Private Pleasures

TLC.

Greg was waiting for me at the opened door of his private lab. After I entered, he closed and locked the door carefully-he does everything carefully-and got me seated in front of a TV set.

"The first recording," he said, "shows the results of placing two or more male mice injected with the testosterone compound in the same cage."

The tape was murder-literally. I've never seen such bloody carnage in my life. Whether it was two, three, or four mice, they attacked one another with a brutal ferocity that was hard to believe. in all cases, one victor remained alive, but so badly wounded I knew he'd never recover. Greg confirmed that there were no survivors of these savage contests.

"The final moments of the tape," he said, "show several untreated male mice together in the same cage. Notice there is no sign of violent behavior." , The tape ended, and he rewound and then switched cassettes.

"I think," he said tonelessly, "that from what you have just seen we can conclude that the murderous frenzy was the result of the testosterone and no other factor. This next tape shows the behavior of an injected male placed in a cage with a single ovulating female, and then with several females."

What I saw made it obvious that the injected male had no desire to kill the female mouse-unless he intended to fuck her to death. I've never seen such enthusiastic animal copulation. The same held true when the male was placed in a cage with five females. The little bugger went wild. He just couldn't seem to get enough, but mounted the nearest female first, went on to the others, then started over again. Finally he flopped over on his side and lay still.

"Is he dead?" I asked, awed by the sexual prowess of the injected male.

"No," Barrow said, "just exhausted. After he revived, he started in again. Apparently the testosterone increases physical aggression against males and sexual aggression against females.

It's a very disturbing result that makes me wonder-as I did before, if you'll recall-if a human diet enrichment of testosterone might not have the same results."

"What are you saying, Greg?"

"That it may prove impossible to encourage the kind of behavior we desire without also encouraging the kind we wish to avoid. We're hoping to make soldiers more aggressive in combat.

We certainly don't want to create an army of rapists."

"Yes," I said, nodding, "I can see why you might be concerned, and I am, too. Have you considered a weaker dosage?"

"I've tried it," Barrow said. "The results are the same." I thought a moment, then I told Greg about the saltpeter fuss during World War II.

"Look," I said to him, "I'm no chemist, I don't even know what saltpeter is. But there must be some chemical you could add to the injection that has a proven taming effect. You follow? It would increase male aggressiveness toward other males but would dull their sexual appetite, or at least keep it at normal levels."

I could see Barrow was intrigued. "That's an interesting concept, Mr.

Mcwhortle," he said. "It's just possible that such a compound could be formulated. I'll do some research on it. What we're looking for is a sexual tranquilizer that might be combined with testosterone. "

"Exactly," I said, standing up. "See if you can find something like that. It could be the answer to our problem." I must have broken every speed limit on the books while driving to jessica's house, including running a red light. I just couldn't get there fast enough.

I felt so high you'd have thought I just had one of Greg Barrow's injections. I mean I was in overdrive.

My excitement continued after I arrived. I must confess I tore jessica's panties in my frantic haste to get her undressed, and I acted exactly like that mouse I had just witnessed performing amazing sexual feats. And then, like him, I collapsed, exhausted.

"Oh, daddy," Jess said, "what's with you today? , Why, you're as randy as a teenager. What a lover!"

"Get me a beer," I gasped, "and I'll tell you about it."

I sat up in bed, taking nourishment, and related what I had just seen on Greg's tapes.

She laughed delightedly. "You mean this stuff really works?"

"It sure as hell worked on mice. The chemist is going to try to dampen the aphrodisiac effect. We're trying to produce killers, not rapists.

And, of course, we still don't know if it ill have the same effect on humans."

"It sure had an effect on you," she said. "You better take it easy.

Remember your ticker."

"Screw my ticker," I said. "If I hadn't known you were waiting for me, I'd have popped a gasket. Sorry I ripped your panties, less. I'll buy you more."

"You can strip me bare ass whenever you like. I love it. So you think this ZAP thing is going to be a success? "

"It looks like it. At the rate Greg Barrow is going, we may be able to test it on human volunteers within a few months."

"Volunteers? Who'll volunteer?"

"Barrow will be the first, " I told her. "He insists on trying his new products on himself first. I admire him for it, but I think he's a fool. Enough about business, baby. Let's you and I have-"

"Oh," she interrupted me, "I forgot to tell you. I'm having more trouble with my car. it's really silly to keep paying out good money for repairs. I guess I need new wheels."

"Anything," I said. "Anything at all for my baby.

Buy a new car. Pick out something nice, and I'll pay the tab. it will be a little bonus."

"Oh, daddy," she said, sighing, "why are you so good to me."

"Because you're good to me," I said, reaching for her. "You always do whatever I want."

"I want what you want," she said. "Like this?"

"Yes," I said. "Oh my, yes!"

TANIA TODD ell, I did what Uncle Chas said I should and told my mother he had phoned and invited me to have lunch with him on Saturday. It was going to be a private lunch, just him and me. She could drive me out there but she couldn't stay. Then she would pick me up later.

She laughed and said that was okay because she had some shopping to do on Saturday. She also said she would make some chocolate brownies that I could take to Uncle Chas because you should never go to visit someone without bringing them a gift.

I didn't say anything to Chet Barrow about this because I still wasn't sure my uncle was going to lend me the hundred dollars I asked for.

Anyway, Mother drove me out there, this was a little past noon, and came in with me to kiss and say hello to Uncle Chas, and then she left like she had promised.

I gave him the brownies, and he said that was great because he had bought some almond ice cream which we could put on top of the brownies for dessert. But first he had pizzas, two different kinds, and cream soda to drink, so I knew it was going to be a nice lunch, more like a party.

We started eating, and he got right down to business.

"Tania," he said, "I'm going to lend you the hundred dollars no matter what, but I'd really feel a lot better about it if you'd tell me why you need it."

"I knew you were going to ask me that," I said, "because a hundred dollars is an awful lot of money, and you just can't hand it over without wanting to know what it's for. I thought about it, and I decided that I would tell you if you promise not to tell my parents. "

"I promise," he said.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

He nodded.

"You've got to say it," I told him.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he said.

"Well," I said, "I need the money because I'm going to run away from home. With Chet Barrow."

He stopped eating his pizza, looked at me, then started eating again.

"Who's Chet Barrow?" he asked.

"His real name is Chester Barrow. He's a boy who lives next door to us.

He's a year older than I am, and he is very nice.

Also, he is smart."

" Uh-huh, " Uncle Chas said. "Is running away from home his idea or yours?"

"He thought of it first. He hasn't even said he'll take me with him.

But I thought if I told him I had a hundred dollars, then he'd have to take me because I don't think he's got much money." , "Good thinking on your part," my uncle said. "Why does Chet want to leave home?"

"Because he is unhappy there. His father doesn't talk to him, and his mother watches TV all the time."

"I see. And why do you want to run away, honey?. "Because I'm unhappy also. My father drinks alcohol all the time, and he doesn't come home for dinner. And then, when he does come home, he smells from perfume, and he and Mother have these terrible arguments, and once he slapped her and she cried. So I don't want to live there anymore."

He didn't say anything for a while, and we each had another slice of pizza. It had a very thick crust but it was good.

Mostly I ate the topping off.

"Where will you go?" Uncle Chas asked finally. "Have you decided?",

"No, not yet. Chet is planning it."

He sighed very sorrowfully. "Tania, have you thought this over carefully? I mean, you won't have your own room anymore, or your own bed, or three meals a day. And where will you go to school? "

" School's out for vacation."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. But won't you miss the other things?

"I suppose," I said. "But I'll get used to it. And it will be better.

Can we have dessert now? I'll fix it.

"Sure, honey. The ice cream is in the freezer. If it's too hard, heat the spoon under hot water."

"I know how to do it," I told him. "Uncle Chas, did it hurt when you lost your legs?"

"Sure it did. And for a while I thought they were still there. I mean I kept trying to wiggle my toes even though I knew I didn't have any toes. It was like having an itch you can't scratch."

"I feel sorry for you," I said.

"Thank you," he said.

I brought him his brownie with ice cream on top.

"That looks good," he said. "Why don't you bring the things over here.

Then if we want more we can help ourselves."

"I'm not going to have more," I said. "I don't wish to get fat. Now I suppose you're going to tell me I shouldn't run away.

Well, it won't do you any good because I've made up my mind."

"Hey," he said, "I wasn't going to try to persuade you not to. It's an important decision, and obviously you've given it a lot of thought."

