Self-Esteem (23 page)

Dorothy fell back a step and caught herself. “Who are you?”

“I’m Happy Pappy,” Dorothy heard him say. But the voice sounded sharp and tinny, like it was a small recording device making the sound.

“I’m Happy Pappy.” This time she knew it was a recording, the same as the first.

“I’m Happy Pappy,” it repeated.

Dorothy walked to her car, trembling as she pulled her keys out of her purse.

“I’m Happy Pappy,” she faintly heard again. She looked over her shoulder in disbelief.

What kind of sick tootyhead
…

The truck started up. She got in her car and sat down, and through her rearview mirror could see the van pull away.

Now, calm down. It was just some idiot in a mask.

The van was gone. She looked at her mobile phone, which lay in her open purse, and thought about calling the police.

“Hello, nine-one-one.”

“I just had a man call me.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“I had a strange man call me. Then I saw him in a parking lot.”

“Who called you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, did he hurt you? Are you injured in any way?”

“No… I…”

“Where are you? At home?”

“No. I’m in my car.”

“Is this man there now?”

“No. Well, he left in a van just a few minutes ago.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No… I…”

“Did you write down any information like a license plate?”

“No I didn’t. Damn it.”

She decided not to call.

Just drive.

Dorothy got on Pico Avenue and headed for the Robertson district. She felt like hanging out in an anonymous part of town for a while. As she drove, it crossed her mind that she might be trying to act too rationally. She thought about Jim’s reaction to the videotape and how she told him he was being paranoid. The Crawfords had been fortunate not to have experienced any stalking fans in their six or seven years in the spotlight, but Dorothy started to think there was a first time for everything. Maybe the tape was noteworthy. Maybe the man in the parking lot wasn’t just some harmless prankster.

She thought about Jim and about his drinking.

Maybe I need to be a little more open about his concerns, listen to what is troubling him.

He could, after all, be a great husband at times, and he did try to stay sober most of the time —
well, a lot of the time
—
well… some of the time
.

Well, he tried
.

She thought about how she hadn’t been very attentive to his needs. That maybe he needed to talk about a few things and maybe…

My God, I’ve been watching Jan Hershey too much.

Dorothy turned on Robertson and a van appeared in her rearview mirror. It looked like
the
van, but she couldn’t be sure. In a city this big there had to be hundreds. But was this the one?

She tried to look at the driver, but couldn’t see anything because of the glare and the distance. She couldn’t make out any window tinting. She couldn’t make out anything.

Dorothy took a left, and the van, two car lengths behind, followed. She decided it was a good idea just to pull over and get some coffee. She turned left on a side street and the van went by on her right. She felt relieved right away, like her initial thoughts about Jim’s paranoia were true after all.
Someone was just playing a prank. You’re thinking too much.
She found a parking space, then put an hour’s worth of change in the meter. She was just going to walk around a minute, catch her breath and relax. Then she saw a white van coming toward her. It had to be the same van.

She turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction.
What am I running from? I’m in public, on the street
. She thought perhaps she had caught Jim’s paranoia.
I don’t know, just by sleeping in the same bed?
Or maybe it was just from being around him, thinking of his behavior all the time. But whatever it was, she felt a strong desire to get away. Anywhere.

She reached Robertson and headed south, a street lined with a number of stylish shops, crowded with people. She felt more comfortable. Then out of the corner of her left eye she saw the white van, moving slowly alongside her.

Dorothy turned toward it, ready to scream, but then she hit something, knocking her to the ground.

She looked up to see only the glare of the sun then someone eclipsing it.

It was Peters with two fingers on his forehead just above his left eye. “My gosh, Dorothy. Are you okay?”

“Phil?”

He reached down to help her up. He had a strange expression on his face, she thought. She’d never seen the respected doctor so surprised. She took his hand, which felt cold, and got to her feet, dusting off her behind and straightening her clothes. She felt relieved to see the face of a friend, but when she began to speak, her relief turned to embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where…”

“Dorothy, are you okay?”

