Jason started thinking that it wasn't a good idea for a therapist to be
totally rigid.
One had to be innovative from time to time, in dire emergencies. And besides, this guy was pissing him off.
"Mr. Popescu, you're a lawyer. You know much better than I do the legal implications of your case.
You had a baby, but no papers for the baby. Your fingerprints are on the weapon that injured your wife."
"Shut up. How can you say this? Who told you this? This is a pack of lies. I have all the appropriate papers. Anyway, I don't have to produce any fucking papers. And I didn't hurt my wife. I've never touched her in anger. I would never, absolutely never, never hit my wife with a broomstick."
"Who said it was a broomstick?"
"It was lying on the floor next to her. It was a fucking broomstick. You think I'm stupid? The thing had blood all over it and I picked it up. Jesus." Anton's voice broke. Jason could hear him crying. "Jesus. I picked it up. Okay, maybe I was stupid to touch it. It doesn't mean I hit her with it. Jesus, I never thought anybody would think I hit her with it."
"Somebody did."
Anton's voice got very low. "I saved her fucking life. Don't you understand, I save her twice. She was a nothing, and now she's ruined my whole life."
"Mr. Popescu, I'm glad you shared this with me. I'm concerned that when Heather recovers, she may be at risk for suicide. You did tell me she'd hurt herself in the past."
Anton sucked in his breath. "Yes."
"Why don't we get together and talk? Maybe I can help you."
"I don't need help." Anton wasn't an easy person to talk to.
"The police aren't going away until the baby is found. Don't you want to find Paul?"
"I don't see how—"
"How about my office?" Jason suggested.
"I'm not a nutcase. I'm not going to any fucking shrink's office."
"If you come to my office, no one will see you. We'll be able to talk privately." "The cops have gone. They left an hour ago."
"What cops?"
"They tapped my phone. It's probably still tapped. Better watch what you say."
"I have nothing to hide," Jason said, but he was shaken by the idea of cops taping the call. He wondered if the Popescus' apartment was bugged as well. He wouldn't put it past NYPD.
"This has to be confidential," Anton was saying.
"Of course," Jason assured him. Too bad, April.
"Oh, shit, just come to my apartment."
"No problem. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Then Jason called Emma to tell her he'd be late.
Fifteen minutes later a short, fat woman opened the Popescus' front door, looked him over with a sour expression, and disappeared without a word. Jason stood in the foyer until Anton's voice directed him.
"Come in here."
Jason followed the sound into the living room, which had the look of a professional decorator. Anton was sprawled on one of the green-and-white chintz sofas with his shirt collar open. He looked bad. He picked up the bottle of scotch sitting on the table beside him and refreshed his drink, making a point of not offering any to Jason. "What do I call you?" he demanded.
"You can call me Dr. Frank," Jason said.
"Dr. Frank," Anton mimicked. "I hate fucking shrinks, did I tell you that?"
"I didn't come here to be abused." Jason looked around for a stereo to turn on. He didn't see one, decided not to worry about a bug.
"I'm a nice guy. I don't abuse people," Anton was telling him, not for the first time.
"You've said that before." Jason sat in a club chair without being asked. Already he was regretting the visit. Anton had clearly downed more than a few and wasn't in the mood to cooperate.
"My mother-in-law is here," he said bitterly. "Twenty-eight years in America and she still speaks only about three words of English. It freaks me. The father burps and drinks like a fish. This is the family I married into."
"Are they staying here with you?"
"They're not here yet. But yeah, I'm sure. Can you believe this? I didn't say they could come. If I weren't such a nice guy I wouldn't let them stay here, now would I?"
"How's Heather?"
Anton drank some scotch. "I'm so tense. I want my son. What's anybody doing about it? Nothing."
"How's Heather?"
"I don't know. They won't let me see her," he complained bitterly. "I just don't get it. They say she's all right, but they won't let me in. It's the fucking cops. I'm going to sue the city for this."
Jason didn't say anything.
"You want to know if I hit her, don't you? Well, I didn't hit her." Anton looked at Jason. "Want a drink?"
Jason shook his head.
"I'm offering you a drink. Have a drink," Anton insisted.
"I'm fine," Jason assured him.
"What's the matter, isn't my scotch good enough for you?"
Jason acknowledged the expensive, unpronounceable single-malt label. "It's a very good scotch."
"Damn straight. So don't insult me, have a fucking drink," Anton insisted.
"You like to get your way," Jason observed mildly.
"What are you talking about? I'm being nice.
You're being an asshole. How do you expect me to talk to an asshole?" He glared.
"What if I don't want a drink?"
"That's not the point."
"To get along with you I have to do what you want me to do, is that the deal?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You have an aggressive way of getting your points across."
"What do you want from my miserable life? I didn't hurt my son. I didn't hit my wife. I could kill the bastard who did this to us."
Jason shifted in his chair. "Who
is
the bastard who did this to you?"
Anton looked uncertain for a moment, then shook himself. "How would I know?"
"Okay, let's go backward a little bit. Let's talk about you and Heather in happier times."
Anton relaxed a little. "What do you want to know?"
"What attracted you to your wife in the first place?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"It's a background kind of question, exploring your feelings about each other, your issues."
"She adores me," Anton said, playing with the pants crease along one thigh.
"How did you two get together? What did you like about her? You went to Yale, right? There must have been a lot of girls to choose from. What made her special to you?"
"Well, that's a good one, isn't it?" Anton looked out the window. "Oh, God." He shook his head. "She was there, wasn't she? That meant she had to be different."
"Different from—?"
He jerked his head as if anybody should know. "The JOBs."
Jason frowned. "The what?"
"Just off the Boats. Everybody calls them that."
"She was an educated Chinese girl, born here, is that what you mean?"
"Yeah, she talked like us. I thought . . . you know, she was like us."
"How did you meet her?"
"I don't know. I don't remember. Yeah, I do. She was a freshman. She had a class and she was wandering around lost. I gave her directions."
"You liked her looks."
"Well, she had that blunt dykey haircut a lot of them have, but, yeah, I thought she was kind of cute."
"Was she your first Chinese girlfriend?"
Anton balled the fist that wasn't holding his drink. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The choice of a mate has meaning, that's all. I just wondered what the meaning was to you."
"My family. They're all bigots, you know. I was the smart one, had to get out of the family business. There wasn't room for three of us in the business, and, like I said, I was the smart one. So I went to law school. Hell, I wouldn't want to do what they do, anyway. They work with shit; everything they touch turns to shit."
"What do you mean?"
"They're my relatives, but let's face it, they're fucking morons. Look at this mess."