overnight mail. Give my regrets about not being their guest speaker, say I was flattered, yada, yada, yada. I’m going to forget that crack you just made about me watching television. C’mere, give me a big hug so I can go meet that senator. What the hell is his name?”
Millie wiped at her eyes. “His name is Hudson Preston, the senior senator from California. You didn’t mean me, did you, when you said you didn’t want any calls from here? I’m sorry about my television comment. I was upset. I am still upset, Pete.”
Pete squared his shoulders. “Sorry, Millie, it means you, too. I need time and space. I’ll call you. I promise.”
“Go on, get out of here, you big schmuck. Shame on you for making an old lady cry,” Millie said, wiping at her eyes. She did her best to summon up a smile to send Pete on his way.
“I love you, Millie. Keep your eye on things. I’ll be back, I just don’t know when.” Pete waved airily as he headed for the elevator. He was glad no one was looking at him when he swiped at his own eyes with the back of his hand.
Pete stepped out of the elevator to see the senator and his entourage milling about the spacious lobby of his building. He realized in that one second that he did not like the senator, had never liked him.
An aide approached him, a young guy with his share of zits and spiky hair. “It would be so much better if we could do the photo op in your corporate offices, Mr. Kelly. This lobby is so cold and sterile-looking. It really isn’t the kind of warm and fuzzy image the senator wants to convey. This,” he said, waving his arm about, “is so…corporate.”
“Sorry, rules are rules,” Pete said briskly. “Can we get on with it? I have a meeting, and I don’t want to be late.”
The aide looked horrified at Pete’s words. He started to sputter. “But…but the senator cleared his calendar for an hour. We came all the way from Washington.”
“It’s a forty-five-minute shuttle ride. A letter went out to your offices explaining all this. Now, let’s get on with it, or I’ll leave you all standing here to suck your thumbs.”
Before the aide could reply, the senator approached Pete, his personal camera crew right behind him. “Ah, Peter, nice seeing you again.”
Pete extended his hand and gave the senator a bone-crushing handshake. “Guess it’s that time of year again. I hate to rush you, but I have a meeting I can’t be late for.”
The senator’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t lose his affability. He smiled, knowing he was being captured on film. “I understand, we allotted only fifteen minutes ourselves. I appreciate your agreeing to the op at all. I know how busy you corporate types are.”
Pete bared his teeth in what he hoped was a smile. “Good, that means we’re on the same page.”
When the allotted fifteen minutes were up, Pete looked pointedly at his watch.
Senator Preston threw his arm around Pete’s shoulders. “I have a limo out front. Can we drop you off somewhere?”
Pete shrugged off the senator’s arm, and replied, “Thanks, but I’m walking.” He was through the revolving door within seconds and on his way down the winding walkway. He had a bad taste in his mouth. Later he would think about the fact that he didn’t like Senator Preston. He wondered if it had anything to do with the few visits he’d made to the shrink. The last thing Dr. Myers had said last week when Peter was leaving his office was to think about the “why” of everything. Why didn’t he like Senator Preston? Peter didn’t have a clue.
The trees were dressed for spring early that year. As he exited the PAK Industries campus and walked on out to the boulevard, Pete started shedding his clothing. He yanked at the power tie and stuffed it in his pocket. The only reason he knew it was a power tie was because Millie had bought it and told him so. Next came the Armani jacket. He slung it over his shoulder as he maintained his easy gait while at the same time rolling up the cuffs of his pristine white shirt. Ah, now he could breathe. He wished he’d had the foresight to jam his baseball cap into his hip pocket. He always felt undressed without it.
Thirty minutes later, Pete arrived at a six-suite brick medical building with ivy growing up the bricks, all the way to the top of the second floor. He liked the look because there was something homey about it. The plaques attached to the brick weren’t the standard polished brass but chunks of driftwood that were sanded, then shellacked. Dr. Harvey Myers was on the first floor.
Pete looked at his watch. He was one minute early. He felt proud of himself when he opened the door to the waiting room to find Harvey Myers waiting for him with a cup of coffee. Harvey handed it over. Pete laughed. “You’re spoiling me, Harvey.”
The easy familiarity between doctor and patient went back years and years. Harvey had once coached the PAK Industries softball team until the demands of his practice required cutting back on his outside activities. They made small talk, Pete sipping the strong black brew and Harvey drinking decaffeinated herbal tea.
Together, the two men moved toward the doctor’s private office. As always, Pete eyed the chaise lounge, then moved to a recliner that tilted backward and had a footrest.
Harvey set aside his herbal tea and picked up a pad and pen, but not before he turned on the portable recording machine. Pete sipped his coffee as the doctor recorded the date, the time, and the patient’s name.
“So, how’s it going, Pete? You sleeping any better?”
“No. I prowl all night long. No, I don’t want any sleep help. You know how I feel about pills of any kind. When my body is tired, I’ll sleep.”
“Did you do it?”
Pete didn’t ask for clarification. He knew exactly what Harvey was referring to. “As a matter of fact, I did, about an hour ago. I thought it went well. I’m a free agent. Nice feeling. Well, I think it’s going to be a nice feeling once I get used to the idea.”
“Any plans?”
“No, not really. I haven’t decided if I’m going to California or not.”
Harvey put down the pen and pad and leaned forward. “Let’s cut the bullshit right here, Pete. You’ve been coming here three times a week for a month. I can’t help you if you won’t open up to me. Whatever past relationship we had, inside this room, we’re doctor and patient. The fact that you actually decided to make an appointment—and kept it—tells me something is bothering you. Having said that, I want you either to tell me what’s bothering you or get the hell out of here so I can help someone who needs and wants my help.”
Pete looked around the comfortable office. For the first time he could hear soft music coming from somewhere. He thought he heard water trickling in the far corner. He wondered if it was something new. He asked and blinked when Harvey said the music was always on, and the trickling water went into a fish tank. “Am I that obvious?”
“Well, yeah. I am a psychiatrist, Pete. You came here to unload, so will you get on with it?”
Pete jerked at the handle on the recliner and bounced upright. He, too, leaned forward. “I made a promise to myself, and I didn’t keep it. Well, I kept the first part but not the second part. I want to know if that kind of promise counts. You know, when you make it to yourself. I didn’t even make an effort to keep it. I think I know why I didn’t, but I’m not sure. By the way, no one knows
