What do you do that’s so different? I said. I too spent hours every week with angry teenagers, and I knew that any of them might get into trouble at any minute.
He was silent. Gavin’s going to be the subject of my next book, he said then. I’m writing a proposal. There’s interest.
From the people who brought out your last book?
From agents. That was a university press. Now I’m going big time.
Soon, I calculated, Frank would be offered a more lucrative job in a bigger city.
One night at the beginning of summer, Frank and I met at a restaurant. He was late, and came in looking rushed, whipping his napkin from the place setting. Did you order for us? he said.
I wouldn’t have dared order for him. When we were finally eating, he said, I just confiscated a gun.
From who?
He shrugged. That’s why I was late.
From Gavin?
Gavin? Of course not. Gavin doesn’t have a gun!
Who, then? How did you find out?
I’d rather not say.
But don’t you have to turn him in? I said. A gun was serious. The client might be sent to a more restrictive facility.
I’m not turning him in, Frank said.
You’re not? What then?
I’ll keep it. When he’s ready, he and I will take it to the buyback program. They’ll pay me, and I’ll give him the money.
Won’t he just buy another gun?
By then he won’t want one.
I suppose he’ll spend the money on books, I said drily.
In Latin, Frank said. Greek.
We ate. Where is it now? I said.
Frank shook his head.
It’s not in your pocket, is it?
Forget it, he said.
I’d intended to work on reports that evening, but had decided to postpone them when Frank suggested dinner. I expected that he’d come home with me. But at the end of the meal, which he paid for, I thanked him, mentioned the reports, and left while he was pulling out his credit card.
After that Frank was less interested in me. I was sure he blamed me for timidity. I blamed myself. Obviously Frank wasn’t dangerous! I liked him for his outrageousness, I scolded myself — but apparently I couldn’t handle someone who went beyond making lame jokes about the administration and actually tried innovative methods — risky ones, yes, but taking risks led to progress.
Then, one evening, he phoned: a quick, impersonal call. Can I come over now? When he arrived he accepted some Scotch and sat down on my sofa. I have a proposal for you, he said. I don’t mean I’m going to propose!
I didn’t think you did, I said. You’re not down on one knee.
I felt flustered, unable to be at my best — too needy.
The organizers of the conference in Vancouver, he told me, were so pleased by his plan to bring Gavin, and by the video Frank had sent, that they had offered to make him one of the main speakers in the plenary session. They’d pay him a good sum, as well as expenses. The only problem, his contact had said, was the unfortunate, unspoken message conveyed by the fact that Frank was a white man and Gavin a black boy. The pairing — and the absence of a speaker of color, or a woman, in what would now be a longer part of the program — might seem insensitive.
That’s all that troubles them? I said, but Frank kept talking. The organization, he explained, prided itself on its diversity, and on making clear to the public (Frank’s segment would be filmed and offered to news organizations) that all clients aren’t black, all therapists aren’t white. So they’d made Frank’s featured participation contingent on his bringing along a nonwhite colleague, preferably female. Would I be willing to join him?
You’re not in the videos, of course, he said, but you can interview Gavin before the Q&A — bring up concepts the videos don’t get to. Or accuse me of invading his privacy! You’d like that. A little controversy will be perfect.
I’m not black, I said. I wanted to do it, and I knew I shouldn’t. I said, Isn’t the idea that you should have someone black with you?
They said nonwhite, he said.
I’m mixed, I said. Maybe ask Diane? But I didn’t want him to ask Diane.
Frank turned his head quickly. Diane can’t hear about any of this! he said sharply. Diane thinks I’m a show-off. Then he said, And at this point in your career, the exposure will be fabulous for you.
I had thought of that. I’d never been to Vancouver. Frank and I would have hours together on the plane and in the hotel. Gavin and his uncle would be present much of the time, but even so... I wondered how much money I’d get. I began to think about what I might ask Gavin in our public conversation that would make the whole thing ethical after all.
It would be easy not to tell Diane, whom I respected: I didn’t want to know her opinion.
I didn’t say yes, but Frank talked as if it were settled, and I didn’t argue. From his chair he reached to stroke my arm with one finger, then put down his drink, stood, and took me in his arms.
When I awoke in the night he was asleep beside me — naked, sprawled, the blanket twisted around one leg. I got out of bed and crossed the room to the chair where he’d laid his clothes. In his left pants pocket I could see the outline of his bottle of pills. I put my hand into his right pants pocket and felt the flat leather billfold he carried, and something made of metal. I snatched my fingers back, then let the tips graze the edges of the object: the barrel, trigger, and grip of a small handgun.
A few weeks later I heard shouts from the lunchroom while I ate a sandwich at my desk. My next client told me Gavin had gotten into a fight.
Really? I said. I didn’t think I should ask who started it, but the girl told me anyway. Gavin had claimed that another boy shoved him while he ate. He jumped up, punching.
My client said, That boy touched Gavin. She reached out a finger to show me.
There were a couple of other fights.
Frank and I didn’t spend time together during those weeks. Late one afternoon, I stuck my head into his office. How can you claim he isn’t angry? I said. I couldn’t begin to say whether I was asking a legitimate professional question, trying to find out the status of my participation in the conference, arguing with him, or looking for a way to go to bed with him.
Oh, that’s part of the story, Frank said.
He didn’t ask me to sit down but I took the client’s chair. He was at his desk. Backsliding, he said, but accepting appropriate punishment — it makes it more convincing. He’s lost some privileges — he gets that. You worry too much.
That was all, and I soon left. Embarrassed to be caught worrying again, I bought my ticket. Frank had explained that we’d be reimbursed after the conference. But the next time we talked — outside the facility, a week or so later, as we headed to our cars — he said Gavin was refusing to go to the conference. No videos, no trip, he said. The little shit.
Oh! I said. I stopped, clutching my tote bag full of reports. Frank, I said. I was uncomfortably aware of all the fantasies of this trip I’d been allowing myself. And the ticket was expensive.
Not a big deal, he said. I’ll reason with him. But I can’t until he calms down.
What if he doesn’t calm down? I said.
He will. He sounded stern. I wanted him to be right so we could go to the conference — but also because I wanted his theories to be true, so as to prove that my doubts were unfair: I wanted my lover to be the distinguished psychologist I had thought was seducing me, not a smooth-talking fake.
I think he misread my expression — or maybe he read it too well. Look, I know what I’m doing! he said with real anger. For the first time, there was uncertainty — desperation — in his eyes, and he didn’t look as if he knew what he was doing. It was a hot, sunny afternoon in September, and we were standing on a cracked sidewalk two doors down from the residence, which had a parking lot so small we often couldn’t use it. His car was parked at the curb where we stood; mine was half a block away. Brown leaves were accumulating, though the leaves on the trees were still green.