Dr. Neruda's Cure for Evil (79 page)

I laughed. “I see. So by you I’m a failure, and by him I’m a fraud.” I laughed again.

She seemed rattled by my amusement. She put her spoon back in the soup bowl. “You were lying.”

“What?” I picked up my bowl and drank half the hot soup. I was perspiring anyway from our walk in the humid
streets
and I decided it would be good to be soaked through.

Halley reached back and pulled off the elastic tie of her ponytail. Her hair had dried. With a toss, she restored the elegant shape of our first meeting. “You didn’t mean it when you said was it your fault.” She turned to check herself in the mirror on the far right wall. Briefly, she touched her face, like a primitive verifying that the reflection was actually her. She looked back at me and said matter-of-factly, “If you’re going to be sneaky then I won’t talk with you. I don’t care what Edgar or Daddy want.”

“You don’t understand,” I pleaded. I slumped in the chair. My chin wobbled with emotion. “I was laughing because I was relieved. Everybody keeps telling me it isn’t my fault and I’m not a fraud and I don’t believe them. I was relieved. Relieved to finally meet people who know the truth and don’t mind giving it to me straight.”

Halley’s pupils opened wide as I confessed. She rested her elbows on the table, leaning toward me. Her small hands came together, forming a hollow pyramid. “Can you really accept that you’ve made a mistake just like that?”

“Just like what?”

“Well …” She dropped her hands. She smiled. I realized I had never seen her smile before. The tempting lips opened, her mouth spread generously, and she showed a row of perfect teeth. “I admire that. I really admire someone who can take responsibility for screwing up without making excuses.”

“I bet your father’s like that,” I said.

She nodded. A fond look came over her, softening the brilliance of her smile. The affection was unselfconscious. She noticed that I noticed and the smile disappeared. She lowered her eyes. “I don’t want any more soup,” she said. “Could you tell him to clear it? I have to go to the bathroom.”

When she came back, she was made up, lips a deep purple, high cheeks emphasized, the shine on her intelligent forehead gone. “I made myself pretty for you,” she said calmly. “I wasn’t being very nice. I’m sorry. I should’ve known better when Edgar told me about you. And from that profile I read. You’re not a sleazy guy who wants to do a number on us.”

“You were right to be cautious.”

“Edgar says you have an amazing past, but he wouldn’t tell me what.”

“That’s because he doesn’t really know.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was living with my uncle in Great Neck people knew something scandalous had happened that got me into his custody, but they only heard rumors. Uncle was careful to keep the truth secret.”

Halley unwrapped and separated her chopsticks. She aimed them at the two pieces of crab sushi that had replaced the soup. They were laid before her on a black lacquer dish curved like a small boat. “He said you had psychological problems as a teenager.”

“I killed myself,” I said.

She meant to pick up one of the sushi. Instead, she withdrew the chopsticks. “You killed yourself,” she repeated, provoked, but confused.

“I died. I wanted to and I did.”

“You mean …” She leaned back, rested the chopsticks on the black lacquer dish. Her pupils were wide again. Her breasts rose and fell faster with excitement. “You mean you tried to commit suicide?”

“I
did
commit suicide. I was rescued by accident. I destroyed myself. Not physically. I killed my
self.
I had to build a new me.”

“And there’s …” her deep voice ran dry. She cleared her throat. She licked her lips. Her eyes were moist. I assumed I would move her, and I had. Recovering, she continued, “There’s really nothing left of the old you?”

“He’s dead.” I picked up a shrimp sushi and swallowed the long piece in a gulp.

“That’s impossible.” She began a laugh; it evolved into one of her expressive noises. “I mean, as a shrink, don’t you think it’s impossible?”

“You’ve done it too.” I took another sushi—I didn’t know what it was—and swallowed it whole. Her pretty face didn’t move. She watched me.

“What are you talking about?” she asked finally. “When did you tell Gene that you didn’t love him?”

“I don’t like this conversation,” she commented. It
was
a comment, spoken casually, as if to a third party, requesting that the subject be changed.

“Were you surprised that he left Cathy for you?”

Halley picked up her chopsticks and captured one of the pink squares. She bit off about half and chewed thoughtfully. She appeared to taste every nuance. She shut her eyes with a private look of pleasure. The slow undulating motion of her lips was obscene and titillating. She opened her eyes as she swallowed. “I want to make a trade.”

“Okay. What’s the trade?”

