Tracking Time

Ten

Almost as soon as Jason had finished talking with April, he was sorry about involving the police in the Maslow situation before looking into it a little further himself. As the morning progressed, several explanations occurred to him. Maslow was on staff at Manhattan East, a psychiatric hospital. An emergency there-a suicide, or some other crisis, could easily have kept him busy all night. Maslow might well have been on call last night. Jason forgot to mention that to April, and later felt a little ashamed of himself for using a police detective as his own private investigator.

Jason's anxiety about what he'd done was transmitted to his first three patients. He was supposed to maintain the highest level of interest in the most detailed of accounts of his patients' daily lives. As soon as his attention wavered, and the precious empathic bond was severed, his patients always retaliated. He understood this, but he was human and these comments often got to him despite all he knew.

That morning, between nine and eleven, Jason took three direct hits from nuclear warheads. From his eight o'clock-a young woman who had a great job and many suitors but felt numb and hopeless inside-he learned that he was a cold and selfish man who used to be good-looking and well groomed but was now a depressing slug who would never have the love of anybody worthwhile. Like herself.

"You remind me so much of a man I went out with, Tony Ramero, who was a premature ejaculator," she said.

Jason's eight-forty-five patient, a bazillionaire who kept trying to pay Jason with his Centurion American Express card for the free air miles, was scornful of Jason's tendency to buy four identical blue and red ties for twenty-eight dollars from vendors on the street. "You're some cheap bastard. I bet you never go to a decent restaurant," he charged.

Jason did go to decent restaurants and liked his ties. He didn't reply as he wanted to: We all have our money issues.

At quarter to ten Jason called April Woo to tell her about Maslow's hospital job. She wasn't there. The thought that she might be looking for a man who was at work made him feel really guilty. He went next door to say hello to Emma and the other April. He played with his beautiful baby for a few minutes. She gurgled her baby secrets, drooling into his ear, then spit up on his shoulder when he kissed her good-bye. Jason's ten o'clock patient remarked that he smelled of throw-up again, then announced that he was sick and tired of Jason's hangovers.

"You look like shit. Circles under your eyes, shirt coming out of your pants. A spot on your shirt. You're a mess. You should see somebody about this." This from a guy who made daily cocktails out of every prescription upper and downer known to man and considered a drug-free day one when all he did was smoke pot from morning to night.

April Woo called just when he was on his way out to teach a class on transference to psychiatric residents at the medical school. He was in his office bathroom with the water on, scrubbing the spit-up out of his shirt. After drenching himself trying to get the water off in time to catch the phone, he launched into his apology.

"Thanks for returning my call. I'm really sorry about bothering you with the Atkins thing. I've been thinking about it, and I forgot to tell you he may have been on call last night. If you haven't gotten to it yet-"

"I'm on it now."

April's deadpan voice jolted him. "What's up?"

"It appears that your student, Atkins, went home around seven, changed his clothes, then went out for a jog. The doorman in his building says he met a young girl and they went into the park together. He didn't come back to his apartment last night."

"Hmmm." Jason dabbed at his wet shirt with a towel.

"Did he have a girlfriend, Jason? Maybe he had a change of clothes at her place."

"Ah, I don't know."

"Family?"

"I don't know much about his private life."

"I thought you were his supervisor," she said accusingly.

"I am."

"How do you supervise them if you don't know what their countertransference issues are?"

"Jesus, April, how do you know about that?" Jason was stunned by the insight.

"I'm a supervisor myself, Jason. You think you own psychology?"

"Ah, this is different. Analytic candidates don't talk to their supervisors about their private lives. They talk to their training analysts about their private lives. They talk to me about their patients' lives."

"Uh-huh, so this missing candidate of yours has two psychoanalysts, one for himself and one for his patients? Who's in charge of the two of them? Anybody know the whole story?"

"No, it's complicated. His own analyst keeps to strict confidentiality-" Jason broke off, knowing it must sound a little strange.

"So, what did you talk about with this guy, anything useful?" April herself sounded strange.

"Where are you?"

"In the park."

"What are you doing there?"

"It's complicated. What did you talk about with him, Jason? I have to know what was going on in his life. I need the basic facts," April said. "Everything he did in the last twenty-four hours and the rest of his life."

"April, you're scaring me to death," Jason said. "What happened?"

"We had a 911 of trouble in the area last night. We're thinking your friend might have been mugged. We have a vagrant who says he witnessed an assault on a jogger. There was no sign of him last night, though."

"Have you checked the hospitals?"

"We've started checking ERs. Nothing yet."

"You checked his home?"

"First thing. His wallet, telephone and appointment books were there. A big wad of cash. Does he have an office?"

"Yes." Jason was silent for a second, thinking fast. "Is this inebriated person homeless, April?"

"Yes."

"Does he know more than he's saying?" Jason glanced at his watch. Shit, he was going to be late for his class. He wondered if he should cancel.

"It's possible."

"What about the bum being the mugger-?"

"It's a possibility."

Neutral. That damn neutral voice. Jason was really rattled.

"Look, I'm on my way to teach; what can I do to help?"

"This shouldn't be my case, Jason. Know what I mean? So I'm short-handed here, and out of my territory."

"I'm sorry about that." The clocks were ticking. Jason was late. Shit. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Well, you know how shrinks hate to talk to cops about their patients. Maybe you could talk to Maslow's doctor, get me some background on him. Parents, friends, other relatives, habits, sexual preference. State of mind." Her voice started to break up.

"April, are you on a cell phone? April?"

The voice came back. "Yeah."

"People don't just disappear."

"No, of course they don't. So help me out here."

"Of course. What's your next step?"

"I'm calling in the K-9 unit."

"WHAT?" Dogs? Was she nuts?

"You can't be too careful." The voice broke up again.

"Oh, Jesus, April-"

Silence.

"April, talk to me."

"Kkkkkkk."

The phone went dead. Shit! Jason didn't have time to wait for her to call back. He stuck his beeper on his belt and left his office, wondering what Maslow had wanted to tell him about Allegra before he disappeared.