CHAPTER NINE
Surrender
“HELLO!” JEFF, HALLEY’S ASSISTANT, CALLED AS I PASSED HER OFFICE. I waved, but didn’t go in. I had already stopped to chat with Laura, Stick’s secretary, on my way out of that disastrous interview and didn’t feel up to more pleasantries. I did notice, however, that Halley’s inner door was open, so I shouted, “Jack Truman this way?”
“Around the corner,” Jeff answered. “Second door on the right, Dr. Neruda.”
Father and daughter weren’t unsettled, but obviously I was. Why bother to let her know my destination? Playing the part of the jealous lover? What was the point now?
I found Jack standing behind his seated secretary, reading over a letter she had typed. He looked up and grinned at me. “Hi there,” he said. “Slumming?”
“Do you have a few minutes? Stick suggested I see you.”
I might as well have shot him between the eyes. I had forgotten my joke at the barbecue that if I showed my face in his office he was in trouble. He stammered, “You’re here to — you want to see me?”
“Nothing important. I can come back. I need your advice. I’ll call you—”
“No, no. Come in. You got this straight, Kelly?” he mumbled to his secretary, waving me in without listening to her reply. He met me at the door to his inner office, taking my elbow. He maintained the grip all the way to the chair opposite his desk, presumably guiding me, although he seemed to want the physical contact, as if by hanging on he was in control of me. He also put his face too close, smiling so hard I wondered if the lines he was making around his mouth would be permanent. Once he put me where he wanted me, he retraced his steps to shut the door, talking in a loud cheerful tone for the benefit of his assistant, “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. But I’m happy to help. Always wanted to be a doctor myself.” The door was shut and he maneuvered toward the desk. He kept up the noisy banter, “I heard about fixing up a rec area out back. That’ll be terrific—”
I interrupted, “Okay, Jack, she can’t hear us now.” He was halfway down to his chair. He hung in midair for a moment and then fell the rest of the way. Its cushion sighed.
“I apologize for my abrupt entrance. I should have phoned. Stick has nothing to do with my being here. It was my idea. Your wife, Amy — I don’t know if she told you—”
“She thought you were great!” Jack eagerly leaned toward me, stomach pressed against the edge of his desk, chest arched over the top. He framed my face with his large hands, centering it as the target for his praise. He had the build of a football player — chunky legs, thick neck — and the jowls of a man who enjoys beer and red meat. “She said she bugged you for advice about little Billy’s reading problem — I guess that happens to doctors all the time, right? You’re trying to relax on a holiday and people want free advice. Seriously, she was grateful. Said you were really helpful. But it’s nothing. I keep telling her, Billy’s got my lousy genes. I was the last in my class to read.”
I noticed a pair of bamboo fishing poles resting in the corner. On a shelf nearby there was a teak wood box with brass fittings that I guessed housed lures. “Fly-fishing?” I asked, gesturing to the wall. “Yeah … You fly-fish?” he asked hopefully.
“No, but I know someone who does. Those are handcrafted rods, right? Very expensive?”
“Yeah, I splurged …” He was embarrassed. “They’re collectibles, actually. Hand-made by these great characters. Weird old guys. Cost a bundle. Amy might want to talk to you about how I prioritize my spending.” He winked at me. We were also becoming buddies. “I brought them in to show off to a client who’s a fly fisher. Great guy. I’m seeing him for lunch.”
“Ever take Billy along on a fishing trip?”
Jack swallowed. “Guess I should, huh?” he asked meekly. “I was waiting until he was a little older. That wrong?”
Is this what it’s like for Dr. Joyce Brothers? I wondered. Everywhere she goes, she’s the maven, no topic beyond her expert generalization. “I was just curious,” I said.
“No, seriously, what do you think? I feel guilty when I take off for the weekend and leave him behind.”
“Take him when you think he’d enjoy it, I guess. I don’t know. Seems like a good bonding thing for a father and son. Just don’t throw him in the river for bait.”
Jack’s wide nose twitched. “We don’t use live bait. That’s why it’s called fly-fishing.”
“I was joking,” I said.
“I knew that,” he said, nodding.
“Amy told me your pediatrician has recommended Ritalin for Billy. That seems excessive for a reading problem.”
“Un huh,” he nodded vigorously.
I waited for him to add something. His nods slowed. He remained silent and showily attentive, like a prep school boy in the headmaster’s office, waiting for advice he intended to agree to enthusiastically and then ignore. I noticed a plastic name plate resting against the back of his phone. MR. TRUMAN was in white letters against a black background and below it the joke — The Jack Stops Here. I pointed to it. “That’s cute.”
“Salesman humor,” he said. He shrugged.
“So …?” I smiled. “Is that all there is to it? He’s not reading at age eight?”
“He reads a little. But he’s way behind the other kids. He’s lazy. That’s all I think it is. Doesn’t like reading, so he doesn’t work at it. Our doctor didn’t say he definitely needed this, uh …”
“Ritalin.”
“Right. He just said it was an option if Billy’s problem was, you know, that he couldn’t pay attention. That’s what the school says. He’s disruptive—”
“Disruptive?” I said, straightening with a start, as if he had sent an electric shock through my chair.
“No!” he reached toward me with his right hand, reeling in the word. “Not disruptive. You know, just … He’s a cutup in class. He’s a handfull. Like me. I was a handful. I’m gonna talk to him, straighten it out. I’ve been on the road a lot. Haven’t put in the hours at home I should. I’m sorry Amy bothered you. We’ll take care of it. It’s no big deal.”
“May I speak with her about it?” As far as Jack was concerned I seemed to have switched to a different language. He stared, mouth open. “That’s why I dropped by. I wanted to suggest some tutors. I know a couple of good remedial reading people in this general area. We hired them at my old clinic. Sometimes, a little extra help gives a child confidence. Once you fall behind in school, it’s embarrassing and that makes catching up even harder. But I didn’t want to talk to Amy behind your back. And certainly not without your permission.”
Jack nodded, this time long and slow movements up and down, as if, as headmaster, I had begun to rave and he was unsure whether to summon the nurse.
“This has nothing to do with work, Jack,” I continued into his wary silence. “Nothing to do with Stick. There’s no implied threat. I’m only here to help. You see, I know a lot about children, a lot about Ritalin, a lot about cutups in school. I’m sure Billy’s fine and I want to make sure that nobody makes his little problem into a big one by overreacting. I doubt, for example, that he needs to be straightened out. Probably he just needs a little help and reassurance.”
Jack pushed off from his desk, eyes straying to the bamboo poles, the false good cheer gone. “He hit a couple kids,” he said quietly. “Gave one a real shiner. And he kicked one of his teachers — the dance teacher, for Chrissakes. She was teaching him the polka—” he laughed with resignation, but also from his belly, really amused. He sighed afterwards, rolled in his chair over to the poles, and picked up one. “Beautiful work, huh?” he said, rising. He came near me, turning the bamboo in the air to show off details that I’m afraid I couldn’t appreciate. “I envy those guys. I mean they don’t look like they’ve got much to envy — living in the sticks, cars falling apart in the yard — but it must be peaceful. And great to know that what you make is unique. I’m a salesman. I don’t make anything, so …” He rested the pole across his arm, as if surrendering his sword to me.