Breakdown

Chapter 44

Ten-minute drive, a side street I’d passed thousands of times.

Miss one shred of information and you might as well be on another planet.

The neighborhood began with unobtrusive houses on pleasant, gently winding streets. The address Maureen Bolt had provided took me another mile east, into a section of older, larger structures.

My destination was a two-story whiteboard colonial with a brick motor court and green-shuttered windows. A silver Porsche 911 and a copper-colored Volvo station wagon shared the court. Behind the house rose a fifty-foot crown of Aleppo pines, evoking Enid DePauw’s forest-shrouded poison patch.

It didn’t take much to make me think of that.

The woman who stood in the doorway wore a white silk tunic patterned with pink flowers, black leggings, and silver sandals. Sixtyish, amply hipped, she had a pink-cheeked pixie face capped by steel-gray hair. Average height; in heels she’d have towered over Lou.

She had a hand out well before I got out of the Seville. Soft skin, just enough firmness to her grip.

“Thanks for coming, Alex. Nice to have a face to go with the name.”

She ushered me into a two-story foyer topped by a bronze chandelier. Down three steps was a living room set up with overstuffed furniture and cane-backed chairs, everything directed toward a fireplace with a book-topped mantel. Art consisted of a few rainy Paris street scenes, the kind of stuff relegated to the final lots of obscure auctions. Crimson-and-olive-striped drapes were drawn across the rear wall, blocking the only windows and dimming the entire house.

Funereal; that seemed an odd choice for a cheerful woman and I wondered about it as Maureen Bolt guided me up a short hallway. A couple more paintings — flowers in vases. I found myself surprised by the capital-T traditional décor.

What had I expected? Acoma pottery and a Hanukkah lamp?

She stopped at the first open door. “Here we are.”

Stepping aside, she waved me into a birch-paneled study lined with books. Another fireplace, the surround green marble, hosted a collection of Japanese vases. A writing desk sat atop a worn Persian rug, its weathered leather surface hosting a blotter and a pipe rack. Shutters were drawn. Soft light came from two floor lamps. A tufted red leather chesterfield faced a brown leather couch not unlike mine. Lou had seen patients here.

A man sat in the center of the couch and for one absurd moment I wondered if I’d been beckoned to treat someone.

He stood, looked straight at me, and tried to smile.

Maureen Bolt said, “Alex, this is Derek Sherman, Lou’s nephew. Derek, Dr. Delaware. I’ll leave you to it.”

Once she’d left and closed the door, the office felt smaller.

Derek Sherman said, “Nice to meet you, Doctor.” Brief handshake; his palm was damp.

I said, “Same here,” and studied him. His appearance had already triggered a storm of possibilities.

Forty or so, small and spare like Lou, with an unlined bronze face under dense, black, side-parted hair. Round-lens pewter eyeglasses framed wide black eyes. A stubble goatee, compulsively shaped and flecked with gray, emphasized a firm chin. His cheekbones were set high and cleanly defined. He wore a black polo shirt, tapered seersucker pants, brown deck shoes with fresh white soles. The gold watch on his right wrist looked expensive. So did the diamond wedding band on his left hand.

A well-put-together man, the kind who’d look neat and composed without much effort. Today, beads of sweat had collected alongside his nose and his lips ticced.

He said, “I guess you should take the chair. That’s where Uncle sat.”

I said, “When he saw patients.”

“That and just being Uncle. When I was younger and came here for family things, he’d joke about it. ‘Got a problem, kid? Take a load off and get some free therapy.’ He had a great sense of humor.”

“He did.”

Derek Sherman winced. “He’s my only uncle. Was. My dad was his younger brother. Not a doctor, a truck driver. He’s gone, too. So is my mom.”

His shoulders dropped, as if recalled loss suddenly weighed on him. He sat back down, in the precise spot he’d occupied when I arrived. I took the tufted chair.

“I’m sure it was a surprise, Auntie Mo calling you. That article in the paper made me realize I needed to do something.”

He exhaled. “I’m Ovid’s dad. He’s fine. I wanted you to know.”

