Breakdown, p.2
Breakdown, page 2
He said, “Admirable restraint, young Alexander, but I’ll dive right in because I’ve seen lots of them—have insurance contracts with the studios, the reimbursement’s excellent—and the patterns are undeniable. New patient comes in and tells me they write comedy or do stand-up, I can put money on their being profoundly depressed. Sometimes there’s a bipolar element, but it’s always the depressive side that predominates in clowns. With that, of course, comes the self-medication and the addiction and all the shit that brings. The so-called dramatic performers are just that: immature, insecure, look-at-me-Mommy types with blurry identity boundaries. A more mixed bag diagnostically, but if you have to wager, go for Axis 2 issues, I’m talking deeply rooted personality disorders.”
That sounded uncharacteristically pat and cruel for Lou and I wondered if he realized it because he frowned and looked into his glass.
“Maybe I’ve been at it too long, Alex…anyway, Ms. Zelda’s a little more interesting. Signs of mood and thinking issues. But despite that, she’s maintained for forty-plus episodes.”
“Something changed to bring her to you.”
“Her agent called me,” he said. “Don’t ask for a name or what the connection is, it’s sensitive. The presenting problem is a few nights ago Zelda ended up at the door of an old boyfriend, making a holy ruckus and terrorizing his family. He hadn’t seen her in years, is happily married with kids.”
“Also an actor?”
“Nope, a cameraman she dated back when she was doing bit parts. You treat any kids of ancillaries—grips, stuntmen, lens guys?”
“I have.”
“Solid, working-class types, right? They get a big check, it’s three Harleys, not a Mercedes. That’s what this fellow is like. I called him and he was a nice guy, no genius but salt of the earth, has himself a nice little spread in Sunland, horses, dogs. Apparently not guard dogs, because in the wee hours, our Ms. Zelda climbed a fence and started pounding on his kitchen door, shrieking for him to stop being a coward, come outside, she knew he still loved her, it was time to reconnect.”
“That makes her psychotic?”
“You’re thinking I’ve missed the mark and it’s erotomania or some other stalker-type syndrome. And if that’s all that happened, you’d be right. Unfortunately she also displayed post-event stereotypic body movements—rocking, blinking—and stretches of elective muteness followed by some of the most intense flights of ideas I’ve ever heard. Including the unshakable delusion that said boyfriend had been creeping into her bedroom every night for years to have sex with her, after which he’d brutally rape her anally then pour champagne and propose marriage and the two of them would jet off to Europe. So I have no reservations calling her crazy—oh, yeah, there are command hallucinations as well: When the cops busted her, she told them her mother’s voice had ordered her to ‘finally make an honest woman out of herself.’ A mother she won’t identify other than to call her a movie star, which is obviously delusional. After that she tried to bite one of the officers on the hand.”
“I see what you mean, Lou.”
“Whether all that’s schizophrenia or a severe manic phase, I’m still not sure. Could even be both, you know how fuzzy diagnosis can get. Meanwhile, there’s pressure on me to come up with the right meds because she’s under contract for a third season and they can’t write her out without ‘messing up the story arcs.’ Reason I’ve called you in, is her son. Who, unbelievably, she’s managed to raise alone, daddy unknown. Now, obviously, something needs to be done for the poor kid while I evaluate Mommy and hopefully come up with the right serotonin-boosting cocktail. Another issue is her fitness as a parent. If you could have a look at the boy and make some recommendations—do a bit of social work if placement’s called for—I’d be eternally grateful. Compensation’s no issue, production company’s insurance is paying me portal-to-portal at a very generous level and I’ll make sure you get the same.”
“Okay.”
“Just like that,” he said. “You’ve always been an agreeable type, I knew I could count on you. Okay, how about another mood-glossing cocktail?”
—
Later, walking to the parking lot where his white ’61 Jaguar XK150 was protected by cones in the VIP section, he handed the valet a twenty and said, “Thanks again, Alex, we’re not talking cure, just management, but maybe we can do some good. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you the details, meanwhile here’s another tidbit: Her given name’s not Zelda, it’s Jane. She won’t say why she changed it but I’m wondering if she admires F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife. And you know about her.”
