PALINDROME (13 page)

“Fine. Thanks for getting me out of the
house. I was fixing the basement humidifier.”

“That sounds boring as hell. You college
coaches lead a tedious life.”

“Bless your lucky stars, Robert. If my life
didn’t suck so badly there’d be no one for you to go to lunch
with.”

“Ah, now that hurt.”

“Sorry, my friend, face the fact, who wants
to hang with an IRS agent? Repossess any homes from the
elderly?”

“Three this week,” Gerkin said facetiously.
“I’m throwing so many old farts out on the street I had to buy a
second villain’s costume.”

“You’re nuts!”

“No worries, I get to deduct the cost of the
new costume from my tax return, technically it’s a work
uniform.”

“At least you won’t get audited.”

“
Fo’ shizzle.”

Schroeder placed his hands over his ears
momentarily. “None of that hip hop slang shit. I listen to it five
days a week.”

“No prob, I’ll lay off the ghetto rap. What
are you getting for lunch?”

“It’s after two. It’s more like a pre-dinner
than a lunch.”

“Does that mean you’re going to order
heavy?”

“I love the eggplant parm. Matt has friends
over at the house, and my wife and daughter are out shopping
anyway. They told me I’m on my own for dinner.”

“How is everyone?”

“Marilyn’s fine. Sarah spends every last dime
I make but she’s pulling straight As in veterinary school so I
don’t care that she’s putting me in the poor house.”

“I can’t believe a dumb old jock like you has
a daughter that’s going to be a vet. Are you sure no one slipped
Marilyn the pickle?”

“I hope that’s not a confession,
ger-kin
.”

Gerkin laughed and then turned to call their
order to the storeowner. “Two eggplant heros, Frank.” Frank nodded
and walked into the kitchen at the back of the store. “How’s the
all-star?”

“God, I wish I had his life.”

Gerkin smiled. “Living large?”

“Jesus Christ, yeah. Let me ask you
something, how many women have you slept with in your life?”

“Besides Francine?”

“Yeah, besides Francine.”

Gerkin thought for a moment. “Three.
You?”

“One girl before Marilyn. Matt’s bedridden
with a calf injury. I swear there should be a revolving door on his
bedroom. One after another, these gorgeous young girls are coming
over to see him.”

“He’s such a smart young man; he’s milking
the sympathy angle, isn’t he?” Gerkin said with a smile. “So much
promise and talent.”

“Robert, he doesn’t have to milk anything; I
think he’s sleeping with every one of them.”

“C’mon, no one get’s that much tail.”

“Robert, they send him videos of themselves
in the shower. I told him, ‘don’t you dare let your mother see
those, she’ll throw you out of the goddamn house.’”

“That’s wild. That’s what young girls do
these days?”

“It’s unbelievable.” Schroeder stood and
walked over to the beverage case. “Orangeade?” Gerkin gave him a
thumbs-up. He walked back to the table and handed Gerkin his bottle
of Snapple.

“So how did he hurt himself? I mean aside
from his sore johnson.”

Schroeder laughed. “He got caught at the
bottom of a pileup. His calf got pulverized.”

Gerkin winced. “That sounds painful.”

“Yeah. I’ve been taking him over to Dr. Rosen
in Great Neck three times a week for physical therapy.”

Gerkin was about to twist the cap off his
bottle of Snapple. He stopped and looked up at Schroeder with a
serious expression. “Dr. Sam Rosen, the orthopedist?”

“Yeah, great guy, he’s the team
physician.”

“
Oh.”

“Oh what? What the hell is that supposed to
mean?”

“It’s really not my place to say, but maybe
the team should get a new physician.”

“What are you talking about? Rosen’s been the
team doc for years. The kids love him.”

“I’ll bet they do.”

All the humor drained from Schroeder’s face.
He reached across the table and grabbed Gerkin’s wrist. He looked
him in the eye. “Robert, what the hell are you talking about? I’m
responsible for these kids.”

Gerkin shook free of his friend’s grasp.
“Lenny, what do I do for a living?”

“Robert, I’ve know you for twenty years; for
God’s sake, don’t be evasive with me.”

Gerkin shook his head unhappily. He seemed
reluctant to speak. “What task force am I assigned to, Lenny?”

Schroeder huffed to express his frustration.
“For the love of Christ, Robert, just spit it out.”