“You tell me why you killed yourself and I’ll tell you about Gene.”

For me, this was the moment of decision. Perhaps to the reader I may appear to have already surrendered to the novelty of this situation, but in my mind, I hadn’t yet crossed the line from a curious psychiatrist to the role I came to play, until I had to choose whether to satisfy Halley’s appetite. To think clearly, I disengaged from her steady gaze. A view of Broadway was available through the window. Instead, I shut my eyes to look at my past. I felt the warmth of Florida and heard the regret in Julie’s voice on my uncle’s lawn. Striped by New York’s amber lights, I watched the gentle motion of my mother in a half-painted room.
Use your peasant brain,
a man quoted my father. “You can live with me,” little Joe Stein said, sorry for my tears. Before I knew it, I was looking at Halley again, and I had decided.

“Do you know what Rafael means in Hebrew?” I asked her.

She sat up straight, a little startled. “In Hebrew? No. I’m not Jewish.”

“Of course you’re not.” I laughed. “Silly of me. I am. I’m only half-Jewish. And I’m half-Catholic.”

I gave her a précis of the extravagant events of my childhood and adolescence. I lingered only on the details of the most secret fact, taking special care to make my mother’s incestuous behavior clear. For a half hour, she listened raptly, her shining black eyes concentrated on me, including when she consumed her other piece of sushi. After I finished, she asked, “And what does Rafael mean in Hebrew? You never said.”

Her eyes strayed to my half-f deluxe platter. I picked up a piece from my surfeit and offered it. She gestured to her plate, accepting my gift, but not allowing me to feed it directly to her beautiful mouth. I surrendered the food to her dish. “It’s a promise from God,” I explained. “It means: He Will Heal.”

She nodded and armed herself with the chopsticks. She ate my offering in her deliberate manner. When it was thoroughly enjoyed, she asked with a playful smile, “Do you think you can heal me?”

“You haven’t kept your half of the bargain. Were you surprised when Gene left Cathy for you?”

“He didn’t leave her for me.”

“That’s what I used to think.”

“So you
are
blaming me.”

“No. It isn’t your fault you’re intoxicating. But you could have warned him. You could have said, when he announced he was leaving Cathy, ‘I don’t love you.’”

“I did.” She shrugged. “I told him there was no reason to leave her, that I would go on seeing him anyway. I didn’t care that he was married.”

“You preferred it, right?”

“Yes.” She raised her arms, stretching and yawning indolently. “It’s stuffy in here. Let’s walk.”

I rose, gesturing to the waiter. “No more? All done?” he asked.

“Just the check, please.” While he totaled it up, Halley said, “I’ll wait for you outside.” I watched her go. The waiter handed me the check. As I counted money from my wallet, I commented, “You sure are successful.”

“Yes,” the waiter said. “Very good business.”

“I ate here a long time ago. I was surprised you were still in business.”

He took my money and frowned. “No. Must be different place. We open only two year.”

Watch yourself, I thought, as I joined Halley outside. The air was still and humid on Broadway. There was a strong smell of rotting food. “Walk me home?” she asked, turning uptown.

“Sure.”

Without self-consciousness, she put her arm through mine. “Your story is incredible. I don’t mean incredible. I mean amazing. You must be a very strong person.”

“I’m so strong I can even carry your gym bag.” It dangled from her other arm and seemed to me to spoil her graceful walk.

“How sweet,” she said, passing the bag to me. I slung it over my free arm. .She walked slowly, enjoying each step.

Released by a light, a trio of cabs rushed past. They created a breeze of carbon monoxide and I remembered Gene. “Gene told me about that conversation.”

“What conversation?”

“The one you were referring to. When you told him you didn’t mind if he stayed with Cathy. That you would keep on seeing him.”

“So you know I didn’t want Gene to leave her.”

“He didn’t tell me that. He told me you said you
were
in love with him. According to him, you said you were so in love you would take him on any terms.”

She stopped walking. We weren’t at a corner. Her arm remained through mine, although she turned toward me. “When did I say that?”

“A couple of years ago.”

“Oh,” she said, apparently relieved, head tilted. “I don’t remember. I thought you meant when he left Cathy for real, not when he was just talking about it.”

She resumed our parade. We passed a homeless man sprawled on top of an IRT subway grating. “How does that happen to somebody?” she asked in the lilting tone of a hurt and bewildered child.

