Apartment C by Joshua Moses

I wrote Dr. Karovich a lengthy letter, asking whether it might be possible to arrange a private meeting with him. His publisher apparently forwarded it to his niece, Julia. She was kind enough to send the letter back to me with a note appended, indicating that her uncle had been deceased for a great many years. This should have been my first clue that Julia was not, as they say, “right in the head.” Dr. Karovich was, of course, alive and well. I had purchased a signed copy of his survey of Jewish erotic art at a used bookstore only the previous year. I considered whether it made sense to argue by letter with a lunatic. Concluding that it did not, I put on my best suit and a tie and went to call at the return address on the manila envelope.

The building was a four-story walkup constructed of red brick. Apartment C was labeled “J Karov,” and I pressed the buzzer beside it. A woman’s voice responded. I indicated that I was a fan of Dr. Karovich and would very much appreciate the opportunity to speak with him regarding my own contribution to Jewish erotica. I also mentioned the letter I had written so that Julia would understand that her uncle had not suddenly become a worldwide sensation. She apologized over the intercom, said that I apparently had not received her note — which, of course, I had — but that her uncle had been dead for the better part of two decades, and it would therefore be very difficult to arrange a meeting.

This seemed a very strange thing to lie about, and so I asked her whether she had considered the possibility that she ought to seek a mental health evaluation. She had no reaction to this, and so I took the opportunity to suggest a number of doctors with whom I was familiar. Eventually someone came out the front, and so I slipped into the building as Julia was unresponsive and apparently unwilling to continue the discussion.

Apartment C was on the second floor. I knocked and stated firmly that I wanted to speak with Dr. Karovich, adding that Julia needed to see a psychiatrist. Julia did not answer, and it eventually occurred to me that she had perhaps slipped out some back exit. I scurried back down the stairs in time to see a woman, in shorts and a t-shirt, dashing down the block in bright green sneakers. I am not a runner, and so I took out a cigarette and proceeded to smoke it in the vestibule while considering my options. Eventually, I selected a few of my favorite erotic self-portraits and slipped them under Julia’s door, along with a note pleading that she show them to her Uncle and share my telephone number with him as well. I also reiterated my offer to provide a personal referral to a mental health professional.

If I still get no response, I will return.

© 2012 Joshua Moses

Josh is a devastating advantage. He is feared and available for rent. http://thehappykilljoy.tumblr.com

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