“She went crazy,” I said.
“Oh, yeah.”
CHAPTER
4
I had my first look at Zelda Chase two days later in Lou Sherman’s cushy, paneled office, sitting next to him in a sensible chair as both of us faced her. Lou and I had decades of experience between us and did our best to come across relaxed and warm. But if she figured us for a tribunal, that wouldn’t have been crazy at all.
Not that she’d noticed me; the scant eye contact she’d yielded so far had been reserved for Lou. Fixed on him the way you look at your father when trying to explain a dent in the car.
He said, “Dr. Delaware is a child psychologist—”
“He’s going to help me keep Ovid.”
“No one’s suggesting you shouldn’t keep Ovid, Zelda.”
“Well,” she said. “You know…”
Lou turned to me. I said, “Dr. Sherman has asked me to get to know Ovid so if you need help with him, I can provide it.”
Still avoiding me, Zelda Chase said, “Ovid is perfect.”
Lou said, “And you, dear? How’re you doing?”
“Ovid is perfect.”
“I’m sure he is but we need to document that, so Dr. Delaware will be spending time with Ovid and reporting to me.”
Zelda Chase studied me for the first time since I’d entered the office. My smile elicited a blink and a tremble. “He seems…you seem okay, Dr. Delaware…thank you, Dr. Lou. I know I messed up with Lowell but he asked for it, don’t forget that—anyway, my baby deserves to be taken care of by his mom and he will be, no matter what.”
“That’s what we’re all here to accomplish, Zelda. Meanwhile, of course, you’ll stay away from Lowell.”
“Oh, yes, that’s all past.” She sucked in breath. “I’m a good mom, Dr. Lou, you know that. But maybe I’m also a bad mom.” Hugging herself, she threw up her arms and let them drop hard. “I don’t deserve the messiah.” Crooked smile. “I don’t mean Jesus, don’t worry, I’m not that nuts. I mean my personal savior. He saved me from loneliness.”
I said, “Ovid.”
“Ovie saved me by making me a mom.” Her face crumpled. “But maybe not such a good mom…oh, wow, I screwed up!”
Lou took her hands. “Zelda, this isn’t the time for negative thinking.”
“No? Then when is the time? I screwed up! They’re going to take him from me!”
She began crying. Lou patted her shoulder and handed her a tissue. The same quick-draw sequence I’d performed so many times.
Zelda Chase’s hand faltered around the gauzy paper and it floated to the carpet. Lou retrieved it and tossed it in the trash, handed her a replacement, pressed her fingers around it, made sure she held on. Her hand clenched, wadding the tissue but not releasing as she dabbed her eyes. Lou selected a third tissue and wiped away tears she’d missed.
Her free hand took hold of his wrist. Bending low, she rested her head on his forearm. Hair streamed, blocking her face. The sound of her breathing was slow and steady. “Don’t let them take him, Dr. Lou.”
“Of course not, Zelda.” Lou let her remain that way for a moment before easing away. Placed his finger under her chin and gently raised her face so that their eyes met.
Like a plastic doll, she allowed herself to be molded. A stream of fresh drool trailed down her chin. Tissue number four.
Lou said, “Zelda, I want you to concentrate on getting better without having to worry about Ovid. That’s why Dr. Delaware’s here. He’s the premier child psychologist in town. You’ll be able to rest assured and take care of yourself and you and Ovid will stay together.”
Zelda Chase said, “If you say so, Dr. Lou…you’re always right…but I’ll worry, anyway, you know me, I worry, I always do.” Another wry smile. “Immaculate conception has its own challenges, right, Dr. Lou?”
He stared at her.
Zelda Chase laughed. “Just kid-ding, guys. I’m not crazy or anything!”
Lou’s smile was tight. “Zelda, I’m glad you’re able to joke but it’s important that you take this seriously—”
“Oh, you…so see-rious.” Wink. Tongue flick. Bosom-heaving sigh. Hair flip.
