I'm just going to read a story called "Intervention."
Recent story.
The phone's ring caught him as he turned off the shower.
"Kramer," she said.
"You sound breathless.
Am I getting you at a bad time?"
"I won't say it's bad, but I'm standing naked
in a puddle of water.
If I get electrocuted, I hope this was important."
She laughed disgusted.
"You and Frank are just the same."
Kramer decided not to make his case and went for a towel.
When he returned, Karen asked, "Have you
spoken with Frank lately?"
"It's been maybe a couple of months.
Why?"
"You know, he moved back in six weeks ago."
"He didn't tell me."
"No idea what's going on?"
Karen sounded suspicious.
"Can I count on you not to tell him I phoned?
I'll explain, but before I say another word, promise me.
Steve?"
"I guess so, sure.
What's happening?"
"He started again, and it's not just booze now.
He's doing a lot of coke.
In a way, this call has nothing to do with our marriage
or what went on last spring.
I know, Steve, you and I haven't always
had the best relationship, and that you take Frank's side."
"I don't."
"Kramer, you don't have to bullshit me now.
I know.
I even understand.
He fools everyone, even his best friends.
He only lets them see what he wants."
Kramer wrapped a towel around his waist.
He could never put his finger on what it was about Karen,
but he could feel it now in his irritation.
"Frank has a way of leaving things out,
all of the macho stories, the strokes
he gets for being so funny.
He doesn't tell you how scared he is,
and Frank can be very convincing.
It's part him, part the alcoholic personality."
Since Karen had started going to Al-Anon,
she made these kinds of assertions with authority.
"I just want you to know I'm not asking
you to take anyone's part here.
I'm making this call for Frank's sake and Frank's alone."
Her voice was high, strained.
"He's totally out of control.
It's been going on for weeks.
He's out half the night.
He says he sleeps in his office, comes home shaky and paranoid.
His business is going to hell.
Something's got to be done."
Kramer carefully dried his shoulders, wiped the phone,
and pressed the receiver between his shoulder and ear.
Karen said, "I know how this must sound.
You're thinking I'm hysterical or it's just another quarrel.
But if you could see him, Kramer."
Kramer waited.
He had the feeling she was going to ask him to come up there.
Late last winter, Frank had called.
And after a rambling oblique conversation,
asked Kramer if he could fly in for a few days.
Things had gotten weird.
Frank couldn't explain on the phone.
Having failed his bar exam the first time,
Frank had become a private investigator
until he could save enough money to take the bar again.
After three years, he no longer trusted phones.
Kramer canceled his appointments and took the morning flight,
Phoenix to San Francisco, where he'd spent
four days listening to Frank.
In a combination of monologues, laconic asides, jokes,
and earnest conversation, Frank made a kind
of ongoing confession to Kramer about his various girlfriends,
one night stands, problems with Karen,
sleazy clients, and lawyers who owed him money.
He also kept talking about a lot of money he had just lost.
When Kramer asked him how much, all Frank said was, a lot.
After they'd gone around that bush a few times,
Frank finally said, almost $200,000.
Frank wouldn't say exactly how he'd lost the money,
but kept dropping hints.
And finally, Kramer got the idea it involved something illegal.
Frank said there was an investigation in progress,
but he didn't think it could lead to him.
"Hey, man, I had no real part on it, Kramer.
I left money with a few players.
I started with 10 grand.
They ran my share up to $200,000.
I thought I'd get out, but my guys
got nailed before I found the door.
I was getting ready to live on the scratch
while I studied full time for the bar."
In the end, Frank said to Kramer, "Whatever you do,
don't say anything about this to anyone.
Loose lips sink ships."
That had been last winter.
Karen said, "I know you're one of his best friends
and he respects you because you stopped drinking 10 years ago.
But to tell you how distorted his thinking can get,
there are times he says that anyone who can stop drinking
overnight and on his own must be cold and can't be trusted.
That's one of his big problems, he doesn't trust.
Or know how to trust.
It's always trust and you get fucked.
He's always been secretive, and being an investigator
is just played on that.
His world now is dealing with people
who are trying to con him and giving them one better.
But the important thing here, Kramer,
is you did call his bluff four years ago.
Somehow got through to him and took him to AA,
and he thought enough of you to go."
"Have you tried getting him to AA?"
"Of course.
I'm the last person he'd go with.
Anyway, it's way past AA, Kramer."
"He won't see a shrink?"
"No."
Kramer dried his legs and glanced at the clock.
He had a meeting in half an hour, and he was already late.
"Do you know what set him off?"
"No idea.
Could be a million things.
You've worked with him, you know his life.
Lawyers run him hard, he's out all day
and night, he does their legwork and makes their cases.
They make the money, take forever to pay,
and rarely thank him.
Lawyers in the Public Defender's Office owe him 20 grand.
Meanwhile, he can't pay his bills.
He's angry.
We have problems, as you know.
The bar exam hangs over his head,
and I sense there's something big he hasn't told me.
I mean, beside all the other little things
he never tells me."
Again, Kramer thought of the lost money.
But whatever was wrong, Kramer didn't
think it was any one thing.
He sat down on a kitchen chair.
"OK, Karen, Frank is over the line
and won't go to AA or see a shrink.
