Private Eyes

“It did! I was really starting to get skeptical. Then all of a sudden, things started to happen. Dr. Ursula got her outside the front gate. Just a few steps, down to the curb, and she had an attack when she got there. But it was the first time she’d been outside the walls since… the first time I’d ever seen her do it. And Dr. Ursula didn’t pull her back in because of the attack. She gave her some kind of medicine- in an inhaler, like they use for asthma- and made her stay out there until she’d calmed down. Then they did it again the next day, and again, and she kept having attacks- it was really hard to watch. But finally Mother was able to stand at the curb and be okay. After that, they started walking around the block. Arm in arm. Finally, a couple of months ago, Dr. Ursula got her to drive. In her favorite car- it’s this little Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn, a ’54, but in perfect condition. Coachbuilt- custom-made. My father had it built to his specifications when he was in England. One of the first to have power steering. And tinted windows. Then he gave it to her. She’s always loved it. Sometimes she sat in it after it had been washed, with the engine off. But she never drove it. She must have said something to Dr. Ursula about its being her favorite, because the next thing I knew, the two of them were tooling around in it. Down the drive and right out the gates. She’s at the point where she can drive with someone else in the car. She drives to the clinic with Dr. Ursula or someone else with her- it’s not far, over in Pasadena. Maybe that wouldn’t sound too impressive. But when you think of where she was a year ago, it’s pretty fantastic, don’t you think?”

“I do. How often does she go to the clinic?”

“Twice a week. Monday and Thursday, for group therapy. With other women who have the same problem.”

She sat back, dry-eyed, smiling. “I’m so proud of her, Dr. Delaware. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“By going to Harvard?”

“By doing anything that would mess it up. I mean, I think of Mother as being on a scale- one of those balance scales. Fear on one side, happiness on the other. Right now it’s tipping toward happiness, but I can’t help thinking that any little thing could knock it the other way.”

“You see your mom as pretty fragile.”

“She is fragile! Everything she’s been through has made her fragile.”

“Have you talked to Dr. Ursula about the impact of your going away?”

“No,” she said, suddenly grim. “No, I haven’t.”

“I get the feeling,” I said, “that even though Dr. Ursula has helped your mother a lot, she’s still not your favorite person.”

“That’s true. She’s a very- she’s cold.”

“Is there anything else about her that bothers you?”

“Just what I said. About her analyzing me… I don’t think she likes me.”

“Why’s that?”

She shook her head. One of her earrings caught the light and flashed. “It’s just the… vibrations she gives off. I know that sounds… imprecise- but she just makes me feel uncomfortable. The way she was able to tell me to butt out without having to say it. So how can I approach her about something personal? All she’d do is put me down- I feel she wants to shut me out.”

“Have you tried to talk to your mother about this?”

“I talked to her about therapy a couple of times. She said Dr. Ursula was taking her through steps and she was climbing them slowly. That she was grateful to me for getting her into treatment but that now she had to be a big girl and do things for herself. I didn’t argue, didn’t want to do anything that would… ruin it.”

Wringing. Flipping her hair.

I said, “Melissa, are you feeling a little left out? By the treatment?”

“No, it’s not that at all. Sure, I’d like to know more- especially because of my interest in psychology. But that’s not what’s important to me. If that’s what it takes to work- all that secrecy- then I’m happy. Even if this is as far as it goes, it’s still major progress.”

“Do you have doubts it will go further?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “On a day-to-day basis it seems to go so slowly.” She smiled. “You see, Dr. Delaware, I’m not patient at all.”

“So even though your mother’s come a long way, you’re not convinced she’s gone far enough for you to be able to leave her.”

“Exactly.”

“And you feel frustrated not knowing more about her prognosis because of the way Dr. Ursula treats you.”

“Very frustrated.”

“What about Dr. Leo Gabney? Would you be more comfortable talking to him?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t know him at all. Like I said, he only showed up at the begi

Following that insight with a smile.

I said, “Even though your mother says she wants you to go to Harvard, you’re not sure she can handle it. And you feel you can’t talk to anyone to find out if she can.”

She shook her head and gave a weak smile. “A quandary, I guess. Pretty dumb, huh?”

“Not at all.”

“There you go again,” she said. “Telling me I’m okay.”

Both of us smiled.

I said, “Who else is around to take care of your mother?”

“There’s the staff. And Don, I guess- that’s her husband.”

Dropping that nugget into the bucket, then draping it with a look of i

But I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “When did she get married?”

“Just a few months ago.”

The hands began kneading.

“A few months,” I repeated.

She squirmed and said, “Six.”

Silence.

I said, “Want to tell me about it?”

She looked as if she didn’t. But she said, “His name is Don Ramp. He used to be an actor- never a big one, just a bit player. Cowboys and soldiers, that kind of thing. He owns a restaurant now. In Pasadena, not San Lab, because in San Lab you’re not allowed to sell liquor and he serves all kinds of beers and ales. That’s his specialty. Imported beers. And meat. Prime rib. Tankard and Blade, it’s called. Armor and swords all over the place. Like in old England. Kind of silly, actually, but for San Labrador it’s exotic.”

“How’d he and your mother meet?”

“You mean because she never leaves the house?”

“Yes.”

The hands kneaded faster. “That was my- I introduced them. I was at the Tankard with some friends, a school thing for some seniors. Don was there, greeting people, and when he found out who I was, he sat down and told me he’d known Mother. Years ago. Back in her days at the studio. The two of them had been on contract at the same time. He started asking these questions- about how she was doing. Talking on and on about what a wonderful person she’d been, so beautiful and talented. Telling me I was beautiful, too.” She snorted.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

“Let’s be real, Dr. Delaware! Anyway, he seemed so nice and he was the first person I’d met who’d actually known Mother before, back in her Hollywood days. I mean, people in San Labrador don’t usually come from an entertainment background. At least they don’t admit it. One time another actor- a real star, Brett Raymond- wanted to move in, buy an old house and tear it down to build a new one, and there was all this talk about his money being dirty money because the movies were a Jewish business and Jewish money was dirty money, and Brett Raymond himself was really Jewish and tried to hide it- which I don’t even know if it’s true or not. Anyway, they- the zoning board- made his life so miserable with hearings and restrictions and whatever that he changed his mind and moved to Beverly Hills. And people said good, that’s where he belonged. So you can see how I wouldn’t meet too many movie people, and when Don started talking about the old days, I thought it was great. It was like finding a link to the past.”

I said, “It’s a bit of a leap from that to marriage.”