Lou didn’t respond.
Zelda Chase laughed. “Fine, I get it, be normal.” Then she cried some more, accepted tissue number five with a steady hand and wiped enthusiastically. But frowned as she inspected the paper. “I put crud on it.”
Lou and I peered. Nothing visible.
“Crud,” she repeated. “You can’t see it but it’s there, toxic waste, I’m probably leaking poison from that fucked-up hospital food—Dr. Lou, I was so, so, so sick-feeling in there. Like you fly twelve red-eyes in a row and then you have to recite your lines. So thank you so much for rescuing me.”
She turned to me. “He’s the best—hey, but you’re a cutie. If Ovie was a girl, he’d probably develop a big-time crush on you.”
Lou said, “Zelda—”
“I understand, I understand,” she said, still studying me. “I’m messed up in the bean but I’m a good person and you’re trying to help me and I love you for it, Dr. Lou, but what I’m trying to tell Dr….what’s his name?”
“Delaware, Zelda. Like the state.”
“Like the state,” she parroted, nailing Lou’s inflection perfectly. “My state’s the state of confusion…what I’m trying to state to you, Dr. Delaware, really express, really get across, what you need to know, is that no matter what I am, Ovid is normal in the bean, he’s a totally normal boy. Okay?”
I said, “Got it.”
“Even if you’re just saying that and don’t mean it, you will mean it after you meet Ovie and you say, wow, what a great boy, totally together and well balanced and so happy, too, so she must’ve done a good job, she should definitely have him, they can’t take him away, he’s hers, no one else gets to keep him—here’s an example for my psychology files of the way a mom should be—I’m being you, now, Dr. Delaware.”
She mimed turning pages. “Even when patient Zelda went out to just have a discussion with Lowell, because they had a thing and she got blamed for it, she deserves compassion and understanding because look, even then she made sure Ovie was taken care of on all levels, he had a total babysitter the total time and he was sleeping, anyway, when she went out. That’s why she went out real late, not to wake him, to be a good mom. That’s why she had to do it when Ovie was sleeping. So there was no abandonment or negligence, Dr….State of Delaware—and you know that, too, Dr. Lou, because you’re a wise man, maybe a magi—magus—whatever, you get me, I’m not stupid or neglectful. Delightfully odd, yes. Quirky, yes. But not stupid and neglectful and anyone else is going to be worse for my baby, okay? I ask that to both of you.” Raising her voice: “Okay? Am I making myself clear on a medical level?”
Lou inhaled. “We’ll do everything we can for you, Zelda.”
“I need more than that, I need promises.”
He took hold of both her hands again. She grunted and tried to twist away but he held fast. “Listen to me, Zelda: You can help yourself by focusing. Got it?”
Hesitation. Slow nod.
“Focus on the here and now, Zelda. Nothing else.”
She bit her lip. Turned away. Lou placed a finger below her chin, gently rotated her to force eye contact.
Risky gesture, I thought, given her instability. But maybe he knew something I didn’t because the face she showed him was lamb-like. Then: serene.
“All right, Dr. Lou, you’re wise beyond the ages, you always are, a real father figure. I just needed to know everything will be good. Corinna feels that way, when I’m on the set being Corinna I feel that way. She needs the world to be right.”
Her shoulders heaved. “I need to know there’ll be a happy ending.”
“God willing,” said Lou.
I’d never known him to be a religious man.
—
Both of us walked her to the parking lot at the rear of Lou’s small building on Ventura near Balboa. Courteous gesture but the real reason was we both wanted to observe her.
Her gait began unsteady but improved with each step as she headed for a black Lincoln Town Car, courtesy of SubUrban’s producers, idling in a handicapped space. The uniformed driver jumped out, helped her into the backseat, got back behind the wheel, and rolled toward the driveway. A rear window lowered and Zelda Chase blew us a kiss.
When the limo was out of view, Lou sighed. “And that is the designated patient, Alex.”
