Close to the Bone by William G. Tapply

her.”
    “Some other time, I guess.”
    Paul and I walked out into the party. He turned and shook my hand. “We’ll have to get together. Do some fishing.”
    “I’d like that,” I said. “I’ll be in touch with you.”
    Paul weaved his way through the crowd toward the front door. I looked around for Alex. Instead I saw Doc Adams coming toward me. “They let the hoi polloi into this affair, huh?” he said.
    “Apparently,” I said. “You’re here.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “You got lipstick on your mouth.”
    “Your wife attacked me a little while ago. She seems sex starved.”
    “Must be, to go after an ugly son of a bitch like you. So what’s new?”
    “Actually,” I said, “maybe you can help me. I could use a referral to a good psychiatrist.”
    “Midlife angst, counselor?”
    “Well, yeah, sure. But it’s not for me.”
    “Of course it isn’t.”
    “Well, it’s not. Can you get me a few names?”
    “Can do,” said Doc. “What about lunch? I’m at Mass General on Wednesdays and Thursdays.”
    “Sounds good. Give me a call.” I scanned the room. “I’m ready to get out of here. Have you seen Alex around?”
    He grinned. “Why, sure. I was holding her in thrall with a tale of a miraculous mandible reconstruction I performed last week. Young housewife whose husband smashed her face with his fist.”
    “Jesus,” I said. “What a world.”
    “Amen,” said Doc.
    At that moment Alex appeared. “Hi,” she said to me.
    “Hi yourself.”
    “You got lipstick all over you. It’s not mine.”
    “It was this guy’s wife. She attacked me.”
    Alex put her arm around my waist. “I don’t blame her.”
    Doc smiled at us. “Hard to believe,” he said. “You give her a perfect opening and she doesn’t insult you.”
    “Not in public,” I said.
    “And she’s not jealous.”
    “Nope. She trusts me.”
    Doc grinned. “She’ll get over it.”
    Alex squeezed my arm. “About ready to go, handsome?”
    “Yes. Definitely. Have you seen Glen? I really ought to say hi to him.”
    “I haven’t seen him,” she said.
    “I heard he refused to attend,” said Doc. “I was talking to his wife.”
    I grinned. “You hit on all the women here?”
    “Only the pretty ones. All she’d say was that Glen wasn’t feeling well, which sounded to me like he was either in the bag or seriously hungover.”
    “In that case,” I said to Alex, “we’re out of here.”
    I had lunch with Doc Adams the following Thursday. He gave me a list of four psychiatrists. “They’ve got good reputations for helping men through depression and midlife anxieties,” Doc said. “They’re friends of mine. They’re pretty booked, but they said they’d be willing to take on a new patient on my referral.”
    “Contrary to popular belief,” I said, “you are a kind and thoughtful man.”
    “Jesus,” he said. “Don’t tell anybody. It’d ruin my reputation.”
    I called Paul Cizek’s office that afternoon and left a message asking him to call me. A week passed and I called again. All his secretary would tell me was that he wasn’t in his office. I repeated my message, adding that I had some names for him.
    He didn’t return that call, either. I tried him again a few weeks later, suggesting lunch, and again a month or so after that.
    He never returned any of my phone calls. Winter turned into spring and the leaves began to pop out and the days lengthened and I stopped trying to reach Paul Cizek. I thought I understood. He didn’t want my help and regretted exposing his fears and weaknesses to me. When he wanted to get together, he’d let me know.

7
    W HEN I GOT HOME from the office on the first Friday in June, the sliding glass doors that gave me my view of the harbor were wide open and a damp east wind was whipping the curtains around.
    I found Alex slouched on her spine in one of the aluminum chairs on the balcony. She’d taken off her shoes, and she had her legs stretched out in front of her with