“Thanks a lot, I can do better on the internet. Do you happen to know a Mrs. Kinkaid?”
“I talked to his housekeeper once. She ordered flowers, roses and cymbidiums as I recall, lots of them.”
“The man can’t be altogether bad.”
“Why do you ask about him?” She listened. “If you know the ex-daughter-in-law, why not talk to her?”
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
Karen La Rocca came about 10, all dolled up and looking smashing. With her was a young man introduced as Marco Musante, dark, hirsute and bulging. He had muscles even God had forgotten, and he was proud of every one. Doreen took them into the sleeping children. Both were cooed over, then carried out to the car.
“That went well,” Doreen said. “Apparently Marco no longer minds if Karen keeps an extra child.”
“Tonight, anyway. Karen’s bod in a cocktail dress will do that to a man.”
“No accounting for lust.”
She went upstairs to shower, while he watched the news. It didn’t take long until he heard, “Got any more of that wine?”
“Just a sec. I want to hear this.” He listened a moment and laughed. “That idiot Justin Wright wants all unwed teenage mothers locked up in juvenile detention centers until they get their family values straight. Can you imagine him in the White House?”
When this earned no reaction from her, he turned in his chair and saw her standing there in a red raincoat, matching umbrella raised over her head. She twirled it like a vamp, a devilish grin on her fact.
“Don’t get wet, dear.”
He swallowed. “What do you have on under that raincoat?”
“Yours to find out.”
He slowly rose from his chair.
6: A Forbidding Place
Byerly sat across from Phil Van Zant, wondering if all young doctors really looked alike or did it just seem that way. They all came with a certain smug self-assurance, probably a result of being young, handsome, slender and healthy. Cholesterol never accumulated in their arteries. Or maybe the smugness came from their power to force you to drop certain garments while they probed a seldom-shared orifice.
Phil’s desk was a barrier between them. Couldn’t have that. “Say, Phil-” He refused to call young doctors “doctor.” They didn’t call him “professor,” not that he wanted them to. If he was Walter to a near stranger, Phil was Phil to him. “How’d you get into urology, anyway?”
Phil Van Zant ignored him a moment while he perused a page of computer printout. “I was dating a girl in medical school. She was insatiable, near as I could figure, so I thought I ought to learn all I could about…” He let the sentence trail off.
“Plumbing the depths of manhood?”
“Good way to put it. Actually, it was a choice between urology and proctology.”
“Therefore easy to make.” He was surprised by Phil Van Zant’s wit. He always looked like an undertaker-hardly a mien to inspire confidence.
“How’s your urination, Walt? Is the new medicine working?”
“Pretty well, but I’m glad for indoor plumbing, especially at night.”
“How often do you have to get up?”
“Once always, occasionally twice. I can live with that.”
“That’s good news.”
Byerly eyed him. “Having you look for good news is hardly good news to me. Is there a problem?”
Phil Van Zant glanced at the paper in front of him. “Could be, Walt, your PSA is elevated.”
Fear stabbed at him. The words no man wants to hear: your PSA is elevated. Prostate Specific Antigen. The blood test was a major breakthrough in early detection of prostate cancer. Your PSA is elevated. What the words really meant was a major alteration in his lifestyle. That’s what frightened him.
“How high?” His voice sounded pretty good, considering.
“Enough for us to run some tests and see what we have.” Phil Van Zant actually smiled. “Walt, I hope you’re not going to ask how much time you have left. Elevated PSA can mean lots of things besides cancer. Even if you have cancer there are all kinds, ranging from-”
“You know that, Phil, and I know that. The problem and what scares me is does Doreen know that.”
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
“Heavens no, that will really scare her.”
Van Zant arose and snapped on a rubber glove. “Let’s start with what I believe is sometimes called-”
“A finger wave. I was afraid of that.”
“You shouldn’t be. Ever hear of Norman Schwarzkopf?”
“Who said, if a tough, four-star general can bend over and tell his doctor to take all the time he needs, I should, too-or something like that.”
“The general’s cancer was found early and he’s still with us.”
“Can’t have too many generals.”
“I met that doctor at a convention once. Quite a celebrity.”
“I hope you won’t be.”
A minute later Van Zant stripped off the glove saying, “It’s enlarged, as you know, and there may be a growth. I might as well biopsy some tissue right now.”
“And what does that involve?”
“We go up the rectum and-”
“Ouch!”
“You won’t feel a thing.”
He grimaced. “That’s what they all say. Just as long as Doreen doesn’t know anything until all the results are in. One of us worrying is enough.”
“It may well be nothing, Walt, but it’s best to stay atop these things
“And all this time I thought you liked to get to the bottom of things.”
It did hurt, but not too much really. As he left the office and headed for his Care Wheels van, Byerly told himself to take it in stride. It was a price of advancing years. Not to worry until he had something to worry about. Yes, mind over matter. Worked every time. He stopped on the sidewalk and looked around. Where had he left the van? Mind over matter. Sure. He’d walked right past the damn thing.
He drove to The Sally and began his first run out to the clinics, Addie Kinkaid was not there, but he saw her later in the morning, walking on Chapala Street near the bus terminal. He pulled up beside her, said, “How about a cup of coffee?”
“That would be wonderful.”
He parked in city lot five-75 minutes free parking-and they entered a small eatery in Victoria Court, a charming warren of boutiques and curiosity shops. “Breakfast?”
“No, thanks, coffee will be fine.”
She smiled, but there was no joy in it. This was a deeply unhappy woman, and who could blame her? She was attractive, intelligent, obviously accustomed to better things. “How’s it going-or is that a stupid question?”
“I’m beginning to get the hang of this life.”
“I wish you didn’t have to make the effort, Addie.”
“Her eyes carried a hint of fear. “How did you learn my name?”
“I made a few inquiries. You’re Addie Kinkaid, daughter-in-law of a very wealthy man. Am I right?” She looked startled. He had a sense she was trying to fend off his words. “How did you go from great wealth to The Sally.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“It’s a little strange and I’m intrigued. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
She hesitated, sighing deeply. “You helped me the other day. I guess I owe you.” Another sigh. “It was only yesterday, wasn’t it? The days are long, living on the street. There’s nothing to do.”
“You don’t owe me, Addie.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know your name.“
“Walter, Walter Byerly.”
She looked away from him. “It’s a familiar story, Mr. Byerly-pretty girl, handsome guy, fraternity party, booze, spread legs, pregnancy.” Her lips firmed into a hard line. Bitterness entered her voice. “I should add ruined lives to that list. I was stronger-willed in those days, I guess. I refused to have an abortion. When Josh was born, I wouldn’t let the Kinkaids have anything to do with him, unless or until Junior Kinkaid married me. To my surprise he did.”
She sipped her coffee. “The divorce took about as long as the marriage ceremony. Here I was, Mrs. Karl Evans Kinkaid, Jr., supposedly married into all this money. Ha! What a laugh! I hardly ever saw any Kinkaid, let alone much of the money.”