"I have," I said. "And once I make up my mind, I do it."

"Sure," Uncle Chas said. "You're very determined, I can see that. But we may have a problem. Now look here…"

He pulled out his wallet and spread five twenty dollar bills on the desk.

"That's a hundred dollars, Tania," he said.

"I know," I told him. "I can add."

"Of course, you can. But the problem is, what are you going to do with it until you actually leave home? I suppose you could give it to Chet to keep, but then he might run away and not take you with him."

"He wouldn't do that."

"He might. It's possible, isn't it? Don't bite your fingernails, honey. And if you hide it in your room, or someplace else around the house, your mother or father might find it and want to know where you got it and what it's for."

"I can hide it good."

"Maybe you can, but there's always the chance they may find it. Now, I'll put this hundred dollars aside for you. When you and Chet are ready to leave, you take a cab out here. Tell the driver to wait, and I'll pay him for the trip. Then I'll hand over the hundred dollars, and you and Chet can go wherever you like. How does that sound?"

I thought about it. "You promise to give us the money, Uncle Chas?

When we leave home and come out here? "

"Of course. Here it is. I'll put it in a special envelope marked with your name. I won't touch it.

It's yours when you come for it."

"Well, all right," I said. "I'll tell Chet about it, and then he'll have to let me go with him."

"Sure he will. If he's as smart as you say he is."

"He kissed me," I said suddenly.

"He did?" Uncle Chas said. "Did you get mad at him? "

"No," I said.

"I liked it."

He laughed, wheeled his chair over, and hugged me.

"What's not to like?" he said.

Mother came for me like she promised and we went home. I went looking for Chet and finally found him at the swimming pool.

This was a pool for all the people who live in our development.

I don't go in very much because the stuff they put in the water turns my hair green. Chet was sitting by himself on the grass, and he was wearing clothes so I knew he hadn't been swimming with the other kids.

I sat down beside him. He was eating a Butterfinger and gave me a piece.

"Listen," I said, "I've got something to tell you." And I told him all about how my uncle promised to lend me a hundred dollars. It was put aside for me in a special envelope, and when we decided to leave home, we could take a cab to his place and he would pay the driver, and then he would give me my money.

"Wow," Chet said. "That's keen. We can go anywhere on a hundred dollars. I've been studying the map, and you know where I'd like to go?"

"Where?

"Alaska. It's a nice place, and also it's so far away that our parents would never think of looking for us there." Aren't there bears in Alaska?" I asked him.

"I guess so," he said. "But they wouldn't bother us. There are alligators in Florida, but look how many people live here and never get bitten."

"And wolves," I said. "In Alaska."

"Okay, okay, " he said angrily. "Where do you want to go?"

"Wherever you say," I told him. "Alaska is fine."

But I really wanted to go to Paris, France. That's where Sylvia Gottbaum was going with her mother and father.

DR. CHERRYNOBLE e called me on Saturday right after his niece Hleft, but I had just come from the beach and had to shower and dress. I stopped on the way to pick up a chilled bottle of Frascati and arrived at his studio about five o'clock.

We sipped the wine from his ridiculous jelly jars and nibbled on brownies that had apparently been baked by his sister-in-law.

They were quite good. Chewy, with walnuts.

Chas told me about his lunch with Tania and how he had promised to hold the hundred dollars for her until she actually left home.

"Do you think that was wise?" I asked him.

"Can you suggest an alternative?" he said. "What I was really trying to do was stall for time. Look, Cherry, the kids might change their minds and forget all about running away. If they do go through with it and show up here someday asking for their money, then I'll just have to play it by ear. I "You know, Chas," I said, "aiding and abetting runaway children may be against the law, I don't know. But even if it isn't, you're going to make enemies out of the children's parents and possibly leave yourself open to a civil suit."

"I know that," he said, "but I didn't have much choice, did I? Unless I want to snitch on the kids, which I don't."

"You said the boy's name is Chet?"

"It's actually Chester, but Tania calls him Chet, Chester Barrow."

I put down my wine and stared at him. "Barrow?" I said.

"Is his mother Mabel Barrow?"

"I wouldn't know. They live next door to my brother's place.

Herman has eyes for her. He calls her a dumpling so I guess she's plump. And one of the reasons Chet wants to leave home is that she watches TV all the time."

I drew a deep breath. "I shouldn't be telling you this, Chas, but I trust your discretion. Mabel Barrow is a patient of mine."

"Oh, lordy."

"And I can understand her son's desire to run away. It's obviously not a happy home."

He looked at me. "What do we do now, doc?"

"There's not a great deal we can do. Getting Mabel straightened around is going to take time-if I can do it. She's talking about divorce."

"Oh, shit," he said. "And, of course, the boy senses what's going on."

"Of course. Children are much more aware than their parents suspect."

"Poor kids," he said.

"Poor ever I yone," I said. , "What's that supposed to mean?"

I poured us more wine. "An occupational hazard," I told him.

"I'm sure dermatologists get to thinking that everyone in the world has skin problems, and psychiatrists get to thinking that everyone in the world is screwed up."

He laughed. "Maybe we are," he said. "We're all nuts."

"Then what's the norm? " I asked him, but he didn't answer.

He hadn't turned on the lights, and the studio was filling with the mellow luster of the setting sun. It had a purplish tint, almost mauve.

The air seemed perfumed with that glow. It had a soothing effect, warm and intimate.

"He kissed her," Chas said in a low voice.

"Who kissed whom?"

"Chet kissed Tania. She said she liked it. Is that the norm?"

"It's a good start," I said.

Again we sat in silence, both of us seemingly content. It was a rare moment, a good time to say what I had to say. And if I lost, my life would go on. Changed, but it would go on.

"I love you, Chas," I said quietly.

I thought he wasn't going to reply, but finally he did.

"I don't deserve it," he said.

That infuriated me. "Stop it!" I said angrily. "Now just stop it.

Let me be the judge of whether or not you deserve it.

I'm the one doing the loving."

His laugh was rueful. "Yes, doctor," he said.

I waited patiently, knowing that eventually he would try to explain himself. He was an honest man, he really was.

"You know I want to," he said finally. "Not just the sex, that's only part of it. it's the giving, the surrendering, I find so hard. When I bought it in Nam, I was sure I was going to die.

No pain yet, I was still in shock. But I looked down and saw my legs were gone. I just wanted to let go, let death take me. It seemed so easy-just to let go. But it wasn't easy. It was so tough that I couldn't do it."

"Chas, are you equating death with loving?"

"Of course not. I'm just saying that I thought letting go would be easy and I'd just drift away. It didn't happen. Almost against my will I fought back-or my body did."

"The instinct to survive."

"If you say so, doc. But it meant pain and the miseries.

Now it seems so easy to keep on living the way I have been."

"And loving me means pain and misery?"

"Be honest," he said to me. "You know it does."

"It also means survival! "Turn on the light," he cried. "My God, it's dark in here."

I switched on the lights, and he turned his head away from me. I wondered if he was weeping.

"I wish you had talked this way when you were under treatment," I told him. "I failed to draw it out of YOU."

"Don't put yourself down," he said. "Maybe the only reason I can talk this way now is because of the treatment. Your treatment."

"I know it's difficult for a man like you," I said. , "Yes, loving will mean surrendering, giving up a part of yourself."

"I don't have many parts left, he said wryly, looking down at his stumps.

"And you're right," I went on. "It will mean pain, for both of us.

But the stakes are so high, it's worth the gamble."

He grinned at me. "No pain, no gain-right, doc?"

"Right," I said. "I'm supposed to be an expert on human behavior. But nothing I've read or studied or experienced in my practice can explain the way I feel about you, Chas. It's not analyzed in any of the textbooks. Perhaps because it's not abnormal."

"It is for me."

"Maybe. In your present mood. You see it as surrender. I see it as sharing. All I know is that I love you and want to make you happy. I think I can. But I have absolutely no desire to analyze the way I feel and understand why I'm acting the way I am.

I just accept it. Besides, it's Saturday, and I don't work on Saturdays."

He laughed. "All right," he said, since you won't analyze yourself, let me do it. You feel sorry for me."

"Bullshit."

"You're attracted to me the way a lot of people are attracted to freaks."

"Total bullshit."

"Or I represent a professional challenge, you don't feel my therapy is complete. Your love is strictly professional, all in the line of duty."

