Jill Emerson - The Trouble With Eden

“Damn near nothing.”

“Under fifty thousand dollars?”

“So far under you couldn’t see it from there.”

“Then you can forget inheritance taxes.”

“She might need money for cash flow, though. I wonder if I shouldn’t give her a few thousand dollars free and clear?”

“You could,” he said. “There’s an easier way. Just set a higher balance in the Lemon Tree checking account You’ll lose a few dollars’ interest every year but that’s no hardship in your position. And it simplifies things.”

“I should have thought of that myself.” They went over a few details and were finished. She got to her feet “When can you have that for me, Henry?”

“Let me see. Today is Wednesday. How would Monday be?”

“Monday?”

“Monday, Tuesday at the latest. I’ll give you a call.”

“I’m certainly glad we simplified things.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think you’re stalling me, Henry, and I think I know why you’re stalling me. And I don’t think I like it”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“These things take time, Olive. Even a relatively simple matter—”

“You could dictate the whole damned document in fifteen minutes and we both know it, and even in this day and age it shouldn’t take your girl the better part of a week to type it. You’re implying something and I do not care for it.”

He sighed heavily. “Force of habit,” he said.

“I still don’t like it”

“It’s not what you think. I know you well enough, I know you wouldn’t — we do this frequently, Olive. People can change their minds. And signing a will is a depressing thing, and—”

“It’s a sight more depressing to know you have a will in force that’s not as you want it. I expect to live a good many years, Henry, and I’ll get off to a better start when I know my property will go where I want it to go. It’s eleven o’clock. I’ll be back at four this afternoon to sign it. I hope it will be ready.”

“Oh, it’ll be ready.”

“Is something funny?”

“I was just thinking of something my dad used to say. Excuse the language, but he said you’ve got more balls than a bowling alley.”

“He told me as much to my face once. I always took it a compliment.”

“You were right to. That’s how he meant it.”

She crossed the street to the bank. Standing in line she thought about Oscar Biedemeyer. How long had it been since she’d gone to his funeral? Ten years in the spring, and it didn’t seem that long. He had been a good man. Well, Henry was a good man himself. A decent lawyer always tried to tug you along on a leash. You couldn’t hold it against him. But you had to know how to stand up to him.

She transferred six thousand dollars from her personal account to the Lemon Tree account. She filled out some forms and was given a signature card to take along with her. On her way out the bank manager headed her way, obviously intent on expressing his feelings for her loss. She pretended not to notice him and managed to dodge the encounter.

It had been raining off and on all morning. Now it was clear and the sun was shining as she walked down Main to the Mall. “I may be taking a trip,” she told Linda. “A couple of weeks away from here would probably do me good. I haven’t made any plans yet, but I’ve arranged with the bank so that you can pay any bills that start to pile up. They need to have your signature on file.”

She returned the signed card to her purse, lit a cigarette, walked idly around the little shop. She said, “I don’t suppose I have to tell you you’ve been a godsend to me. I’d have just closed up. I’d close now if I didn’t have you to run it for me.” She picked a poorly carved giraffe from a shelf, clucked at it, put it down again. “But you enjoy it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you like the town.”

“Yes, I do like it here. I’m just beginning to realize how much I like it here. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about finding an apartment.”

“It’s pointless to stay in that tenement for any length of time.”

“It is, and I’m willing to commit myself to a lease. To the idea of spending the next year here.”

“And not getting married in the meantime?”

“Oh, that’s over. That’s been over for awhile.”

“I think that’s as well.”

“Do you?”

“I think a woman’s better off waiting for the right one. Even if he never comes along.”

“And he wasn’t the right one?”

“No. Or you wouldn’t be looking for an apartment, would you?”

She lunched on a sandwich and a cup of coffee. It was raining when she left the lunchroom, a soft and tentative rain. She walked quickly to George Perlmutter’s house on Ferry Street. There were patients in his waiting room but he took her ahead of them.

“I could have waited,” she said. “It’s nothing all that urgent.”

“I never thought it was. Does the others good to wait a little longer. Improves my image. What can I do for you, Olive?”

“I haven’t slept well since Clem went to the hospital. I haven’t slept at all since he died.”

“I see. Well, that’s one thing we’ve got a cure for.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Don’t tell the AMA I brought it up, but have you tried any of the nonprescription items? They work for most people, and I like to stay away from the stronger drugs when I can avoid it.”

She said, “I went through the same sort of thing when my father died. I had to take Seconal every day for a month and it worked like a charm.”

“Yes, if does that. I gather you’d like me to prescribe Seconal.”

“Please.”

“Simple enough. Every case should be so simple.” He wrote rapidly on a pad of prescription blanks, tore off the top sheet and handed it to her. “Anything else troubling you? Headaches? Depression?”

“No headaches. Depression? Well, I haven’t been doing handsprings.”

“But nothing you can’t handle on your own?”

“No. George, I’ve never understood why doctors can’t write like everyone else. It’s incomprehensible to me. I can make out your numbers, though. I’m sure it will be more than a week before I can sleep without help.”

“No point in buying more pills than you need.”

“And when these are used up?”

“Just call me and I’ll renew the prescription.”

“That seems like a nuisance.”

“Does it?”

“I’d say so.”

“You’re still a young woman, Olive. You’re attractive, you’re healthy, you have no financial worries—”

“And I’m in good spirits. Four excellent reasons why you can prescribe a larger quantity of sleeping pills with a clear conscience.”

He got to his feet and paced back and forth between his desk and the window. He said, “We’re talking about something without mentioning it, aren’t we, Olive?”

“Then shall I mention it? We’re talking about suicide.”

“Yes, we are. And that’s not the only reason for giving you Seconal in small amounts. It’s a dangerous drug to possess in lethal quantities. It’s very possible to take pills and forget you’ve taken them; that sort of mental haziness is an effect of the drug. There have been so many cases of genuinely involuntary overdoses—”

“I can promise you I won’t take an involuntary overdose, George.”

“Well, that spells it out, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I sent a check a few months ago to an abortion reform movement. Their main argument is that a woman should have the right to do as she wishes with her own body. I see no reason why that right is the exclusive province of pregnant women.”