What do you want to do?"
"I've been talking to people at Al-Anon, friends.
Kramer, I really believe the only thing left to do
is call an intervention."
Kramer was silent.
"Do you know what I'm talking about?"
She paused, went on.
"I have to say, when I first heard about it,
I didn't like the idea.
But I've now come around to thinking
it's our only chance, his only chance."
Karen described how she'd been talking
to a psychotherapist who specialized in interventions.
She'd been reading her books and articles.
"We would meet in her office--
myself, people who are important to Frank.
And each of us would confront him with love and honesty,
but tell him, 'Frank, you're doing these things.
This is how it looks.
Cut it out, and we're with you.
We'll support you.
But if you don't stop and get help,
here's what we're going to do.'"
"What can you do?"
"I can say, 'Frank, get help, and I'll be there.
I'll love you and help you.
Keep drinking and doing shit, I'm gone.'" Kramer was silent.
"What, Kramer?"
"I don't know, pretty cold."
"Look, Kramer, if you love him and care about him,
this hard choice has to be made."
Frank's never had any real limits.
Kramer looked at the clock.
He had to get off the phone.
"He's a con man, Kramer, one of the best.
He's conned all his friends.
He's conned himself.
I'm the only one he can't con, and that's
why I'm the one he stays with.
Kramer?"
"I just have a lot of questions.
Look, Karen, I've got a meeting in 20 minutes."
"You don't have time for this?"
"I didn't say that.
I said I have a meeting, and I'm going to be late.
I'll call you back."
"No, whatever you do, don't call me back," her voice was urgent,
"Give me a time, and I'll call you."
They agreed on a time, 3:00 PM, and Kramer hung up and rushed
to dress for his meeting.
But Kramer couldn't keep his mind on the discussion.
He kept thinking about Frank last spring.
After he left San Francisco, he'd heard nothing from him
for weeks.
Kramer called the house but always got the answering
machine, same at the office.
He let it ride.
In early June, Frank surfaced.
"Sorry I haven't called, Kramer, and I'm in a rush now,
but want to tell you what's been happening."
Five days after Kramer's visit, he referred all of his cases
and checked himself into a detox place.
He'd been there for the last six weeks.
He felt great and had come to a lot of realizations.
Just being away from Karen made him
see she was a good part of his problem.
He decided not to move back in with her.
He'd started seeing one of the alcohol counselors.
He thought he was in love with Sidra.
Maybe they'd go to Australia.
"Hey, I know how it sounds, but--"
When he'd finished, Kramer said, "Why do it all in one fell
swoop, Frank?
You went.
You detoxed.
That's great.
Why not just slow it down with Sidra?"
Frank said, "Hey, I'm jammed.
I've got to meet a witness.
We'll talk," and hung up.
Two weeks later, Frank called again.
He'd gotten his own place.
He was still seeing Sidra, and it was better than ever.
He had a dozen new cases, was doing great.
And though Karen was begging him,
he was determined not to move back in with her.
And, yeah, he was broke, but he'd
registered for the next bar exam in December.
After that, Kramer hadn't heard from Frank.
And now Karen had called, telling him
Frank had moved back in and was stoned.
Kramer didn't know what to believe.
At 3:00 on the dot, Karen called back.
Kramer asked, "Where were we?"
Her voice high, Karen started right in where she left off,
"You had questions about the intervention."
"Right, I do.
Let me think.
You know, one big question I have is,
how do you get Frank to an intervention
if he won't go to AA?"
"Leave that to me."
"OK, I'll leave that to you.
And let's say you can get his friends together,
and we confront him.
What then?
I once saw Frank serve a subpoena to a cop right there
in the station.
The cop threw it on the floor.
Frank picked it up and jammed it in the cop's pants.
I mean, he's not going to take it lying down."
Be where you're at.
Everything's everything.
Get in touch with your feelings, whatever.
"Kramer, I know what he can be.
Look, no one gets the whole story from Frank.
Everyone gets a piece of the story,
but no one ever gets the whole story.
The idea here is that by bringing everyone together,
we can get all the stories in the same room.
The point is to put a dent in his denial."
Kramer looked out into the yard.
Karen seemed to have answers for everything.
"You know, Karen, if Frank is drunk--"
"He is drunk.
Why if?
Drunk and stoned!"
"I still don't like interfering in a friend's life.
When he bottoms out, when he wants help, he'll get it."
"I've just gone through that with you," she stopped.
Sounding miserable, taut, she said,
"I don't mean to raise my voice, but it
is so hard to make people see.
Look, you pulled a child from in front of an oncoming car.
You did take him to AA."
"I asked him if he wanted to go.
He said yes.
There wasn't all this conniving and secrecy."
"Well, it's too bad it's come to this, but it has."
"I'm afraid it will knock him to his knees."
"Can't I make you understand?
He is on his knees.
There's nothing left to do, and the intervention
is supposed to knock him to his knees."
"I thought you said he was already on his knees,"
Kramer said laconically.
"Is it supposed to knock him flat?"
"Kramer, please don't.
Kramer, look, it's a disease."
Kramer said with impatience, "OK, Karen,
say we have the intervention.
Then what?"
"I have a 30-day inpatient program lined up for him, detox
and intensive counseling.