"You've got it all wrong, Chas. I love you because I love you. Can't you accept that?"

"It's too simple."

"Love is simple. It's a plain, elemental human emotion.

Yes, as you said, the results may be pain and misery. But the feeling itself is clean and uncluttered. Nothing complicated about it. it just exists. And if you deny it, you risk more pain and misery than love can ever cause."

"Now you're preaching," he said.

"Yes, I'm preaching."

"Fighting for my soul, are you?"

"If you want to call it that. I don't want to see you wasting your life, Chas, that's for sure. But more important, I don't want to waste mine. if that sounds selfish, so be it.

You're not going to ask me to stay for dinner, are you?"

"No."

"Just as well," I said. "it would be anticlimactic. Is there anything I can fetch you before I leave?"

"Yeah," he said. "I do believe that right now I need something a little stronger than white wine. Mix me a whiskey and soda, will you?"

"Which whiskey?"

"Whatever."

I made him a brandy and soda with a lot of ice and brought it to him.

"Thank you, Dr. Noble," he said.

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Todd," I said.

"Bend down," he said, motioning.

I leaned over his wheelchair. He crooked an arm about my neck, pulled me close, kissed me on the lips. A long, lingering kiss. Then he released me.

"I liked it," he said. "is that the norm?"

"It's a good start," I said.

WILLIAM K. BREVOORT isten, I've been around the block twice, and the Lway Big Bobby Gurk was acting was making me antsy.

First of all, he phoned me at least four times wanting to know if I had a sample of the ZAP pill yet. I told him I was working on it, but I didn't like those checkup calls. When guys you've got a deal with get that eager you begin to think (1) it's bigger than you figured, and,or (2) they're conniving a way to cut you out.

Then suddenly Bobby wanted me to meet this twitch. Now when guys do that, it usually means they want to dump the broad and hope you'll take over, or she's such a gem and you're such close pals that he wants you to share the goodies. I didn't figure Gurk had either of those reasons.

But I went along with him because I was curious about what was on his mind, and also I didn't want to get him sore at me because I needed him if I was going to score big with bets on the fights and football games using the ZAP pill.

Bobby's woman turned out to be a big, friendly judy who was no slouch in the brains department. After we got to know each other, I asked her how come she had teamed up with a pig like Gurk, who sucked up his spaghetti like a vacuum cleaner and probably had the first buck he ever stole framed on the wall of his office. Also, he didn't smell so great. So how come she picked him?

"Beggars can't be choosers," Laura said. That was her name, Laura Gunther. "I've always had lousy luck with men."

Then I told her about The Luck and how I always had it. She said that was wonderful, and she wanted to keep seeing me in hopes some of it would rub off on her.

I got married years ago, but I don't know where she is now.

Since then I've had a few women, but to tell you the truth, it wasn't all that important to me. But Laura and I hit it off right from the start, and I began seeing her two or three nights a week.

I'd take her to ritzy restaurants and nightclubs where she could show off her rags and play the lady.

"You're the last of the big-time spenders, Willie," she told me. "I like that."

"Easy come, easy go," I said.

"Where does it come from?" she asked. "You got a business? "

"The information business," I said. "I buy from people who know and sell to people who want to know."

"Hey," she said, "that beats flipping hamburgers for sure." After a while we found out we had both been in the, skin trade, which gave us something in common. And finally I told her about my hobby of cross-dressing. It didn't spook her.

"Look," she said, you like to do drag and I like to smoke cigars. So what's the big deal? Live and let live is my motto."

The beauty part was that I could wear most of her dresses and lingerie because we were about the same size. I bought a lot of stuff from the boutique where she worked, and sometimes we'd go to a fancy shop and pick out gowns we both liked. She'd try them on before I bought them.

It saved me a lot of bucks for alterations, and I liked wearing things she had worn. We kept all the new clothes at her place.

Also, she showed me some tricks with eye shadow I hadn't known about.

As far as sex goes, we never did connect, if you know what I mean. But we'd smoke a joint together or maybe do a line of coke and just play around. It was fun and no one got hurt. I helped her out a few times when she had the shorts, but she never really leaned on me for money.

The one thing I didn't like was that she was always asking questions about my business, who did I buy from and who did I sell to. You'd think a been around twist would know better than to pry.

After all, a man's business is private and she should have respected that.

I never told her word one, but she kept pestering me. So one night I took her out to a French place, and over the brandy and espresso I put it to her straight.

"Laura," I said, "I like you, and we've had a lot of laughs together.

But if you keep digging into my private business I'm going to dump you.

I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. I've worked hard to build up my career, and I'm not telling you or anyone else how I manage it.

Okay?"

She took out one of those long, thin cigars she smoked, and I held a light for her. I noticed her hands were shaking.

"Willie," she said, "you've always treated me square, and I don't want you to dump me. It's true I've been trying to nose into your business, and now I'm going to tell you why."

And she told me that Big Bobby Gurk had put her on the pad to find out who my contact was at Mcwhortle Laboratory. She didn't know what the deal was between me and Gurk, all she knew was that he wanted to cut me out.

"Uh-huh," I said. "I figured it might be something like that. I admire your coming clean with me. I owe you a big one."

"Jesus, Willie," she said, "you won't tell Gurk, will you?

He's got some muscle in his organization, and they'll feed me to the sharks if he finds out I snitched."

"Of course I won't tell him, Laura. What kind of a rat do you think I am? You just keep stalling him until I figure out how to handle this. it's got to be something cute because Gurk can be a mean bastard when he's crossed."

I gave it some heavy thought for the next few days, but I couldn't finagle a way to dump Gurk. If I expected to score by betting on fighters and football teams that had been doped with ZAP, I needed Bobby because he knew bookies all over, the country and could cobble up a giant swindle.

Then I got a call from Jessica Fiddler, and I went over to her pad in the early evening. She told me she had balled Mcwhortle that afternoon.

"The old man came on like a young stud," she said. "And when I asked him how come he had so much juice, he told me he just watched a TV tape of some mice who had been injected with that testosterone stuff.

According to Mcwhortle's story, the injected male mouse had kept porking female mice until he fell over in a dead faint.

Then, after he rested awhile, he started all over again.

"That's interesting," I said. "You mean the ZAP injection gave the mouse a rat-sized hard-on?"

"That's what Mcwhortle said. He also told me the chemist working on it is trying to cut down on the Spanish fly effect because they want the pill to produce killers, not rapists."

"It must be powerful stuff. Did he say when it would be ready in pill form?"

"No, but he said it might be tested on human volunteers in a couple of months."

"Did he happen to mention the name of the chemist working on it?"

"No," she said, "he didn't."

"Try to find out, will you, less. It's very important."

"How much important?" she asked.

This doll was developing a galloping case of the gimmes, but there was nothing I could do about it. She was a key player, and I needed to keep her happy.

"An extra grand for the chemist's name," I told her.

"Come on, Willie," she said. "You can do better than that."

"Get the chemist's name first," I said, "and then we'll talk business.

Okay?"

She nodded, and we left it at that.

I drove back to Laura's place to dress for a big affair at my private club. it was called Waltz Night in Old Vienna, and I had bought a lovely bouffant ballgown in peach-colored taffeta.

Laura had promised to set my strawberry blond wig in a Veronica Lake style.

I was excited about Waltz Night, of course, but I was even more excited by what Jessica Fiddler had told me. If the ZAP pill produced a sexual rush, there was more money to be made from that than from feeding it to some palooka heavyweight or secondrate football team.

What I had in mind was getting hold of a sample pill, having it copied, and bootlegging it all over the country as the first space-age aphrodisiac. You know how much men would pay to get it up whenever they wanted and keep it up as long as they liked?

Millions!

The best thing was that I didn't need Big Bobby Gurk to pull off that caper, I could do it myself. Why, I could even peddle the stuff mail order as a vitamin or diet supplement before the Feds shut me down or thieves moved in, swiped the formula, and began hawking cut-rate imitations. I figured to make a mint before either of those things happened.

"Hey, Willie," Laura said, as she helped me with my mascara, "you're really high tonight. Good news?"

It's The Luck," I said. "It hasn't deserted me yet." must confess I was horrified by my reaction to direct inhalation of oxytocin in its aerosolized form. When I plugged that soaked inhaler into my nostrils, I had no idea what the results might be.

But all ethical researchers must test new products on themselves before recruiting other human volunteers.

