Frank De Felitta: For Love of Audrey Rose

I shall be returning to India, where I have friends, and where I can pray, and work, and find the solitude necessary to my meditations. But know that even in India I shall continue to pray for you and Ivy, and that my thoughts are ever with you. Yours in eternal prayer, Elliot Hoover.

Janice wiped away a tear, went back to the apartment and drafted a letter to the mausoleum. Ivy’s ashes would be sent to India, scattered there, and serenity would fill the emptiness the way that sunlight fills a rose garden, lending color to everything, filling the warm air with subtle perfume.

Several requests from magazines and newspapers came in the mail for articles and information. Janice threw them all away.

The steady flow of people into the apartment gradually diminished. Pel Simmons, the founder of the advertising agency in which Bill worked, made a discreet call. When he saw Bill seated, hollow-eyed, on the couch, he asked Janice if Bill needed medical attention.

“He needs a few more weeks, Mr. Simmons.”

“Of course, Janice. It’s not that. It’s just that he looks like death over there.”

“I’ll speak to Dr. Kaplan.”

Dr. Kaplan prescribed an antidepressant stronger than Valium. Janice slipped it into his lunch. She also hid the alcohol, even though Bill was not drinking. Just in case, because it would mix into a lethal combination with the drugs.

With the antidepressants, Bill became numbed, his limbs relaxed, and he grew rubbery, dazed, and incoherent. But he could not override the paralysis of grief and guilt.

“If I hadn’t left for Hawaii,” he mumbled. “That was the moment. When he came up here. Why did I go to Hawaii? I don’t remember anymore….”

By the second week, Bill had still not shaven. Janice changed his clothes, shaved him as best she could, combed his hair. But when Don Goetz, Bill’s assistant, called from Simmons Advertising, she had to plead for another few days. No hurry, Goetz replied. They were just expressing their support.

In the third week, Jack Belaver, senior partner to Simmons Advertising, came to visit. Shocked at the sight of Bill, he maintained his composure.

“Look, Bill,” he said softly, “I know what it’s like. When I lost Marianne, I thought the world had ended. Well, nobody’s blaming you. Nothing can ever change what’s happened, but—”

“Who’s blaming me?” Bill shot at him.

“Nobody. Bill, listen to me. You’ve got to march ahead. The grief will pass away, but it needs something to supplant it. It needs life, work, joy. You can’t cut yourself off from society.”

“You said somebody was blaming me.”

“I mean for staying inside, Bill. Look, it’s natural to want to be alone. Anyone would. But it’s time to come out of the cocoon. We’ll help you, Bill. We’re all pulling for you. Don Goetz has arranged the files and even set up two meetings for Monday. I’ll be there if it gets difficult. You’ve got to reenter, Bill.”

But Bill had retracted behind his wall of silent brooding.

Belaver sighed. “All right, Bill. Have it your way.”

At the door, he suggested to Janice that Bill see a psychiatrist.

“I’ve tried, Jack, but he won’t listen to me anymore. I can’t break through the barrier.”

Belaver nodded sympathetically.

“Simmons can wait a few more weeks,” he said. “Six weeks, eight. But sooner or later — we’re all very fond of Bill, but— It’s so damn competitive out there.”

“I understand, Jack.”

“That’s unofficial, Janice.”

“Yes. Thank you. I’ll try to get him to a psychiatrist.”

“Oh, by the way, is money a problem?”

“Not yet,” Janice said cautiously.

“Well, not to worry. Between Bill’s stock options and pension fund there’ll be plenty for a good long time.”

Dr. Manny Gleicher had read about the Templeton case. It had sparked his interest and now he was surprised to find the affair walking into his office. Mrs. Templeton was much younger and better educated than he had guessed from the newspapers.

It was a small, cluttered office, and Dr. Gleicher was a thin, nervous man in his early fifties, balding, with rapid, awkward gestures. He studied her quickly as she sat down.

“How long has it been, Mrs. Templeton?” he asked.

“Two months.”

“And in all that time, he has not left the apartment?”

“No.”

“Does he have friends over, speak on the telephone?”

“No.”

“Does he talk to you?”

“Rarely. Not at all in the last four days.”

“What kind of things did he say?”

“It’s always about Ivy. He blames himself for arranging the test. Nothing can shake it from him.”

Dr. Gleicher stroked his mustache and looked at Janice. She waited for his response, at his mercy.

“It would be natural for Bill to feel responsible,” Dr. Gleicher said. “But after a point, he should realize that the court was also responsible. The court and the hospital.”

There was a silence. Dr. Gleicher understood from Janice’s expression that logic and argument had ceased to penetrate Bill’s grief. He took out a small cigar, asked if Janice minded, then lit it, exhaling luxuriously over his head.

“I read,” he said slowly, “that there was a kind of meditation service. Did Bill go?”

“No.”

“Did he attend the cremation?”

“No.”

Dr. Gleicher’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you mind if I ask you about your relationship with this other man, this Mr. Hoover?”

“There was no relationship.”

“Yes, but according to the papers, you testified—”

“Dr. Gleicher, I felt, and still feel, that he was the only one who could have saved her. That was why I testified.”

“Your acceptance of Mr. Hoover’s, er, ideas, must have seemed a bitter betrayal to your husband.”

Janice looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

“I’m sure he thought of it in that way,” she said softly. “I only meant to save Ivy. There was nothing between Mr. Hoover and myself.”

“Did Bill think there was?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he would have put it so— so directly. He just felt that I had deserted him by testifying. By not trusting in him.”

“Perfectly natural.”

Dr. Gleicher paused, thought for a moment, then relit his cigar. All the while, his eyes scanned Janice’s face and body for hidden gestures, nonverbal clues to her emotions behind the words.

“Do you think Bill is still angry at you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s withdrawing as a way to punish you? To force you to attend to him?”

“No. I think he blames himself for Ivy’s death. I don’t think he knows I even exist anymore.”

Dr. Gleicher nodded sympathetically and then, satisfied with Janice’s answers, stubbed out his cigar and sat on a leather chair next to Janice.

“I don’t suppose you could convince your husband to come and see me?”

“No, Doctor.”

Dr. Gleicher sighed and simply smiled, a professional but warm smile.

“All right, I’ll go to him then.”

Dr. Gleicher stepped out of the elevator. Ernie watched him walk softly down the corridor and ring the Templetons’ bell.

Janice opened the door, smiled wanly, and Dr. Gleicher entered the apartment.

“Good evening, Mrs. Templeton. Hello, Bill.”

Bill looked up from where he sat opposite the couch. The way his collar was askew suggested that he had not dressed himself. The dark, hopeless eyes followed Dr. Gleicher into the room, and Bill looked frightened and withdrew into the chair.

Dr. Gleicher sat on the couch, affecting geniality, but in reality studying Bill’s every move.

“What a lovely apartment,” Dr. Gleicher said. “This place is rather famous, isn’t it?”