It's in another state where he can't
get drugs or see his friends.
Before he can work the intervention into his denial
system, we take him straight from the therapist's office
to the airport.
We put him on a plane.
The detox people are waiting on the other end."
"And if he won't go?"
"I might be able to get him committed,
but I know he'll go," she said quietly.
"If his friends show up, he'll go.
I scheduled the intervention for a week from this Sunday.
I'm asking you, Sean Connolly, Jules Levine, his sister.
I'll be there."
She listed several people.
"Are you coming, Kramer?"
Kramer hesitated, "I'll tell you, Karen, I don't know.
I'll have to think about it."
"Christ, what's there to think about?
God, why won't people believe me?
What do I have to do, write it in blood?
I'm not talking about saving our marriage.
I'm talking about saving Frank's life.
There's not much time, and I need
to know from people if I'm going to be able to make this happen.
You're supposed to be his friends.
Are you too busy?"
She quieted, said with resignation,
"What's there to think about?
Look, I'll send you some of the therapist's articles
on intervention.
Her name is Germaine Blumenthal, the therapist,
and she's very well known.
I'll call you back in a few days.
Kramer, I'm hoarse.
I've been on the phone for days calling people.
I realize I sound stressed out.
I've been dealing with Frank for weeks.
I know you don't really like me."
"Karen?"
"It's OK.
This is for Frank.
I do know what I'm doing.
I'll say one last thing.
We're all part of his system--
you, me, his close friends.
Like it or not, we have helped create him.
He may even be acting out our unconscious desires."
Kramer suppressed a sound of contempt.
He knew this was Al-Anon talk.
He said, "He may be a beast, but he's our beast."
Karen went on without replying, "We've laughed
at his jokes and bullshit.
We've given him strokes for being a wise guy.
Hey, I'll admit it.
I've loved him for going over the line.
We all have, and that's why I'm saying we're all responsible
now."
She lapsed into silence.
"OK, think about it."
In a tired voice she said, "One last thing--
whatever you do, don't call me.
If Frank's at the house, I won't be able to talk,
and it will just raise questions.
I'm phoning from a friend's.
And, oh, Christ, I know how crazy this must sound,
but another reason not to phone is
he may have tapped the phone.
He's become so suspicious of everyone."
Kramer couldn't help himself.
He laughed.
"OK, Kramer, laugh.
You think it's funny.
Wait until you see him.
I'll call you back.
Kramer?"
"What?"
"However you decide, promise me you
won't warn him of this out of some misguided sense
of loyalty."
"Hey, I already promised you."
"I know.
Right, I believe you.
It's just that I'm so used to dealing with Frank."
"Call me in a few days.
Bye, Karen."
He didn't wait.
He hung up.
After thinking it over for a day,
Kramer could come to no conclusions.
He thought of Sean Connolly in Chicago.
Karen had mentioned him for the intervention,
and Sean had known Frank since they'd been altar boys.
Kramer called him.
"Had Karen phoned?"
"Oh, yeah, two-hours worth last night.
I'll tell you, I don't know what to think, Kramer.
I talked to Karen about a month ago.
That was just after Frank had moved back in.
She kept talking about Sidra.
Karen visited Frank when he went to that detox place
last spring.
Came the day Sidra gave a lecture.
Karen thought she was on a big power trip.
According to Karen, Sidra gets up there
and gives this well-rehearsed speech.
Let me tell you how it is, I've been to hell and back.
Afterward, Frank's sitting out by the pool,
and Sidra comes walking out in a string bikini
and sits down next to him.
Karen says she must have had a lot of contempt for Frank
to go after him when he was so fragile.
She says to me, 'Christ, there are a lot of desperate
38-year-old women out there hunting for men.'
She told me she was going to sue the detox place."
Sean was quiet a moment.
"Karen said, 'To Frank, she's a complete fantasy--
no dirty socks in the hall, nothing.
It's one thing losing out to another woman-- a real woman,
flesh and blood.
That's bad enough, but it's humiliating when
it's a fantasy, the big tit in the sky.'
I remember because it struck me so odd."
They were silent.
Kramer said "Mm, I don't know what's going on--
why he went back to her, if he's drinking, if she's lying, what.
And detox places are expensive.
Where's the money supposed to come from?"
"She wants each of us to put up $1,000."
"She forgot to mention that little detail.
Christ, are you going, Sean?"
"I don't know.
I'll give you a call when I decide."
Kramer was on his second cup of coffee when the phone rang.
"Good morning, is this Steven L. Kramer?"
The official tone of voice made Kramer
feel a stab of nervousness.
"Yes, it is."
"This is James Lucky of the Phoenix Police Department.
Do you own a blue 1983 Blazer, Arizona license plate number
PGN121?"
"Yes, I do."
"We have a report it's been stolen and been involved
in a jewelry store robbery and a hit-and-run pedestrian
fatality.
Confused, heart starting to pound,
Kramer walked the phone to the window and looked out.
The car was sitting in the driveway.
Frank started to laugh.
"Gotcha, didn't I, Kramer?"
Relieved, Kramer laughed.
"What's been happening, dude-san?"
"Work, June and the baby, what about you?"
"I'm in my office.