My behavior after inhaling the hormone was extremely embarrassing. The odd thing was that I was fully aware of my ridiculous conduct at the time but unable to control it. I knew I was being overly affectionate toward Greg Barrow, my daughter, and my husband, but I could not resist the urge to exhibit my love.

Fortunately my excessive elation proved to be temporary. It ended when I suddenly became so sleepy I feared I might collapse if I didn't get to bed immediately. When I awoke the next day, I could discern no aftereffects other than a slight dryness of the nasal passages.

It was obvious to me that aerosolized oxytocin was much too powerful to be used in a perfume in an unadulterated form. But its ability to modify mood and behavior convinced me that in the proper strength it would be a unique and valuable base for the new fragrance I was creating. it could truly make Cuddle the warm, intimate, caring scent it was intended to be.

And so I set to work on the long trial-and-error process of combining a diluted measure of the hormone with more conventional essences. I recall that during this period of experimentation I didn't doubt for a minute that I would achieve my goal of producing a perfect Cuddle. I never stopped to consider the consequences, and that eventually proved to be a nearly fatal error.

But meanwhile I was faced with a worsening crisis at home.

My husband's drinking and philandering had become so outrageous that I was driven to an open and possibly final confrontation.

It began with the cliched cause of so many marital discords, Herman forgot our wedding anniversary, the tenth. I had prepared a fine dinner, a roast beef, twicebaked potatoes, and haricots verts with almonds, to be served with a very expensive bordeaux bottled the year we were married. Herman didn't come home for the anniversary dinner, of course, and poor Tania and I were forced to make the best of it and pretend it was a special party.

Herm finally arrived around ten-thirty, after Tania had gone to bed-thank God! He wasn't completely inebriated, but it was obvious he had been drinking heavily. I was seated in the kitchen when he came in.

He headed directly for the refrigerator-for a cold, beer, I presumed-but then noticed the unopened hottle of wine on the countertop.

"Hey," he said, picking it up to examine the label, "what the hell is this? Expensive stuff."

"Note the vintage?" I asked.

"Sure. It's ten years old. So?"

I looked at him, and his face froze in a goofy grin. "Oh, shit," he said. "The year we got married. Is today our anniversary, lion?"

I didn't answer.

"Well, what the hell," he said. "I'll make it up to you.

Maybe we'll go out tomorrow night for a nice dinner."

"I prepared a nice dinner," I told him. "A roast beef. But you didn't come home."

"Well, dear," he said, almost aggrievedly, "you should have said something about it. How was I to know? " It was at that moment that I made up my mind. Certainly I had suffered more serious slights and disappointments, but at that instant I decided I could no longer endure his boorish behavior.

"Herman," I said, "I want a divorce."

He blinked a few times. "Come on, lion," he said in a thick voice, "you don't really mean that."

"I really do. I suggest you sleep in the spare bedroom tonight. I'll see a lawyer tomorrow, and then we'll talk about permanent arrangements.

I don't wish to continue living with you."

"Why the hell are you so pissed?" he demanded. "So I came home late for dinner. I forgot our anniversary. What's the big deal. It happens all the time."

"It's not just tonight," I said. "It's all the nights you haven't come home. Your drinking. Your playing around.

I've had it, Herm. I want out."

"I don't know what you're bitching about," he blustered.

"Haven't I provided a good home? You got your own car. Who paid for that roast beef? A lot of women would like to have what you've got."

"What have I got?" I said furiously. "A drunken husband who makes no effort to conceal his infidelities. A lousy father who never spends time with his only child. A miserable lover who's lost all interest in his wife. You think other women would like to have that? Think again, buster."

"Look," he said earnestly, "I admit I haven't been perfectbut what man is? I'm under a lot of stress at the office, a lot of pressure to produce. I have to unwind or I'll go nuts. Maybe I haven't thought enough about how it bothers you and Tania, but it's not because I don't love you. I do, I really do. Listen, if I didn't have a home to come back to, I'd be lost. Divorce isn't the answer, Marleen, you know that.

You still love me, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, "God help me, I still love you. But love isn't enough anymore. Not for me and not for Tania. We both need love in return.

We need a man of the house who listens to our problems and helps solve them. We need a husband and father who cares And you just don't care, Herman."

"Well, screw you! " he said wrathfully, glowering down at me.

"If you don't like the way I act, then get your goddamned divorce.

Who needs you? You're more interested in that stupid job of yours than you are in me. And when it comes to the job you're supposed to do in bed-forget it! You're a total washout." , "How the hell would you know?" I screamed at him. "How long has it been since you've even tried? And if you did, you'd be too soused to do anything. So don't talk to me about sex. Go fuck one of your chippies.

God knows what you've picked up from them.

I always make sure I wash a glass you've used. I don't want to catch anything." "What the fuck are you talking about?" he yelled. "You think I don't use-" Then he caught himself and didn't finish what he was going to say. He took a deep breath. "Listen," he said hoarsely,

"we're both upset. I admit I forgot our anniversary, and I apologize.

But let's both sleep on this divorce thing. I don't want to lose you, Marleen, really I don't. I'll sleep in the spare bedroom, and maybe tomorrow we'll both see things more clearly and can talk it over like mature adults. Okay?"

"I'm going to bed," I said. "There's cold beef in the fridge. just like you, lover boy-cold beef."

He uttered one awful curse, and with a sweeping motion of his arm knocked the bottle of anniversary wine to the floor. It shattered into a million slivers, and the red bordeaux spread everywhere. We both stared at what he had done, shocked.

Then I looked at him. "What are you trying to prove?" I asked. I really wasn't sure what I meant.

I went upstairs and listened at Tania's door. I couldn't hear her crying or stirring about, so I hoped she had slept through the argument.

I went into my own bedroom and locked the door. I didn't even have the energy to wash up, just pulled on a nightgown and got into bed.

I thought of what he had said and what I had said, and what I should have said. The whole situation was just so sad that I wanted to weep, and I did, for a short while.

It suddenly struck me that the day had been utterly bizarre.

I had spent eight hours trying to create a fragrance that would make people more loving, more caring, and I had ended the day screaming at an uncaring mate whose love seemed reserved for himself I think it may have been then, in the hour or so that it took me to fall asleep, that I began to wonder if the solution to my personal problems might not lie in the solution to my professional problems. it was possible.

The reason I was putting on weight was that I was so unhappy.

I told that to Dr. Noble, and all she said was, "Mmm." But I really believed it. I know I wore a size 6 when I got married and now I wore a 12. That tells you something, doesn't it? When you're unhappy, you're snacking all the time, like Pepperidge Farm cookies and M amp;Ms. I wasn't a fatso, not yet I wasn't, but I was more zaftig than I wanted to be. I know my boobs were bigger and also my fanny. That was okay, I could live with that. But I was beginning to get flab under my upper arms, and my thighs were getting loose. That revolted me.

I mean I used to have a fantastic figure, everyone said so.

I wore the world's teeny-weeniest bikinis. But I guess those days are gone forever. Now I wear a swimsuit with a built-in bra and a skirt, for God's sake. I knew I looked exactly like what I was, a plump housewife with a freezer full of frozen packages of macaroni and cheese.

That's why it gave my ego a boost when Herman came on to me. I knew he played around a lot, but it was good for my morale to know there was at least one guy who had the hots for me.

I sure as hell wasn't getting any heavy breathing from my husband.

One morning, after Marleen and Greg had left for work and the kids were out playing, Herm came over for a cup of coffee. I made instant for both of us and sat down at the kitchen table with him.

I put out a plate of jelly doughnuts.

"What's with you?" I asked him. "You look worn out."

"I guess," he said, sighing. "Marleen and I had a big goaround last night."

"Yeah? About what?"

"I forgot it was our anniversary. She made a special dinner and bought a bottle of wine. I came home late, and she got sore."

"She'll get over it," I told him.

"I don't think so," he said. "She wants a divorce."

"Oh, shit," I said.

"My sentiments exactly. We talked about it again this morning before she left for work, and she's bound and determined.

She's going to see a lawyer."

"I'm sorry, Herm."

"Yeah. I am, too. Listen, Mabel, I hope you won't tell anyone about this. Not even Greg."

"Of course not. What happens now?"

"I don't really know. I guess I'll move out and take a motel room somewhere. Maybe if I'm not around for a while, she'll calm down and change her mind."

"Maybe," I said.

We finished our coffee and doughnuts. I stood up, and started putting the dishes in the sink. I was wearing an old ratty robe and my hair was up in curlers, but it didn't seem to bother him.

