“Dancing,” I said, trying to picture it. “So her physical coordination was okay?”
“Adequate. Which is all anyone needs for the dances they do today.” He flapped his arms and made a grotesque face. “Betty and I used to dance seriously. Long-forgotten baroque and classical terpsichore- gavottes, minuets. Steps that really required virtuosity. We were quite a pair.”
Drifting back, inevitably, to self-congratulation. Feeling as if I needed a thick rope to tug things back to Holly, I said, “Did you ever consider medication- Ritalin or something similar?”
“Not after I read up on the effects of long-term amphetamine usage. Stunted growth. Anorexia. Possible brain damage. The last thing Holly needed was more brain damage. Besides, she wasn’t hyperactive- more on the lethargic side, actually. Preferred to sleep late, loll in bed. I’m an early riser.”
“Did she have periods of emotional depression?”
He dismissed that with a wave. “Her mood was fine. She just lacked energy. At first I thought it might be nutritional- something to do with blood sugar or her thyroid. But all her blood tests were normal.”
Blood tests. Half-expecting him to answer that he’d punctured her vein himself, I said, “Did your family doctor have any suggestions when he gave you the results?”
“Never had a family doctor. Never needed one. I took both of them, Howard and Holly, to the Public Health Service for their blood work. For their immunizations too. Told the civil servants there that I suspected some kind of contagious infection. It’s their responsibility to check that kind of thing, so they were forced to do it. I figured I might as well get something back for my tax dollars.”
Genuine glee at dissembling. How much of what he told me about anything could be believed?
“Who managed their childhood diseases? Where did you take them when they had fevers and needed antibiotics?”
“They were very healthy children, rarely ran high fevers. The few times they did, I brought it down with aspirin, fluids- exactly what a doctor would tell me to do. The couple of times they needed penicillin, they got it from the Health Service. Measles passed them by. Chicken pox and mumps I managed according to the books- genuine medical books. The Physician’s Desk Reference. I can read instructions as well as any doctor.”
“Self-sufficiency,” I said.
“Exactly. In some quarters, that’s still considered worth-while.”
Trumpeting his achievements had made his Mr. Peepers persona fade completely. He looked belligerent, flushed, somehow bigger, huskier. A bantam cock swelling as he scanned the barnyard for rivals.
Changing the subject, I said, “There’s quite an age difference between Holly and Howard.”
“Eleven years. And yes, she was an unplanned child. But not an unwanted one. When Betty learned she was pregnant, she was surprised but happy. And that’s saying a lot, because she wasn’t a healthy woman- bleeding ulcers, irritable bowel syndrome. I don’t know if you’re familiar with that, but she suffered from problem flatulence, very bad chronic pain. Nevertheless, she carried on like a trooper, nursed Holly for eleven months- exactly the time we’d allotted to Howard. She was an excellent mother, very patient.”
“How was Holly affected by her death?”
“Quite severely, I’d assume.”
“Assume?”
“Assume. With Holly there was no way of knowing how she really felt about anything, because she didn’t talk, didn’t express herself very well.”
“Did she attend the funeral?”
“Yes, she did. I had one of the mortuary attendants watch over her in a room off the chapel during the service and when we went out to the grave. Afterwards I sat down with her and explained what had happened. She stared at me, didn’t say anything, cried just a bit, and then walked away. Out to the lawn. To sit. Spin her fantasies. I let her do it for a while, then took her home. A couple of times I heard her crying at night, but when I went in she stopped and rolled away and refused to discuss it with me.”
“How did you explain to her what had happened?”
“I told her her mother had been very sick. She knew that- she’d seen Betty take to bed. I said she’d gone into the hospital to be treated for her stomachaches but that the doctors had been stupid and made mistakes and they’d killed her with their stupidity and we’d have to go on without her and be strong. That we were still a family and would carry on as a family.”
“Your wife’s death was due to medical malpractice?”
He looked at me as if I were in the “dull normal” range. “The woman had a nonfatal condition, Doctor. She bled to death on the operating table, in the presence of a full surgical team.”
“Did you pursue it legally?”
He gave a sharp, mocking laugh. “I talked to a couple of attorneys, but they wouldn’t take the case. Supposedly it wasn’t cut and dried enough, given her prior medical history. The truth was, they had more than their share of whiplashes. They didn’t want to bet their contingency fees on something that required some real research. I suppose I could have found some ambulance chaser to take it on, but at the time I had other things on my mind. Two children to raise, a business to run- I was doing all direct-mailing back then, still building up my lists. Much more labor-intensive than it is today. So I needed all my energy for that.”
“It must have been a difficult time for you.
“Not really. I attacked it systematically, kept everything organized. Howard stayed on the straight-A track.” He stopped. “Still, I suppose the way Holly turned out was partly my fault.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I have an impressive array of intellectual skills and talents but I wasn’t successful in communicating them to her- in getting her going on some sort of goal-oriented program. She persistently shut me out and I allowed it, because I didn’t want to be cruel. So perhaps I was too kind.” He shrugged. “Of course hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?”
Luxuriating in bogus confession.
Despite my aversion to snap diagnoses, a diagnostic label kept creeping into my mind:
Narcissistic personality disorder. Pathological egotism.
It fit. Even with the way he’d chosen to make a living. Beauty and Balance. Access and Excel. The catalogue was a paean to narcissism. I was willing to bet he’d put his brainchild ahead of his children. Put himself ahead of everyone and everything.
I tried to imagine what it would have been like to be one of his children, and my sympathy for Holly climbed another rung.
“So,” he said, “we seem to be doing well. What else can I help you with, Doctor?”
“How did Howard and Holly get along?”
“Very well- no fights.”
“Did they have much to do with each other?”
“Not much. Howard was busy with his activities- studies, extracurricular clubs- and Holly stayed in her room. That’s not to say he didn’t love her- he was always concerned about her, if a bit baffled.”
“How’s he holding up?”
“Like a trooper.”
“Is he married?”
“Of course. Has a big house in Encino, south of the boulevard. One lovely daughter, sharp as a tack. They’re all holding up like troopers. Go visit them, see for yourself. You really should, now that I think about it. Do speak with Howard.”
Sounding urgent.
Go talk to my intelligent child. The one that came out good.
I said, “What about friends?”
“Holly? No, she didn’t have any. When she was very young I remember a few neighborhood children coming over. They made noise and bothered my work and I had to shoo them outside. But eventually that stopped. Holly wasn’t much for group play.”
“When did it stop?”
He thought about that. “What you want me to say is that everything changed after her mother died, right? But in terms of the friend situation, I’m afraid I can’t be that definite. In fact I’m almost certain she lacked playmates well before Betty’s death. She wasn’t much of a playmate herself, liked to go off on her own and leave her little guests in the lurch.”