“So can we arrange a meeting with your client, where I can talk to him before introducing him to my friends?” I tried to keep irritation out of my voice, but I knew I couldn’t match her in sanctity.
“Before I do anything, I will have to talk to Paul. Surely you understand that any other course would violate my relationship with him.” She wrote Max’s name in her datebook next to Paul Radbuka’s appointment: her square, printlike hand was easy to read upside down.
“Of course I understand that,” I said with what patience I could muster. “But I can’t let Paul Radbuka come to Mr. Loewenthal out of the blue in the belief that they’re related. In fact, I don’t think Mr. Loewenthal is himself a part of the Radbuka family. If I could ask Paul a few questions first, it might spare everyone some anxiety.”
She shook her head with finality: she would not turn Paul over to someone like me, an unskilled outsider. “Whether it’s Mr. Loewenthal or his musician friend who is part of the family, I assure you, I would approach them with the utmost empathy. And the first step is to talk to Paul, to get his permission for me to go to them. How long will your musician be in Chicago?”
At this point I didn’t want to tell her anything about anyone I knew, but Don said, “I think he said that he’s leaving for the West Coast on Monday.”
While I fumed to myself, Don got Wiell to give a précis on how hypnosis worked and how she used it-sparingly, and only after her patients felt able to trust her-before he brought up the kind of controversy the book was likely to generate.
He grinned engagingly. “From our standpoint, controversy is highly desirable, because it gives a book access to the kind of press coverage you can’t buy. But from yours-you may not want that kind of spotlight on you and your practice.”
She smiled back at him. “Like you, I would welcome the publicity-although for a different reason. I want as many people as possible to start understanding how we block memories, how we recover them, and how we can become liberated in the process. The Planted Memory Foundation has done a great deal of damage to people suffering from trauma. I haven’t had the resources to make the truth clear to a wider audience. This book would help me greatly.”
A silvery bell, like a Japanese temple bell, chimed on her desk. “We’ll have to stop now-I have another patient coming and I need time to prepare for my session.”
I handed her my card, reminding her that I wanted an early meeting with Paul Radbuka. She shook my hand in a cool, dry clasp, giving my hand a slight pressure intended to reassure me of her goodwill. To Don she added that she could help him stop smoking if he wanted.
“Most of my hypnotic work is in the arena of self-exploration, but I do work with habit management sometimes.”
Don laughed. “I hope we’ll be working closely together for the next year or so. If I decide I’m ready to quit we’ll put the manuscript aside while I lie back on your couch here.”
XI Ramping Up
As we walked past the liposuckers to the elevator, Don congratulated himself on how well things had gone. “I’m a believer: it’s going to be a great project. Those eyes of hers could convince me to do just about anything.”
“They apparently did,” I said dryly. “I wish you hadn’t brought Max’s name into the discussion.”
“Chrissake, Vic, it was a pure fluke that she guessed it was Max Loewenthal.” He stood back as the elevator doors opened to let out an elderly couple. “This is going to be a career-saving book for me. I bet I can get my agent to go to high six figures, not to mention the film rights-don’t you see Dustin Hoffman as the broken-down Radbuka remembering his past?”
Lotty’s bitter remark on ghouls profiting on the remains of the dead came back to me full force. “You said you wanted to prove to Lotty Herschel that you’re not the mike-in-the-face kind of journalist. She’s not going to be very persuaded if you’re prancing around in glee about turning her friends’ misery into commercial movies.”
“Vic, get a grip,” Don said. “Can’t you let me have my moment of triumph? Of course I won’t violate Dr. Herschel’s most sacred feelings. I started out feeling a bit doubtful of Rhea, but by the end of the hour she had me totally on her side-sorry if the excitement’s gone to my head.”
“She rubbed me the wrong way a bit,” I said.
“That’s because she wouldn’t toss you her patient’s home phone number. Which she absolutely should not give anyone. You know that.”
“I know that,” I had to agree. “I guess what bugs me is her wanting to mastermind the situation: she’ll meet Max and Lotty and Carl, she’ll decide what they’re about, but she’s resisting the idea that I might meet her client. Don’t you think it’s odd that he gave her office as his home address-as if his identity was wrapped up in her?”
“You’re overreacting, Vic, because you like to be the one in control yourself. You read some of the articles you printed out for me on the attacks against her by Planted Memory, right? She’s sensible to be cautious.”
He paused while the elevator landed and we negotiated our way past the group waiting to get on. I scanned them, hoping I might see Paul Radbuka, wondering about the destination of the people boarding. Were they getting fat sucked out? Root canals? Which one was Rhea Wiell’s next patient?
Don continued with the thought uppermost in his own mind. “Do you think it’s Lotty, Max, or Carl who really is related to Radbuka? They sound pretty prickly for people who are only looking out for their friends’ interests.”
I stopped behind the newsstand to stare at him. “I don’t think any of them is related to Radbuka. That’s why I’m so annoyed that Ms. Wiell has Max’s name now. I know, I know,” I added, as he started to interrupt, “you didn’t really give it to her. But she’s so focused on her prize exhibit’s well-being that she’s not thinking outside that landscape now to anyone else’s needs.”
“But why should she?” he asked. “I mean, I understand that you want her to be as empathic to Max or Dr. Herschel as she is to Paul Radbuka, but how could she be that concerned about a group of strangers? Besides, she’s got such an exciting event going on with what she’s done with this guy that it’s not surprising, really. But why are your friends so very defensive if it isn’t their own family they’re worrying about?”
“Good grief, Don-you’re almost as experienced as Morrell in writing about war-scarred refugees. I’m sure you can imagine how it must have felt, to be in London with a group of children who all shared the same traumas-first of leaving their families behind to go to a strange country with a strange language, then the even bigger trauma of the horrific way in which their families died. I think you’d feel a sense of bonding that went beyond friendship-everyone’s experiences would seem as though they had happened to you personally.”
“I suppose you’re right. Of course you are. I only want to get in with Rhea on the story of the decade.” He grinned again, disarming me, and pulled the half-smoked cigarette out of his pocket again. “Until I decide to let Rhea cure me, I need to get this inside me. Can you come over to the Ritz with me? Share a glass of champagne and let me feel just a minute moment of euphoria about my project?”
I still wasn’t in a very celebratory mood. “Let me check with my answering service while you go over to the hotel. Then a quick one, I guess.”
I went back to the corner to use the pay phones, since my cell phone was dead. Why couldn’t I let Don have his moment of triumph, as he had put it? Was he right, that I was only resentful because Rhea Wiell wouldn’t give me Radbuka’s phone number? But that sense of an ecstatic vision when she was talking about her triumph with Paul Radbuka had made me uncomfortable. It was the ecstasy of a votary, though, not the triumphant smirk of a charlatan, so why should I let it raise my hackles?