I said, “How long have you been treating her?”
“Got the call from the agent, went to get the 5150 terminated, spent maybe half an hour with her trying to take a coherent history.”
“She made it sound as if you two go back.”
“And notice my imperturbable psychiatric wisdom not debating her.”
We headed back inside. He said, “Now you understand what I’m dealing with, young Alex. She can come across okay for short periods but nothing really works the way it should, cognitively or affectively. She denies knowing her father and there hasn’t been any male in her life for years. So I’m figuring the same kind of pseudo-attachment that led to her freaking out on the ex might be redirected to me. Difference is, I’m ready for it.” He grinned. “And professionally trained.”
I said, “A magus, to boot. Ergo her glomming onto you.”
“Glomming. I like that. We should teach it to the residents, patient exhibits inappropriate glomming. And notice how she did the seductive thing with you, Mr., ahem, Cutie.”
“That’s Dr. Cutie to you.”
He squinted. “Yeah, you ain’t ugly. So maybe there’s some reality testing going on, huh?”
He pulled a bottle of single malt out of a desk drawer, along with two glasses. “Care to join me for some heart-healthy vasodilation?”
“No, thanks.”
“Too early in the day? Under normal circumstances, same for me. But being in the presence of all that thespian drama has parched me.”
He poured and sipped. “Any diagnostic guesses?”
I shook my head.
“What about prognosis?”
“She’s managed to work steadily for two years in a high-pressure business and the boy’s important to her. If she stays well groomed and keeps her thoughts to herself, I can see her getting by.”
“Exactly,” said Lou. “They give her lines, she’ll perform. You hear how she got my vocal inflections? It’s a gift, no question. But get her off script and keep her talking long enough and it gets curiouser and curiouser. So maybe my treatment plan will minimize chatter and I’ll concentrate on chemistry.”
I said, “The nature of her job probably also helps. A certain amount of ‘individualism’ is expected.”
“Translate: nuttiness. Speaking of which, I suggest you watch her show long enough to observe her doing her thing. Her character—Corinna—is a ditzy airhead blabbermouth and the writers stick all sorts of non sequiturs and other vocabulary mishaps into her mouth. I wonder if they conceived all that before she was cast or if they built it around her.”
He finished his scotch. “My goal right now is to rank her deficits. If her primary deal’s schizo, I’ll try Haldol. If it’s mood, I’ll lithium her until the mania fades, or at least as close as I can get.”
“You’re figuring she’ll fight a therapeutic dose?”
“To lithium, I am. You know how it is, a lot of manics end up hating the stuff, numbs them up, life turns gray and boring. And this is a possible manic who gets to act hyper and goofy for a living. In a bizarre way, she’d have logic on her side.”
He bumped his glass on the desktop. “I can just see it: She turns sane but can’t pull off Corinna anymore and I’ve got the agent, producers, and network suits surrounding my house with torches and pitchforks. Or she noncomplies well before that and implodes and I stop getting referrals from the industry. That’s why I appreciate your seeing the boy, Alex. Something I don’t have to deal with. Even if I had kiddie-skills I wouldn’t have time.”
I said, “So are we looking at alternative placement for the boy or is the emphasis on helping her take care of him?”
“Do your thing, then tell me.”
Consulting a thin chart atop his desk, he said, “One thing in our favor: The show’s on hiatus for a couple of weeks, though they will be reading potential scripts. Meaning Zelda will be occupied full-time but under less pressure and living away from the kid until I titrate her dose.”
“She knows that?”
“She does and she knows she needs to comply or everything falls apart. The deal is I get her evened out and once you give the okay, it’s home sweet home.”
“Where’s she staying?”
“Where else? Bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel under a fake name, babysat by a nurse practitioner I respect. Two grand a night but the network’s paying because they want her situation kept under wraps so as not to jeopardize the show’s third season.”
“The boy’s at home?”
“With a production assistant from the show…” He opened the chart. “Karen Gallardo. Here, this is your copy. My preliminary notes, the address, Gallardo’s cell. Everything you need to get started but batteries not included.”
