And Don, I guess- that’s her husband.”

Dropping that nugget into the bucket, then draping it with a look of innocence.

But I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “When did she get married?”

“Just a few months ago.”

The hands began kneading.

“A few months,” I repeated.

She squirmed and said, “Six.”

Silence.

I said, “Want to tell me about it?”

She looked as if she didn’t. But she said, “His name is Don Ramp. He used to be an actor- never a big one, just a bit player. Cowboys and soldiers, that kind of thing. He owns a restaurant now. In Pasadena, not San Lab, because in San Lab you’re not allowed to sell liquor and he serves all kinds of beers and ales. That’s his specialty. Imported beers. And meat. Prime rib. Tankard and Blade, it’s called. Armor and swords all over the place. Like in old England. Kind of silly, actually, but for San Labrador it’s exotic.”

“How’d he and your mother meet?”

“You mean because she never leaves the house?”

“Yes.”

The hands kneaded faster. “That was my- I introduced them. I was at the Tankard with some friends, a school thing for some seniors. Don was there, greeting people, and when he found out who I was, he sat down and told me he’d known Mother. Years ago. Back in her days at the studio. The two of them had been on contract at the same time. He started asking these questions- about how she was doing. Talking on and on about what a wonderful person she’d been, so beautiful and talented. Telling me I was beautiful, too.” She snorted.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

“Let’s be real, Dr. Delaware! Anyway, he seemed so nice and he was the first person I’d met who’d actually known Mother before, back in her Hollywood days. I mean, people in San Labrador don’t usually come from an entertainment background. At least they don’t admit it. One time another actor- a real star, Brett Raymond- wanted to move in, buy an old house and tear it down to build a new one, and there was all this talk about his money being dirty money because the movies were a Jewish business and Jewish money was dirty money, and Brett Raymond himself was really Jewish and tried to hide it- which I don’t even know if it’s true or not. Anyway, they- the zoning board- made his life so miserable with hearings and restrictions and whatever that he changed his mind and moved to Beverly Hills. And people said good, that’s where he belonged. So you can see how I wouldn’t meet too many movie people, and when Don started talking about the old days, I thought it was great. It was like finding a link to the past.”

I said, “It’s a bit of a leap from that to marriage.”

She gave a sour smile. “I invited him over- as a surprise for Mother. This was before she was getting treatment. I was looking for anything to get her going. Get her to socialize. And when he arrived he had three dozen red roses and a big bottle of Taittinger’s. I should have known then he had… plans. I mean, roses and champagne. One thing led to another. He started coming over more often. In the afternoon, before the Tankard opened. Bringing her steaks and more flowers and whatever. It became a regular thing- I just kind of got used to it. Then six months ago, just around the time she started to be able to leave the grounds, they announced they were getting married. Just like that. Brought in a judge and did it, at the house.”

“So he was seeing her when you were trying to persuade her to get treatment.”

“Yes.”

“How’d he relate to that? And to treatment?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I never asked him.”

“But he didn’t fight it.”

“No. Don’s not a fighter.”

“What is he?”

“A charmer. Everyone likes him,” she said, with distaste.

“How do you feel about him?”

She gave me an irritated look, brushed her hair from her forehead. “How do I feel? He doesn’t get in my way.”

“Do you think he’s insincere?”

“I think he’s… shallow. Pure Hollywood.”

Echoing the prejudices she’d just decried. She realized it and said, “I know that sounds very San Labrador, but you’d have to meet him to understand. He’s tan in the winter, lives for tennis and skiing, always smiling even when there’s nothing to smile about. Father was a man of depth. Mother deserves more. If I’d known it would get this far,