Private Pleasures Read online

  Herman is always laughing."

  "Herman? Marleen's husband?"

  "Yes. I think maybe he's got eyes for me."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "Sometimes, after Greg and Marleen have left for the lab and the kids have gone to school, Herman will stop by for a cup of coffee before he goes to his office."

  "Are you attracted to him?"

  "He's okay. No matinee idol, you understand, but he knows how to talk to a woman. He seems really interested in what I think and the things I say. You suppose he wants to start something?"

  "Mmm.

  Silence.

  "When Greg and I were dating, I knew he was a serious man.

  The other guys I was seeing were mostly studs. One-night stands and so forth.

  But Greg was serious. Maybe a little dull, I knew that, but he had a good job and a good future. I figured that after I married him, I could lighten him up. Wrong!

  Maybe I shouldn't complain. He makes a nice living, I drive a Buick Roadmaster, and he doesn't say anything about my charge accounts.

  A lot of women I know are worse off. But still… Do you think I'm bored? Do you think that's why I'm so depressed all the time? Oh, and I forgot to tell you-he's a heavy drinker."

  "Your husband?"

  "Oh, God, no. Herman Todd. When he comes over in the morning, it's usually for black coffee and an aspirin for his hangover. He's not happy either. It's Marleen, his wife. She doesn't drink at all. Or smoke. She says it's because of her job with perfumes. Herman is a sport, always kidding around. The Todds came over for dinner last month, and Marleen and Greg kept talking shop. That's all they talked about, and finally Herman said, You know the difference between a vitamin and a hormone? You can't hear a vitamin." They didn't laugh, but I thought it was hilarious. Don't you?

  "Mmm.

  "Maybe he really does want to start something with me. I know for a fact he plays around. Do you think I should?"

  "How do you feel about it?"

  "I don't know how I feel. But I've got to do something. My life is empty, empty, empty. I mean there comes a time in every woman's life when she has to ask herself, is this all there is? That's where I'm at right now. I've even thought of getting a divorce. But getting a divorce just because you're bored is stupid, isn't it? And there's Chester to consider, of course."

  "What about your husband? What would his reaction be?"

  "if I asked for a divorce? He probably wouldn't care one way or the other. Greg doesn't love me."

  "Surely he loved you enough to marry you."

  "That was then, this is now. Maybe he loved me when he proposed. He said he did. But every Sunday night Greg makes out a list of things to do during the week, Get haircut. Take in dry cleaning. Rotate tires on Volvo. Maybe I was just a note on his list, Marry Mabel. Oh God, I feel so miserable. I think I'm going to cry. May I have a Kleenex?

  "Help yourself."

  Silence.

  "What do you think I should do, doctor? About my life? " "We've just begun. This is our third session correct? I suggest you not make any major changes in your life until we have the opportunity to explore in greater detail exactly what it is that's troubling you. I think our time is up, Mabel."

  "So soon? All right, I'll see you next Tuesday. I feel a lot better.

  Maybe all I need is someone to talk to."

  "Mmm.

  I left Dr. Noble's office and walked over to Hashbeam's Boteek, in the same mall. I went in to look around, and Laura, who always waits on me, showed me a new teddy they just got in, black lace cut high on the hips. Very racy.

  "It's beautiful," I said, "but when would I ever wear it?

  "Put it in your hope chest," Laura said, laughing.

  So I bought it. woke up late Thursday morning with a Godzilla of a hangover.

  Marleen had left for work, and Tania had gone to school, so I had the house to myself. That was just as well, I didn't want them to see the shape I was in. Although I doubt if they'd have been shocked, they've seen me before when I've had the meemies.

  I drank about a quart of water, showered, and used my electric shaver with a trembling hand. Then I dressed and went next door to bum aspirin and black coffee from Mabel Barrow. (I've never figured out how to work that Italian coffee-maker my wife bought.) But Mabel wasn't home, so I had no choice but to drive to my office in the Town Center Circle.

  Goldie was at her desk in the reception room, took one look at me, and shook her head sorrowfully.

  "Save me," I pleaded.

