Private Pleasures Read online

  "I think you're too hard on yourself," I said. "You're a sympathetic man, always willing to listen to other people's problems' "Perhaps I'm willing to listen," he said forlornly, "but I don't seem capable of doing anything about them. And that includes my own problems."

  I turned my Honda into our driveway and stopped. Greg started to get out of the car, then stopped and turned to me.

  "Please don't do anything at the moment, Marleen, he said earnestly.

  "It may prove to be rash. Let me think about it awhile. All right?"

  I nodded and watched him trudge across the lawn to his own home, to a marital misery that matched mine.

  I had told him that I did not think him a wimp, and that was the truth.

  But I did wish he would be more assertive. He simply would not argue or even disagree. Not because he was weak and ineffectual, but because he was a sensitive man who abhorred crude, loud, and violent behavior.

  I believe it almost made him physically ill.

  It wasn't timidity on his part. He just wanted everyone to be civil-a vain hope, as well I knew.

  I'm a liar. I've lied all my life, I admit it. Not because I enjoyed it, but I had to lie if I wanted to survive.

  Let me give you a for-instance. I told Marvin McWhortle I was twenty-one when actually I am twenty-six. Thank God I've got the body to get away with it. Besides, men are such shlubs about women's ages, ask them to guess, and they probably won't hit within five years.

  Why did I lie to McWhortle? To make myself more attractive to him. I knew porking a twenty-one-year-old would give the geezer's ego a real charge, and that's how it worked out. Also, I call him daddy. He likes that.

  If I had had a good education and learned to do something like run a computer or be a nurse, maybe I wouldn't have had to lie. But putting out for him a couple of times a week sure as hell beats selling pantyhose at K Mart. The house is in my name, he can't take that away from me. And the salary I get is I'm not complaining.

  Marvin picked me up in a Miami hotel bar. He never asked me what I was doing there. Looking for a fish like him, that's what.

  But let me say this, After he set me up in his town, I never cheated on him once-and that's no lie.

  I had been living in my house about six months when a guy came to the door and wanted to talk to me. He was well-dressed and all, and his silver Infiniti Q45 was parked at the curb, but I made him for a grifter right away, and believe me I've met a lot of them. It's their cool way, hard eyes, and the way they never blink that tip me off.

  "What's it about?" I asked him. "You selling something? " He handed me a card. He was William K. Brevoort, or claimed to be. No company name, no address, just the name and a phone number, engraved yet.

  "Okay," I said, "now I know who you say you are and your phone number.

  But you haven't answered my question, What do you want to talk to me about?

  "About the Snakepit," he said.

  I sighed. The Snakepit is a nude dance joint in Miami, and I worked there for almost a year. I quit after the place got busted for the fourth time. That's when I hit the convention circuit, which was how I happened to meet McWhortle.

  "All right, Mr. William K. Brevoort, " I said. "What's the game-a shakedown?"

  "Far from it," he said. "You don't pay me, I pay you.

  The guy looked like a weasel-a long, pointy nose, you know-but he didn't look like a mad rapist or even a strongarm, so I let him in the house. We sat in the living room, and he looked around.

  "Nice," he said.

  "Is that what you wanted to talk about?" I asked. "My interior decoration?"

  He took a notebook from his jacket pocket and began flipping pages and reading out loud, "Jessica Mae Fiddler. Born in Macon, Georgia.

  Father deserted family when you were six. One brother in the navy, killed in a fire at sea. Mother died of cancer.

  Raised by your Aunt Matilda. You were kicked out of high school as incorrigible. Pot and moonshine. Lied about your age and married Bobbie Lee Sturgeon, a gas jockey. Marriage annulled.

  Moved to Atlanta. Busted for loitering for the purpose of prostitution. A fine but no jail time. Moved to Miami. Busted with the other girls at the Snakepit. No convictions. Now you're here in this nice house. Paid for by Marvin McWhortle, owner of McWhortle Laboratory. Have I got it all correct?"