I was seated but felt as if I were falling. Taking time to order my thoughts, failing and talking through the buzz, I said, “That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

“He seems to be doing okay. With his mother’s death, I mean. Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe you can tell me what I should look for. I knew about you, should’ve contacted you sooner, but there didn’t seem to be a reason... it’s complicated.”

Pressing his palms together, he sat up straighter. “Uncle was a dedicated psychiatrist but now you understand that his interest in Zelda and Ovid went beyond that. That’s the reason he consulted you all those years ago — I guess I should backtrack. If you want to know the whole story.”

“I do if you’re comfortable talking about it.”

“Normally,” said Derek Sherman, “I wouldn’t be, I’m a private person but Uncle made me comfortable talking about it. Insisted I deal with it properly. And he was right. So sure, I’ll tell you. This must’ve been rough for you. I’m sorry. You deserve to understand.”

He got up, walked to the desk, removed a briar from the pipe rack, sat back down and began rubbing the burnished wooden bowl.

“I used to come in here and he’d let me do this, I loved the feel of these things. The smell of the place, back when Uncle smoked. One time, I was probably eight, everyone was out back and I snuck in and loaded up with tobacco and tried to light up. When Uncle found me I was sick to my stomach from sucking in fumes... all right, the short version: I’m Ovid’s dad but Zelda and I never had a relationship.”

He looked away, passed the pipe from hand to hand, began waving it in tiny concentric circles. “There’s no way to make it sound better than it was. It was a one-night stand.”

His eyes swung back to me.

I said, “It happens.”

“I appreciate you being a professional. Like Uncle, trained to suspend judgment.”

He inhaled slowly, let his breath out quickly. “I’m an architect, used to work at a firm in the Bay Area, got assigned to a project down here. Tasting room in Malibu for a big Napa winery. I was commuting back and forth but when it got too late, I’d stay at a single in Santa Monica my bosses rented for me. Not near the beach, the basics, pretty depressing. I was lonely, unattached, had never been much of a bar person but I began trying various lounges. Fantasizing about meeting women, even just for company. I wasn’t too successful, socializing isn’t my strong point. The night I met Zelda I was pretty low. Overworked, dealing with egos and an unrealistic budget. I decided to kick it up and went to the lounge at the Loews Hotel, which was close to my apartment but a little intimidating, size-wise and cost-wise. Zelda was at the next table, also alone. I know it sounds trite but our eyes met and there was some kind of chemistry. She was gorgeous, way above my pay grade, but something about her smile relaxed me. A gentleness. And she wasn’t dressed like a party girl. Simple blouse and skirt, I figured her for an office worker. Anyway, our eyes kept meeting and finally I built up the courage to ask her to join me and she did. She was easy to talk to — actually, that’s not accurate. She didn’t talk much and didn’t make me feel I had to, which was even better. Sweet and quiet, a little spacey — I’d say something and she didn’t seem to hear. But the main thing was no attitude. I tended to get intimidated back then. My dad wasn’t like Uncle Lou. He was a rough character.”

He placed the pipe on a seat cushion. “I’m getting off topic. Zelda and I had a couple of drinks, she told me she was an actress looking for work but didn’t know if she had what it took. I said I was sure she did and that really seemed to matter to her, suddenly she’s hugging me and kissing my cheek. Not sexual, more like gratitude. But then we were holding hands and I asked her if she wanted to go back to my place and to my amazement, she did. We... no need to get into details. When I woke up, she was gone and I felt let down but then I figured that was L.A., actresses were flighty. She was gorgeous, I thought about her for a while but eventually put her out of my mind.”

He picked up the pipe, rotated it. A speck of something fell out. He retrieved it from the seat cushion, got up and dropped it in a leather wastebasket.

“Five years later,” he said, “she called me out of the blue. At my office — by then I was living down here, running my own firm in Encino, two people working for me. I’d told her my name and it wasn’t hard to find me in the phone book.”

“That must have been some surprise.”

