The Crazy School (24 page)

I pictured him lounging in his plush house with his stupid espresso machine, leering at his stupid fucking helicopter out on the lawn, licking the edge of his thumb before counting his piles of money again just for fun.

These kids weren’t his patients/clients/charges, they were Santangelo’s marks.

The shithead. The fat greasy weasel. The smug nasty pomp-ous low-rent-lumpen Tennessee-Williams-Big-Daddy suckbag of a potentate.

O, the mendacity!

Patti Gonzaga stood up and started growling at everyone in the room, then picked up her chair and threw it at one of the windows.

I hadn’t realized they were Plexiglas before the chair bounced right off.

2 3 1

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 231

28/5/08 2:44:57 PM

Those nearest her started closing in for what was called a Limit Structure here at Santangelo, which consisted of all available hands piling on top of anyone who seriously lost his or her shit.

It took about ten people to pin her down and half an hour before she ran out of steam.

Horrible thing to watch, and I kept thinking about her shy, exhausted parents, who only wanted to welcome their darling girl home.

The holders, teachers and students alike, waited to let her up until a good ten minutes after she’d stopped twisting around on the fl oor and screaming. Then they made her go pick up her chair and place it back in the circle.

She sat down in it, panting and fl ushed, tangled strands of hair sweat-plastered across her forehead and cheeks.

Sitzman started snoring.

Forchetti punched him awake.

I had to piss like a racehorse.

2 3 2

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 232

28/5/08 2:44:57 PM

34

Lulu and I leaned against the outside of the dining hall, despite the cold.

“Oh my God,” she said as Santangelo waddled across the snowy lawn toward his shiny new helicopter, fl ight instructor in tow.

We were on our ten-minute afternoon break from Sitting, not enough time to sneak off into the woods for a smoke.

Santangelo was wearing, for some reason, a hot-pink fl ight suit. His far svelter instructor wore one in a darkish alligatory green.

“Give them a couple of fountains to waltz around and it would be that hippos-in-tutus number straight out of
Fantasia
,”

I said.

The two men climbed into the cockpit.

“It looks like some giant bug,” said Lulu, gripping her dining-hall mug of decaf. “What the hell would you even call that thing?”

Sitzman stood a few feet from us, clapping his hands and stomping against the cold.

2 3 3

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 233

28/5/08 2:44:58 PM

“It’s a Bell 206B-3,” he said. “JetRanger III.”

I smiled. “Any good?”

“The 206L-4’s cooler,” he said. “Seven-seater—the stretch model. Plus, it’s got that whole Noda-Matic setup in the trans-mission to cut vibration.”

Sitzman squinted as the engine started to whine, taching up.

“Santangelo probably couldn’t afford the upgrade.”

The big rotors on top, still droopy, traced the outline of their fi rst slow circles.

“So what did the basic model run him?” asked Lulu, taking a sip of decaf.

“A million bucks,” said Sitzman, “give or take.”

Lulu did a Sanka spit take. I had to clap her on the back a couple times to stop the choking.

“A million
bucks
?” she said when she could breathe again.

Sitzman shrugged. “If you want to impress the chicks, buy a Sikorsky.”

He stomped his feet again, turning toward the door. “It’s cold out here. Break’s probably just about over.”

“A million fucking dollars,” muttered Lulu, “and Santangelo won’t even spring for decent coffee, the—”

The chopper drowning out the last word she said, though I’m pretty sure it was “asshole.”

Dhumavati stuck her head out the door and beckoned us both back for the next session.

Lulu and I trudged inside. The door closed behind us, and I could hear again.

“There’s Gerald,” she whispered.

“I can’t talk to him anyway on the advice of my attorney,”

I said.

“‘My attorney.’ ” She chuckled a little. “Well, la-dee-dah.”

2 3 4

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 234

28/5/08 2:44:58 PM

“Oh please, who died and made
you
Annie Hall?” I snapped.

“Get a good night’s sleep, did we?”

“Sorry.
Really
. It’s just . . .” I fl opped my hands, useless. “Just

. . . everything. Attorney. Jail. Fay and Mooney—”, closing my eyes, I started weeping.

