The Blue Journal (35 page)

“You realize Doctor Knoebel will not be coming back.”

“I figured that.”

“Tell me your concerns about the others.”

He shrugged. “I feel like Mitchell and Fred take over and no one else gets a word in edgewise. Not that Doctor Knoebel ever wanted to. I mean, I'm sorry about his wife, but for all the good he did himself or anyone else here, he could have stayed home. And Thomas doesn't even show up half the time. So I get stuck listening to Mitch and Fred talk about the problems of middle-aged marriages. But I'm not as old as they are, and I don't feel any connection.”

“It's my fault,” Randi replied.

“No it isn't,” he said. “I've watched you try and control them, but they always go back to the same things. Then if I try to say something they ridicule me, like I'm just a kid. You've seen it.”

“I have,” Randi admitted. “I was actually thinking about inviting some new people into our sessions to change the dynamics. Without Stanley Knoebel we only have four. I was considering two or three new people. Thought we'd try it out. If it doesn't click maybe I'll restructure the entire group. Would that make a difference?”

Gorman managed a half-hearted smile. “It might. You want me to hold off discussing my feelings tonight?”

“Not at all. I wish you'd say exactly what you've just told me. Might do the others some good to hear it.”

“All right,” he said. “I will.”

When the other men arrived, Randi was pleased to find Thomas Colello in attendance. Not only had he missed too many sessions, but tonight his presence might prove helpful to Paul Gorman, if the younger man was actually going to voice his concerns. She began the session by telling them what she had already told Paul—that Stanley Knoebel would not be coming back. That came as no surprise. Then she suggested they invite two or three new participants, and credited Gorman with the idea.

To her amazement, they all agreed that some new life would be a benefit.

“Although having Knoebel here didn't count as a real person anyway,” Wentworth volunteered with a brittle laugh.

Most groups tend to develop an insular pattern over time, and the introduction of someone new can upset that balance. The lack of cohesion among these four men, however, caused them to welcome the prospect of new members. An interesting commentary, Randi ruefully acknowledged to herself, not only on their personalities, but on her failure as their therapist.

Paul Gorman volunteered a watered-down version of his concerns about the group dynamic, to which little response was given because Mitchell Avery interrupted with the announcement that his marriage was over.

The others fell silent as Avery described what he found when he returned home, the details of the event seeming to evoke more curiosity than empathy. The empty closet. The note. The spoiled milk in the refrigerator. These factoids seemed to fascinate the other men, and their reactions made Randi want to scream.

In the end Avery wanted their support, and that was offered easily enough. This was not a forum where he was going to be condemned for his infidelity and tonight, given the circumstances, Randi was not going to push the issue. She allowed Avery to go on complaining about his situation for most of the session, until even he could not bear to discuss it anymore.

“So,” Randi said, returning to Gorman's concerns about the group, “how do you all feel about what Paul had to say earlier?”

“Let's face it, Doc,” Wentworth said, “none of us really want to be here to begin with. I mean, you're not a bad egg, but this group thing is about as much fun as waterboarding. We talk the same bullshit every week. Whose wife is pissed off because she's not getting enough attention. Who's cheating. Who's getting caught. How lousy it is to get old.” He looked over at Gorman. “Paulie here, he doesn't have to worry about getting old yet. But soon, young fella. You're just getting a preview, know what I mean?”

“I wish you wouldn't call me ‘Paulie,'” Gorman said in a quiet voice, but no one paid any attention.

Randi was looking at Wentworth. “What do you find so objectionable about these discussions, Fred?”

“Objectionable? Nothing. I just don't see what it gets us. Thomas and I went to a bar just the other night, had a few drinks, talked things over. Mitch and Paulie here can join us if they want. It's the same thing, isn't it?”

“Is it?”

Avery uttered a loud sigh.

Wentworth turned to him. “Look Mitchell, it all boils down to the same thing,” he said. “Whether it's business, money or life in general. It's all about sex.”

When Avery did not reply, Randi asked, “In what way is it all about sex?”

“Come on Doc, it's not like you don't know. Why the hell do men care what clothes they wear or the cars they drive? Why do women jump up and down, doing all that aerobics crap? Why do they polish their nails or blow their hair dry? Why do they have tit jobs and face lifts? It's all part of the same game, isn't it? Feel young, feel sexy, make sure you're attractive before it's too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Wentworth rocked back and forth in exasperation. “Too late to be taken seriously, that's what. Too late to get it done.”

No one responded.

“It's a different world today. Women are different. Stronger. Independent. They want it as much as we do, know what I mean? It's tough to stay married nowadays.”

“Tougher than you know,” Avery muttered.

“What about that, Doc?” Wentworth asked Randi. “You figure it's getting tougher to stay married?” Fred looked around at the others and, before Randi could respond, he added, “I bet you hope it is. Good for business, am I right?”

When the little joke fell flat, Randi said, “I can't speak for marriages in general, Fred. What about discussing yours?”