  She went down to the Dally-Deli and brought back a big container of black coffee and a prune Danish. Goldie is a sweet kid-great boobs-and I'd make a play there, but she's married to a police sergeant, and who needs trouble like that?

  I gave Goldie the Danish, took the coffee into my private office, shut the door, and locked it. All my salesmen were out on calls, but I didn't want any of them returning unexpectedly, busting in on the boss, and catching him adding a double of California brandy to his morning coffee, which is what I did.

  After I got half of it down, I decided I might as well live, lighted a cigar, and started reviewing a million-dollar whole life insurance policy I had recently sold to Marvin McWhortle, who owns the place where Marleen works.

  Around eleven o'clock I went out to the reception room and drew a cup of water from the cooler.

  "Feeling better?" Goldie asked.

  "Ready for a fight or a frolic," I assured her.

  Back in my sanctum I added another shot of brandy to the water. That did the trick. I held out my hands, and they were steady enough to do brain surgery. By the time I was ready to leave, about noon, I was in fine fettle-whatever a fettle is. I told Goldie I'd be back in a couple of hours. She nodded, she knew I always had lunch with my brother on Thursday.

  I stopped at the Dally-Deli and picked up two humongous corned beef sandwiches on rye, side orders of cole slaw, and an extra order of kosher dills, which Chas dearly loves. I went next to Ye Olde Reserve Fine Spirits amp; Liquors Shoppe (it opened last year) and bought a liter of Jack Daniels. Then I boarded my new Lincoln Towncar and started out.

  I took my usual route, south to the Palmetto Park Road, then far west to the Fleecy Road turnoff, then north on Fleecy to a nameless dirt lane, and then west on that. Way back in the boondocks on five acres of what used to be hardscrabble farmland is where my brother lives and works. He calls it a studio, I call it a barn.

  My brother-seven years older than I am-left two legs in Vietnam. The government wanted to fit him with prostheses and elbow canes, but Chas opted for a motorized wheelchair. He had a rough couple of years after he was shipped back-his mind was messed up-but he had psychotherapy and got it all together again.

  Now he writes children's books. He's not getting rich, but with his disability pension he does okay and won't take a cent from me.

  He's twice the man I'll ever be.

  "Hello, shithead," he greeted me.

  "Hi, asshole," I said. "You look beat. Been running the four-forty again?"

  "I could take you any day," he said. "You're in great shape, your ass is dragging and your eyes are bleeding. You been dipping your wick around town again?"

  "And I'm going to keep doing it," I said, "until I get it right." I displayed my purchases. "How does sour mash go with corned beef?"

  "Let's find out," he said. "Pull up a chair."

  It was more of a counter than a desk, a sheet of heavy plywood across two sawhorses, high enough so he could wheel his chair partly underneath and get close to his word processor.

  That's where I spread out our lunch and poured lack Daniels into the jelly jars he used for glasses.

  "How's Tania?" Chas asked.

  "Okay."

  "And Marleen?

  " She's fine."

  "You're a lucky man," my brother said. "And a foursquare bastard for cheating on her."

  "I can't help it," I said. "It's a terrible habit-like picking your nose."

  He lau
ghed. "I hope she nails you, sues for divorce, and takes you to the cleaners."

  "She won't, " I told him." Marleen knows I tomcat around.

  She doesn't care who I boff-as long as it isn't her."

  Chas looked at me. "Sonny boy," he said, "when it comes to women you're a total illiterate. Who you shagging these days?

  Anyone special?"

  "Not really. I've got my eye on the butterball who lives next door.

  Great ass. But her husband works in the same lab as Marleen, and we visit back and forth occasionally. It would be hard to manage."

  "You'll find a way," he said.

  His questions about my love life were not just idle curiosity. When I said that Chas had straightened out his brain, it wasn't the complete truth. Since coming home legless from Nam, I don't think he had even tried making it with a woman. He said he just wasn't interested, but he sure as hell was interested in my extramarital feats.

  I asked Dr. Cherry Noble about Chas. She was the shrink who pulled him out of his funk.

