When The Bough Breaks

I took a quick shave, threw on a windbreaker and drove down to Hakata, in Santa Monica. I drank sake and ate sushi for an hour, and bantered with the chef, who, as it turned out had a master's degree in psychology from the University of Tokyo.

I got home, stripped naked, and took a hot bath, trying to erase all thoughts of Morton Handler, Melody Quinn and L.W. Towle, M.D." from my mind. I used self - hypnosis, imagining Robin and myself making love on top of a mountain in the middle of a rain forest. Flushed with passion I got out of the tub and called her again. After ten rings, she answered, mumbling and confused and half - asleep.

I apologized for waking her, told her I loved her and hung up.

Half a minute later she called back.

"Was that you, Alex?" She sounded as if she was dreaming.

"Yes, honI'm sorry to wake you."

"No, that's okay - what time is it?"

"Eleven - thirty."

"Oh, I must have conked out. How are you, sweetie?"

"Fine. I called you around nine."

"I was out all day buying wood. There's an old violin - maker out in Simi Valley who's retiring. I spent six hours choosing tools and picking out maple and ebony. I'm sorry I missed you."

She sounded exhausted.

"I'm sorry too, but go back to bed. Get some sleep and I'll call you tomorrow."

"If you want to come over, you can."

I thought about it. But I was too restless to be good company.

"No, doll. You rest. How about dinner tomorrow? You pick the place."

"Okay, darling." She yawned - a soft, sweet sound. "I love you."

"Love you too."

It took me a while to fall asleep and when I finally did, it was restless slumber, punctuated by black - and white dreams with lots of frantic movement in them. I don't remember what they were about, but the dialogue was sluggish and labored, as if everyone were talking with paralyzed lips and mouths filled with wet sand.

In the middle of the night I got up to check that the doors and windows were locked.

6

I woke up at six the next morning, filled with random energy. I hadn't felt that way for over five months. The tension wasn't all bad, for with it came a sense of purpose, but by seven it had built up some, so that I paced around the house like a jaguar on the prowl.

At seven - thirty I decided it was late enough. I dialed Bonita Quinn's number. She was wide - awake and she sounded as if she'd been expecting my call.

"Morning, Doctor."

"Good morning. I thought I'd drop by and spend a few hours with Melody."

"Why not? She's not doin' anything. You know - " she lowered her voice - "I think she liked you. She talked about how you played with her."

"That's good. We'll do some more today. I'll be there in half an hour."

When I arrived she was all dressed and ready to go. Her mother had put her in a pale yellow sundress that exposed bony white shoulders and pipe stem arms. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, fastened by a yellow ribbon. She clutched a tiny patent - leather purse. I had thought we'd spend some time in her room and then perhaps go out for lunch, but it was clear she was primed for an outing.

"Hi, Melody."

She averted her gaze and sucked her thumb.

"You look very pretty this morning."

She smiled shyly.

"I thought we'd take a drive, go to a park. How does that sound?"

"Okay." The shaky voice.

"Great." I peeked my head in the apartment. Bo nita Quinn was pushing around a vacuum cleaner as if it were a wagonload of sins. She wore a blue bandana on her head and a cigarette dangled from her lips. The television was tuned in to a gospel show, but snow obscured the picture and the choir was drowned out by the sound of the vacuum.

I touched her shoulder. She jumped.

"I'm taking her now, okay?" I yelled over the din.

"Sure." When she spoke the cigarette bobbled like a trout lure in a rushing brook.

She resumed her chore, stooping over the roaring machine and plowing it forward.

I rejoined Melody.

"Let's go."

She walked alongside me. Midway to the parking lot a small hand slipped into mine.

Through a series of hilltop turns and lucky detours, I connected to Ocean Avenue. I drove south, toward Santa Monica, until we reached the park at the top of the cliff overlooking Pacific Coast Highway. It was eight - thirty in the morning. The sky was clear, pebbled only with a handful of clouds that might have been as distant as Hawaii. I found a parking space on the street, directly in front of the Camera Obscura and the Senior Citizens' Recreation Center.

Even that early in the morning the place was bustling Old people packed the benches and the shuffleboard court. Some of them jabbered nonstop to each other, or themselves. Other stared out at the boulevard in mute trance. Leggy girls in skimpy tops and satin shorts that covered a tenth of their gluteal regions skated by, transforming the walkways between the palms into fleshy freeways. Some of them wore stereo headsets - speeding spacewomen, with glazed, beatific expressions on their California - perfect faces.