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Berkeley, was a founder and advisor. She worked closely with younger women, particularly teens, who recognized in Lola a kindred free spirit. She’d done it so long, each generation had its own lexicon that she thought she’d earned a degree in Adolonics, the teenage linguistic lexicon.
    Each time she brought one or more of her girls home, Jacob made notes of their peculiarities of speech like the substitution of ‘go’ for ‘said’, and the use of chillin’, crusin’, kickin’, ‘tights’, and ‘whatevers’.
    Lola smiled as Jacob engaged them in conversation, understanding their syntax and meaning, yet responding with the King’s English, albeit with an Austrian accent.
    Lola smiled at her husband. “I love how you’re able to talk with them. Worlds and decades apart.”
    “My mind’s like a parachute, it functions only when it’s open. I only hope they grow out of it. The jargon, Adolonics in this case, is a poor substitute for the precision of the English language for communication of ideas, and it announces to the world that the purveyor is, pardon the expression, a slacker. Three pins short of a strike.”
    Lola smiled indulgently at Jacob. “You’re a very disturbed man.”
    During their early days, Lola kept up her psychotherapy practice and managed Jacob’s office, but soon tired of the intractable despair, frustrating narcissism, and interminable banal neuroses. She found herself caught in a web of mental fatigue, empty and drained of energy. Convinced she couldn’t help, she opted to save herself and her marriage. The clinic gave her the opportunity to help young women and maintain her sanity.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Two and a half years ago, while Jacob was finishing up for the day, Margaret Cohen came into his office. “I have a Dr. Bernard Spelinsky on the phone. He says he’s an old friend.”
    Jacob’s mind flashed back to his early days on the lower east side of Manhattan where two young immigrants began the practice of medicine.
    “Spelinsky, you old fart, you’re still alive.”
    “I said I’d outlive you, and I meant it.”
    “What are you doing with yourself? I heard that the New York Post printed banner headlines the day you retired: FINALLY, THE CITY IS SAFE!”
    “So, you’re still at it. Haven’t you done enough damage?”
    “I’m hanging on as a community service. Somebody’s got to keep these young doctors honest.” He paused for a moment. “I was so sorry to hear about Rebecca. She was a gem.”
    “You and I got better than we deserved when we married. The worst part, Jacob, is the loneliness. Living with someone you loved for so many years then, in a moment, she’s gone. How’s Lola?”
    “Too mean to die.”
    “I’ll be coming to the bay area in the fall. My granddaughter Zoe is moving to Berkeley this summer. Her husband’s accepted a position at the University of California.” He hesitated. “That’s why I called. I’d like you to meet with Zoe and give her some perspective on medical practice in Berkeley. She just completed her residency in Family Practice at Columbia. If you’re not too senile, Jacob, you’ll convince her to join you in practice.”
    “I’ll meet her, Bernie, but I’ve practiced alone for too many years. Change at my advanced age may be difficult. Partnerships are like marriage...and they’re tough enough.”
    “Speaking of marriage, meet Zoe. You’ll love her. In many ways, she’s a modern version of Lola.”
    “I’m getting chest pain, Bernie. I barely survived Lola as a young man.”
    “I’ll ask her to call you. Her name is Zoe Spelling.”
    “Spelling? You must be kidding.”
    “Don’t ask me. She changed it for professional reasons.”
    “Professional reasons?”
    “What can I say? She’s young.”
    “Well, Bernie, I’ll meet her, but denying her heritage equals strike one.”
    Three weeks later, Margaret Cohen came into Jacob’s office smiling. “Dr. Zoe Spelling is here to see