A Night at the Operation by COHEN JEFFREY

Author:COHEN, JEFFREY [COHEN, JEFFREY]
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101025512
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-02-14T05:24:50+00:00

23

THE avalanche of humanity that launched itself toward the front doors of Comedy Tonight would probably have frightened most people. Sharon, not being most people, seemed to find it amusing and, in a way I couldn’t figure, gratifying.

All eight of us (minus the plumber, and Anthony, who remained blissfully asleep on the balcony stairs) began launching questions at the same time. Okay: Jonathan didn’t say anything, only because he deferred to Sophie. I arrived first (not that I’m at all competitive) and kissed my ex-wife with a passion I would leave to a more private audience on virtually any other occasion.

“Well, it’s good to see you, too,” she said when we finally came up for air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gregory looking peevish. I felt better than I had in days.

“Where have you been?” Mom shouted at Sharon. “We’ve been frantic.”

“Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?” Gregory asked. “I tried you every hour until the voice mail was filled.” The needy wimp. I’d only called every two hours. I kept my arm around Sharon’s shoulders. That would show him.

Gwen Chapman walked back into the theatre, but stood to the side, just watching the group. I was thinking only about Sharon.

“The practice has been looking for you,” I told her. “Nobody’s known where you were since Thursday night.”

“Why didn’t you . . . ?”

“When did you . . . ?”

“Who was with you . . . ?”

“Have you eaten anything?” My father. A man of basic concerns.

Dutton raised an arm and whistled loudly. “If everyone would please give the doctor some breathing room, I have some concerns that I want to address privately with her before anyone else has a chance to influence her answers,” he said. “Elliot, can we use your office?”

“Sure,” I answered, and the crowd did its best Red Sea imitation to let me lead Sharon through toward the door. I reached into my pocket with my right hand for the office key, but kept the left on Sharon’s arm. I was formulating a plan that included never actually losing physical contact with her again.

The door opened, and I ushered Dutton inside. Sharon followed him, a quizzical look on her face. I started into the office behind Sharon, and Dutton raised a hand, telling me to stop.

“Just the doctor and me,” he said.

“But, I . . .” The plan about physical contact, like most of my plans, had not lasted long.

“It’s okay, Elliot,” Sharon said. My face fell. I picked it up and left the office, closing the door behind me.

The gathered assemblage was facing me when I turned around. “All right, people,” I said, motioning like a traffic cop. “Show’s over. Nothing to see here.”

We moved, in a pack, toward the snack bar. Sophie took up her usual post, on the barstool I’ve installed there for her, and Jonathan took up his, perched on an inflatable chair he installed there himself so he could look at Sophie as much as possible.

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