Lulu gathered me into her arms and I heard a door close gently. Felt someone else patting my back. Looked up to find Dhumavati standing next to us, her face soft with concern.

“Let’s go sit across the hall, Madeline,” she said. “Just the two of us.”

We were back in Santangelo’s blackboard-tantrum room where I’d fake-appreciated Mindy. Same-old same-old, with the welcome addition of a saggy institutional sofa along one wall.

Dhumavati collapsed into it with a sigh.

I sat next to her. I didn’t want to cry. I bit the inside of my lip to fi ght it back.

“Honey, it’s okay, just let it all out,” said Dhumavati.

“Please, no,” I said, sitting up straighter. Rigid. Shoulders back.

“Madeline, you don’t have to keep everything inside. There is room for you in the world. The couch will hold you up. Trust gravity,” she said.

It was halfway dark in the room, since the blinds were twisted almost shut. Dhumavati’s voice was so gentle, so soft, and I was so goddamn tired.

“Why don’t you just put your head down in my lap,” she said, stroking my hair. “Talk or don’t talk, it doesn’t matter.

Whatever you want.”

2 3 5

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 235

28/5/08 2:44:58 PM

“I’d love nothing more than to rest my head in your lap,” I said. “But if I lie down now, you won’t get me back up without a crane.”

“I could probably rustle up a crane.”

“You’re very kind,” I said. “I know you’ve got a great deal to worry about, other than me.”

She stretched out her feet, kicked off her shoes, and slumped into the back of the sofa. “You’re doing me a huge favor. If I’d had to spend one more
second
in that damn dining hall, watching David hop around the lawn in his new toy . . .”

“Bless you for saying that.”

“The man is my oldest and dearest friend, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I want to wring his neck,” said Dhumavati.

She put her arm around me. “I want you to know I think it was absolutely ridiculous, you getting arrested. I hope they’ve come to their senses.”

I shrugged. “I have another meeting with Detective Cartwright tomorrow morning.”

“Did they tell you why?” asked Dhumavati. “I just don’t understand. Do you have even the vaguest idea?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to discuss any of this, on the advice of my attorney.”

“Not even anything about who you think did it?” asked Dhumavati.

Mindful of Markham’s injunctions, I said, “Oh, g’wan—you tell fi rst.”

“If I thought anyone on this campus were capable of having killed two students, he or she would no longer be on this campus,” said Dhumavati.

“Someone did, though,” I said. “One of our own.”

We sat with that idea for a minute.

2 3 6

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 236

28/5/08 2:44:58 PM

“I don’t imagine we’ll be hearing a turn-in about it,” I said fi nally.

“I don’t imagine we’ll be hearing a turn-in about the Xerox machine,” said Dhumavati. “Not today, anyway.”

“How long do these Sitting things tend to go?” I asked.

“The record was fourteen days.”

“For what?”

“Somebody stole a rake.”

I stared at her astonished. “And you think this is a good idea? I mean, all the kids cooped in there . . . no classes, no way to get out of that room unless they’ve got a shrink appointment . . . two of their friends just killed . . .”

She looked away.

“I don’t mean that as a bitchy question, Dhumavati.” I drew my legs up onto the sofa. “Does it
help
?”

“Sitting?”

“All of it. Sitting, the meetings, the Farm.”

“It’s helped me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t work for everyone. But it’s given me peace, and I’ve been able to share that peace with a great many kids over the years. Kids no one believed had a chance in hell to survive—

not them, not even their own parents—and we made sure they did.”

“And that’s why you’re here?” I asked.

“I’m here because it saved my life, and I know mine isn’t the only life this place has saved—
can
save.”

I tried to look like I believed her.

“I couldn’t save my daughter,” Dhumavati continued, “and the only way I can live with that is to fi ght for the lives of other children.”

2 3 7

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 237

28/5/08 2:44:58 PM

She rested her hand fl at over the center of her chest, the way Tim always did. “When I heard about Fay and Mooney . . .”

“Dhumavati, you can’t—”

“We failed them, David and I.
I
failed them.”

“All of us did.”

Dhumavati shook her head. “I should have asked for help.

If I hadn’t been so tired, none of this would have happened.