He got up and moved me around so I was facing him.

He loosened the belt on my robe and opened it. I was wearing white cotton panties, but that's all. He gave me a once-over.

"You're some woman, Mabel," he said. "We could make each other happy."

He leaned down to kiss my bazooms, then looked up at me. "If I get a place at a motel, will you come visit me?"

I didn't answer, and he bent down to kiss me again. He sure had a wicked tongue.

"Will you?" he repeated.

"All right," I said.

I said it without hardly thinking of what I was saying. I just said,

"All right," like it was something I had thought about for a long time and finally decided to do. But it wasn't like that at all. It was more a spur-of-the-moment thing. I think it was his tongue.

But after he left, I thought about it and I got scared. I mean if Marleen wanted a divorce, maybe she already had a private detective following him. To get evidence, you know. And if I shacked up with him, maybe we'd get caught and I'd be named in court as the Other Woman, and that would just kill me, let alone what it would do to Greg and Chester.

I thought about it all day and ate a whole can of honeyroasted peanuts.

I didn't feel much like cooking that night, so I made a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs, using three frozen packages. And I cut up some iceberg lettuce and doused it with Paul Newman's salad dressing.

He's such a great actor.

After dinner, Chester went outside, to play I guess, and Greg went into his den to work, as usual. I watched a two-hour television travelogue on Tibet. How about those yaks?

Chester came home and went to bed. I cleaned up the kitchen and then went upstairs to take my shower like I do every night.

While I was drying off, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and wondered if I should have things done. You know, like a tummy tuck, an ass lift, and stuff like that. Also, they can vacuum fat out of your thighs. I saw it on a TV special.

I was doing my nails in the bedroom when Greg came in.

"Did you lock up?" I asked him.

"Doors and windows," he said. "All secure."

We said exactly the same goddamned thing every goddamned night.

What I had done was put on that black see-through lace teddy I had bought from Laura at Hashbeam's Bo-teek. I wasn't going to sleep in it, of course, but I thought it might tickle Greg's fancy, if you know what I mean.

I waited for him to notice, but he didn't even glance at me.

He went into the bedroom for his shower, and when he came out, he was wearing his pajamas. I don't know why but when my husband wears pajama jacket and pants, it looks like a business suit.

I stood up and posed like a model. "How do you like it?" I asked him.

He looked at the lace teddy. "Very nice," he said, and went to the bed to turn down the covers.

"It's supposed to be sexy," I reminded him. , He looked again. "Very attractive," he said, which was an improvement-but not much. He got into bed and pulled the top sheet up to his chin.

I went over and sat on the edge of the bed at his side. "I feel horny,"

I told him. "Please don't tell me you've got a headache."

That made him smile. I turned off the lights, took off my teddy, and slipped into bed next to him, naked as a skinned rabbit. I took his hand and cupped it around one of my lungs.

"Look how big I'm getting," I said.

"I've noticed," he said.

"That's okay with you, isn't it? " I said. "I mean you don't have any objections, do you?"

It was the first I had heard him laugh in a long time. It wasn't much of a laugh, just a little chuckle, but it was something.

"You're very hot," he said in a low voice.

"Hotter than you think," I said. "Do you remember what to do next?"

He laughed again, a little louder this time. "It's like riding a bike," he said. "You never forget how."

"Why don't you take off your suit," I suggested. "And start pedaling."

He got out of bed to do it, stumbling around in the darkness.

Then he got back into bed. Greg is nicely put together.

I ran my hands over his body. "Hey," I said, "what have we here?

Hello, there! Long time no see."

He kissed me a few times. Adequate, but nothing to write home about.

I pulled the sheet off us and kicked it aside. I inched up in bed and moved his head down to my bosom, wanting him to do a Herman.

"Try it," I said. "It's better than spaghetti and meatballs."

Then I stopped coaching him. He did what men are supposed to do. I mean he knew all the moves, even though he was never going to be a mad, impetuous lover. He was so methodical, like he was working his way through a sex manual. Something published around 1810.

Sure I got aroused, I'm not wood, you know, and right then it was thank God for little favors, though I wished he wasn't so polite.

"Am I too heavy on you?" he inquired.

You know, I really felt sorry for him. I mean he was trying.

But when it came to making a woman happy, he had the words but he just didn't have the music.

I wasn't going to take my problem to my brother, Chas has his own troubles. And if I told him Marleen was talking divorce, he wouldn't say, "I told you so," but he'd give me a look that would mean the same thing.

It was a funny feeling, not funny ha-ha but funny strange.

I mean I was a sociable guy, "Herm" to half the population, always ready for party time. But now, with my life falling apart, I couldn't think of a shoulder I could cry on.

I should tell you that I hate solitude. If I had to live like Chas, I'd go nuts. I like to be part of a crowd, everyone knocking back the drinks and laughing up a storm. Suddenly I felt alone, deserted, with no one but myself to talk to. I couldn't handle it, I admit it, and I was afraid of just giving up and crawling into a bottle of Absolut to end my days.

I was really down, dragging ass, when I got this great brainstorm.

There was someone I could talk to, a professional who would listen to my tale of woe and maybe tell me how to get out of the mess I was in.

I phoned Dr. Cherry Noble.

"Is this about Chas?" she asked me.

"No," I told her, "it's about me. I need help."

"That's a good start," she said.

So we set up an appointment. I didn't even ask her what it was going to cost. At that point in time her fee was the least of my worries.

I was afraid she might want me to lie on a couch, which would have been ridiculous, but she didn't even have one in her office.

She sat behind a desk for which I was thankful because I think I told you she's got the greatest legs in the world, and if she sat where I could see them, I'd probably end up making a pass and that would queer the whole deal. I sat in an uncomfortable armchair facing her across the desk.

I told her I was in deep shit with Marleen, that she had said she wanted a divorce and sounded serious about it. I also told her about the anniversary dinner I had missed.

"Surely she doesn't want a divorce because you forgot an anniversary,"

Dr. Noble said.

"Nah," I said. "That was just the final straw. I admit I've been a bad boy. Too much drinking. Too much partying. Too many beds, if you know what I mean."

"You were aware your behavior offended her?"

"I guess I knew it," I admitted, "but either I didn't care or I didn't think it would rile her all that much."

"And what is it you want from me, Herman-absolution? "

"Look, doc, the big problem is this, I can crawl on my knees to my wife, swear I'm going to straighten, up and fly right. And maybe she'll give me another chance.

Maybe. But I know that I won't be able to do it for long.

Sooner or later I'll go back to my old ways because, let's face it, I enjoy living like that. So what I want from you is to be told why I act the way I do, why I'm hooked on drinking and whoring around.

Maybe if I can understand why I do it, I can figure out how to stop permanently."

"Mmm," she said. "You don't want to lose Marleen?

"Hell, no!" I said. "I love that woman, and my little girl, Tania. I guess I haven't proved it to them, but I do love them.

I'm a self-centered sonofabitch, I know that, but I don't seem capable of changing."

"Do you honestly want to change?"

"Honestly I don't. I told you I like the way I've been living. But if changing is the only way I can hang onto Marleen and Tania, then I'll do it. What I want you to do is tell me how."

"What you're asking is that I help you learn why you drink so much and why you're a womanizer?"

"That's about it, doc."

"Mmm. Have you told Marleen that you were going to consult me?"

No.

"If I take you on, do you intend to tell her?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Probably," I said finally. "It may be the only way to keep her from going ahead with a divorce. If she hears I'm getting help, maybe she'll be patient until she sees if I'm really serious about mending my ways."

"And are you serious?"

"Would I be here if I wasn't?"

She was silent awhile, and I stared at her. She was handsome woman.

Great cheekbones. if a woman has high cheekbones and long legs, she's got it allright? Marleen had high cheekbones and long legs.

"I wouldn't care to be used, Herman," Dr. Noble said softly.

"I don't like the idea of your thinking of therapy as a ploy to keep Marleen from seeking a divorce. If I took you on, your treatment could conceivably take a long time. Perhaps months.

Perhaps years. Meanwhile, do you intend to keep living the way you have been?"

"I see what you're getting at, doc," I said slowly. "I can't ask Marleen to put up with my bullshit just because I'm going to a shrink.

Is that what you mean? "

"Something like that."

"That doesn't leave me much hope, does it?"

"There may be a way of working it out," she said evenly.

