Case of Lucy Bending (48 page)

"Ted," Bending said, looking toward the windows, "did my wife say anything to you about taking Lucy out of therapy?"

Levin hesitated a moment. "No," he said finally.

"She wants to," Bending said. "Told me so."

"Oh? Did she give you any reasons?"

"She thinks Lucy is better. The kid hasn't acted up since she's been seeing you. So Grace wants to pull her out."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I don't want to. I told her so. Unless you tell me that Lucy is completely cured and doesn't need to see you anymore."

"No, I can't tell you that. But I don't wish to be the subject of dissension between parents. Perhaps you'd prefer another therapist?"

"I want to stick with you. When you say Lucy can stop, then we'll stop. Besides, I don't think Grace was giving me the real reason why she wants to end it."

"Ah? What do you think the real reason is?"

"I think you've been digging a little too deep for her comfort. My wife is a very private woman, Ted. It must be tough for her to answer some of your questions. Me, I can take it; I don't give a damn. But I think it's upsetting her. She didn't tell me that; it's my own idea."

Levin sighed. "Your wife has been very cooperative. As you have too, of course. You must have known this would not be easy."

"Oh sure. We talked about it, Grace and I. We know that whatever you ask, it's for Lucy's sake—right?"

"Right. Then you wish to continue?"

"Why not?" Bending said offhandedly. "If it helps Lucy."

There was something disquieting here, and Levin decided to probe deeper.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Turk, but during our initial interview I got the distinct impression that bringing Lucy to see me was your wife's idea, and you weren't too enthusiastic about it. In fact, I felt that she had bullied you into it."

"Right on," Bending said sardonically. "That's the way it was. It was the money that was bothering me."

But the money is no longer a consideration?"

"Not with me it isn't. Grace mentioned it, but that's not the reason she wants to stop seeing you."

So we have a role reversal here—correct? Now you are on
^seelc
*
ⁿ
8 kelp
^Luc
y>
^anc
* Grace is the recalcitrant

Yes—if recalcitrant means what I think it does."

"And you believe Grace's change of attitude has come about because I have asked questions which she believes invade her privacy?"

"I'd almost swear to it."

Levin felt the tickling of an idea, so faint it still existed in an amorphous state. He could not grasp it nor give it form. It floated, a vagary, and after a moment, unable to define it, he let it temporarily drift.

"Turk," he said, hunching forward over his desk, "I am now going to ask you a series of questions that I suspect you will consider extraneous to Lucy's problems. But I assure you, I believe them to be important, and I hope you will answer as honestly as you can."

"Sure. Go ahead."

"In the neighborhood in which you live, do you have a lot of parties?"

"Parties? Oh hell, yes. South Florida is a partying place. Dances, barbecues, formal dinners, cookouts, drinking bashes. We're partying all the time."

"Howoften?"

"Oh my God, I never stopped to figure. At least once a week, I'd guess. Probably more. I mean, we're
always
partying."

"Are there some you particularly remember? Some that stick in your memory for whatever reason?"

Ronald Bending pondered. "Yeah, I guess so. Like maybe there was a fight. Or someone got pissy-assed drunk and made a fool of himself. Or herself. Or everyone went skinny-dipping. Parties like that you remember. Mostly because people still talk about them years after they happened."

"Of course," Levin said. "Very understandable. Now I am going to ask if you recall a party in your home about four years ago. It was probably a sit-down dinner. A lot of people. Music. Dancing later."

"Music?" Bending said. "You mean a band or a tape or what?"

"I don't know," Levin confessed, "but there was music. A dress-up party."

"About four years ago?" Bending said, frowning. "I don't recall anything like that."

Levin played his final card.

"It was the first party where Lucy was allowed to come downstairs and eat at the same table with the grown-ups. And then, later, you danced with her. She was all dressed up. A white dress. With pink ribbons. It was the first time you had danced with her."

Bending's face cleared, and he laughed. "Oh hell yes. I remember. Who told you about it? Grace?"

Levin didn't answer.

"Oh yes," Bending said, smiling, "that was a great party. Twenty people to a sit-down dinner. Maybe more. We had it catered. It cost a bundle, but I had just landed a big contract and we decided to celebrate. You're right; we had music. Some kind of a cockamamie trio. And I danced with Lucy. That was a big thrill for that little girl. My God, that was like four, five years ago. Now she wants to go to discos. Where does the time go?"

"Yes, yes," Dr. Levin said impatiently. "But about this party . . . After a while Lucy went up to bed. Then what happened?"

"What happened? Why, the party went on. Drinking, dancing, joints being passed around."

"Try to recall," Levin urged. "Try to remember exactly what happened."

Turk lighted another cigarette slowly. He leaned back, crossed his Knees. He stared at the paper stars pasted on the ceiling. When he spoke, his voice was low, reminiscent . . .

"Funny you should mention that particular party, Ted. It all comes back to me now. It turned out to be a very wet party. Everyone got whacked out of their skulls."

"Grace, too?"

"Oh sure. She was drinking then. A few people left. The trio took off at midnight, I guess. But I put on some tapes and we kept dancing. People started pairing off. Not husbands and wives, you understand. A lot of trading going on. I mean they'd drift outside. Onto the beach or into the bushes. Then they'd come back in, laughing like maniacs. It was that kind of a party. Jesus, it was fun."