“I nearly fell out of my chair. My situation was different. I’d been married for two years to a woman I totally loved and still do. Anne’s also an architect, we met bidding on a job, began as friends and eventually it became more.”

He inhaled and exhaled again. “When Zelda called, Anne was six months’ pregnant. Our daughter will be four next month. Dorothy, after Anne’s mom, we call her Dolly... what I’m trying to get across, Dr. Delaware, is my life was on an even keel when I got the call from Zelda. Even though it started off casual, I figured for some reason she wanted to hook up again. I listened and she told me she’d made it as an actress, was on a TV show. I said, Great. But then she told me I was a father. From the one night we were together. A boy, five, she named him Ovid after a romantic poet. She never got in touch because she felt she should take total responsibility. But now she wasn’t feeling so well and was worried about Ovid and since I’m his dad...”

He looked away. “Then she apologized. Then she cried for a long time. I was floored. How do you deal with something like that? I said nothing, too stunned, and it made her upset and she said forget it, she’d figure something out and all of a sudden I was telling her I needed to take responsibility, too. Meanwhile, I’m thinking she’s probably wrong, a woman that beautiful she’d have tons of guys, I’ll get a DNA test, that’ll be the end of it. I took her number and told her I’d be in touch. Then I had to figure out how to explain it to Anne. I didn’t, right away, why burden her, the whole thing would fizzle out. But acting normal when I got home was a challenge, Doctor, let me tell you. I waited until she went to sleep and went online to see if what Zelda said about being on a show was truthful. I guess I wanted her to be a liar. But there she was on video, doing a pretty good job, I thought. The next morning I phoned Uncle Lou and we met in his office. Not this one, the one he kept in a medical building, also Encino.”

“I’ve been there.”

“I know you have. Uncle’s always been the one I turned to and he helped me sort it out. First step was a paternity test and I was to pay for it. Ovid shouldn’t be involved directly, Uncle would make sure to get a cheek swab. But he wanted Zelda to be there, so he could evaluate her. Also, he said, it was more respectful to her, she was a person no matter what the result was. Especially because she’d said she was ill.”

He paused. “That’s the kind of man he was.”

I said, “I know.”

“A few days later, Uncle arranged for Ovid to be swabbed at his pediatrician — they made up some kind of story — and he picked up the sample and delivered it to the lab when Zelda and I were there. She was more beautiful than ever and extremely nice — but nervous. We both were but we managed to talk pleasantly. Uncle Lou also spoke to her and they seemed to like each other. He asked if she had a photo of Ovid and she had several on her phone. The moment I saw Ovid’s face, I knew the test was unnecessary.”

“The resemblance was strong.” My thought, the moment I’d met him.

“Unbelievable,” he said. “It was strange, seeing someone who looked exactly like I had when I was his age. Anyway, the results were to be expected and now Zelda and I and Uncle Lou had to figure out what to do.”

He put his glasses back on. “And now I did need to tell Anne.”

I said, “That had to be tough.”

“Actually, what turned out to be tough was worrying about it, she was great. She said just what you did: It happens. Still, I worried. Here she was, about to have her own child, would it not be as special? As it turned out, there was no issue. Because of Zelda’s illness. Anne and I ended up being Ovid’s parents and it brought more love out of Anne, she adored having two.”

“When did you find out about the nature of Zelda’s illness?”

“After the test results came in, Zelda did a total about-face and said she didn’t want me in the picture. I was confused and upset, had started thinking about being a dad to Ovid. Uncle Lou told me he’d handle it. I told him it was my problem, at some point I needed to step up and take care of my own affairs. That’s when he told me about Zelda’s illness. She’d reached out to him and he’d had several sessions with her and knew what was going on. Nothing physical, she knew she was breaking down mentally. Uncle agreed and told me I needed to face the possibility that she’d grow worse and that I would have to eventually take care of Ovid no matter what she said now. Meanwhile, she was fragile so challenging her was a real bad idea.”

“He wasn’t hopeful.”

