"What's that?"
"You're working the Mendoza case and I'm working the Mendoza case. But we're not working as a team." Shit! Here it comes! "You never asked me about Mendoza. " "I asked you to tell me anything relevant."
"You didn't-"
"Don't con me, Frank. You were a bomb target. So was Clury. Lately you've been investigating the Mendoza affair. Whoever bombed your nice little foreign car was trying to tell you to stay away from it."
"That occurred to me."
"Of course it did. It occurred to me, too, the night the bomb went off.
But I didn't say anything. I waited for you to talk. When you didn't, I went out to Nassau County and spoke to the bomb people there.
I wasn't with NYPD when Clury was blown. They filled me in. Now I'm asking why you didn't say anything."
"Look, Stoney, this thing's got a life of its own. It's bigger-"
Stoney stood up. He was a short, stocky man, but in his anger he projected considerable size.
"I don't want to hear that. I don't want to hear any more bullshit about the Mendoza case-how it's bigger than all of us, how it's got a fucking life of its own! Hear me, Frank? I'm sick of that shit! Far as I'm concerned it's a bombing case. Only thing special about it is nine years ago a cop was killed and this week another cop was warned.
I'm telling you this so you understand where I'm coming from. I'm going to find out who made those bombs-with your help or not."
He glared at Janek, then turned, walked out and slammed the door. Janek stared after him.
So now the bomb squad's working on the goddamn thing. Do I mind? He decided that he didn't.
Mirror Madness Once, to frighten her, her father told her there was a creature called a Minotaur hiding in the maze. From that day she believed the creature was real. Over the years, in her mind it took many forms. Always it was malevolent… She knew at once that something was wrong. When she rang the bell the response was not Dr. Z's. Instead of his eccentric much-too-quick buzz followed by one much too long, she received a normal, rationally timed response that told her someone else was ringing back.
With trepidation, she pushed open the door, crossed the small foyer and entered the little waiting room.
She had just sat down in her usual chair, was scanning the table for new magazines, when she heard someone emerging from the office. She looked up to find herself facing a woman she had never seen before. This stranger middle-aged, slim, with handsome features and lovely glowing black-and-gray hair-showed her a warm smile.
"You're Gelsey, aren't you?" Gelsey nodded. "I'm Dr. Bernstein. I'm filling in for Dr. Zimmerman today."
The woman gestured for Gelsey to follow her into the office. Even as Gelsey complied she felt like fleeing. There was something about the woman's presence that filled her with dread.
Dr. Bernstein took Dr. Z's chair. "Please sit down, Gelsey," she said.
"We would have called you, but there was no phone number for you in the files." Gelsey stared at the masks on the opposite wall. The faces were taut, frozen, filled with foreboding.
"Something happened to him?"
Dr. Bernstein peered at her, as if measuring her ability to withstand a piece of devastating news.
"I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, Gelsey. Dr. Zimmerman had a heart attack over the weekend." The woman paused, then continued quietly. "Monday night he passed away."
No!
Even as Gelsey took in these terrible words, she choked on her denial.
NO!!
For a moment she wanted to grasp this strange woman's hands, tell her that what she'd said simply couldn't be true. But their chairs were too far apart, angled slightly from each other the way Dr. Zimmerman liked.
And then Gelsey felt a rush of panic as she grasped the enormity of her loss.
Dr. Z, who had tried so hard to help her, was now gone forever from her life. She would never again hear his soothing voice. Staring at his masks, she felt as if she were standing on a tightrope, safety line suddenly gone, precariously balanced above a great, dark, terrifying abyss.
"… we were close colleagues."
Dr. Bernstein was speaking. Gelsey, caught in a spiral of sorrow, tried hard to follow her words. he spoke often of you, Gelsey. He was fond of you, as I'm sure you know.
Sy Zimmerman was not a man to hide his feelings. With that magnificent man, you always knew where you stood."
Dr. Bernstein shook her head. Her grief was evident.
"All the patients are in great distress. He was such a gifted analyst.
I've been trying to meet as many of you as I can, to help you begin the important process of healing. If we mourn properly, we can mend ourselves and go on.
Sy would want that." She smiled. "I can just imagine him saying: ' on, Rebecca! Eat up that sorrow! Hurry, finish. Now… you're ready for your happiness, your dessert!" Dr. Bernstein paused. "The funeral, of course, couldn't wait. But there will be a memorial service later in the month. If you give me your address, I'll make certain you're notified.
All of Sy's patients are extremely welcome..
.." She peered at Gelsey. "It's hitting you now, isn't it?"
Gelsey realized she was weeping; she hadn't noticed before.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," she blurted. "We were going to talk about something so important today."
I ', Sy is gone, but he hasn't left you alone. There're several of us, close colleagues, ready to step in and help as best we can. I don't claim to be as gifted as Sy. He was my supervising analyst when I started out. The man gave to everyone-wife, children, students, patients. Now we must do what he would have wanted most-use what he gave us to grow stronger and continue our struggle with this marvelous, difficult process called life."
Gelsey liked Rebecca Bernstein. She was warm, perhaps even wise. But she could not imagine telling her the secrets she had shared with Dr. Z.
Nor could she imagine Dr. Bernstein imparting the same quality of solace. Sy (how strange now to recall him by a first name she had never used) had been ready to explore with her the secrets of the maze.
Looking closely now into Dr. Bernstein's friendly eyes, Gelsey asked herself. How could I even begin to explain?
But then she did begin. Suddenly the words began to tumble out. She wasn't aware at first of how fast she was speaking or how intimate was her torrent. It was all a jumble, the story of her life, fractured into pieces and then rearranged like the shards of broken mirrors she now applied to the surfaces of her paintings:
Her father, handsome, the charmer, the maze-maker, hitting the road with his tacky trailer, his funky fun-house mirror-maze-on-wheels. Traveling the carnival circuit, then returning to work on his great creation, his private labyrinth, secret work of art.
Her mother, depressed carnival worker, eyes wet, skin damp, sitting forlorn in the window, waiting, waiting… for her husband to return.
The world of mirrors. Mirror-madness times. Reflections that don't show you who you are. A dream-sister in mirror space. Mirrorworld. The mockery of mirrors. Their cruelty. Infinite corridors. Galleries of images. Slices of her face, body, soul. Crooked crazy-house mirrors in the Corridor of Distortion. The sinuous, diabolical Fragmentation Serpent with its body-breaking mirrors and parabolic mouth that flips you upside down. The untouchable, unreachable attractions in the Chamber of Unobtainable Ecstasy. The Great Hall of Infinite Deceptions with its seductive multimirrored walls. Disassociations. Shadow-work.
Her double-delusion mirror-fantasy incest-secret. The forbidden mysteries hidden in the concealed chambers of angled silvered glass.
Mirror sex. A Leering Man with a devil's grin. "You bitch! You slut!"
Kisses that branded her pale, pale skin. How she knew all about men, their fantasies, their weaknesses, how she could turn them on at will.