Gaits of Heaven

which he dwells at some length. These days, his political activity consists of donating to the ACLU, Amnesty International, and the Democratic National Committee. He reads the New York Times and listens to National Public Radio. He is almost too appropriate for her.
    When they have discussed the food for a few moments, Quinn says, “Oh, there’s Nixie Needleman over there, just coming in.”
    Rita has seen Dr. Needleman before and is not surprised by the mountains of platinum hair, the thick makeup, and the cleavage. “She has quite a good reputation,” Rita says demurely.
    Happily for Quinn and Rita, Nixie Needleman and the nondescript man accompanying her are shown to a table at the opposite end of what Rita continues to view as this expensive basement.
    “Have you heard, uh, anything... let me start again.” Quinn refills Rita’s wineglass with the Argentine Malbec that he and the waiter made such a show of selecting. Rita considers it unsuitable for her chicken, but for all she knows, connoisseurs consider it utterly gauche to consume ramps and ferro with any wine other than a Malbec. As an aside, I might mention that when Rita reviewed the restaurant for all of us, Caprice remarked that the ideal accompaniment to the menu was an unabridged dictionary.
    Rita smiles at Quinn, who has, she reminds herself, many good qualities. In particular, there is nothing fringy or alternative about his practice of psychopharmacology. On the contrary, he is solid, knowledgeable, and compassionate.
    Encouraged, he says, “This has to do with, uh, payment.” He exhales audibly. “Let me just say it. I have a new patient who’s been in treatment with her and also with”—his voice drops to a whisper—“Ted Green. What my patient has to say about him is nothing new—I’ve heard it before—and that’s that he expects to be paid at the beginning of each session. Preferably but not necessarily in cash.”
    “I’ve heard that, too,” Rita says.
    “Have you heard anything about...?” He nods in Nixie Needleman’s direction.
    “About patients paying her under the table? No. Would she be so stupid?”
    “What my patient has to say, and this is a credible woman, is that our, uh, silver-haired friend over there wasn’t happy to settle for the co-pay that my patient’s insurance allowed. My patient thought it was standard practice.”
    “Well, it certainly is not standard practice! It’s very stupid. If the insurance company finds out, she’ll get nailed for fraud.”
    Quinn nods. “It’s a dangerous game.”
    “So is unreported income. If Ted gets audited, it’s the first thing the IRS will look for.”
    “Eumie must’ve known,” Quinn points out. “Ted? Her husband? Of course she knew.”
    “That was safe enough,” Rita says. “She’d hardly have turned him over to the 1RS.”
    Quinn laughs. “Don’t you treat couples?”
    Rita looks chagrined. “I see what you mean. I definitely see what you mean.”
     

CHAPTER 27
     
    Ted Green had the nerve to call me at eight-thirty on Sunday morning to demand that I make an emergency visit to treat Dolfo’s posttraumatic stress. Instead of arguing with Ted about the diagnosis, I asked him to describe what Dolfo was doing. Could he give some examples of worrisome behavior?
    “He’s restless. He can’t settle down.”
    “Does he seem to be in pain?”
    “Pain! I knew you’d know. The dog maven! Dolfo is in pain.”
    “Angell has a twenty-four-hour emergency service. The Angell Animal Medical Center. It’s on South Huntington Avenue in—”
    “Emotional pain. He is suffering. But he has no words.”
    For all I knew, Dolfo was suffering from a torn cruciate ligament or a nail bed infection or some other physically painful condition. It would be just like Ted, I thought, to focus on the dog’s mental state while failing to notice that he was limping or bleeding. Consequently, I agreed to take a look at the dog. Steve was, for once, sleeping late, and I had no intention of dragging him out of bed. Furthermore, if Dolfo needed veterinary care, I’d send Ted to Angell or tell him to call his own veterinarian’s emergency number. Steve and I had plans to take all the dogs to Gloucester for a hike and a picnic, and I wasn’t going to see our day together spoiled because of a dog who wasn’t even Steve’s patient. Leah and Caprice were still asleep, too. With luck, I’d be home before the human household was awake.
    My previous semiprofessional