“Tax evasion, Lenny, I investigate business
professionals that cheat on their taxes: doctors, dentists, and
lawyers.”

“Everyone cheats on their taxes, that doesn’t
make him a bad doctor!”

Frank walked over and placed two eggplant
parmigiana heros on the table. “Enjoy, gentlemen.” Steaming sauce
and cheese spilled over the sides of the hero bread like molten
lava from the mouth of a volcano.

“Lenny, I love you like a brother, but
there’s only so much I can say. It’s not the fact that he’s hiding
income, it’s where that money comes from.”

Schroeder pushed his plate away with two
hands. “Christ, Robert, you’re giving me
agita
.” He slumped
back into his seat and turned his focus inward. It brought him back
to Dr. Rosen’s waiting room and his chance encounter with Shawn
Riley, the boy who had been expelled for steroid abuse. He
remembered what his son Matt said about him: “He’s full of bull.
He’s a junkie. He doesn’t work at anything except scoring dope.” He
gave Gerkin a probing stare.

“Now you understand?”

Schroeder nodded.

Gerkin picked up the hero and bit off a
chunk. “Man, this stuff is good.”

“Thank you,” Schroeder said.

Gerkin was still chewing. “Don’t mention
it.”

Twenty-one: Fine Wine

We
ended up at a restaurant named Del
Posto on 10th Avenue. Emilio held the door for me to enter. My eyes
were wide open as I stepped inside. I was gawking at the
restaurant’s beautiful two-story interior with crossed mahogany
beams on the ceiling. I put my foot down on the threshold and felt
an awful pain shoot through my already sore foot.

Emilio noticed me grimace. “Ah, the price we
pay for vanity. No worries, I know exactly what you need.”

It was early, not even 5:00 p.m. The
restaurant had just opened for dinner and was empty. There were
several waiters standing about idly. They all lined up to greet us
as we entered. They were friendly and happy to see us. They treated
us as if we were a part of their family.

“I have a lovely table in the corner,” the
host said. He pointed to the table with an open hand. “You
like?”

“I’d love a table overlooking the main
floor,” Emilio said as he slipped a bill into the host’s jacket
pocket. “Perhaps something on the railing?” He smiled politely at
the host. Emilio had a smile that could bend the human will.

“Certainly, a lovely table upstairs for the
gentleman and the lovely lady.”

“Go on up ahead of me,” Emilio said to me.
“I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is perfect. I’ll just be a
minute.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Scoot,” he said playfully.

I smiled and followed the host upstairs to
the table. As I climbed the stairs, I saw Emilio speaking to one of
the waiters.

I plopped down into the chair, and could not
wait another minute to get off my feet. They hurt like hell—I
prayed that I didn’t have any blisters. I took a moment to admire
the decor. It seemed like very little time had passed before Emilio
returned. He sat down and our waiter came right over.

“Would you like red wine?” Emilio asked.

“I’d love red wine.”

“What’s your best malbec?” he asked the
waiter.

“We have a 2005 Bodega Catena Zapata,
signore
.”

“Nicasia Vineyard or Argentino?”

“Argentino,
signore
.”

“Excellent. Bring us a bottle, please.”

The waiter nodded with a broad smile as if to
acknowledge Emilio’s sound judgment. “Very good,
signore
, I
bring the Argentino.”

“You’re in for a real treat. This wine is
excellent.”

“From Argentina, I take it.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful wine. Lift your
foot.”

“What?”

“Lift your foot. I’m going to take off your
boots.”

“No you’re not!”

“It’s been bothering me for hours.”

“Not a chance.”

“The lights are dim, no one will notice.”

“I don’t care; it’s embarrassing.” Emilio
reached under the table and grabbed my right leg. He slid my boot
off before I could stop him. “You don’t listen very—” I couldn’t
even finish the sentence. He began massaging the bottom of my foot.
It felt so good I had to stop myself from moaning.

“How’s that?”

“Amazing.”

“Good.”

He pulled off the other boot. I looked around
to see if we were being watched. Thank God we had privacy. He
worked the pads of my feet with his strong fingers to relieve the
soreness. “You’ve got a great touch.”

The waiter Emilio had spoken with before
coming upstairs approached the table. He jokingly shielded his eyes
and set a shopping bag down alongside the table. He attempted to
hand Emilio some money, but Emilio refused. “Thank you,” the waiter
said and quickly disappeared.