My client's going to trial in two hours, Tyrone Davis.
What it is, slick, two niggers living in a rooming house.
My man Tyrone is a sweet guy, keeps to himself.
He's a composer and keyboard player.
Jamal Kelly lives downstairs.
He keeps threatening Tyrone, pushing him around.
Kelly steals Davis's keyboards, but Davis can't prove it.
I just turned them up in pawn.
Anyway, Tyrone, he's scared.
He get himself some heat.
Finally, Jamal, he get fucked up behind Hubbas,
forces his way into Tyrone's room.
This happens, that.
Tyrone shoots him with a .357 magnum--
good shot too, right in the forehead.
Levine's arguing self-defense.
Kelly really was a bad nigger, a long record of assault,
so my job's been easy."
"I thought you and Jules Levine had a falling out over money."
"Well, yes and no.
But everything's cool again, for now.
You know, Levine be cool when he need me.
I'll tell you when I've got more time.
Hey, when did we last talk?
A while, right?
Have we spoken since I moved back in with Karen?"
"No, I don't think so."
"The thing with Sidra got to be too much.
Nice woman, but the fact is, fucked up as we are,
I love Karen.
She said if it was over with Sidra, then come back,
and let's put it behind us.
But what's happening, Kramer, is she keeps looking for evidence
that I'm with Sidra--
and not just Sidra, but other women.
I can tell.
She's been going through my things.
She's looking for letters, phone numbers, anything.
I don't know what Karen thinks she'll find,
but if she thought it through, she'd
realize that whatever it is wouldn't be at home anyway."
"I don't know, Frank."
"Karen says forgive and forget.
But why haven't I learned by now?
Karen never forgives and forgets anything.
Kramer, I think she's up to something,
maybe calling people and telling them
that I'm doing this and that-- drinking, whatever.
She's trying to discredit me with my friends."
Kramer was silent.
"Hey, I got to get down to the Hall of Justice.
You know, slick, she can dig all she wants,
but I'm really not doing anything.
Has she called you in the last couple of weeks?"
Kramer looked out the window at the Blazer.
"Why would she call me?"
"I don't know.
I just got this feeling she's up to something.
Let me know if she calls you.
OK, man?"
Kramer didn't answer and therefore told himself
he wasn't really lying.
"Later, slick.
Tyrone, we going to walk him.
Hey, you know something?
Jules and I have done some numbers, but this time
it really was self-defense."
June held out the phone as Kramer came in the door.
"Kramer!
Christ, I've been trying to reach you for three days.
Where have you been?"
"Living, talking to my wife, playing with my kid.
You could have made it easier on yourself, Karen,
if you'd left me a number where I could leave a message.
Maybe a secret password, you know?
This is Don Carlo.
The ship is docked."
"Has Frank called you since we spoke?"
"As a matter of fact, he has."
"Kramer?"
"I didn't say anything."
"Kramer?"
"I said I didn't.
It's just a coincidence he called.
He doesn't know, but he has instincts something's
happening."
"I really pray you didn't say anything, Kramer.
He'll con you.
He'll sound absolutely normal and in control.
If you warn Frank, we'll never get him to the intervention."
"I haven't told him, and if you question me one more time
about this, I'm hanging up."
"All right, sorry.
I believe you.
I do.
I'm just stressed out.
You got the Blumenthal articles I sent you?"
"Yep."
"And you've had time to read them?"
"Si."
"Well, Kramer, I need to know, are you in or out?
Remember, this isn't a matter of our marriage.
This is Frank's life."
"A couple more questions, Karen, if you don't mind."
He heard a sigh of exasperation.
He waited.
"Go ahead."
"Last time, you mentioned a detox place."
"Right."
"Those places cost a fortune.
Where's the money coming from?"
"I've borrowed some, and I thought each of Frank's friends
could put in something."
"How much?"
"Money's not the issue here, and it will all be paid back."
"We run Frank $10,000 more into debt for this without his
say so?"
"Under the circumstances, of course
it wouldn't be with his say so. (VEHEMENTLY)
It will be paid back."
"He's already in debt."
"He's also got money owed to him."
Kramer knew she had no idea of the money lost last spring.
"OK, it will be paid back.
How much do you want from his friends?"
"$1,000 each."
"Great, Karen.
Actually, I knew that.
Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Kramer, I've been on the phone for days
to half a dozen people.
You're something.
If you don't want to do it because of the money,
just say so.
Has that been your big hang up?"
"No, not at all, but it is something you left out."
"What a friend, even to be thinking of money at a time
like this."
"Karen," Kramer held himself back.
They were silent.
Finally, Karen said, "Yes or no, Kramer?
I have to know.
There are only four more days."
Kramer didn't know what to believe.
He decided he couldn't know anything
for sure without going.
"Yes, and for your sake, Frank better be drunk."
"Drunk is the least of it.
You'll see.
And thank you, Kramer."
He heard a softening in her voice.
"There's a map to her office.
All the information is in the envelope-- everything.
You can just go up and wait in Blumenthal's office.
It's scheduled for Sunday at 1:00 PM.
I'm telling Frank that we're going for lunch,
and then I'm stopping to pick up a friend from work there.
One last thing, you read in her article
how each participant reads a letter--
what they care about, what he's been doing,
and what they'll do if the person doesn't stop abusing?"