"Let me think about it. Phone me early next week. I think you've done a good job of analyzing your problem, but whether or not I can help you is a question. I hope you realize that the success of therapy will depend on you. Not on me, on you."

"Sure, I know that. Okay, I'll call you next week." I got up to leave.

"Have you seen Chas lately? " I asked her.

"Yes," she said. "I stopped by his place last Saturday."

"How's he doing?"

"Better," she said. "Are you going to tell him about your problem?"

"No. He's got his own worries." She nodded, rose, and opened her office door for me. , She was wearing a pantsuit so I never did get a good look at her legs.

It was then about three in the afternoon, and I didn't feel like going back to work. I could have gone out to the club and hoisted a few, but that didn't appeal to me right then. So, believe it or not, I went home. I guess I wanted time to think about what Cherry had said. She hadn't agreed to take me on, I noted, but she hadn't said no either. I figured my chances were fifty-fifty.

When I got home, I pulled into the driveway and didn't even get out of the car. I just sat there with the engine running and the air conditioner on. I saw Tania and Chester Barrow. They were both in their bathing suits, and they were having a hose fight across our two lawns.

They were having a helluva time, running around and screaming and dousing each other with water. I envied them. They ate, slept, enjoyed life, and that was about it. You had to grow up to have troubles.

I watched Chet Barrow, a good-looking boy, and thought about his mother.

She was primed, and I knew if I had to move into a motel room, she'd be my first guest. I was glad I hadn't mentioned that project to Dr.

Noble. She'd have thrown my ass out of her office for sure.

Tania came running over to the Lincoln, and I lowered the window.

"Why are you home so early, Daddy?" she asked.

"Just stopped by for a minute," I said. "Having a good time, honey?"

"It's okay," she said. "Better than going in that smelly pool."

Then Chet came close and sloshed her with water from his hose. She shrieked and ran away. He followed. I put up the window and watched the two of them scampering about, not a worry in the world.

I decided I wanted some of that. I backed out of the driveway and headed for the club. By the time I got there the Happy Hour would be starting.

That was a curious summer. I had six weeks of accumulated vacation time, and Mabel and Chester were continually asking when we were going away, and where. I told them how busy I was at the lab and mumbled something about taking time off in October. I didn't tell them that even a fall vacation was iffy.

The truth was I had no desire to go anywhere. I was totally engrossed by the ZAP Project, possibly the most interesting research I had ever done, and I even resented taking Sundays off.

I wanted to be in the lab every day with my mice and video cameras.

The problem was to develop a testosterone formulation that increased aggressiveness without inflaming sexual desire at the same time. After several failed experiments, I began to wonder if the two might not be inextricably linked.

My first small success resulted from the addition of potassium nitrate and sodium nitrate to the solution of synthetic testosterone. I had clear evidence (on TV tape) that male mice injected with the altered testosterone showed a small but discernible lessening of their desire to copulate.

To achieve even this minor reduction required countless experiments.

And as I began a search for other chemicals that might further decrease the sexual consequences of the hormone injection, my notebooks filled with the record of seemingly endless trials, all of which ended in failure. One cause of that, naturally, was that I had no prior research by others to guide me.

I felt like Edison who reportedly tested hundreds of materials before finding a filament that worked in his incandescent lamp.

While I was so deeply involved in the ZAP Project, I must confess that I was completely unaware of the worsening crisis in my relations with my wife and son. I thought we had arrived at a plateau of unhappiness, unpleasant but endurable. I suppose I was content because things didn't seem to be getting worse.

I expressed these sentiments to Marleen Todd, and she was scornful.

"Greg," she said, "you simply can't let matters drift.

That's like neglecting to seek a cure for an illness because you've become used to the pain."

I admit I was somewhat miffed. She wasn't treating me like the village idiot, exactly, but she made no effort to hide her exasperation with my predilection for letting things slide. She may have had a point, I do hate to make waves.

"And what do you suggest I do, Marleen?"

"Either have a long, intimate talk with Mabel and get things straightened out between you two, or take some other action to end your estrangement."

"I wouldn't call it an estrangement," I said lamely, "No? Then what would you call it?"

"I don't know," I said helplessly. "A coolness, I suppose.

We inhabit the same house, but we seem to be living in different worlds.

It's a very unsettling situation, Marleen, and I suspect most of the fault is mine. I know I'm not the husband Mabel wants me to be.

She thinks I'm a failure as a man."

"Not all women think that, Greg," she said quietly.

Then an event occurred that was to affect profoundly all our lives.

On the morning of July 27, I heard the sounds of people running in the corridor outside my private laboratory and shouts I could not comprehend. I feared a fire might have broken out-a terrible danger since we had so many inflammables on the premisesbut the alarm didn't go off.

A moment later my lab phone rang. It was Marleen, excited and breathless.

"Did you hear?" she gasped. "It's Mr. Mcwhortle. He collapsed on his putting green. They're giving him CPR." I went out there as quickly as I could. The company doctor was in attendance, now using a portable oxygen tank. He and a nurse worked frantically for several minutes, while a crowd of employees that had assembled stood a respectful distance away.

"It's his heart," I heard someone say. "The doctor gave him a shot, but he hasn't moved since I've been here.

Then we all waited in silence. A fire rescue truck arrived followed by an ambulance. They had additional equipment, and the paramedics joined the chore in ministering to the fallen man.

It was almost a half hour before the paramedics gave up, turned away, and began to pack their gear. The ambulance crew wheeled a stretcher across the putting green. The company doctor came over to the assembled employees.

"He's gone," he reported.

The sudden death of Marvin Mcwhortle shook all of us. He really was a generous, beneficent employer, and after mouming his demise, we all began worrying about the future of Mcwhortle Laboratory. I think my greatest anxiety concerned the continued funding of the ZAP Project.

The laboratory was closed for three days, but those of us conducting animal research were allowed entrance to feed and care for our subjects.

The laboratory reopened the day after the funeral. All employees were summoned to a meeting in the cafeteria where Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle, Marvin's widow, spoke to us.

She was a large, imposing woman, and no one could doubt her sincerity and determination. She said she was now the sole owner of Mcwhortle Laboratory, had every intention of keeping the business going, and saw no reason not to follow her late husband's plans for expansion.

She also told us she would act as chief executive officer until she could hire a more experienced CEO with the aid of a management consulting firm. All of us were to continue working at our assigned projects,, all contracts with clients would be fulfilled. The company was in excellent financial condition, she added, with ample cash reserves.

Good news indeed!

And so, with only a brief interruption, I returned to my assignment with renewed enthusiasm, as I think other employees did as well. I even heard several, including Marleen Todd, express satisfaction that a woman was now in charge of our company.

"I suppose it's selfish of me," Marleen said, "but I'm hoping Gertie will increase the budget of the perfumery. We've been trying to get our library of essences inventoried and computerized for ages. Greg, now is the time for you to put in a requisition for that electron microscope you've always wanted. it "It would be nice to have, Marleen," I said, "but it's really not essential."

"What an old stick-in-the-mud you are," she said, laughing.

I tried to laugh too, but couldn't. Her remark rankled, as did her previous comments about my tendency to let things drift.

She seemed so vehement about what she considered my wishy-washiness that I had a feeling of being pressured, of being manipulated to fit a scenario she had designed. It was a disquieting notion.

But I had other, more important matters to consider. A week after Mr.

Mcwhortle's death I succeeded in adding a chemical to the solution of synthesized testosterone that had a very definite, easily observed effect of diminishing, if not totally eliminating, the sexual aggression of injected male mice. I cannot identify the chemical for proprietary reasons, but I can state it was an inexpensive ingredient found in many common household soaps and detergents.

Repeated experiments with the new formulation ielded the same gratifying results, and I pondered y my next move. Logically, I should have repeated my final experiments on larger mammals, guinea pigs, dogs, and chimps.

But I was so excited by my recent success that I decided to progress immediately to trials on human volunteers-myself first, of course.

Analyzing my own conduct in this regard, I see now that I had an ulterior motive for wishing to try the hormone formulation on myself.

I had no desire to become more physically aggressive, that is simply contrary to my nature.

But I did hope to become more assertive, to express myself and act more forcibly. I believe I had some vague notion of proving to Mabel and Marleen that I was a real man. Macho posturing had nothing to do with it. It was simply a matter of masculine pride.