  "Close," I said, "but no cigar. You missed the time I got a ticket in Fort Lauderdale for double-parking. How much did it cost you to find out all that stuff?"

  "Not much," he said. "It's easy when you know how."

  "Why did you go to the trouble?"

  "How about offering me a drink?"

  "Talk first," I said. "What's on your mind? I know you're not law, your suit is too elegant."

  "Nice, he said, stroking his lapel. "Italian gabardine.

  You like?"

  "Cut the bullshit," I told him, "and make your pitch. If it's blackmail, McWhortle is the one you should be talking to."

  He shook his head. "Not blackmail," he said. "Not my style.

  I buy and sell information. Buy from people who know and sell to people who want to know."

  "So? What's that got to do with me?"

  "Does McWhortle ever talk to you about his business?

  "Sure he does."

  "About new products his lab is working on?"

  "Yeah, sometimes he talks about those."

  Brevoort stared at me. "Well?" he said.

  "What would you like to drink?" I asked him.

  And that's how it started. Whenever McWhortle told me about a new project at the lab, or brought me a sample of a new perfume or maybe a new headache pill, laxative, or whatever, I'd give Willie the Weasel a call, and he'd come over to get it. He always paid in cash and he wasn't a tightwad, I'll say that for him.

  I never did learn where his office was, if he had one, and I never asked who his customers were. I figured the less I knew, the better-in case he ever got busted for stealing business secrets, you know. I don't think he was spying for Russia or anything like that. His clients were probably competitors of the companies that paid McWhortle Laboratory to develop new products, and I imagined they paid Willie mucho dinero for the information and samples I passed along to him. I got a thousand dollars a pop.

  So now I had the house, I was a salaried employee with a Social Security number and paying withholding taxes and all, and in addition I had a safe deposit box that was filling up with the cash Brevoort paid me.

  After McWhortle left me on that Monday after noon, I waited a half-hour to make sure he wasn't coming back because he forgot something or wanted an instant replay of our roll in the hay. Then I called Willie.

  Most of the times I phoned I'd get his answering machine, but this time he was in. I said I had something for him, and he said he'd be right over. He was there in fifteen minutes-which meant his office or home was nearby, right?

  As usual, he looked spiffy. I'll say this for him, He never made a move on me. Of course, he could have been gay, but I don't think so.

  I figured he didn't want to start anything because that would give me an edge on him, and he wanted to keep it strictly a business deal. As long as those hundred-dollar bills he handed out were good, I was satisfied.

  I had a vodka martini and he had a club soda, while I told him about the big research contract the government had given McWhortle Laboratory to develop a pill that was supposed to make soldiers more aggressive.

  "Nice," Brevoort said-his favorite word. "Did he happen to mention any of the ingredients?"

  "Testo something."

  "Testosterone?

  "Yeah, that's it. They call it the ZAP pill."

  "Uh-huh," he said. "Keep asking him about it, Jess. Here's a grand.

  If they actually produce ZAP and you can get a sample, there'll be another two big ones for you.

  "Oh-ho," I said. "That important, is it?"

  "You have no idea," he said.

  After he left, I had another drink and wo
ndered if I had been wrong, maybe he really was selling my information to Russia or some other foreign place. But what the hell did I care. it's all about survival. And survival means money. I knew that at the age of four. And believe me, only people with money can afford morals-even if a lot of richniks haven't got any to speak of. But when you're poor, dirt-poor like I've been, morals are a joke. You scratch, claw, and do a lot of things you'd rather not do just to survive.

  I had nothing against Marvin McWhortle personally. He was getting what he wanted, and I was getting what I wanted. It was strictly business.

  Just like my deal with Willie the Weasel.

  Sometimes I could kill them. Like tonight at supper, Mom is picking on Dad about buttered carrots. He don't like them, and she knows he don't like them. But she dumps a big spoonful on his plate and says,

  "Eat them."

  He don't say a word but he eats the carrots. Some of them.

  Sort of pushing them around. What a wimp he is. Then they didn't talk at all anymore. So I got up and left the table.