I laughed and took the chart and he walked me to the door, refilled glass in hand. Maybe he always drank this much, or maybe something about this case had gotten to him.
“Again, thanks, Alex.”
“Happy to help,” I said. “It actually sounds interesting.”
“Does it?” He clicked his tongue twice. “Like that Chinese curse? May you live in interesting times?”
That sounded uncharacteristically pat and cruel for Lou and I wondered if he realized it because he frowned and looked into his glass.
“Maybe I’ve been at it too long, Alex…anyway, Ms. Zelda’s a little more interesting. Signs of mood and thinking issues. But despite that, she’s maintained for forty-plus episodes.”
“Something changed to bring her to you.”
“Her agent called me,” he said. “Don’t ask for a name or what the connection is, it’s sensitive. The presenting problem is a few nights ago Zelda ended up at the door of an old boyfriend, making a holy ruckus and terrorizing his family. He hadn’t seen her in years, is happily married with kids.”
“Also an actor?”
“Nope, a cameraman she dated back when she was doing bit parts. You treat any kids of ancillaries—grips, stuntmen, lens guys?”
“I have.”
“Solid, working-class types, right? They get a big check, it’s three Harleys, not a Mercedes. That’s what this fellow is like. I called him and he was a nice guy, no genius but salt of the earth, has himself a nice little spread in Sunland, horses, dogs. Apparently not guard dogs, because in the wee hours, our Ms. Zelda climbed a fence and started pounding on his kitchen door, shrieking for him to stop being a coward, come outside, she knew he still loved her, it was time to reconnect.”
“That makes her psychotic?”
“You’re thinking I’ve missed the mark and it’s erotomania or some other stalker-type syndrome. And if that’s all that happened, you’d be right. Unfortunately she also displayed post-event stereotypic body movements—rocking, blinking—and stretches of elective muteness followed by some of the most intense flights of ideas I’ve ever heard. Including the unshakable delusion that said boyfriend had been creeping into her bedroom every night for years to have sex with her, after which he’d brutally rape her anally then pour champagne and propose marriage and the two of them would jet off to Europe. So I have no reservations calling her crazy—oh, yeah, there are command hallucinations as well: When the cops busted her, she told them her mother’s voice had ordered her to ‘finally make an honest woman out of herself.’ A mother she won’t identify other than to call her a movie star, which is obviously delusional. After that she tried to bite one of the officers on the hand.”
“I see what you mean, Lou.”
“Whether all that’s schizophrenia or a severe manic phase, I’m still not sure. Could even be both, you know how fuzzy diagnosis can get. Meanwhile, there’s pressure on me to come up with the right meds because she’s under contract for a third season and they can’t write her out without ‘messing up the story arcs.’ Reason I’ve called you in, is her son. Who, unbelievably, she’s managed to raise alone, daddy unknown. Now, obviously, something needs to be done for the poor kid while I evaluate Mommy and hopefully come up with the right serotonin-boosting cocktail. Another issue is her fitness as a parent. If you could have a look at the boy and make some recommendations—do a bit of social work if placement’s called for—I’d be eternally grateful. Compensation’s no issue, production company’s insurance is paying me portal-to-portal at a very generous level and I’ll make sure you get the same.”
“Okay.”
“Just like that,” he said. “You’ve always been an agreeable type, I knew I could count on you. Okay, how about another mood-glossing cocktail?”
—
Later, walking to the parking lot where his white ’61 Jaguar XK150 was protected by cones in the VIP section, he handed the valet a twenty and said, “Thanks again, Alex, we’re not talking cure, just management, but maybe we can do some good. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you the details, meanwhile here’s another tidbit: Her given name’s not Zelda, it’s Jane. She won’t say why she changed it but I’m wondering if she admires F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife. And you know about her.”
“She went crazy,” I said.
“Oh, yeah.”