Wentworth stared at her for a moment, then said, “There was this woman I want to tell you about. We did it in her house. Her own bedroom. While her husband was at work,” he added with a malevolent smile. “That'll put some extra lead in the pencil, know what I mean? Not that I needed any help, because this lady was friggen gorgeous.”

“Don't you ever meet any woman who isn't friggen gorgeous?” Avery asked impatiently.

Paul Gorman laughed, but said nothing.

“You may think that's very funny,” Wentworth said to Gorman, choosing to go after the younger man rather than Avery. “Scoff all you want, but I'm telling you something you can learn from.” Wentworth looked around the room at the other men. “That's the only reason I'm bringing it up. I'm not sitting here trying to brag or anything. I'm just telling you, you meet a woman like this and it makes you wonder how the hell you can stay married.”

Randi asked, “Is that why you're sharing this, Fred? Because you're thinking about leaving Phyllis?”

“I don't know. I mean, the thought crosses my mind, I admit that. Phyllis is a good dame, don't get me wrong, but this woman was something else. Took me to her bedroom, a beautiful place, all done up dark and mysterious. Panels of wood, fancy drapes, all that crap. I swear it could have been a high-class cathouse in New Orleans.”

Randi noticed Colello sit up in his chair as he asked, “What was it got you so excited, Fred, the lady or her interior decorator?”

Wentworth turned to him, not sure if he meant it as a joke or not. “I don't get it.”

“Neither do I. Maybe you should write for
Architectural Digest
,” Colello said, forcing a laugh. “Go on. It sounds interesting.”

“Interesting?” Anger began to color Wentworth's complexion.

“We're listening,” Colello said. “Tell us what happened.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Tell you the truth,” Colello said, “I don't know. You always start these stories about fabulous-looking women, but you never finish them.”

Wentworth was surprised to have the attack come from his flank. He thought that Colello was his friend. “Hey, what is this?”

Colello stared at Wentworth as he said, “Why don't you tell us. A minute ago you were talking about leaving your wife for this woman's headboard.”

“Whoa,” Wentworth said.

Colello shook his head. “Go ahead, finish the story. Did you screw her or did you take photos of her curtains.”

Wentworth was red-faced now. “Damn right I screwed her.”

Randi Conway interrupted. “The point here is not to invalidate one another, the object is to find ways to support each other.”

Colello looked her straight in the eyes. “That doesn't mean we give up our right to question or criticize, does it?”

“No,” she admitted. “But it's important for those reactions to be constructive. I hope you all agree with that.”

When no one replied, she said, “We're done for tonight. Next week I may have a guest or two sitting in, all right?”

They each mumbled some form of assent as they stood and made for the door, four convicts on parole.

Randi said, “Thomas, you have a minute?”

As the other three departed, Colello followed Randi into her private office.

She said, “I don't meet with you or Fran one-on-one, but it's clear to me that you have some things going on that you're not sharing in group.”

Colello nodded. “I'm working on it.”

“I respect that, although the point of these sessions is to provide an opportunity for each of you to get input from the others. You can only do that by letting us know what's going on with you.”

Colello responded with a nod that conveyed no enthusiasm for the idea. “Let's be honest. I come here because it makes Fran happy. If you believe I'm likely to get any help with my marriage from Fred, or Paul, or even Mitchell, then I'm in worse shape than I thought.”

“I'm also here, you know. And I'm available if you want to talk privately.”

“I appreciate that.”

“One other thing.” She saw the residual anger in his eyes. “Fred said something tonight that seemed to set you off. Can you tell me what it was?”

Colello twisted his mouth in a thoughtful expression. Then he said, “Let me think on it, okay?”

“You're sure you don't want to discuss it now?”

“I'm sure.”

“All right. Call me if you change your mind.”

“Okay,” Thomas Colello said, then bid her good night.

Outside the building, Colello walked quickly to his car. Before opening the door he slammed down on the top of the sedan with the side of his fist and growled, “Sonuvabitch.”

After a full day in private sessions and an evening with her Husbands Group, Randi Conway arrived home nearly exhausted. She changed into jeans and a sweater, poured herself a glass of white wine, then went into the dining room and collapsed into her desk chair without troubling to switch on the light. She sat there, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, her feelings becoming a thought, the thought an idea.

Fred Wentworth and Thomas Colello. Something happened between them when Wentworth described his latest fantasy conquest.

The men were sitting in her small group therapy room, suffering indulgently as Wentworth ran on with another tale of sexual conquest. It was the sort of story Wentworth frequently told in group, and it was doubtful he had a single believer in the room. They usually endured Fred's yarns in the name of good fellowship. Some of the stories were even entertaining. But tonight Thomas Colello had a different reaction, and Randi was not clear why.

Until now.

The bedroom. That was the part of the story that had triggered the angry response from Colello, the details Wentworth gave of the bedroom. The dark furniture. The tapestries on the walls. The large headboard.

The description now triggered something for Randi. The photographs Anthony Walker had shown her. The photographs taken at the scene of Elizabeth Knoebel's death. Randi now envisioned what Thomas Colello saw. Fred Wentworth had not been creating another of his fantasies, he was describing a room that really existed.