Page 42 of Chasing the Horizon

He didn’t mention that he still hadn’t been back to see Dr. Frank Gallagher. That was a conversation for another time.

It took Aaron about twenty minutes to figure out where Max Marrow was partying tonight. He called back to say, “He’s at the Alabastor. He has bottle service, but he’s at a table in the center with someone the bouncers don’t recognize. Apparently, he’s been mighty rude to his servers, and they aren’t too pleased with him, but they can’t kick him out because he’s spending too much. You know how these guys are.”

Victor’s forehead was slick with sweat. Was he really going to go through with this?

“Just be careful, Victor,” Aaron said sternly. “I don’t know who this guy is, but he sounds like a hothead. If he starts causing trouble, get out of there. Promise?”

Victor said he would.

But the line outside the Alabastor looked as though it would take at least forty minutes, if not more. And then there was the issue of getting into the club itself, which was no easy feat when you were Victor’s age—sixty-plus and decidedly not a beautiful woman. Victor hung around the back of the line with his arms crossed, feeling like a fool, until he went up to talk to the bouncer. He wanted to try his luck.

Of course, the bouncer wanted nothing to do with him. “You need to wait in line like everybody else.”

Victor thought,Play smarter, Victor. Don’t ask for rewards you haven’t earned. Use the information you have.

Victor hovered at the door, watching as the bouncer either let people in or turned them away. The turning away was always with a snide look and a wave of his hand. Victor wondered why anybody wanted to club in the first place. Rejection seemedbound to happen, and that was only after you waited in the cold for nearly an hour.

What had happened to going to the movies? Going out to dinner? Was this really the height of culture?

When the bouncer took a moment’s break from either rejecting or letting people in, Victor took his chance.

“Man, I’m really sorry to bother you,” he said.

The bouncer gave him a look like he wanted to skin him alive.

“It’s just that there’s a guy in there named Max Marrow who’s causing quite a stir,” Victor continued. “He’s being rude to staff, rude to his girlfriend. I’m guessing he was rude to you, too. The thing is, I’m his therapist. My name is Dr. Victor Sutton. I’ve published many books and been on everything fromThe Today ShowtoJimmy Fallon. Maybe you recognize me?”

The bouncer’s eyes glinted with what Victor hoped was curiosity.

Suddenly, the bouncer barked it out to a few people in line. “Does anyone recognize this big-time therapist over here? Dr. Victor something?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. Victor scanned the crowd, realizing that almost everyone was in their twenties or thirties and probably didn’t care so much about a semi-famous therapist.

He pleaded with them, “My patient is inside, and he needs help.”

It was a big fat lie. But he knew people in these more recent generations were more prone to asking for help. They believed in the power of therapy—even if Victor believed in it for everyone except himself.

But suddenly, a woman in her mid-thirties with blond hair piped up. “Wait! Yeah. You’re Victor Sutton? My dad was reading your books a few years ago.” When everyone looked at her, she shrugged. “We had a family crisis.”

“Yes. What book was it?” Victor asked, trying to exude warmth and intelligence.

“Something about Seeking Nuance?” the woman tried.

“Seeking Nuance in Family Relationships,” Victor said, snapping his fingers. “Yes. I wrote that about fifteen years ago.”

He looked at the bouncer likesee?

The bouncer looked sick of him. Victor couldn’t blame him. He was sick of himself, too.

But to Victor’s surprise, the bouncer waved him in, saying, “Go on. Get in before I throw you on the street.”

Victor hurried inside, raising his arms to be patted down by other black-wearing bouncers who barely looked at his face. After he paid the entry fee, he found himself in a long, slender hallway, neon lights licking the otherwise dark shadows. It took a while to find the dance room, and in that time, it was as though the techno filled his chest and his heart and made it difficult for him to think thoughts of his own. Several times, he had to remind himself that he was here to find Max Marrow and ask him why he did what he did. He was here for research. He was here to understand.

In Catherine’s brownstone, Victor had seen several photographs of Max Marrow during happier and more wholesome times. He’d seen him on his wedding day, during pregnancy doctor visits, holding little sonograms of the baby he was, up until recently, quite excited to welcome. Had he forgotten how precious life was? Did he have a personality disorder? What?

Do I have a personality disorder?Victor wondered now, stalling in the dark and shivery hallway. Was that something Frank might diagnose me with?

But before Victor could consider that further, he spotted Max. Just as Aaron had said, he was partying at the middle table with a blond woman. Was that Catherine’s dear friend, the onehe’d cheated on her with? They were drinking clear cocktails and talking in a way that suggested they’d been drinking all day and into the night. Max’s lips were shining, and his eyes were unfocused.

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