On July 27,

I was lying on a chaise out by my swimming pool, naked as a jaybird. I had my portable radio tuned to an oldies station. The local news came on, and I heard the announcer say Marvin Mcwhortle, a well-known businessman, had dropped dead that morning on his private putting green.

I immediately dashed into the house, phoned the Pontiac dealership and canceled my order for a white Bonneville. Thank God I hadn't signed a contract yet. Then I poured myself a vodka on the rocks, took a gulp, and started crying.

Part of my boohooing was because I had lost my sugar daddy, I admit it.

But part was because I really felt sorry the old man had shuffled off.

I mean he was always straight with me, never beat me, and he wasn't all that kinky. I knew I'd never find another john like him.

I finished my drink, dried my tears, and tried to figure out where I stood. The house was in my name, I owned my old heap, and I had about ten thousand in cash, most of it from Willie the Weasel. I knew that wouldn't last long, and I also knew that as soon as new management took over at Mcwhortle Laboratory, my no-show job as a consultant would be gone with the wind.

I had to discuss my predicament with someone in the same fix, so I phoned Laura Gunther at Hashbeam's and asked her if she'd like to share a plate of lasagna that night. She said she had a dinner date and couldn't make it.

"Anything wrong, Jess?" she asked. "You sound down."

"Yeah," I said, "I just had some superbad news."

"Look," she said, "suppose I stop by for a drink after work, I can stay an hour or so."

"I'd appreciate that," I said gratefully. "I can use some sympathy."

By the time Laura showed up, I had my act together and was thinking, what the hell, I wasn't so bad off. I had a roof over my head, a car, and money in the bank. I was surviving, and if I had to go back on the street again, I could do that, the body was used, but it was still a bargain.

I poured Laura a Chivas, which she dearly loves, and put out a bowl of Doritos. Then I flopped down on the couch next to her and took a deep breath.

"Okay, kiddo," she said, "what's the a news you want to unload on me?"

"A man named Marvin Mcwhortle dropped dead today," I told her. "I guess it was a heart attack."

She was startled. "Don't tell me he was the guy who owned Mcwhortle Laboratory?"

"That's the one." , "Shit," she said. "That'll screw things up." She looked at me. "But what's it got to do with you?"

"Laura," I said, "Mcwhortle kept me. He was my one and only trick. He bought this house for me and put me on his company payroll."

"Son of a bitch, " she said. "I knew you were balling an old geezer, but I had no idea it was Mcwhortle. Tough luck, Jess.

You think he left you anything in his will?"

"I doubt it, I said. "But he was going to buy me a new Bonneville.

That's out the window now, of course. But that's not the worst of it.

Listen to this…

I told Laura how Mcwhortle was always bringing me samples of new products his laboratory had developed, and how he liked to gab about new clients he had landed and projects the lab was working on. Then I'd sell the samples and stuff he had told me for a nice buck to a guy who was in the information business.

"It was a sweet racket," I mourned, "but with Mcwhortle dead, that cash cow just dried up, and I've got to think about hustling again."

Laura drained her Chivas and held out the empty glass.

"Another," she said hoarsely. "Please."

I brought her the bottle and told her to help herself. She poured a double, at least, and took a hefty belt.

" Jess, " she said, "this guy who bought information from you-his name wouldn,t be Willie, would it? Tall, thin, dresses like a fashion plate?"

It was my turn to be startled. "Sure it is," I said.

"William K. Brevoort. I call him Willie the Weasel because he's got a long, pointy face. You know him?"

"Oh, Jesus, do I know him!" she said. "This is the damnedest thing.

Now you listen to this, Jess…"

Then she told me how Big Bobby Gurk and Brevoort had a deal cooking that involved a ZAP pill being developed by Mcwhortle Laboratory, and how Gurk wanted to cut Willie out and had hired Laura to find the name of the chemist feeding Willie the information.

"So I cozied up to Brevoort," Laura went on, "and he's twice the guy Big Bobby is. Also he smells better. So I told him Gurk was planning to dump him as soon as he found out the name of the chemist."

I laughed like a maniac. "Willie doesn't know the chemist at the lab.

He knows me, I was the one selling him what Mcwhortle told me."

"Well," Laura said, taking another slug of her scotch, "I guess that's that. With Mcwhortle gone, the whole caper comes to a screeching halt."

I stared at her. "Not necessarily," I said slowly. "I know the name of the chemist."

"Oh my God!" Laura cried. "Mcwhortle may be dead, but we're still alive."

We talked it over, excited, with dreams of a big score. At first we figured that the two of us, working together, could somehow get a sample of the ZAP pill from the chemist. But then we realized that even if we could, we wouldn't know what to do with it. We just didn't have the contacts and the know-how to sell it for heavy bucks.

"We'll have to bring Willie in on the deal," Laura said finally. "I wish the two of us could manage it ourselves, but that's a pipe dream.

Willie has the experience, he'll know how to finagle it."

"You trust him?" I asked her.

"Absolutely," she said, grinning. "Because I know something about him that'll keep him honest."

"Okay," I said. "I'll give him a call and tell him to get over here right away."

"Don't bother," Laura said. "He's waiting for me at my place. Let's go."

We took Laura's wheels, a Ford Taurus, figuring there was no point in driving two cars. We were at her condo in twenty minutes, and when we walked in together I thought William K.

Brevoort was going to faint.

" What's going on here?" he said in a cracked voice.

We made him sit down, and Laura fixed drinks, which we all badly needed.

Willie had heard of Mcwhortle's death and figured his hopes of making a mint on the ZAP pill were just as dead. He said he naturally thought he'd have to dump me as a source of information-and what else did he have?

"I'll tell you what we've got," Laura said. "Jess knows the name of the chemist working on that cockamamy pill."

Brevoort looked at me. "Is that straight?" he said.

I nodded.

"What's his name?" he asked eagerly.

I let him sweat a minute, pretending I was thinking it over.

"Even thirds on the profits?" I said finally. "You, Laura, and me?"

"My word on it," he said. "And I don't cross ladies, it's not my style.

What's his name, Jess?"

"Barrow. Mcwhortle called him Greg, so I guess it's Gregory Barrow."

Laura jerked and slopped her drink. "Barrow?" she said. "Has he got a wife named Mabel? Mabel Barrow is a good customer of mine at the store.

I've got her address and phone number."

"I'll check it out," Willie the Weasel said. "If Mabel is his wife, it could give us an opening to Greg."

"And then?" I asked him.

He thought a moment, and I could almost see his grifter's gears turning.

"Jess, maybe you can arrange to meet him accidentally on purpose when his wife isn't around. Come on to him hot and heavy, and hook him. You know how."

"What if he doesn't go for me?"

"He will," Brevoort said confidently. "He's a man, isn't he?"

CHESTER BARROW never told this to anyone, but I don't think my parents are my real parents. I think I was adopted. I mean I'm so different from them that it makes sense, that they're not my real mother and father. And they don't treat me like the other kids I know get treated by their parents. They don't beat me up or anything like that, but they don't treat me like I was really their own kid.

I think my real mother and father were killed in a plane crash when I was little. Like we were all flying someplace neat like Disney World, and this plane got engine trouble and crashed.

And while it was going down my real mother and father held me in their arms and protected me so I wouldn't get hurt when we hit, and I wasn't but they were both killed.

So then the police advertised if anyone wanted to adopt a little kid whose real parents were killed in a plane crash, and that's how I came to live with my mother and father, because they didn't have any kids of their own. But they've never told me I was adopted and that my real father was an astronaut and my real mother was a movie star who gave up her job so she could be my mother. I think that's what happened.

If they were my real mother and father and loved me, I wouldn't want to run away, would I? So that proves it.

When Tania told me her uncle was going to give her a hundred dollars so we could run away, that was keen. He said we should take a cab out to where he lived, and he would pay the driver, and then he would give us the money and we could go anywhere we liked.

Tania and I talked about it a lot, and we decided we would go to Alaska, like I wanted, but first we would go to Disney World, which was closer and which we had never seen. All the kids we knew had been, and they were always bragging on it.

"When should we go? " Tania asked me. "I think we should set a time because Mother wants me to start taking piano lessons."

"I think we should go before school starts," I told her.

"Like if we go during vacation, we could leave in the morning, and then they probably won't know we're gone till that night. But if we go after school starts, then they'll call our parents right away when they take attendance and we're not there."

"That's very true," Tania said. "We should have a head start before they notice we've gone and maybe call the police. Chet, what do you think I should wear? " I didn't know what she meant and shrugged.