"I read it."
"Well, you could give that some careful thought.
I'll see you Sunday."
Kramer hung up.
He called Sean.
Sean said he'd gotten as far as plane reservations,
but canceled.
He couldn't really explain.
Kramer climbed the carpeted stairs to the second floor,
saw Blumenthal in the half-open door, and walked in.
There was a waiting room and, beyond, a consultation room
with a circle of chairs.
Kramer saw Barry Mannis standing by the window.
Mannis had worked part time for Frank as an investigator.
Frank and Barry had an explosive, turbulent working
relationship where Barry had quit
or else Frank had fired him half a dozen times.
They'd fought over everything-- money,
hours, details large and small.
They'd also won some big cases together.
They nodded and shook hands.
"You fly in for this?"
"Last night, Karen summoned me.
What's Frank up to?"
"He's drinking and fucked up behind a lot of blow."
Kramer waited, "Scheming and hustling,
he's everything he's always been, but more.
Who knows anything about Frank for sure?
But I mean, can he live his life?
Should we be doing this?"
Barry shrugged, "Tough one to call."
"You guys still working together?"
"Oh, yeah.
But there are so many hassles--
always money."
Kramer nodded.
They circled the waiting room, froze as the door opened
and closed downstairs.
Jules Levine, in slacks and sports jacket, walked in alone.
He paused to catch his breath and take command of the room.
Everyone shook hands.
Frank had been his investigator on a dozen big cases, looked up
to him at the same time he resented him-- rich kid.
In another moment, Catherine came up the stairs--
Frank's younger sister.
She was in her early 30s.
She thanked each of them for coming
and walked into the consultation room.
Kramer looked at the clock.
It was almost 1:00.
A door at the back of the consultation room
opened, and a woman, obviously Germaine Blumenthal, mid-30s,
looked out at each of them and disappeared.
Kramer's impression was fair-looking helped along
by an expensive veneer, uptight, and in persona
for the duration.
Downstairs, they heard the door open and close,
a woman's voice interweaving with heavy, syncopated steps.
Karen stepped into the waiting room-- curly blonde hair,
a jogger's thinness peaked by stress, good features.
Flushed, winded, Frank stepped in behind her.
Kramer hadn't seen him since late last winter, six months.
His face was now full, his handsomeness
being swallowed by weight.
He stopped and glanced at each of them.
He peered into the consulting room.
"That you, Catherine?"
He paused, said offhandedly to the room, "This it?
Y'all bringing me in?"
Kramer stepped over to him.
When he took his hand, it was cold and limp.
Frank looked past Kramer.
"Hey, you hadn't heard from Karen lately, right, dude-san?"
"It's a hard one, Frank."
Frank said offhandedly, "Life is like a dick, Kramer.
When it's hard, you get fucked.
When it's soft, you can't beat it."
Barry put his arm around Frank.
Frank said, "What, my big buddy, you
think I owe you money, right?
There's the guy who owes me, slick.
Tell you what, Barry, you collect it directly from Jules.
You won't have to protect your investment.
I'll go take a hike."
Karen held Frank's arm and said, "They all love you and care
about you, Frank.
We all do.
They're just here to help."
"Oh, I know it, honey," Frank said in a fey aside.
He rolled his eyes straight up, sucked
his lips in one of his 10 fag variations.
"We'll all just get in touch with our feelings,
go through it together, right?"
Without thinking, Kramer had backed up a step or two.
He'd seen Frank explode at people
under less trying circumstances.
Frank asked, "Excuse me.
Did I say hello to you yet, Jules?"
"Sure, Frank," Jules smiled indulgently.
"No, I didn't.
Good afternoon, Jules."
Jules didn't say any more.
Frank said, "Guess he's not talking to me."
Germaine Blumenthal came to the door with Catherine.
Frank said, "You girls want me to amble on in, that it?"
As yet, Kramer couldn't tell what Frank was going to do.
Karen said, "Come on, Frank."
"I thought we were meeting someone for lunch.
I'm starved."
Karen said quietly, "It's over, Frank, and you know it.
Please come.
We love you.
We care about you.
You don't have to keep it up any longer.
Just let it go.
Trust us, it will be all right."
Frank said, "Karen told a little fibby about lunchtime.
Anyone want to go for lunch?"
Barry said, "After."
"Kramer?"
"After."
"Jules?"
"I'll take everyone to lunch after."
"That'll be a first."
Jules put his hand gently on Frank's shoulder,
said quietly, "I've been there, Frank.
It'll be OK."
Frank remained motionless.
Karen said, "Come in, Frank, and we'll have a life.
Go out into the street now, and stay there.
Don't come home.
That's it."
"Oh," Frank said, "that's a good one, honey.
Guess I'd better play along.
What do you think, Kramer?
Kramer leave Junie and the baby and come all the way
up here to do this.
I better be good."
Karen went ahead.
As they walked in, Frank looked Germaine over and, leaning
back, said softly to Kramer, "Hm,
there's some styrene, dude."
In spite of himself, Kramer laughed.
Karen gave him a hard look.
Frank said, "Uh-oh, you're in honey-pooh's doggy house now,
Stevie."