  "He's a lot better," I told her, "but I don't think he's functioning in the sex department. He lost his legs, but he's still got all the necessary machinery. What gives?"

  "He feels he's an incomplete man," Dr. Noble explained.

  "He's lost a part of himself. He's convinced women could be turned off by what he thinks is an ugly deformity. He's afraid that if he tries, he'll be rejected, or he won't be able to perform. So he doesn't try."

  "How long will that last? For the rest of his life?"

  "It could. But I'll try to bring him out of it. Chas is a fine man, and if anyone deserves a little joy, he does.

  "Don't tell him," I said, "but send me your bills."

  "There won't be any bills," she said.

  I had one jelly jar of sour mash, but Chas was starting on his third when I left to go back to the office. He gave me an autographed copy of his new book to give to Tania. It was called The Adventures of Tommy Termite.

  I was outside, unlocking the Lincoln, when Dr. Cherry Noble pulled up in her white jag. She got out and came over to me.

  "Herman!" she said. "What a pleasant surprise. I haven't seen you in ages-but I was thinking about you this morning. How are you?"

  "If I felt any better, I'd be unconscious," I said. "And you?"

  "Fine, thank you. You visited Chas?"

  "For lunch. Every Thursday."

  "Oh, that's right, I forgot. How is he feeling?"

  "Fine, I think," I said. "Is he making any progress, doc?"

  "Mmm," she said.

  "Well, keep trying," I urged her. "I really appreciate it."

  She nodded, and I watched her walk toward the barn. She was wearing a short pink linen sheath.

  Great legs.

  DR. CHERRYNOBLE has Todd was the only Vietnam veteran I ever C treated. I read all the literature on the subject I could find, but nothing I read prepared me for the severity of his problems.

  Fortunately, they proved as short-lived as they were intense. Still, it was almost two years before daily sessions could be gradually reduced.

  I make no claim that it was my skills as a therapist that led to the disappearance of his horrendous nightmares, deep depression, and sudden onslaughts of uncontrollable weeping. I believe that with no assistance whatsoever he would eventually have recovered by himself.

  Chas Todd is a strong man.

  During the course of his therapy I found myself attracted to him. At first he was profane with a penchant for scatological humor. But after he found I was unshockable, his speech became more conventional, he revealed a tender and vulnerable persona that I was convinced was the real Chas and not just a role he was playing.

  I was aware of his atrophied libido, and our failure to resolve that problem made his recovery less than complete. I hoped that in time his rejection of sex would fade. Doctors treat, nature heals. But it had now been several years since his therapy ended and, during my visits, I found no improvement.

  He had locked the door after his brother left, but when I knocked, I heard the hum of his motorized wheelchair. A moment later he unlocked the door, looked up at me, and smiled.

  "My lucky day," he said. "And aren't you elegant! Pink is definitely your color. Come on in."

  His studio was in disarray. The remains of his lunch with Herman were still scattered on his desk. I began cleaning up.

  "Forget it, Cherry," he said. "I'll get to it eventually.

  Would you like a dill pickle? There's one left."

  "No, thanks," I said, laughing.

  "How about a Jack Daniels?"

  "A very small one with lots of water and lots of ice. I'll mix it."

  "Help yourself."

  It was a ramshackle home, but he did have a small kitchenette kept reasonably clean. I made my drink and sat on a spindly ladder-back chair facing him.

  "I met Herman outside," I said. "Did you have a nice visit?"

  "As usual. I'm always glad to see Herm-once a week. I love my brother, but a little of him goes a long way."

  "Why do you say that, Chas?"

  "He's such a lecher. That's all he thinks about chasing women. What makes a man act like that, doc?

  "It could be a number of things. You say he continually chases women.

  Does he catch them?"

  "Continually," hesaid, laughing. "If you can believe him.

  Then it's on to another conquest. What do you call a male nymphomaniac?"

  "I call him a fool. But the term you want is probably satyr, a male who suffers from excessive sexual craving.

  " Herm doesn't seem to suffer." He gave me an ironic smile.

  Just the opposite from me-right?"

  "Mmm," I said.