“I don’t know anything about him,” I said.

“I bet you can explain. Edgar said you’ve done a lot of work with disadvantaged people.”

“I won’t be distracted,” I said. “I know you think I’m going to judge you for how you behaved with Gene, but I’m not. Gene was willful about his illusions. He might have made it all up, and even if he didn’t, that doesn’t mean you’re responsible for what happened.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Ask away.”

“What I’d like to know is whether there was ever a time you might have agreed to live with him, to be married to him, to—well, take on the pretense of loving him full-time?”

We had reached Seventy-sixth Street. “This way,” she said, steering us toward Central Park. She paused at a newspaper kiosk and bought tomorrow’s
Times.
She took my arm again and continued our walk silently. By the time we crossed Columbus Avenue I was about to repeat my question. The moment I made a noise, she cut me off, “No. I never fantasized about being with him. I was sad, very sad, because my brother had died. Gene was a comfort. You know. And he was safe. I thought he was safe. I never believed him. Not for a second. I never thought he was going to leave her. She was a terrible bitch, but men stay with women like that. They have affairs, sad affairs, but they stay.” We were half a block from Central Park. A cooler, cleaner breeze came from its tall darkened trees. She let go of my arm to brush a wave of her hair from her face. She took a deep breath, held it, and spoke as she exhaled, “Anyway, I approved of him leaving her. I thought it would be good for him. I thought he was just using me as an excuse. And I read somewhere that men never stay with the women they leave their wives for. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Nothing is true for everybody.”

“This is me,” she said, stopping under an awning to a typical white-brick postwar high rise set between two brownstones. “Do you really believe we’re all so special?”

“Yes.”

“Guess you’ve never looked at market research.”

“That wouldn’t change my mind,” I said. I offered her the gym bag. She didn’t take it. “Want to come up?”

“Were you seeing other men the whole time you were involved with Gene?”

She laughed, a pleasant laugh, not mocking or offended. “You think I’m a tramp.”

“No, I think you’re extraordinary. I think Gene was ordinary and he wasn’t up to you. That’s not your fault. I’m testing his version of reality. He thought you were all his until about a year ago. He told me you met someone else in Paris on a business trip.”

She frowned. “In Paris?” She nodded. “Oh, right. That was when I realized I had to start letting him down easy. So he thought …” She stared at the sidewalk, nodding to herself.

“Halley, all I really want is a simple answer. Was there ever a time you were Gene’s?”

She lifted her right foot and touched a crack in the pavement with the toe of her shoe. Still looking down, she asked, “Does the doctor want to know? Or Rafe the man?”

I moved close, putting the bag into her arms, leaning against it. I whispered these words, “Were you ever really his woman?”

She looked up at me. Her lips were close to mine. I felt her warm breath as she said, “No.”

“I have one more question.”

“You sure you don’t want to come up for coffee? Brandy, maybe? I think I’ve got some.”

“When your father phones later, what will you tell him? Or are you supposed to call him?”

Her face changed. The smile was wiped away, the seductive sparkle in her eyes dimmed out. That didn’t surprise me. Her recovery was a surprise. She blinked once. And then she was confident again, eyes frank and unafraid. “I’ll tell him he has nothing to worry about.” She stepped back, swinging the gym bag playfully. “Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” I said, turning and walking away.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR
Fieldwork

I
DECIDED TO DRIVE TO
T
ARRYTOWN THE NEXT MORNING, ARRIVING
unexpectedly at Minotaur. The guard in the Plexiglas sentry box was new to me. I had to work hard to
get
him to call Copley’s secretary, explain I was there unannounced, and ask if I could come in anyway.

Once in the central glass building, I was kept waiting for an hour in the same conference room where I first met Halley. Eventually, a middle-aged woman with a helmet of silver gray hair and a substantial stomach appeared. She told me she was Laura, Mr. Copley’s assistant, and I should follow her. We took a mirrored elevator to the top floor, the fourth. Up there, the floors were black marble. (I was informed later that, since the engineers regularly came from the labs in the adjoining buildings to meet with executives in the business offices, carpeting was avoided because static electricity can harm computer circuits. The engineers themselves thought that the fear of carpeting was silly, since static electricity can be discharged by touching any piece of metal.) Laura led me past medium-sized offices. One of them was Halley’s. Jeff looked up from his desk and called out, a little too loudly to be natural, “Hello, Dr. Neruda.”