CHAPTER
4
I had my first look at Zelda Chase two days later in Lou Sherman’s cushy, paneled office, sitting next to him in a sensible chair as both of us faced her. Lou and I had decades of experience between us and did our best to come across relaxed and warm. But if she figured us for a tribunal, that wouldn’t have been crazy at all.
Not that she’d noticed me; the scant eye contact she’d yielded so far had been reserved for Lou. Fixed on him the way you look at your father when trying to explain a dent in the car.
He said, “Dr. Delaware is a child psychologist—”
“He’s going to help me keep Ovid.”
“No one’s suggesting you shouldn’t keep Ovid, Zelda.”
“Well,” she said. “You know…”
Lou turned to me. I said, “Dr. Sherman has asked me to get to know Ovid so if you need help with him, I can provide it.”
Still avoiding me, Zelda Chase said, “Ovid is perfect.”
Lou said, “And you, dear? How’re you doing?”
“Ovid is perfect.”
“I’m sure he is but we need to document that, so Dr. Delaware will be spending time with Ovid and reporting to me.”
Zelda Chase studied me for the first time since I’d entered the office. My smile elicited a blink and a tremble. “He seems…you seem okay, Dr. Delaware…thank you, Dr. Lou. I know I messed up with Lowell but he asked for it, don’t forget that—anyway, my baby deserves to be taken care of by his mom and he will be, no matter what.”
“That’s what we’re all here to accomplish, Zelda. Meanwhile, of course, you’ll stay away from Lowell.”
“Oh, yes, that’s all past.” She sucked in breath. “I’m a good mom, Dr. Lou, you know that. But maybe I’m also a bad mom.” Hugging herself, she threw up her arms and let them drop hard. “I don’t deserve the messiah.” Crooked smile. “I don’t mean Jesus, don’t worry, I’m not that nuts. I mean my personal savior. He saved me from loneliness.”
I said, “Ovid.”
“Ovie saved me by making me a mom.” Her face crumpled. “But maybe not such a good mom…oh, wow, I screwed up!”
Lou took her hands. “Zelda, this isn’t the time for negative thinking.”
“No? Then when is the time? I screwed up! They’re going to take him from me!”
She began crying. Lou patted her shoulder and handed her a tissue. The same quick-draw sequence I’d performed so many times.
Zelda Chase’s hand faltered around the gauzy paper and it floated to the carpet. Lou retrieved it and tossed it in the trash, handed her a replacement, pressed her fingers around it, made sure she held on. Her hand clenched, wadding the tissue but not releasing as she dabbed her eyes. Lou selected a third tissue and wiped away tears she’d missed.
Her free hand took hold of his wrist. Bending low, she rested her head on his forearm. Hair streamed, blocking her face. The sound of her breathing was slow and steady. “Don’t let them take him, Dr. Lou.”
“Of course not, Zelda.” Lou let her remain that way for a moment before easing away. Placed his finger under her chin and gently raised her face so that their eyes met.
Like a plastic doll, she allowed herself to be molded. A stream of fresh drool trailed down her chin. Tissue number four.
Lou said, “Zelda, I want you to concentrate on getting better without having to worry about Ovid. That’s why Dr. Delaware’s here. He’s the premier child psychologist in town. You’ll be able to rest assured and take care of yourself and you and Ovid will stay together.”
Zelda Chase said, “If you say so, Dr. Lou…you’re always right…but I’ll worry, anyway, you know me, I worry, I always do.” Another wry smile. “Immaculate conception has its own challenges, right, Dr. Lou?”
He stared at her.
Zelda Chase laughed. “Just kid-ding, guys. I’m not crazy or anything!”
Lou’s smile was tight. “Zelda, I’m glad you’re able to joke but it’s important that you take this seriously—”
“Oh, you…so see-rious.” Wink. Tongue flick. Bosom-heaving sigh. Hair flip.
Lou didn’t respond.
Zelda Chase laughed. “Fine, I get it, be normal.” Then she cried some more, accepted tissue number five with a steady hand and wiped enthusiastically. But frowned as she inspected the paper. “I put crud on it.”
Lou and I peered. Nothing visible.