  "Hey," he said, "you promised to cut the Mmm' shit. I know that in your work you've got to be noncommittal. But not with me.

  Okay?"

  "Mmm," I said, and we both giggled. "All right, Chas, I won't be noncommittal with you. How is your work coming along?"

  "It doesn't get any easier. I thought it would, but it doesn't."

  "Do you ever wonder why you write books for children? " "Because I'm a kid at heart, that's why."

  "Be serious."

  "Of course, I've wondered why I write these fairy tales.

  You know what I decided? That they're an escape from reality."

  "I thought you and I agreed there is no such thing as reality. There are only perceptions."

  "Uh-huh. Well, let's just say I perceive reality as a world I don't particularly admire. So I created the world of Tommy Termite."

  He poured more liquor into his jar. I've never met anyone who could drink as much as Chas and show no obvious effects. What his liver must look like I didn't care to imagine.

  "How are you feeling?" I asked quietly. "Any nightmares? " "Nope.

  Most of my sleep is dreamless."

  "Depressed?"

  "Only when my writing isn't going well. Don't worry about me, doc, I've adjusted."

  "No regrets?"

  "About what?"

  "And I thought you promised not to play games with me.

  Regrets for your lack of sexual desire, of course."

  "Oh… that."

  He took a gulp of his drink. "I can live with it."

  "I'm sure you can. But do you want to?"

  "I don't have any choice," he said in a low voice.

  "Of course you do, " I said angrily. "I saw you change from a helpless wreck to an alert, functioning individual able to make a new life for himself. Therapy didn't do that. I didn't do it.

  You accomplished that because you wanted to change."

  He shook his head. "I know I've got a hang-up," he said.

  "And I know the reasons for it as well as you do."

  "Chas, would you like to start regular sessions again?

  Perhaps twice a week. I can come out here, you won't have to come to my office. Maybe we can work it out together."

  "No," he said. "Thanks, but no."


  I stared at him but he looked away. The upper part of his body had become heavily muscled. Grips and railings had been installed in his studio so he could lift himself into bed, onto the toilet, into the shower stall.

  It was vitally important to him to be absolutely independent-another reason he shunned my offer of assistance.

  "You know what you're sacrificing, don't you?" I asked.

  "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

  I nodded, finished my drink, and rose to leave. He let me kiss his cheek. I was at the door when he called, "Cherry," and I turned.

  "If I change my mind," he said with a wolfish grin, you'll be the first to know."

  I went outside and sat on the hot cushions of the Jaguar a few moments.

  I lighted a cigarette. I smoke infrequently, but at the moment I needed it.

  I still felt there was more than a doctor-patient relationship between Chas and me. I knew how I felt about Chas, and I thought I knew how he felt about me.

  That could be wishful thinking, of course. Let me say merely that I hoped my sense of his desire was correct. Not only did it hold out the possibility of his eventual happiness, it kept alive the possibility of mine.

  I was ashamed of myself. That last thing I said to Cherry-"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know"-that was stupid, macho posturing.

  As if my love was a great boon, to be bestowed if I felt like it.

  Dr. Noble is a brainy lady, she knew very well the causes of my self -imposed celibacy. What she might not realize is what a stubborn man I am. Obstinacy has been my curse, I've always insisted on doing things my way-even when I know the suggestions of others make sense. There's no explaining it, I'm just pigheaded.

  The studio seemed awfully empty after Cherry left. I wasn't able to pace, of course, but I could gun my chair back and forth, running down the battery and finding no tranquillity whatsoever.

  So I finished my jar of whiskey and capped the bottle. Not much left, but there were full bottles under the sink and under the bed. My 80-proof muse.

  I believed that if I tried to make it with Dr. Noble, she'd go along.

  But I'd never know if she really wanted to, or if she intended it as part of my therapy.

  And because I wasn't certain of what her motive might be, it seemed best to abstain and stew in my own juice.

  Once, after I had been in therapy a year or so, Cherry asked me, "Why have you never married, Chas? I'm sure you have a dirty joke in answer to that, but I'd prefer the truth. Are you afraid of marriage? Don't want the responsibility? Don't want to lose your independence?"