  "Where do you think you're going?" my mom yelled, but I just slammed out.

  I went over to Ernie's, but his house was dark. Then I remembered they were going to the movies that night. My parents never take me to the movies. I don't care.

  There were a lot of stars out, and I wondered what to do. I had a book report to write ("Tom Sawyer") but I didn't want to go back to my house. Dad would be working in the den with the door closed, and Mom would be watching one of her dopey travel shows on TV. They wouldn't even know I was home. They don't care.

  I went through backyards, and Tania Todd was sitting on her back steps.

  She's a year younger than me but she's a good kid.

  We take the school bus together almost every morning, but I'm a grade ahead of her, so we don't have the same classes. But we both belong to the Nature Club.

  "Hi, Tania," I said, and sat down next to her.

  "Hi, Chet," she said.

  My name is really Chester but I like to be called Chet. It sounds better.

  "Why are you sitting out here?" I asked her.

  "Just because," she said. Then she added, "Family matters."

  "Yeah, well, I got the same thing," I said. "Sometimes grown-ups can act dopey."

  She didn't say anything, and when I looked sideways at her, I saw she was crying. She wasn't making any sounds, but her face was all wet.

  "Hey," I said, "you shouldn't be doing that."

  "I can't help it," she said. "Why do they have to be that way-like they hate each other."

  "I know," I said. "Mine, too. It makes you wonder why the hell they got married."

  "You shouldn't swear," Tania said.

  " Hell' isn't swearing," I told her. "It's just a plain word. I know some real swear words."

  "Well, I don't want to hear them. My father says them sometimes, and I cover my ears."

  "At least he talks," I said. "My dad don't even do that."

  "Doesn't," she said.

  The back door opened. Mrs. Todd came out and saw us. "What are you guys doing out here?" she asked, "Just sitting," Tania said, not looking at her.

  "That's nice," her mother said. "I have chocolate chip cookies. Would you like some, Chet?"

  "Okay," I said, and she brought us a plate of them. They were still warm, so I guess she had just made them. "Thank you, Mrs. Todd," I said.

  She went back inside and Tania and I had a cookie. They had a lot of chocolate bits in them, which I like. My mom gets the store-boughten kind that come in a plastic bag and they don't have enough chocolate in them.

  "Sometimes I wish I had never been born," Tania said.

  "Yeah, well," I said, "I feel like that sometimes, too. But we were.

  Born, I mean. So there's nothing we can do about it."

  "Then I wish I had different parents. Like Sylvia Gottbaum.

  She and her brother and her mother and her father are always doing things together. Like this summer they're all going to Paris, France.

  I never get to go anywhere with my parents."

  "And look at Ernie Hamilton," I pointed out. "He went to the movies tonight with his mom and dad. You know how many times my folks have taken me to the movies? Maybe three times, that's all.

  There's one cookie left. You want it?"

  "You can have it, Chet."

  "Thanks. Your mom is a good cook."

  "I wish my father thought so. Maybe he'd come home for dinner more often."

  "He doesn't come home? Where does he eat?"

  "Oh, he always has business meetings and things like that.

  Anyway, that's what he says." She leaned close and whispered in my ear. "But I don't think so. I think he eats with other women."

  "What other women?" I said in a low voice.

  I don't know," she whispered. "But I heard Mother tell him he smelled of Passion. That's a perfume. My mother knows all about perfumes.

  She makes them."

  "But why would your dad want to have dinner with other women when your mother is such a good cook? " "I don't know," she said. "But it makes Mother unhappy."

  "Because he won't eat her cooking?" "I guess. They're always being nasty about it. It scares me. I'm afraid they'll get in a real fight, and something awful will happen."

  We were quiet a long time. it really was a super night with the stars and all. There was a half-moon and it lighted up the whole sky. It made everything seem big.

  "You know," I said to Tania, "I've been thinking.

  Maybe I'll leave."

  "Leave where?"

  "Home. Maybe I'll leave home."

  She turned to look at me. "But where would you go?"