“What’s that?”

Emilio was still working on my feet. “I had
him run over to the shoe store and buy you some flip flops.”

“Really?”

“Well, you can’t put those high heels back
on; it would be like torture.”

I opened the shoebox. “Tori Burch? That’s
insane. Do you know how much these cost?”

“More or less.”

Honestly, I had no idea how much they were,
but I knew that they were expensive. “That was so sweet of you. Let
me give you a kiss.”

Emilio lifted a hand. “Don’t disturb me while
I’m working,” he said jokingly.

“You’re crazy.”

“No, not crazy, just attentive.”

I couldn’t believe it. Emilio was wonderful
in ways I had never imagined.

The waiter returned with our wine. I thought
Emilio would stop but he didn’t.

He smiled at the waiter. “I’m performing
necessary triage on the lady’s feet.”

The waiter laughed politely. “Who is going to
taste?”

“You can pour. There’s no need to taste.”

“But,
signore
, the wine, it’s three
hundred dollars. Perhaps—”

“Not to worry,” Emilio said. “Pour the lady a
large glass. She’s overwhelmed with pain.”

“Very good,
signore
,” the waiter said.
He uncorked the bottle and filled my glass.

“Well, what are you waiting for,” Emilio
said. “Drink!”

I didn’t argue. I put the glass to my lips
and took a mouthful. The wine was rich and full-bodied. It tasted
wonderful, warm, and aromatic as it sloshed around in my mouth. I
had not eaten all day and could feel the alcohol hit me
immediately.

“How is it,
signorina
?” the waiter
asked, hoping for a positive response.

“It’s awesome.”

The waiter smiled broadly. “Very good,
signorina
.” He poured Emilio a glass and topped off mine. He
placed the bottle on the table, turned, and left immediately.

“Drink some more,” Emilio said. “It’s strong,
isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s strong. I love it.” The alcohol
was making me less self-conscious. Emilio was still massaging my
feet, rubbing the pain away. “That feels so good. Can you do my
shoulders next?”

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

“And after that we eat dinner, my hands are
getting tired.”

“Then I’ll massage
your
shoulders.” I
wanted him so badly. I wanted to feel his hands on me.

“I’ll look forward to it, but not today.
We’re not ready yet.”

“You’re a fiend.” His hands felt so good. I
purred softly and was unable to contain it. “Are you sure we’re not
ready?”

“I’m positive. As with your feet, without
pain, you cannot appreciate pleasure, and without patience,
gratification is unfulfilling. We have to wait until the hunger
consumes us like an inferno.”

“I’m not sure I can wait.” I drank more of
the exquisite wine and felt my body glaze over with a mellow
feeling of serenity.

He pressed harder against the bottom of my
foot. He must have pressed against a sympathetic nerve because I
felt the pressure all the way up the inside of my leg. “You have to
wait until you want to scream. You have to hurt so badly you feel
as if you will die without it.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

Emilio’s words were sincere, and his smile
offered promise. He picked up his glass and toasted, “Here’s to a
very slow and agonizing death.”

Twenty-two: Misery

Dr.
Sam Rosen sat alone in his office.
It was nearly 8:30 p.m. He kept glancing at the phone. The pharmacy
usually called to let him know that they were closing for the
evening. Their closing time had always been 8:00 p.m. sharp. He
still had a healthy stack of reports waiting for review: X-rays,
MRIs, and CAT scans. He knew his patients were waiting by their
phones for their test results, and he would not leave the office
until he had finished.

The last file was difficult. He would have to
make a call to an eighty-three-year-old man with progressively
worsening pain in the right shin. Rosen was reasonably sure of the
diagnosis at the time of the patient’s first visit. He had
identified a mass with ragged edges on a simple X-ray. He could
feel the protrusion on the patient’s bone simply by palpating the
identified area of the leg. Additional image studies and
accompanying reports suggested fibrosarcoma. The prospects were not
good for a patient of that age and even worse for a senior citizen
with moderate dementia, who thought the affliction could be
controlled with aspirin and liberal applications of Bengay
ointment. He practiced the call in his mind a few times. He needed
to be firm with the old guy. He hoped that the old man’s son or
daughter could be brought into the picture to lend support and
validate what Rosen was saying.