Jonathan Kellerman - Breakdown

A well-put-together man, the kind who’d look neat and composed without much effort. Today, beads of sweat had collected alongside his nose and his lips ticced.

He said, “I guess you should take the chair. That’s where Uncle sat.”

I said, “When he saw patients.”

“That and just being Uncle. When I was younger and came here for family things, he’d joke about it. ‘Got a problem, kid? Take a load off and get some free therapy.’ He had a great sense of humor.”

“He did.”

Derek Sherman winced. “He’s my only uncle. Was. My dad was his younger brother. Not a doctor, a truck driver. He’s gone, too. So is my mom.”

His shoulders dropped, as if recalled loss suddenly weighed on him. He sat back down, in the precise spot he’d occupied when I arrived. I took the tufted chair.

“I’m sure it was a surprise, Auntie Mo calling you. That article in the paper made me realize I needed to do something.”

He exhaled. “I’m Ovid’s dad. He’s fine. I wanted you to know.”

I was seated but felt as if I were falling. Taking time to order my thoughts, failing and talking through the buzz, I said, “That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

“He seems to be doing okay. With his mother’s death, I mean. Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe you can tell me what I should look for. I knew about you, should’ve contacted you sooner, but there didn’t seem to be a reason... it’s complicated.”

Pressing his palms together, he sat up straighter. “Uncle was a dedicated psychiatrist but now you understand that his interest in Zelda and Ovid went beyond that. That’s the reason he consulted you all those years ago — I guess I should backtrack. If you want to know the whole story.”

“I do if you’re comfortable talking about it.”

“Normally,” said Derek Sherman, “I wouldn’t be, I’m a private person but Uncle made me comfortable talking about it. Insisted I deal with it properly. And he was right. So sure, I’ll tell you. This must’ve been rough for you. I’m sorry. You deserve to understand.”

He got up, walked to the desk, removed a briar from the pipe rack, sat back down and began rubbing the burnished wooden bowl.

“I used to come in here and he’d let me do this, I loved the feel of these things. The smell of the place, back when Uncle smoked. One time, I was probably eight, everyone was out back and I snuck in and loaded up with tobacco and tried to light up. When Uncle found me I was sick to my stomach from sucking in fumes... all right, the short version: I’m Ovid’s dad but Zelda and I never had a relationship.”

He looked away, passed the pipe from hand to hand, began waving it in tiny concentric circles. “There’s no way to make it sound better than it was. It was a one-night stand.”

His eyes swung back to me.

I said, “It happens.”

“I appreciate you being a professional. Like Uncle, trained to suspend judgment.”

He inhaled slowly, let his breath out quickly. “I’m an architect, used to work at a firm in the Bay Area, got assigned to a project down here. Tasting room in Malibu for a big Napa winery. I was commuting back and forth but when it got too late, I’d stay at a single in Santa Monica my bosses rented for me. Not near the beach, the basics, pretty depressing. I was lonely, unattached, had never been much of a bar person but I began trying various lounges. Fantasizing about meeting women, even just for company. I wasn’t too successful, socializing isn’t my strong point. The night I met Zelda I was pretty low. Overworked, dealing with egos and an unrealistic budget. I decided to kick it up and went to the lounge at the Loews Hotel, which was close to my apartment but a little intimidating, size-wise and cost-wise. Zelda was at the next table, also alone. I know it sounds trite but our eyes met and there was some kind of chemistry. She was gorgeous, way above my pay grade, but something about her smile relaxed me. A gentleness. And she wasn’t dressed like a party girl. Simple blouse and skirt, I figured her for an office worker. Anyway, our eyes kept meeting and finally I built up the courage to ask her to join me and she did. She was easy to talk to — actually, that’s not accurate. She didn’t talk much and didn’t make me feel I had to, which was even better. Sweet and quiet, a little spacey — I’d say something and she didn’t seem to hear. But the main thing was no attitude. I tended to get intimidated back then. My dad wasn’t like Uncle Lou. He was a rough character.”

He placed the pipe on a seat cushion. “I’m getting off topic. Zelda and I had a couple of drinks, she told me she was an actress looking for work but didn’t know if she had what it took. I said I was sure she did and that really seemed to matter to her, suddenly she’s hugging me and kissing my cheek. Not sexual, more like gratitude. But then we were holding hands and I asked her if she wanted to go back to my place and to my amazement, she did. We... no need to get into details. When I woke up, she was gone and I felt let down but then I figured that was L.A., actresses were flighty. She was gorgeous, I thought about her for a while but eventually put her out of my mind.”

He picked up the pipe, rotated it. A speck of something fell out. He retrieved it from the seat cushion, got up and dropped it in a leather wastebasket.

“Five years later,” he said, “she called me out of the blue. At my office — by then I was living down here, running my own firm in Encino, two people working for me. I’d told her my name and it wasn’t hard to find me in the phone book.”

“That must have been some surprise.”

“I nearly fell out of my chair. My situation was different. I’d been married for two years to a woman I totally loved and still do. Anne’s also an architect, we met bidding on a job, began as friends and eventually it became more.”

He inhaled and exhaled again. “When Zelda called, Anne was six months’ pregnant. Our daughter will be four next month. Dorothy, after Anne’s mom, we call her Dolly... what I’m trying to get across, Dr. Delaware, is my life was on an even keel when I got the call from Zelda. Even though it started off casual, I figured for some reason she wanted to hook up again. I listened and she told me she’d made it as an actress, was on a TV show. I said, Great. But then she told me I was a father. From the one night we were together. A boy, five, she named him Ovid after a romantic poet. She never got in touch because she felt she should take total responsibility. But now she wasn’t feeling so well and was worried about Ovid and since I’m his dad...”

He looked away. “Then she apologized. Then she cried for a long time. I was floored. How do you deal with something like that? I said nothing, too stunned, and it made her upset and she said forget it, she’d figure something out and all of a sudden I was telling her I needed to take responsibility, too. Meanwhile, I’m thinking she’s probably wrong, a woman that beautiful she’d have tons of guys, I’ll get a DNA test, that’ll be the end of it. I took her number and told her I’d be in touch. Then I had to figure out how to explain it to Anne. I didn’t, right away, why burden her, the whole thing would fizzle out. But acting normal when I got home was a challenge, Doctor, let me tell you. I waited until she went to sleep and went online to see if what Zelda said about being on a show was truthful. I guess I wanted her to be a liar. But there she was on video, doing a pretty good job, I thought. The next morning I phoned Uncle Lou and we met in his office. Not this one, the one he kept in a medical building, also Encino.”

“I’ve been there.”

“I know you have. Uncle’s always been the one I turned to and he helped me sort it out. First step was a paternity test and I was to pay for it. Ovid shouldn’t be involved directly, Uncle would make sure to get a cheek swab. But he wanted Zelda to be there, so he could evaluate her. Also, he said, it was more respectful to her, she was a person no matter what the result was. Especially because she’d said she was ill.”