“Phil. Yes. I’m fine. I just…”

Peters only had her wellbeing in mind. “You didn’t break anything, did you?”

“No. I just fell. I…”

Dorothy looked behind her nervously. “I thought someone was following me, and I…”

Peters gestured toward a small coffee shop behind them. “I was just about to have an espresso. Why don’t you come and join me? Relax for a bit.”

It felt unusual, the two of them, probably since they had never been alone together, never without Jim. But Dorothy knew there wasn’t anything unusual about it. They were just going to have some coffee.

Dorothy looked at her watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

“Hey, I’m the dean now. I can do whatever I want.”

CHAPTER 12

Crawford finally passed out on the bar after downing four more shots, courtesy of the establishment’s grateful proprietor. While Rakim was relieving himself in the bathroom, his sidemen were starting to take an interest in Crawford. One of Rakim’s men, a big guy named “J,” reached inside Crawford’s jacket and pulled out his wallet. Rakim came back just in time to see what was happening.

“Damn, man. What you doin?” Rakim said. “This motherfucker changed my life. And you’re stealing from him? Give me that shit, bitch,” he said, snatching the wallet from his hand.

Rakim put the wallet lovingly back in Crawford’s jacket pocket then turned to his associate. “You’re a goddam embarrassment, J. If I want you to, you’re going to carry this guy home on your back then suck his dick when you get there. Get me?”

“I sure do,” J said.

Rakim turned his attention back to Crawford, whose nose was flat against his forearm. “Dr. Crawford? Yo, Dr. Crawford? You okay, Doc?”

Crawford was out, and Rakim gave J a ruminative look.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” J said. “I was just interested.”

“That’s right,” said Rakim’s other man, B. “He didn’t do nothin.”

“Yeah, sure. But thanks for reminding me that we can’t just leave him here like this. The people that come in this joint will rape, pillage, and burn the motherfucker.” Rakim yelled for the bartender to get a glass of water, and he did as he was told. The rapper then pulled a pristine handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, and after dipping it in the water, dabbed Crawford’s lifeless face. When Crawford didn’t come to, Rakim reached inside Crawford’s other jacket pocket and pulled out his mobile phone.

“Dr. Crawford. Dr. Crawford,” he said. “Is there a number on this phone we can call to have someone pick you up? Hey, Doc!” he said louder.

Crawford lethargically moved his head from side to side on the bar. “I can explain everything,” he mumbled. “I can explain.”

Rakim patted Crawford on the shoulders reassuringly. “You don’t have to explain shit, bro. You’re in my drinking establishment. You my guest, Doc. You jus’ take it easy, bro.”

Crawford lifted his head, trying to piece together where he was.

“You just passed out there for a while, Dr. Crawford.” Rakim’s men were standing on either side of him. “You’re all right now. You’re among friends. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but it’s kind of early to be downin’ shots, bro. But I figured you bein’ a writer and all, you got a flip flopped, fucked up schedule like I do. Matter of fact, it’s almost my bedtime.”

“Oh,” Crawford said, reaching for the glass of water on the bar.

“Don’t drink that, man. Let me get you a fresh one. Joe, another glass of water for the man. Now!”

“Someone killed my lady friend,” Crawford said, staring blankly at the floor.

“Say what?”

“Someone killed my lady friend and videotaped it. Sent me the tape.”

The bartender put the glass down and Rakim slid it toward Crawford.

“Here man, take a drink. No offense, bro, but I think you might be imaginin’ thangs. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

Crawford took another swig of water, his eyes still trained on the floor. “No, there was a tape someone sent me with a murder on it. A woman I know. A woman I was fucking. That’s why they killed her.” Crawford looked in front of him, then over to Rakim. “The tape was real. The goddam tape was real.”

“What tape?”

“A videotape I got in the mail. I mean… someone left it on my doorstep. I watched it while I was drunk. I’ve still got it, I think. Somewhere.”