“Crud,” she repeated. “You can’t see it but it’s there, toxic waste, I’m probably leaking poison from that fucked-up hospital food—Dr. Lou, I was so, so, so sick-feeling in there. Like you fly twelve red-eyes in a row and then you have to recite your lines. So thank you so much for rescuing me.”
She turned to me. “He’s the best—hey, but you’re a cutie. If Ovie was a girl, he’d probably develop a big-time crush on you.”
Lou said, “Zelda—”
“I understand, I understand,” she said, still studying me. “I’m messed up in the bean but I’m a good person and you’re trying to help me and I love you for it, Dr. Lou, but what I’m trying to tell Dr….what’s his name?”
“Delaware, Zelda. Like the state.”
“Like the state,” she parroted, nailing Lou’s inflection perfectly. “My state’s the state of confusion…what I’m trying to state to you, Dr. Delaware, really express, really get across, what you need to know, is that no matter what I am, Ovid is normal in the bean, he’s a totally normal boy. Okay?”
I said, “Got it.”
“Even if you’re just saying that and don’t mean it, you will mean it after you meet Ovie and you say, wow, what a great boy, totally together and well balanced and so happy, too, so she must’ve done a good job, she should definitely have him, they can’t take him away, he’s hers, no one else gets to keep him—here’s an example for my psychology files of the way a mom should be—I’m being you, now, Dr. Delaware.”
She mimed turning pages. “Even when patient Zelda went out to just have a discussion with Lowell, because they had a thing and she got blamed for it, she deserves compassion and understanding because look, even then she made sure Ovie was taken care of on all levels, he had a total babysitter the total time and he was sleeping, anyway, when she went out. That’s why she went out real late, not to wake him, to be a good mom. That’s why she had to do it when Ovie was sleeping. So there was no abandonment or negligence, Dr….State of Delaware—and you know that, too, Dr. Lou, because you’re a wise man, maybe a magi—magus—whatever, you get me, I’m not stupid or neglectful. Delightfully odd, yes. Quirky, yes. But not stupid and neglectful and anyone else is going to be worse for my baby, okay? I ask that to both of you.” Raising her voice: “Okay? Am I making myself clear on a medical level?”
Lou inhaled. “We’ll do everything we can for you, Zelda.”
“I need more than that, I need promises.”
He took hold of both her hands again. She grunted and tried to twist away but he held fast. “Listen to me, Zelda: You can help yourself by focusing. Got it?”
Hesitation. Slow nod.
“Focus on the here and now, Zelda. Nothing else.”
She bit her lip. Turned away. Lou placed a finger below her chin, gently rotated her to force eye contact.
Risky gesture, I thought, given her instability. But maybe he knew something I didn’t because the face she showed him was lamb-like. Then: serene.
“All right, Dr. Lou, you’re wise beyond the ages, you always are, a real father figure. I just needed to know everything will be good. Corinna feels that way, when I’m on the set being Corinna I feel that way. She needs the world to be right.”
Her shoulders heaved. “I need to know there’ll be a happy ending.”
“God willing,” said Lou.
I’d never known him to be a religious man.
—
Both of us walked her to the parking lot at the rear of Lou’s small building on Ventura near Balboa. Courteous gesture but the real reason was we both wanted to observe her.
Her gait began unsteady but improved with each step as she headed for a black Lincoln Town Car, courtesy of SubUrban’s producers, idling in a handicapped space. The uniformed driver jumped out, helped her into the backseat, got back behind the wheel, and rolled toward the driveway. A rear window lowered and Zelda Chase blew us a kiss.
When the limo was out of view, Lou sighed. “And that is the designated patient, Alex.”
I said, “How long have you been treating her?”
“Got the call from the agent, went to get the 5150 terminated, spent maybe half an hour with her trying to take a coherent history.”
“She made it sound as if you two go back.”
“And notice my imperturbable psychiatric wisdom not debating her.”