Catherine tried to hug Frank, but he kept his arms
at his side.
He surveyed the circle of chairs.
"Oh my, pick just any place," again in one of his fag voices.
He sat.
Karen sat beside him.
In another moment, Germaine Blumenthal
had closed the outer and inner doors, and everyone was seated.
She introduced herself and made a short statement
laying out the ground rules of the intervention.
Everything was to be said in a caring way.
There was to be no vindictiveness.
She told Frank that all these people were here because they
were concerned for him.
Still in his leather jacket, Frank sat pale and motionless.
Karen had tried to take his hand,
but he kept his hands in his jacket pockets.
His face was unreadable.
Germaine said, "Do you why we're here today, Frank?"
Frank said, "You talk.
I'll listen."
Germaine said, "Fine, I hope you will.
I'd like to start by getting people's impressions of what
they see happening to you."
She paused and looked around the circle.
No one said anything.
Then Karen made a long, determined statement
about why she called the intervention, with an account
of Frank's behavior.
Frank didn't say a word, which seemed
incredible to Kramer to have Karen go on like this
and not to hear the echo of Frank's mocking,
wisecracks, and mimicry.
When she was finished, Catherine gave her account,
variations on Karen's themes.
Jules went on to say that Frank was a special friend of his.
As an investigator, Frank could do amazing things
with people and situations.
And he'd say now in front of everyone,
Frank had made many of his cases.
But though Jules recognized there
was a lot of stress in what Frank did--
the people, the hours, the deadlines--
he still thought Frank went too far-- fights
over money, unpredictable and inappropriate behavior.
Specific incidents were brought up.
Barry echoed Jules in his statement.
When it was Kramer's turn, he said
that he thought Frank could be difficult at times.
He'd never liked his 3:00 AM phone calls,
the little money games, but that he'd always
have the greatest of respect for his ingenuity and talents.
They had a lot of good times together.
Frank listened to each with almost no expression.
When Kramer checked his watch, he
was surprised to see that an hour had gone by.
Now Frank's cynical and desensitized language
was being taken to task by Catherine and Karen and Barry--
niggers, spics, beaners, gooks, pussies, styrene, you name it.
Frank was educated and well-read.
He was also very feeling and generous.
And as he'd gone on talking like that,
they assumed it was Frank's trying
to protect himself from people he was dealing with.
But now, it just seemed that Frank had become brutalized.
Kramer thought they were misreading
Frank's peculiar sense of satire and provocation,
but said nothing.
Then Germaine Blumenthal asked them to read their letters,
what each cared for about Frank, and what
each would do if Frank didn't stop abusing
and change his behavior.
In one way or another, each praised
Frank for his humor, his energy, and resourcefulness.
Each said, change, and we'll be there.
But keep on as you are, and we're through with you.
Don't call.
We'll hang up.
Don't come home.
We'll change the locks.
When it came to Kramer, though he felt the group's
disapproval, he couldn't bring himself
to give Frank an ultimatum.
When Kramer looked up, Frank was sitting motionless,
but tears were streaming down his cheeks.
In all of their years of friendship,
Kramer had never seen him like this.
It was as if Frank--
with his endless motion, his unpredictability, and temper--
had lived his life to avoid this moment.
Kramer looked at the floor.
Now the question of the detox center was raised.
Karen described the location and program--
what about it, would Frank consider going, 30 days,
inpatient.
Frank wiped his cheeks and said quietly, "Where's
the money coming from?"
Karen said, "The money's not a question.
It will be covered."
"Hey, you know, I got a business.
24 cases open now, and I'm supposed
to meet a defendant in San Bruno at 4:00."
Karen said, "Frank, it's been thought out.
We'll take care of everything.
We'll contact lawyers, refer your cases.
Barry can keep things going until you get back.
I'll pay your bills, take care of the paperwork."
Karen had her hand on Frank's arm.
She watched his face.
Frank took a breath and wiped his cheek.
He said, "You're saying give you the keys to my office?"
Karen said, "I'll take care of things."
Frank said to the group, "I don't
trust Karen to have the keys to my business."
Karen said, "Frank, I know there have
been terrible things between us, but we're letting them go.
You can trust me.
I won't go into your files.
I'll pay your bills.
Barry and I will collect your messages.
That will be it.
I know how hard it is for you to trust.
I understand.
We understand, but it's OK now.
It's time for us to move on."
Frank was silent.
He looked slowly around the circle of faces.
When Frank looked at him, Kramer didn't
know what his face showed.
After a long time, Frank reached into his pocket
and pulled out a large ring of keys.
He looked at Karen.
She returned his gaze.
He gave her the keys.
Everyone shifted, relaxed.
Several more minutes were spent discussing details.
A flight was leaving in three hours.
Karen would call the people at the detox center,
have them waiting at the other end.
That left time for Frank to go to his office
with Barry and Jules and pull things together.
Frank said, "Hey, do I go naked?"
Karen said his bag was already packed and in the trunk.
Frank said laconically, "Honey-pooh has thought
of everything."
Within another moment, Karen stood, thanked each of them
for coming, and crossed to Germaine.
They hugged each other.
Frank, without much inspiration, sucked his lips
and rolled his eyes.
"Sisterhood, you know?"