“Hey, man. I don’t deal with damage control, but I got a few friends that might be able to help you out if you want.”

“Help me out? Help me out how?”

“You know, somebody’s fuckin wit’ you. You know, help out.”

Crawford looked up at the barkeep. “Can I have another beer?”

“You sure?” Rakim said with his eyebrows raised like a concerned mother. “Rakim doesn’t want you to pass out on him again.”

“I’m sure. Another, please. I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”

“You heard the man,” Rakim said, almost tenderly, and the bartender pulled out a pint glass and filled it.

“Like I said, if you need help…”

“No thanks, Rakim. I think I’m just gonna have to deal with this one myself.” Crawford looked thoughtful. “We really got no one but ourselves, do we?”

“That’s right, man. We don’t,” Rakim said solemnly. “You wrote that in
Self-Confidence
. Remember?”

“Did I?”

“Man, you need a ride home or anything?”

Crawford pulled out his mobile phone. “No thanks, man. I got it taken care of.”

Rakim raised his Manhattan and clinked Crawford’s beer glass. “We’ll do whatever the doctor says.”

Dorothy suggested to Peters that they take a window seat. She ordered an orange cappuccino and Peters said he’d have the same.

“Right away,” the waiter said.

“That isn’t what you normally drink, is it?” Dorothy asked.

“Yes it is,” Peters said.

Dorothy still felt uncomfortable and forced a smile. For some strange reason she felt like she was betraying her husband. “So that was quite a banquet the other night, huh?”

“Yes it was.” Peters put his palms together at his chest as if he were pondering every word. “But it was a little too much for me, I’m afraid.”

Dorothy nervously looked away from Peters’ gaze as she spoke. “Too much? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just not my cup of tea.”

Dorothy didn’t press any further, but looked at Peters intermittently as they sat in silence. The waiter arrived with their order and Dorothy relaxed. Then a moment later she felt as if someone were watching her and she looked out the window again — not just out but also up and down the street.

“Something wrong?” Peters asked, moving his hands back to his chest.

“No,” she said, forcing another smile.

It was more than just his accomplishments in research that had gotten Peters to his position; it was his easy-going manner. Genuine or not, it worked for what his profession most often demanded — talking to people. He had a strange way of opening people up even when they didn’t want to be. Whether it was his spectacles inflating his already welcoming eyes or his fatherly beard, it all contributed to a disposition that easily opened emotional floodgates.

“What is it, Dorothy?” he asked again, ignoring his cappuccino. She looked at him as if she had to. Peters leaned back in his chair slightly. “You know, Dorothy, sometimes people think it’s a big deal to tell me things — you know, simple things, when something is bothering them, or whatever — and that’s ridiculous. I’m a human being first and a psychologist second. You and I are sitting in a coffee shop having a cup’a Jo. That’s all.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart?
She never thought she’d hear him say that. She gave a slightly embarrassed smile and so did Peters, which also surprised her. “My husband can be a pain in the ass, Phil.”

“I know he can. I’ve known him a long time. Which is not to say that I’m criticizing him. I can be a pain in the ass, too.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a drunk.”

“No, but I’ve got more than a few vices, believe me.” He paused a moment with a reassuring smile, then said, “So it’s the drinking?”

“I don’t know. I always thought we’d be over this stuff by now.”

Peters looked over his glasses. “The drinking? He’ll never be over that, Dorothy. That’s the nature of the disease. You know that.”

“Yes, but…” Dorothy paused as if she were afraid of what she might reveal.

“But what?”

“He’s been acting strange.”

“Strange?”

The waiter approached again and asked if he could get them something else. Dorothy shook her head, and Peters waved the boy away quickly.

Dorothy was feeling grateful for Peters’ company. “Thanks for being concerned about me.”

“If I can do anything, just let me know.”

There was an awkward pause, then “It’s not just Jim, Phil.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not just Jim that’s bothering me. We’ve had some strange things happen lately.”