Chapter 45
What the hell just happened? I almost expect her to open the door again, say that she mixed me up with a plumber or an electrician or some other tradesperson and that everything is fine.
But she doesn’t. The door remains stubbornly closed.
For whatever reason, Judy Abelman thinks I called her last Wednesday and that I’m too busy to work for her, which is ridiculous.
But it doesn’t matter, because she’s hired someone else.
I make my way back down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
I don’t understand how a mix-up like this could have occurred.
I didn’t call her last Wednesday to cancel.
And if I want proof, my phone provides it.
The log clearly shows one call to Judy’s number on the same day Catherine caused me to miss our original appointment.
There are no other calls, and certainly not last Wednesday.
Which leads me to an inescapable conclusion: Either Judy is lying because she doesn’t want to hire me anymore, or someone else canceled the appointment.
There is only one person I can think of.
I stop and make the call.
My mother answers quickly, sounding way too chirpy for someone who’s just sabotaged her daughter’s client.
“Did you cancel my appointment with Judy Abelman and tell her I was too busy to work for her?” I ask before she can say much.
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling.” Then I explain to her what’s just happened with Judy.
When I’m finished, my mother tuts. “You think I’m responsible for that?”
“Well, she says someone called and canceled, and I know it wasn’t me.”
“Then it must have been Sam.”
“It wasn’t Sam,” I say with conviction. “He wouldn’t do something like that.”
“But you think that I would? I’m the one who got you the job, and I have a standing in this community.
The last thing I want is people saying that my daughter can’t live up to her commitments.
” There’s a brief silence. “Have you considered that she might have misunderstood when you called to reschedule the appointment from last week?”
I let the comment about commitments go, because it just isn’t worth it. “There was no misunderstanding. I called her last Monday afternoon and made a new appointment for today. I never said I was too busy, or that I didn’t want to work for her.”
“Then I have no idea. Did you say that you didn’t cancel?”
“What do you think?”
“There’s no need to be snippy,” my mother retorts in an equally snippy voice. “Are you still at the house? Maybe I can talk to her.”
“I already left. I’m on my way back to the subway. And before you ask, no, I’m not going back. She made it quite clear that she’s already hired someone else and doesn’t need me.”
“That was fast.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There will be other opportunities, honey. To be honest, I’ve heard that Judy Abelman is a bear to work for, anyway. You’re probably better off this way.”
“Yeah.” I appreciate that my mother is trying to make me feel better, but I could have done without a wasted slog across town. But there’s no point in dwelling on it. “We should get together for dinner sometime soon. We haven’t seen you and Dad since we moved into the Glendale.”
“I’d love that, but it will have to wait,” my mother says. “Your dad is up to his neck in work. He’s getting home at nine or ten at night, and on the evenings when he does come home earlier, he makes a sandwich, then goes straight to his study and locks himself in.”
“What has he gotten himself into this time?” I ask.
My father would work twenty-four hours a day if only his clients were willing to have a session at 3:00 a.m. He fills his extra billable hours with all sorts of side work, like writing articles for psychiatric journals, evaluating patients at mental health facilities, and providing expert testimony in court cases.
“He’s working with the district attorney’s office. Something about a woman who shot her husband after claiming she had a mental break. Her lawyers are going for an insanity defense.”
“Sounds about right.” It’s not the first time my father has worked with the courts.
He’s consulted for both the prosecution and the defense in numerous trials over the years and is in high demand thanks to his meticulous research and deep understanding of complex psychiatric issues.
“Maybe we can get together next weekend.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” There’s a note of resignation in my mother’s voice. “You know how these things go.”
“Yeah.” I know exactly what my father is like when he gets lost in his work.
When I was in eighth grade, I scored the lead in the school production of Romeo and Juliet.
My father never saw the play because he was too busy.
I later found out that he’d been consulting on a murder case.
Things haven’t gotten any better in the years since then.
In fact, as his reputation has grown, he’s found himself in even higher demand.
I’m sure that my mother is looking forward to the day when he retires—although, given his single-minded devotion to his craft, that might never happen. At least not voluntarily.
“Maybe we can go out on Friday,” my mother suggests. “Just the two of us. We can make an afternoon of it and go shopping.”
“I’m not sure I can afford to go out. Not after what just happened,” I say, a bit overdramatically.
“Nonsense. We’re going out. My treat. We’ll go to Stetski’s. I know how much you like it.”
“Sure.” Stetski’s Deli is my mother’s favorite place, not mine, but I don’t protest.
“Wonderful. I’ll meet you there at noon.” My mother sounds pleased.
“Okay.” I’m at the subway station now. I tell my mother that I love her and that we’ll speak again later in the week, then hang up.
But not before she tells me one more time that Judy Abelman is not worth worrying about, that there are bigger and better things in my future.
I appreciate her optimism and her attempt to lift my spirits, but as I wait for the train, my thoughts turn once more to Judy’s claim that I called and canceled the appointment, and I find it as confusing now as when she first told me.
It also raises a disturbing question: If my mother didn’t call her, and it wasn’t Sam, then who could it have been?