Kramer saw her write a check for $250.
Frank said, "Not a bad hustle for two hours, Doctor.
Let's talk some time.
Hey, I'm starved.
Do I get to eat now?"
As Jules and Frank went out, Karen grabbed Barry's arm.
"Once he hits the street, he may try to slip away.
Whatever you do, don't let him out of your sight,
not even to go to the bathroom.
It's not over until we've actually put him on the plane.
Have him at the Continental counter at 4:30."
Barry nodded and took off down the stairs
after Frank and Jules, whose voices were already
fading in the street.
Kramer was almost surprised, perhaps even
a little disappointed, to see Frank walking
toward Continental at 4:30 with Barry and Jules
on either side of him.
Barry shook his head.
Knowing that Jules and Barry were staying on him,
Frank, of course, had been leading them all over.
Frank said, "Kramer, I've got to talk with you a minute."
He walked out into the crowd.
Kramer ran after him.
Frank said, "Relax, Stevie.
I'm not going to bolt, much as Karen has set you
up to think I will."
He stopped in front of a bar.
"And I'm not going to sneak a drink.
I'm just going to go have one.
And, yeah, I had some blow at the office."
They sat down at the bar, and Frank ordered a double vodka
martini--
Kramer, a tonic.
Then Frank turned to Kramer and said,
"I won't say whether this was right or wrong,
but thanks for coming today.
That's twice in the last six months
when I won't forget my friends.
Here's my side.
I've been drinking and doing shit.
I won't deny it, but I'm also exhausted and overworked.
You try investigating 11 murders gone to trial
with Barry, who has compunctions about doing
certain things, in the last eight months,
while you keep the rest of your cases going, don't get paid.
Hey, you remember the scratch I lost last winter."
Kramer nodded.
"You know what it is, out all hours of the day and night.
Karen has always been suspicious of that.
Is what it is, dude-san.
I could tell you some stories about Karen-pooh,
but love and trust are the order of the day here.
Hey, if you guys want to bail me out for a while,
I welcome this chance to rest.
More than anything, that's what I need-- rest."
From the moment Frank began to speak,
Kramer had the overwhelming feeling
that there was really nothing wrong with him.
He worked hard.
He drank and did some coke, so did a lot of people.
"I'll tell you, I'm flat broke, not even pocket money."
Frank took out his wallet and put two 50's on the bar.
"Jules gave me a couple of Ben Franklins for my trip
to the gulag.
What are you going to give me, Kramer?"
Kramer said, "Nothing, I've already
come all this way for you."
After some cajoling, Kramer gave Frank a 20.
And then after more kidding, Kramer, shaking his head,
gave Frank one more 20.
At the gate, everyone hugged Frank.
Frank's face was expressionless.
Karen led him off to one side, her arm around him,
and they stood by the window talking softly, faces together.
And then Karen gave Frank a tender kiss.
Kramer could hear her.
"I'll be here for you, Frank."
And Kramer could see that Frank was again crying.
With a stewardess on one side and Karen on the other,
dwarfed by his shoulders, they walked him down the tunnel
and onto the plane.
A few minutes later, Karen came back alone.
She remained apart from Barry and Jules and Kramer
as the plane was pulled away.
Catherine, too, stood by herself.
No one left.
They watched the plane work its way into the ground traffic.
Barry said, "He took me aside, and I swear he almost
had me convinced he was OK.
And that it was just everyone sticking it to him."
Kramer nodded.
He saw it clearly.
That's what had been going on in the bar.
As an afterthought, Kramer said to Jules, "You gave him $100."
"Who?"
"You, Frank showed me the two 50's."
The continental jet wheeled into position on the runway
and started to wind up its engines.
Jules dugout his wallet.
"Jesus, I had my wallet on the table for a couple of minutes
in the restaurant.
He must have taken the money."
The plane went down the runway and lifted into the low fog.
Kramer said, "He showed me the 50's, shamed me
into giving him $40, and I felt bad for not giving him more."
They looked at each other and broke out laughing.
Overhead lights blinking, the plane banked into the twilight.
As they turned and started to drift through the airport,
Kramer, despite an uneasiness, had the feeling
that the intervention had been the right thing to do.
For the next 10 days, Frank called
to talk with Kramer from the gulag.
He thanked Kramer for trying to help him
and said that, more than anything, what he really
had needed was sleep and a sensible diet.
He said that it was a very special and loving thing
that Karen had done, the intervention,
and that he would always be thankful to her.
When he got home, they'd have a life.
Then a letter arrived--
Frank's handwriting, three sheets of yellow legal paper.
Frank started right in.
Karen had broken her word.
She had taken the keys, gone into his office,
and rifled everything-- every file, the Rolodex, all
of his drawers and closets.
She'd found letters, names, phone numbers,
what she'd always feared.
She'd already burned a lot of his papers.
She canceled his credit cards.
She called women all over town, cursing and threatening them.
She had called him 10 times last night
threatening to kill him, kill herself.
"The thing is, Kramer, except for Sidra's letters--
and she knew about Sidra--
they were just some old girlfriends, things
that were over years ago.
Some even went back before we were married.
She just found what she had to find.
Almost any woman's name was confirmation.
She's totally out of control.