  "I don't know. But I'd like to go somewhere. Away from here."

  "But how would you do it?" she asked. "I mean how would you travel?"

  "I've got some money, " I said. "Not very much, but maybe it's enough for a bus ticket somewhere. Or I could hitch a ride. Like on a truck going up north or anywhere.

  I don't care."

  She was silent awhile. Then, "When are you going to go?"

  "I don't know. I haven't decided yet. But I don't want to live at home anymore. I want to be someplace else. Maybe I'll meet some people who'll take me in. Nice people."

  "Chet," Tania said, "can I go with you? When you decide to go, can I go along with you?"

  "I don't know," I said. "It might be dangerous. I've never been away from home before. Ernie Hamilton, he went to camp."

  "I don't care. If you go away, I want to go with you.

  Okay?

  "I'll have to think about it," I told her. "It's very important."

  "I know it is. If you leave home, promise me I can go with you.

  Promise me, Chet. Cross your heart and hope to die."

  "I'll think about it," I said, and that's all I said. After a while I got up and went home. just like I knew, my father was in the den with the door closed, and Mom was watching TV.

  I went upstairs to my bedroom, locked the door, and counted my money.

  I had four dollars and sixty-seven cents. I didn't know how much bus tickets cost, but I thought it would be more than that. But if Tania came with me, maybe she could get some money.

  I thought it would be great if we were just walking along and found a wallet someone had lost, and it had a lots of money in it.

  That would really be neat.

  I'll tell you one thing, When I grow up and get married, I won't be like my dad.

  I'll talk right and have a kid, I will talk to my wife, as much as she wants, and I'll do things with my kid.

  Like I'll take him to the movies, and er been fishing. Also, I will we'll go fishing. I've nev play catch with him and things like that.

  I felt like crying, but of course I didn't. It was okay for Tania to cry, she's a girl, but I couldn't cry. That's for girls and babies.

  Although once I saw my mom cry. I went into her bedroom without knocking, and she was sitting on the bed hunched
over, and she was crying. I don't know what for. I just went away.

  I never saw my father cry, but I never really heard him laugh either.

  Sometimes he smiles, but not very often.

  After I run away, I'm going to laugh all the time. That shows you're happy, don't it? Well, I'm going to be happy. And Tania will laugh, too. We'll be happy together.

  "don't want to lean on you, Greg," Mr. McWhortle.Lsaid to me, "but you know what the military is like, They want everything tomorrow. So requisition whatever you need and don't worry about the expense. We have a cost-plus contract, Uncle Sam is picking up the tab.

  Actually, there wasn't a great deal I needed in the way of new hardware and supplies. My private research lab at McWhortle's is fully equipped and our own supply department could provide from stock most of the additional items I required.

  I had two small video cameras on tripods moved in along with an eighteen-inch TV monitor and VCR. Stacks of small wire cages were arranged along one wall. They held thirty mice-ten males, twenty females of a normal strain. And I had a new lock affixed to the lab door. It could be opened only with a magnetic card.

  I kept one, the other was held by our security department.

  After these arrangements were completed, I settled down in front of my PC and consulted the database I I have found to be of most value in chemical research. I had done a great deal of reading on testosterone prior to developing the new synthetic formulation. Now I concentrated on the behavioral aspects of the sex hormone.

  The information I gleaned was for the most part conjectural and, in some cases, contradictory. But I learned that it was generally believed that high testosterone levels were indeed linked to aggression. Apparently this was true of all the primates, not just humans.

  Several studies concluded that high testosterone levels did not exist solely in muggers and football players but were also present in dominant and successful individuals in business, the professions, and the arts. There were some oddities noted, actors, for instance, were found to have a plenitude of the sex hormone, while ministers and academics usually had low levels. I wondered idly what my own testosterone level might be.

  I found nothing in my research that indicated or even suggested that the ingestion of additional testosterone would heighten the aggressive behavior of human males. But neither did I find anything that flatly refuted such a possibility. So, in a sense, I would be venturing into terra incognita.