David saw that months ago. He knew I needed to get away, get my head straight. I was too selfi sh to admit it.”

“Not selfi sh,” I said.

“Hubristic, then. Arrogant. Convinced I couldn’t allow anyone else to take the reins even for a moment, because I was so indispensable. It was only when he suggested you that I allowed myself to realize how much I needed to let go, but I’d waited too long. I can only hope your taking over for me will keep it from happening again.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “How could I possibly take over for you after this week?”

“Because David and I know you had nothing to do with what happened. And because we need you.”

The helicopter whined to life again outside.

“Madeline, I can’t do this alone anymore,” she said. “I don’t have the strength.”

“The strength or the conviction?”

“Both.”

“Let’s be honest, you’ve gotta know I think David is full of shit,” I said.

“So you’re wondering why I’m ready to put all of this on you?”

I nodded.

“Because you’ll stand up for the kids even if it means taking on David.”

2 3 8

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 238

28/5/08 2:44:59 PM

“That’s what you want?” I said.

“Only until I’m ready to come back and take him on myself,”

she said. “And I need time for that.”

“How much time?” I asked.

“A couple of months. No more. You’re the only one strong enough for me to trust, even if you don’t trust yourself. I think Sookie can help you with that. I’ve spoken to her about it, and I’d like you to do the same.”

“Right now?” I said.

“She’s in her offi ce.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I have to go home.”

“To think about it?”

“To meet with my lawyer.”

“Do both,” she said. “I’m depending on you. So are the kids.”

2 3 9

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 239

28/5/08 2:44:59 PM

35

“Well, thank the good Lord
you didn’t go talking to that Sookie person,” said Markham after I’d related the day’s events over a glass of the pinot gris he’d shown up with.

“She’s a shrink,” I said. “There’s, like, doctor-patient privilege or something, isn’t there?”

“In court, yes, but not, however, within that appalling school.”

“What?”

“Madeline, every psychologist and psychiatrist employed by Santangelo has to report to him on what’s discussed in their therapy sessions, on campus and off. The whole gang gathers for a weekly check-in meeting—apparently held in the man’s living room each Friday evening.”

Dean shook his head, disgusted. “Does that include the ones who do the sessions with the kids’ parents?”

“Especially them,” said Markham.

“Your young researchers found this out?”

Markham nodded.

2 4 0

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 240

28/5/08 2:44:59 PM

“Please thank them for doing such fi ne work,” I said. “That’s an incredibly useful bit of information to have.”

“They’re fi red up about this. We are none of us liking that man.”

“How the hell did you guys fi gure that out, about it not being confi dential?” I asked.

“One of our intrepid staffers wondered how Santangelo managed to breeze unscathed through the forty-eight separate lawsuits brought against him since that school’s inception,” said Markham.

“By parents?” asked Dean.

“Parents. Employees. Erstwhile members of his psychiatric staff on three occasions. All settled out of court. All hushed up.”

“Because he’s got dirt on everyone,” I said. “Jesus God.”

“Darlin’, that ol’ boy’s got so many folks by the short hairs, you gotta reckon he’d make J. Edgar Hoover
squeal like a pig if they ever duked it out,” said Markham, tipping his chair back. “Which brings us to two orders of business.” He tapped his fi ngers against the side of his wineglass, then raised it for another sip.

“First off,” he said, “say nothing to Sookie from here on out.”

“My pleasure,” I said.

“And second?” asked Dean.

“Second—as your attorney, Madeline, I need to know what they’ve got on you.”

I downed some gris, then cleared my throat and looked Markham in the eye. “Um . . . Sookie’s hip to my whole ‘I shot a man in Reno’ thing.”

“Taking into account the self-defense aspect of that ordeal, we can shake it off, should worse come to worst,” said Markham.

2 4 1

CrazySchool_HCtextF1.indd 241

28/5/08 2:44:59 PM

“Other than that, I can’t say I’ve been exactly forthcoming.

Last week she told me she suspected I’d been molested as a kid. I told her that was bullshit. Which it was.”

“Think it through carefully, now,” said Markham. “Is there anything else? Anything you wouldn’t want to see in the papers?”