Free Fall

14

Dr. Rosen looks up from the phone with an embarrassed smile, then raises his hand to let us know he won’t be on the phone very much longer.

“Well, that’s terrific, Michael. It’ll be great to see you again.”

“We wrapped our final episode last night. Thought it might be fun to spend some time with you. Whip those gals of yours into shape.”

“Hiya, Michael!” This from Monae, who has come back into the dining room with a raisin bagel slathered with peanut butter.

“Hiya, sweetheart. You taking good care of my pops?”

“Your pops? Sorry, Michael. Christine and me? We’re adopting him.”

Michael laughs. Dr. Rosen laughs. Ceepak and I smile. It’s a regular Hallmark moment.

“And Dad?” says Michael. “Andrew and I have some exciting news to share with you.”

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“Uh, uh, uh. No cheating. I need to tell you this news in person.”

“Very well. Will Andrew be coming with you?”

There is a long pause.

“No, Dad. Andrew is busy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Well, give him my best. I’m sorry we won’t get the chance to see him this trip, but I understand-professional commitments come first.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Okay, I’m not a voice analysis expert, but Michael Rosen doesn’t sound as happy as he did two minutes ago.

“Love you, son,” says Dr. Rosen.

“See you next Friday,” says Michael. And then he must jab a button on his phone because we’re hearing nothing but dial tone.

Dr. Rosen holds out the telephone. Monae takes it.

“It’s this button here, sir. The red one with the little phone picture on it. That turns it off.”

“Thank you, Monae.” Dr. Rosen wheels a couple inches closer to Ceepak and me. “So sorry to keep you fellows waiting. That was my youngest son, Michael. A very important television producer out in Hollywood. Very successful. Six Emmy Awards. Several other professional citations. You’re Adele Ceepak’s son John, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s shown me photographs. And let me just say, she is extremely proud of you.”

“And I of her, sir.”

“Attaboy. Good for you. Monae?”

“Yes, Arnie?”

“Have you offered our guests a glass of lemonade or, perhaps, a Stewart’s root beer?”

She turns to us. “You want a root beer or lemonade?”

“No, thank you,” says Ceepak.

I hold up my hand. “I’m good.”

“You want a bagel, Arnie?”

“We have bagels?”

“The policemen brought ’em. They’re warm.”

“Yes, dear. A bagel would be nice.”

Monae leaves again. She has a sassy way of walking out a door. Reminds me of the motion of the ocean.

“So, gentlemen,” says Dr. Rosen, “you are conversant with Christine’s unfortunate situation, I take it?”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“However,” says Ceepak, “to be clear, we are here this morning only as concerned individuals. We are not operating in our official law-enforcement capacities.”

“Of course, of course.” Dr. Rosen shakes his head. “I can’t believe Judge Guarnery signed the TRO. He used to be a patient of mine. Worst overbite I ever saw.”

“Well, sir, the TRO is only the first step in the process. Even when a Temporary Restraining Order is issued under a judge’s signature, there must be a hearing on the complaint within ten days.”

“And do you gentlemen have any suggestions as to how Christine can best prepare for this hearing?”

“It might be advisable for her lawyer to subpoena the police report for the incident in question. Request any and all available evidence gathered at the scene.”

I grin. Ceepak’s hinting at those neck photos I took.

Dr. Rosen sighs. “Her lawyer. Unfortunately, young Miss Lemonopolous is not in a financial position to retain competent counsel. She simply can’t match Mrs. Oppenheimer’s monetary resources. And I can’t loan her the money, as I can’t be seen as taking her side in this matter-not if I wish to keep the peace with my daughter-in-law, Judith.”

“Who’s Mrs. Oppenheimer’s sister,” I say.

“Ah. I see you are aware of my predicament. I do, of course, have several friends at temple who are lawyers, highly respected members of the bar. I myself work with Steven Robins, a senior partner at Bernhardt, Hutchens, and Catherman. However, as I stated, I can’t really assist Christine without incurring the justified wrath of my son’s wife, Judith.”

“We’re thinking about hiring Harvey Nussbaum,” says Ceepak.

Dr. Rosen nods. “An excellent if prohibitively expensive idea.”

“My mother has offered to pay Ms. Lemonopolous’s legal bills.”

“Really? That’s extremely generous. But if I may, why would she be willing to do such a thing?”

I almost say “Because of this antique needlepoint thing her dead aunt gave her,” but I don’t.

“Because,” says Ceepak, “what Mrs. Oppenheimer is attempting to do offends my mother’s innate sense of justice. Mrs. Oppenheimer has to know that if this restraining order sticks, if Christine cannot have it expunged from her record, it will be impossible for her to ever return to her former job at Mainland Medical.”

“You are correct,” says Dr. Rosen. “If Christine loses this fight, her career and, quite possibly, her life will be ruined. It is a mitzvah, what your mother is doing.”

According to my friend, Joe Getzler, a mitzvah is a good deed done from religious duty. And according to Joe, it doesn’t matter which religion, either.

The front door opens.

Christine, smiling brightly, comes into the dining room.

“Ah, Christine!” says Dr. Rosen. “Good news. It seems, my dear, that you have found your guardian angel!”