‘Correct. Due to honesty—lack of tact—rather than malice.’
‘Ever been arrested before?’
‘This is the first time.’
‘And you were in the playground to’—he checked his document—‘observe children’s behaviour in preparation for fatherhood.’
‘Correct. My wife is pregnant. I need to acquire familiarity with children.’
‘Jesus.’ He looked at the paper again, but his eyes did not indicate that he was reading. ‘All right. I don’t think you’re a danger to kids, but I can’t just let you walk away. If next week you go and shoot up a school, and I’ve done nothing—’
‘It seems statistically unlikely—’
‘Don’t say anything. You’ll talk yourself into trouble.’ It seemed like good advice. ‘I’m going to send you to Bellevue. This guy will see you and, if he thinks you’re safe, you’re off the hook. We’re all off the hook.’
He gave me back my phone and waved the handcuffs. ‘Brendan’s a good guy. Just make sure you show up. Or we do it the hard way.’
10
It was 6.32 p.m. when I left the police station. I immediately phoned Bellevue to make an appointment. The receptionist asked me to call back the next day unless it was an emergency. Approximately four minutes into my description of the situation, she made an apparently irreversible decision that it was not.
On the subway, I debated whether I needed to inform Rosie of the Playground Incident. It was embarrassing, and suggested a lack of familiarity with rules. Knowing the rules is one of my strengths. Rosie would be upset that something unpleasant had happened to me and angry with the police—in short, stressed. My earlier decision to insulate Rosie until the matter was resolved remained valid. I had avoided the worst-case scenario at the police station. The assessment at Bellevue was the only remaining obstacle.
I told myself that there was no reason for anxiety about meeting with the psychologist. In my early twenties I was interviewed by numerous psychologists and psychiatrists. My circle of friends included Claudia, a clinical psychologist; Gene, head of a psychology department; Isaac Esler, a psychiatrist; as well as Rosie, a psychology graduate and PhD candidate. I was experienced and comfortable in the company of these professionals. Nor was there any reason for the psychologist to consider me dangerous. There was thus no reason for anxiety about the assessment. In the absence of a reason, it was irrational to be anxious.
Rosie was already home, working in her new study, when I arrived. I had missed my stop, and then walked in the wrong direction. I blamed the change of location. I began dinner preparation. It would provide a less-dangerous topic of conversation than the day’s activities.
‘Where have you been?’ Rosie called out. ‘I thought we were having lunch together.’
‘Tofu. Nutritious and easy to digest and a great source of iron and calcium.’
‘Hello?’ She emerged from the study, and came up behind me as I focused on the food. ‘Do I get a kiss?’
‘Of course.’
Unfortunately the kiss, despite my best efforts to make it interesting, was insufficient to distract Rosie from her inquisition.
‘So, what have you been doing? What happened to lunch?’
‘I hadn’t realised lunch was confirmed. I took the day off. I went for a walk. I was feeling unwell.’ All true statements.
‘No wonder. You were up all night drinking with Gene.’
‘And purchasing smoked mackerel.’
‘Oh shit. I’d forgotten. I’m sorry. I had some eggs and vinegar and went to sleep.’
She pointed to the tofu, which I was in the process of preparing.
‘I thought you were going out with Dave.’
‘This is for you.’
‘Hey, that’s nice of you, but I’ll get a pizza.’
‘This is healthier. Rich in betacarotene, essential for a healthy immune system.’
‘Maybe, but I feel like pizza.’
Should I rely on the instincts that indicated pizza or the website that specified tofu? As a geneticist I trusted instincts, but as a scientist I had some confidence in research. As a husband, I knew that it was easier not to argue. I put the tofu back in the refrigerator.
‘Oh, and take Gene with you.’
Boys’ night out was defined as being Dave, me and sometimes Dave’s former workmates. However, it was also defined as Rosie ‘having time to herself’. The only way of maintaining both components of the definition was to require Gene to eat alone, which would have broken another rule of ethical behaviour. Change seemed unstoppable.
As Gene and I exited the elevator and stepped into the street, George was leaving a limousine carrying a bag. I intercepted him.
‘Greetings. I thought you were returning to England.’ An online search had revealed the name of George’s cruise ship, which had departed a few hours earlier.
‘Bit quiet for you, eh? No, we’ve got a few months off, courtesy Herman’s Hermits. Agent’s looking for gigs in New York. How’s the beer?’
‘The temperature is correct and stable. There’s a minor leak that produces occasional odours, but we’ve become accustomed to them. Are you planning to practise tonight?’
‘Funny you should ask. Can’t say I feel like it, but Jimmy—the bass player—said he might fetch up. Three days in New York City and he’s run out of things to do so why not get together and drink beer and play some music.’
‘Do you want to watch baseball instead?’ The idea popped into my head as a solution to the noise problem that George might create for Rosie. It may have been the first occasion in my life that I had spontaneously asked someone other than a close friend to join me for social purposes.
‘You going out, then?’ he said.
‘Correct. To eat food, drink alcohol and watch baseball. We also talk.’
I had selected Dorian Gray, a bar in the East Village, as our regular meeting place. It offered the best combination of television screens, noise level (critical), food quality, beer, price and travel time for Dave and me. I introduced George as my vertical neighbour, and explained that Gene was living with me. George did not appear concerned about having an extra non-paying tenant.
Dave is adaptable to changes in plans and was happy to have George and Gene join us. We ordered burgers with all available extras. Dave’s diet is suspended on boys’ nights out. Gene ordered a bottle of wine, which was more expensive than the beer that we usually drank. I knew this would worry Dave.
‘So,’ said Gene, ‘what happened to you today? I had to show your new assistant the ropes.’
‘You make it sound like it wasn’t too much of a burden,’ said George. ‘This’d be a young lady, would it?’
‘That’d be exactly what it were,’ said Gene, possibly mimicking George’s accent. ‘Name’s Inge. Very charming.’
In keeping with the primary purpose of the boys’ night out, which was to provide mutual assistance with personal problems, I was wondering whether I should seek advice on the Playground Incident. I wanted a second opinion on my decision to withhold information from Rosie, but it seemed unwise to tell George, who was effectively my landlord, that I had been arrested.