Flesh And Blood

“Control her.”

He nodded.

“Did she say how?”

“No – I’m sorry, Doctor, I’m just not comfortable flapping my trap. There’s nothing more to say, anyway. That’s the entire kit and caboodle.”

I smiled at him. Didn’t budge.

He said, “Really, I’ve told you everything – and only because I know Lo liked you. She came across your name in the paper, some kind of police case, said, ‘Hey, Andrew, I knew this guy. He tried to straighten me out.’ I made some remark – how it obviously hadn’t taken. She thought that was funny, said maybe it was patients like her who’d driven you to quit doing therapy and work with the cops. I” – his cheeks flamed – “I made some crack about shrinks being more screwed up than their patients, asked if you were… like that. She said no, you seemed pretty… I think conventional was the word she used. I said how boring, and she said no, sometimes conventional was exactly what you needed. That she’d screwed up, not making good use of her therapy, but looking back it had all been a setup anyway.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“She realized that her parents had set her up to rebel. Tried to use you as a weapon against her, but you hadn’t gotten sucked into their game, you had integrity – You’re sure I can’t get you a drink?”

My throat had gone dry. “A Coke would be fine.”

He laughed. “The soft stuff? Recovering juice fiend?”

“No, it’s just a bit early for me.”

“Trust me, it’s never too early. But all right, one cola-bean juice, coming up pronto. Lemon or lime?”

“Lime.”

He hurried into the kitchen, returned with a tall drink on ice and a glass of white wine for himself. Settling back down, he rested one elbow on a knee, placed his chin in a cupped palm, stared into my eyes.

I said, “So Lauren felt her mother was trying to control her but she didn’t say how.”

“And the next day she was going about her business with nary a mention of mama. Truth is, I don’t think Mrs. A looms large in her life. She’s been on her own for years. And that’s absolutely all I can tell you about her family dynamics, so drink up.” He drew out the pocket watch.

“Your friend,” I said.

He flinched. “Yes.”

“Does Lauren have any friends I could talk to?”

“No.”

“No one at all?”

“Not a one. She doesn’t date, nor does she chum around with the girls. We’re both social isolates, Doctor. Yet another tie that binds.”

“The night owl and the morning lark,” I said.

“Makes for a cozy little aviary – this is absolutely the best living arrangement I’ve ever had. Lauren’s a living doll and I simply insist that she be okay. Now, if you’d like, I can pour that drink into Styrofoam and you can take it to go-”

As charming a dismissal as I’d encountered. Placing the drink on a side table, I stood. “Just a few more questions. Mrs. A said Lauren didn’t pack a suitcase.”

“I told her that,” he said. “I know every item in Lauren’s wardrobe – She has luscious things. After I moved in I organized her closet. She owns two pieces of luggage – a pair of vintage Samsonites we picked up for a prayer at the Santa Monica flea market – and they’re both here. So is her backpack from school. And her books. So she must be planning to return.”

He began to sip wine, stopped himself. “That isn’t good, is it? Running off without luggage.”

“Not unless Lauren’s the impulsive type.”

“Impulsive as in meet someone hot and fly off to Cuernavaca? That would be nice.” He sounded doubtful.

“But unlikely.”

“Well,” said Salander. “I just don’t think that’s Lo – If she’d fallen in love, I’d have known. She was a creature of routine: got up, jogged, went to class, studied, went to sleep, got up and did the same thing all over again. To tell the truth, she was a bit of a grind.”

“Strict routine except for occasional weekends away.”

“Except for.”

“She’s in between quarters at school,” I said. “What’s she been doing with her vacation?”

“Going to work.”

“The research job.”

“A grind,” he said. “She’d spend every spare moment studying if I didn’t drag her out to do some antiquing.”

“Must have paid off,” I said. “Mrs. A said she got straight A’s.”

“Lo was so proud of that. Showed me her transcript. I thought it was adorable.”

“What was?”

“A grown woman, all excited like a little kid – She’s studying psychology, wants to be a therapist herself. You must have been a good influence.” Staring at me again. “You haven’t touched your drink, is it okay?”

I picked up the Coke and drank. “Terrific.”

“That’s Mexican lime, not Bearss lime. More bite.”

More cola flowed down my gullet. “Does the research job pay the bills?”

“Maybe some of it, but Lo also has investments.”

“Investments?”

“Some kind of nest egg she put away from when she worked full-time. She told me she can coast for a few more years before she has to hit the boards again. I give her a lot of credit, giving up something so lucrative for the sake of her studies.”

“The boards?”

“The runway – modeling,” he said. “Nothing Vogue-coverish or anything like that. She worked the Fashion Mart scene since she was eighteen. Made good money but said she detested being a brainless face and body – Now, Doctor, I’m sorry to be ill-mannered, but my appointment – it’s someone who… hurt me. I’ve been building my courage and finally I’m ready to face him and move on. Please.”

He indicated the door and led me out.

I said, “Thanks very much for your time. If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a look at Lauren’s car out back. What kind is it?”

“Gray Mazda Miata. Don’t steal it.” Nervous laugh.

I crossed my heart. “No joyrides today.”

Louder laughter. We shook hands again.

“I’m not going to worry,” he said. “There’s no reason to worry.”

“I’m sure there isn’t.”

“Watch,” he said. “I’ll be sitting here, worrying myself sick, and Lo will come waltzing through this door and I’ll scold her for putting all of us through this.”

He walked me out into the hall, looked toward the staircase. Chewed his lip. “You’re a good listener – Any time you want a career switch, I can get you a job at The Cloisters.”

I grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He laughed. “No, you won’t. For a whole list of reasons.”

Out in back was a carport that fronted the alley. The Miata was the only car parked there, several years old, lots of nicks and dents, coated with days of dust, locked, its oatmeal-colored canvas top set snugly. Campus parking sticker on the rear bumper, Thomas Guide map book in the driver’s door pocket, pair of sunglasses on the center console, just below the gearshift. Nothing else.

I returned to the Seville, trying to organize what I’d learned from Salander.

No friends, no dates. A grind.

Rooming with a gay man said Lauren prized companionship, wasn’t looking for sex.