So far, she's threatened several defendants,
the assistant prosecutor of San Jose,
four attorneys, all women."
Frank went on to say, "A lot of bad things had happened.
I won't deny them, but I had sincerely apologized to her.
I took her at her word that day.
Remember, Kramer-- love, trust, we're putting it all behind us?
Well, I have no one to blame but myself.
Trust, and you get fucked."
As an afterthought, he added, almost hopefully,
that maybe Karen had tried to keep her word
but just couldn't help herself.
Kramer talked about it with June.
June handed back the letter and said, "After 10 years,
didn't he know what she was going to do?"
Three days after he'd finished detox
and reached San Francisco, Frank called Kramer to tell him
he'd come back to find all of Karen's things gone.
She had moved from their duplex on a mission
and taken a place over in Berkeley.
Two hours ago, she had him served with a restraining
order and divorce papers.
On a spring day six months after the intervention,
Kramer had reason to be in San Francisco.
Frank met him at the airport.
And after serving a subpoena out on the avenues,
Frank drove onto Sunset Beach.
There was a strong wind and big surf coming in,
and everything seemed to be shining.
They got out of the car, walking slowly.
As they reached the sand, Kramer said, "So how
are you doing, Frank?"
Frank nodded, "Not bad, I'm staying clean.
I'm up and down, got a lot of cases.
I'm busier than ever.
Clients were really--" [AUDIO OUT]
As they reached the sand, Kramer said, "So how
are you doing, Frank?"
Frank nodded, "Not bad, I'm staying clean.
I'm up and down, got a lot of cases.
I'm busier than ever.
Clients were really understanding about my trip
to the gulag."
After a moment, he said, "Hey, you know,
the fact is, it's hard for me without Karen."
He looked at Kramer.
"I know what you're thinking.
How can he say that after all this shit?
But it was 10 years, and," he shrugged, "you know, whatever
it is, it's your life."
Kramer nodded.
The wind gust had picked up sand,
lashed around their ankles.
They walked toward the water, pants and jackets
whipping, hair standing up.
Frank said, "It's over between us.
I know it.
The divorce is going through.
And she suckered me, man, but I still love Karen, maybe
more than ever."
"You think Karen suckered you?"
Frank nodded, "Oh, hey, listen, slick, no doubt about it.
I don't think.
I know.
Karen suckered me.
She suckered all of us.
I know what you're going to start thinking,
that whatever I say is going to be part of my denial
and all the rest of it."
Frank stopped and turned to Kramer.
"I'll flat-ass say it, Kramer.
I was using, man.
I was drunk.
I was high.
I was over the line, and that was getting
to be a little problem."
Frank turned and faced the water.
"But what Karen did with that opportunity--"
Frank shook his head.
"Look, when I walked into that intervention,
I didn't have a clue.
I make my living by reading people-- defendants, witnesses,
figuring out when they're lying, when
they're telling the truth, what they're up to.
I never saw it coming.
She's doing this to save my life, right?
That's what she tells me.
You, Barry, Jules, everyone buys it.
You buy.
I buy.
She gets $1,000 out of each of you,
puts me another $10,000 in debt, tells me
it's going to be love and trust from now on.
I'm knocked off balance.
I still have big reservations.
I'm not dumb, but I go along.
I give her the keys to my office.
Everything will be OK, honey."
Kramer thought that Frank was obsessing,
but just decided to let him get it out of his system.
"Hey, that's what she wanted, slick.
She wanted that key.
That's what it was about, or that's what I thought.
Once she had that key--
well, I wrote you about it--
she thought I was fucking every woman in the Rolodex."
Frank turned suddenly.
"Kramer, I don't know if I'm getting through to you.
I thought she left because of what she
thought she found in my office.
When I got back, I drove over to Berkeley
to see where she was living.
There were a few cars in front of her duplex.
I get the license plates and run them through the DMV--
get some names, social security numbers, routine stuff.
I started making calls to banks, following checks, this
and that."
They watched a container ship clear the point
and bury her bow in a big sea, throw a sheet of white water.
"When I put it all together, what it tells me,
slick, is that Karen had this lover, Brad Moreno,
back before I got into it with Sidra.
And that's its own thing.
But the real point here, my man, is
when I pulled up these accounts, I
see that she's made a check out to Moreno for $400--
half his rent.
The check says it, rent.
It's dated September 1.
That's two weeks before she sent me to the gulag.
She never had any intention of living with me again when
she put me on that plane.
So you can call this my denial or whatever, but there it is.
Deny that check and its date."
They walked on in silence.
Frank grabbed Kramer's arm.
They stopped.
"Kramer, don't feel bad about it.
I know you were trying to help me.
I needed help."
While Kramer was still pondering where
the final truth of the situation might lie,
or if there were a final truth, Frank said, "Hey,
I've done some numbers, but step back and look at this.
It's a real masterpiece.
Karen took several of my closest friends and associates,
five completely different people,
and put on a little circus.
She conned them all.
She conned me.
Her timing was impeccable."
He looked back toward the surf exploding in the sunlight.
"She screwed me completely.
It was beautifully done.
It was elegant.
Whatever else you might think of Karen,
you've got to admire the girl for this."
And looking out to sea, Frank smiled a tender, wistful smile.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]