Suzy's Case: A Novel by Andy Siegel

director, speaking. How may I help you?”
    “Hello. This is the attorney for the plaintiff on the Suzy Williams matter. I’d like to set up an appointment to see Dr. Smith, please.”
    “My wife, I mean Dr. Smith, has a very busy schedule,” Steven Smith replies. “Could we do it next month?”
    “How’s Monday look for you?”
    He snorts. “Is it really that important?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Then come Monday anytime you want,” he says, “because no time is good. But I must advise you I’ll have to charge a flat fee of five hundred dollars for the expedited appointment. Then there’s the standard fee of seven hundred fifty dollars per hour of time. Plus, I’ll also have to charge you for time lost from Dr. Smith’s normal patient schedule, so that’s another five hundred. Therefore, if you choose to show up on Monday, you won’t be seeing Dr. Smith unless you hand me a check for one thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars for the first hour of her time. And if I’m not mistaken, didn’t she already review and reject that case?”
    “That is correct,” I reply. “See you Monday.” Click.
    “Greedy fuck,” I say aloud just as my mother opens her eyes. Oops. She looks at me and, for certain, knows who I am. She slowly raises her right arm, giving me the international beckoning signal. I get up from my chair and approach with extreme caution. I move to the head of her bed and she points to her oxygen mask.
    “Do you want to say something, Mom?” She nods and points to the mask again. “Do you want me to take that off?” She slowly nods again, so I gently lift it away from her face. She beckons again and so I move in closer, but not too close out of fear for my nursing nemesis.
    “You look good in that suit,” she says softly.
    “Thanks, Mom, I appreciate that.” She squints at my lapel.
    “Is that a mustard stain?”
    “Yeah, Mom, it is.”
    “Doesn’t she send your clothing to the dry cleaner?”
    “Mom, if by ‘she’ you mean my wife, then yes, Tyler does.” Mom cringes and it’s not because of pain. She gathers strength. Here we go.
    “Tug, my son, every time you say her name I have less and less respect for that woman. How does a girl named Tyler allow herself to marry a man named Wyler? It’s ridiculous, Tyler Wyler. And together you two sound even more cartoonish, Tug and Tyler Wyler. Such stupidity. She knew you were going to be a success and that’s why she married you to live with such a name.” She motions for her mask to be put back on. Two deep breaths. I ignore her comments and attempt to change the subject from my wife and marriage.
    “So, Mom, how do you feel?” Mask off.
    “Like I got hit by a wrecking ball from a crane gone wild, died, donated my organs, only to wake up from the dead to see my son’s wife isn’t taking care of him properly. A lawyer’s suit is part of his stock-in-trade. It shouldn’t have a stain on it, mustard, no less.”
    Mask on. She takes three big inhales and wants it off again, so I comply. She continues. “But we both know my organs are not acceptable for donation and that wife of yours is too busy with her tennis and spending your hard-earned money to slip your clothing into a dry-cleaning bag and place it outside under the portico of that beautiful home you built for her so your cleaner can pick it up. Other than that, I feel fine .” Mask on again. That last rant took the steam out of her, but I can’t leave it alone.
    “Mom, I love Tyler. All marriages have stuff.” Mask off.
    “Never close the door to other women. You must always talk to other women—you promised, a son’s promise to his mother.” Mask on.
    “I do, don’t worry, I talk to them. But I’m good with Tyler.” Mask off.
    “Dump her.”
    She points to the guest chair motioning for me to sit down. She’sexhausted from her part of our exchange. She takes three large inhales, then her lids close shut.
    I spend the next hour sitting there. She opens and