We headed back inside. He said, “Now you understand what I’m dealing with, young Alex. She can come across okay for short periods but nothing really works the way it should, cognitively or affectively. She denies knowing her father and there hasn’t been any male in her life for years. So I’m figuring the same kind of pseudo-attachment that led to her freaking out on the ex might be redirected to me. Difference is, I’m ready for it.” He grinned. “And professionally trained.”
I said, “A magus, to boot. Ergo her glomming onto you.”
“Glomming. I like that. We should teach it to the residents, patient exhibits inappropriate glomming. And notice how she did the seductive thing with you, Mr., ahem, Cutie.”
“That’s Dr. Cutie to you.”
He squinted. “Yeah, you ain’t ugly. So maybe there’s some reality testing going on, huh?”
He pulled a bottle of single malt out of a desk drawer, along with two glasses. “Care to join me for some heart-healthy vasodilation?”
“No, thanks.”
“Too early in the day? Under normal circumstances, same for me. But being in the presence of all that thespian drama has parched me.”
He poured and sipped. “Any diagnostic guesses?”
I shook my head.
“What about prognosis?”
“She’s managed to work steadily for two years in a high-pressure business and the boy’s important to her. If she stays well groomed and keeps her thoughts to herself, I can see her getting by.”
“Exactly,” said Lou. “They give her lines, she’ll perform. You hear how she got my vocal inflections? It’s a gift, no question. But get her off script and keep her talking long enough and it gets curiouser and curiouser. So maybe my treatment plan will minimize chatter and I’ll concentrate on chemistry.”
I said, “The nature of her job probably also helps. A certain amount of ‘individualism’ is expected.”
“Translate: nuttiness. Speaking of which, I suggest you watch her show long enough to observe her doing her thing. Her character—Corinna—is a ditzy airhead blabbermouth and the writers stick all sorts of non sequiturs and other vocabulary mishaps into her mouth. I wonder if they conceived all that before she was cast or if they built it around her.”
He finished his scotch. “My goal right now is to rank her deficits. If her primary deal’s schizo, I’ll try Haldol. If it’s mood, I’ll lithium her until the mania fades, or at least as close as I can get.”
“You’re figuring she’ll fight a therapeutic dose?”
“To lithium, I am. You know how it is, a lot of manics end up hating the stuff, numbs them up, life turns gray and boring. And this is a possible manic who gets to act hyper and goofy for a living. In a bizarre way, she’d have logic on her side.”
He bumped his glass on the desktop. “I can just see it: She turns sane but can’t pull off Corinna anymore and I’ve got the agent, producers, and network suits surrounding my house with torches and pitchforks. Or she noncomplies well before that and implodes and I stop getting referrals from the industry. That’s why I appreciate your seeing the boy, Alex. Something I don’t have to deal with. Even if I had kiddie-skills I wouldn’t have time.”
I said, “So are we looking at alternative placement for the boy or is the emphasis on helping her take care of him?”
“Do your thing, then tell me.”
Consulting a thin chart atop his desk, he said, “One thing in our favor: The show’s on hiatus for a couple of weeks, though they will be reading potential scripts. Meaning Zelda will be occupied full-time but under less pressure and living away from the kid until I titrate her dose.”
“She knows that?”
“She does and she knows she needs to comply or everything falls apart. The deal is I get her evened out and once you give the okay, it’s home sweet home.”
“Where’s she staying?”
“Where else? Bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel under a fake name, babysat by a nurse practitioner I respect. Two grand a night but the network’s paying because they want her situation kept under wraps so as not to jeopardize the show’s third season.”
“The boy’s at home?”
“With a production assistant from the show…” He opened the chart. “Karen Gallardo. Here, this is your copy. My preliminary notes, the address, Gallardo’s cell. Everything you need to get started but batteries not included.”
I laughed and took the chart and he walked me to the door, refilled glass in hand. Maybe he always drank this much, or maybe something about this case had gotten to him.
“Again, thanks, Alex.”
“Happy to help,” I said. “It actually sounds interesting.”
“Does it?” He clicked his tongue twice. “Like that Chinese curse? May you live in interesting times?”