At last, Levin thought. I've got him.

"And you, Turk?" he asked softly. "What did you do?"

"Me?" Bending said with a little chuff of mirth. "I guess I behaved as usual. I drank up a storm, danced my legs off, acted the fool. Par for the course."

"And did you pair off with someone?"

Bending suddenly sobered. He uncrossed his knees, straightened. Then he leaned forward in the armchair, staring intently at Dr. Levin.

"No names?" he asked.

"No names," Levin assured him.

"Yes, I paired off. Maybe that's how come I remember that party so well. It was the start of a long and beautiful friendship. Jesus, it's still going on—can you beat that?"

"Someone you knew?"

"A neighbor. The wife of a friend of mine. They got a couple of kids, but that makes no difference. Anyway, I had the hots for her since the day we met. And that night, at the party, we made out. First time."

He giggled in a way that Levin found offensive. But he was careful not to let his reaction show.

"You paired off with your friend's wife," he stated in a monotone. "And this affair has lasted four years?"

"That's right," Bending said complacently. "It's no big deal. For her or for me. I mean, it's not one of your great love stories. We just have a little fun, that's all."

"How often?"

"Oh . . . maybe once or twice a month. I've got others, and I guess she's got others. We're not exactly what you might call faithful to each other."

"Then the attraction is purely physical?"

"Well . . . that's most of it. She's a tiger in the sack. Also, we can let our hair down with each other. And right now we've got a business deal cooking that we're both involved in. But yes, I'd say it's mostly physical. She's got this great bod ..."

"All right, all right," Dr. Levin said somewhat testily. "Let's get back to the party. You paired up with this woman for the first time. Did you just come right out and ask her?"

Bending's lips twisted in a smarmy grin. "As a matter.of fact, I did. I told you I had eyes for her for a long time. I knew there was something doing there but, what the hell, she was my friend's wife, so I played it cool—you know? But that night, with the drinking and dancing and joints, I just didn't care. So I said to her, 'Let's fuck.' And she said, 'Why not?'"

"So you left the party together?"

"Nah, that's not the way it's done. She just sort of drifted
_awa
y_
_n0
one noticed her leave—and a few minutes later I

went to the downstairs john, and then I ducked outside and met her on the beach."

Levin blinked. "On the beach?"

"Sure. A few doors down from my place."

The doctor drew a deep breath. "This, ah, sexual encounter—where did it take place?"

"Where? Oh, down the beach a way. A house that belonged to a couple I knew were still at my party. We went around to their patio and used one of their pool lounges. Is it important?"

"Yes," Levin said, "it's important. You left your house, walked down the beach, went around to a pool patio, used one of the lounges?"

"That's right."

"No one saw you?"

Bending looked at him curiously. "Are you kidding? Of course no one saw us. It was like one, two in the morning. Who would see us?"

The nebulous idea that had previously occurred to Levin came into sharper focus. He sat silently, mulling it, letting it grow. It began to take on an order, a logic. He inspected it with a kind of awe, excited by its simplicity and elegance, amazed that he hadn't considered it before.

Bending was telling him the truth; he was absolutely convinced of that. The man claimed to have acted exactly as he might have been expected to act. There were no false notes in his account.

Levin was silent for so long, lost in the implications of what he had just heard, that finally Bending, with a nervous
^J
augh, said, "Hey Ted, I'm paying for this time."

"What?" Levin said. "Oh. Sorry. And after it was over, the incident on the pool lounge, what did you do then—go back to the party?"

"I did; she didn't. The lady went back to her home. I went back to my party. I remember her husband was still there, bombed out of his gourd."

You didn't have any other, ah, adventures that night, did

you?"

Bending laughed. "Imfuckingpossible. That lady wrung
^{me dr}
y- No, I just had a few more drinks, a few drags on a joint. Then the party broke up. I finally got everyone out of there and I went up to bed."

Dr. Levin swung back and forth in his swivel chair, hands clasped over his belly. He was frowning, staring over Bending's head at the nursery rhyme characters painted on the opposing wall: moon-jumping cows and fiddle-playing cats.

Then he stopped swinging, sighed, dug a cigar from the desk drawer. He stripped the cellophane away, bit off the tip, lighted it with a wooden kitchen match. Puff, puff, puff.

"Turk, you said that when this party took place, your wife was drinking. Correct?"

"She was never what you'd call a heavy drinker, but yes, she had some at that party."

"And did she smoke a joint?"

"I don't remember. I suppose she did. There were plenty available."

"She doesn't drink now?"

"Very rarely. Maybe one or two at a party. Usually wine."

"Smokes marijuana?"

"Now? No, she doesn't."

"How long would you say you were absent from the party? With your friend's wife?"

"My God, Ted, that party's really on your mind, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. How long were you absent? Thirty minutes? An hour?"

"Probably around an hour."

"And when you returned to the party, was your wife still there, entertaining your guests?"

Bending thought a moment. "I really don't remember."

"When you went up to bed, was she there? In your bedroom? Asleep?"

"I don't recall, but she must have been because everyone had left. I locked up and turned off the lights. So I guess Grace was already in bed."

"Did you have sex with her that night?"