“He said he’d do his best to treat her, she might get better, there was no way to know. The point was, at that stage, between her job and taking care of Ovid, she had enough to deal with, a custody battle would be cruel and inhuman. So I talked to Anne and we decided to concentrate on our own lives. It bothered me, first I have a son, then I’m being kept away from him. But then Dolly came and we had our hands full — she was colicky.”

He gripped the pipe with both hands. His knuckles whitened. The stem snapped in two.

“Oh, no, this was his favorite!”

His eyes were wet. I took the pieces of the pipe, placed them on the desk, scooted my chair closer. “What an ordeal to go through, Derek. Did Lou keep you posted on Zelda’s mental health?”

“I asked him but he refused, confidentiality issues. That made me upset but I knew he was right.”

He licked his lips. “I still thought of Ovid but I kept it that way. I thought. Then Uncle called me and said the time might be growing near.”

“When was that?”

“A couple of months before he died, so a little over two years ago. But then he got too sick to deal with it and I didn’t hear from Zelda or see her until the funeral. Which she wasn’t invited to, it was just a small family affair, a cremation. But somehow she found out. And she looked flat-out crazy, standing off to the side, dressed weird, muttering to herself. I tried to talk to her, she started ranting. Something about her mother, evil people had been conspiring against her since she was born. What I assumed was paranoia, it made me worry about Ovid’s safety so I told Anne I needed to deal with her and got Zelda to drive with me to the other side of the cemetery, a quiet spot, where we talked. I thought she’d freak out when I told her my concerns. Just the opposite, she thanked me and tried to hug and kiss me. She didn’t smell good. She didn’t look good. It was awkward but I knew I couldn’t reject her. So I let her kiss me. Not on the lips, just on the cheek, she really smelled sour. We arranged for her to bring Ovid with her, along with his things. To my office, the next day. I wanted to do it right then but she refused. Wouldn’t let me see where she lived, so I had no choice.”

He swiped at his eyes.

“I was messed up, Doctor. Certain she’d never follow through, should I hire a private detective, get into a struggle? Uncle was no longer there to guide me. I waited for her at my office and amazingly, she showed up. It was the first time I’d seen Ovid in the flesh. His worldly belongings were in two big black garbage bags. She looked homeless but she’d dressed him in clean clothes. His hair was untrimmed and he looked stunned and refused to talk and later we found out his teeth had been neglected, he needed vaccinations, he had ringworm. He asked to go to the bathroom and I showed him where it was. When I got back, Zelda was gone. Poor little guy, he just stood there, so small, so afraid. But he let me take him home. And he’s been there ever since.”

“My God,” I said.

“It was a challenge, Dr. Delaware. But Ovid, God bless him, made it easy. No tears, no tantrums and when he saw Dolly, he smiled and she ran right up to him — she’s a gregarious girl, more like her mom — and that’s the way it’s been. Anne was obviously shocked, but she rebounded, she always does. So now we’re a family and Ovid goes to the local public school and gets fantastic grades, he’s really smart. But I don’t delude myself he’s unscathed. The only time he smiles is when he’s with Dolly. Never when he’s with me or Anne. He’s obedient but probably too obedient. And he doesn’t have much in the way of friends, just likes to be by himself and build and draw. Then again, I was like that.”

“What have you told him about Zelda’s death?”

“Anne and I both sat down with him. We didn’t tell him she’d been murdered, only that she’d gotten sick and passed. He listened and said she’d been sick for a long time. As if he’d been expecting it. An eleven-year-old shouldn’t expect that, should they, Dr. Delaware? And one day, he will learn the truth about what happened to her. I’m not sure when that should be and neither is Anne. And with Uncle gone... we could use some help, Dr. Delaware. Uncle had confidence in you, I wish I would’ve talked to you sooner. I mentioned your name to Ovid. He remembers you. Said you didn’t bother him. From him, that’s high praise.”

I said, “Happy to help.”

“That’s incredibly gracious of you, Doctor. He’s our son — both of ours — and we love him.”

“Let’s set it up.”

“It’s kind of... potentially set up, Dr. Delaware. If you don’t mind.”

“Mind what?”

He stood. “Please follow me.”