"What you always wear, I guess," I said. "Like shorts and a T. , "No," she said, "I can't wear that for traveling. Maybe I'll wear jeans and my nylon jacket because the nights might get chilly. And I'll put my dress-up things in my suitcase."

"Suitcase?" I said. "What do you need a suitcase for? It'll just get in the way."

"I'll need more clothes than what I'm wearing, and so will you. Have you got a suitcase?"

"I got like a bag," I said. "It's cloth but it holds a lot."

"Then you should pack it, Chet," she said. "And don't forget all your favorite things."

"Like what?"

"Well, maybe your little radio. And what about your stamp collection?"

"I forgot about that," I said. "It's in big books. I guess I'll have to leave them. I can always start a new collection when we get to Alaska."

"How long do you think it'll take us to get there?"

I thought awhile. "It depends," I said.

That night I looked around my bedroom and Tania was right, I did have a lot of favorite things. Like I had a rock I had found that looked like it had gold in it, and some swell shells I had picked up on the beach, and a plastic skull I had bought at a flea market with my allowance. I knew I'd never be able to take all that stuff with me, and I felt like crying but I didn't.

Then something started that I couldn't figure out. It was the beginning of August, and Tania and I were talking almost every day about running away and making plans. Right then it seemed to me that my mother and father got a lot more friendlier.

Like Mom was bubbly almost all the time and would make jokes and kid around with me. And my father would ask me what I had done that day, and he even g bill bought me a really cool fishing cap with this Ion that shaded your eyes. They both seemed a lot nicer, and one night we all went to Bobby Rubino's for ribs.

I didn't know why they were acting like that. I told Tania about it, and she said they were probably just going through a phase.

"What's a phase?" I asked her.

"It's like a thing that doesn't last long," she said. "And then they go back the way they were."

I didn't understand, but I didn't tell Tania that because I didn't want her to think I was stupid.

Then something really unreal happened.

We had a nice ficus tree on our front lawn, and one morning Mother asked me to give it a good soaking with the hose because the leaves were beginning to look dried out and the tips were yellow. So after she left to go shopping, that's what I was doing when this great silver Infiniti pulled up in front of our house.

The guy driving it lowered his window and motioned to me. I went over but not too close because I didn't want to be kidnapped and held for ransom.

But the man didn't look like a kidnapper. I mean he was well-dressed and all, and he didn't try to drag me into the car or anything like that. And he was smiling.

"Hiya, sonny," he said. "Hot work on a hot dayright?

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Say," he said, "am I at the right place? Is this Mabel Barrow's home?" , I nodded.

"Glad to hear I'm not lost," he said, still smiling. "Do you know if Mabel is home?"

"No, she's gone into town."

"You sure?" he said.

"Sure, I'm sure," I said. "She's my mother so I should know."

"No kidding?" he said. "You're Mabel's son? Well, I'll be damned.

What's your name?"

"Chet. It's really Chester, but I like Chet better."

"So do I, Chet," the man said. "And your father is Gregory Barrow-right?

I nodded again.

"And I suppose he's at his job out at Mcwhortle Laboratory.

Am I batting four hundred?"

"Uh-huh," I said. "He won't be back until tonight."

"Sorry I missed him," the man said. "I'm an old friend of your father's. We went to chemistry school together. Well, I'll just have to come back another time."

"What's your name?" I asked him. "So I can tell my folks you came by while they were out."

"Listen, Chet," he said, "you like surprises, don't you? "

" Some.

"Well, what I want to do is surprise your mother and father.

You know, just walk in on them some night unexpectedly. I haven't seem them in years. Will they ever be amazed! So what I'd like you to do is not tell them I stopped by this morning. Because that would spoil my surprise. Okay?"

"Sure," I said. "I won't tell them."

"Atta-boy," he said, still smiling. He dug in his pocket and took out some money. He held a five dollar bill out to me.

"Here," he said, "this is for being so helpful."

"Nah," I said, "that's all right."

"Take it," he insisted. "Buy your girlfriend some ice cream.

You've got a girlfriend, haven't you?"

"Sort of," I said.

"Sure you do," he said. "A good-looking dude like you.

Take the money, Chet. You deserve it because you've been so polite and you're not going to tell your mother and father I was here and ruin the surprise."

"Okay," I said.

So I took the five dollars, and he waved and drove away. I looked at the bill. It had Abraham Lincoln's picture on it. I knew who he was.

I put the money in my pocket and decided I wouldn't buy ice cream with it until Tania and I got to Disney World.

DR. CHERRY NOBLE made no decision, I planned nothing, and yet I suddenly became aware that I was spending more and more time with Chas Todd. I'd drive out to his studio two or three evenings a week, and sometimes visited on Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

He never invited me, exactly, but always seemed pleased when I arrived and regretful when I left. I felt much the same way for I enjoyed his company, his interest in my opinions, and the giveand-take of our frequent disagreements. Our arguments might have been spirited but they never became embittered. We differed on everything from the best wine for linguine and clam sauce to the influence of feminism on the fashion industry.

I was conscious of a growing intimacy, and I think Chas was, too. I don't mean physical, for our contacts never went beyond a light kiss.

But we became increasingly comfortable in each other's presence, silences didn't embarrass us, and we both developed a heightened sensitivity to the other's moods.

The subject of his impotence was never mentioned, and gradually it became "no big deal" to both of us. I must confess that during that summer I decided to make his studio more habitable and attractive. I have never been domestic, but I was offended by the primitive conditions in which he seemed content to live and work.

I insisted he buy new glassware, china, and cutlery. I had cheerful curtains and drapes made for his windows. I suggested he make his bed each morning and use a patterned satin coverlet since the bed was in plain view of visitors. I also persuaded him to purchase a few comfortable chairs for guests and a table he could use for dining rather than his cluttered desk.

"When are you going to put chintz ruffles on my wheelchair?" he asked.

He affected to treat the improvements with amused scorn, but I think he secretly was delighted, not only with the refurbishment of his home but with the wifely interest I was taking in his wellbeing. He might have joked about my efforts at interior decoration, but I noticed he was shaving every day, keeping his hair trimmed (via a barber's house calls), and his fingernails were reasonably clean. He also made arrangements with a florist to have a fresh gladiolus delivered every week.

"My brother says the place is beginning to look like a New Orleans cathouse," he remarked.

This conversation occurred the day after Herman Todd consulted me. It was an opening I welcomed and had no compunction using.

"Herman should know," I said lightly. "I imagine he's spent a lot of time in bordellos." , "There you're wrong, doc," Chas said. "My goofy brother is the kind of guy who'd never pay for sex. He thinks if you have to pay for it, it's a sign of failure. He prefers making a conquest.

After all, he is a salesman.

"You make him sound like a predator."

"Maybe he is, in a way."

"Chas, I have a theory about men like that. Listen and tell me what you think. It's not really sexual pleasure they're seeking, it's the chase and the eventual surrender that excite them. That's why they're inveterate womanizers."

"An interesting idea," he said slowly. "You're saying they get their jollies from the hunt?"

"Something like that. And they go from prey to prey. if "If you're right, Cherry, then a man like that should never marry. A long, stable relationship with one woman would bore him to tears. Or else he'd become a compulsive cheater."

"Do you think that describes your brother?"

"Too close for comfort. How about mixing us a nice, dry gin martini, sharp and cold. Use the new glasses."

I mixed our drinks, brought Chas his usual double, and curled up in a new armchair facing him.

"Why do you think Herman is like that?" I asked.

He thought a moment. "Hard to say. It started when he was in high school. Even then he was chasing skirts. His nickname was Hotrocks.

I think he was proud of it."

"But why, Chas?"

"You're the psychiatrist, not me, Dr. Noble. You tell me why."

"I don't know enough about Herman. All I can do is generalize. But you're his sibling, you grew up with him. You must have a clue."

"It's a crazy notion," he said, "but what it might be is that Herm was an absolute klutz when it came to sports and games. His eye-hand coordination is lousy. My God, the guy can't even catch a ball. I was the jock of the family, and all my energy went into physical activity, especially running. I ran around a track, my brother ran after girls.

Does that make any sense at all?"

"Mmm," I said. "Do you think Herman was jealous of you? jealous of your prowess as an athlete?"

Chas frowned. "That never occurred to me," he said, "but it's possible.

I won some medals and cups. An article about me was in the sports pages of our local newspaper. Sure, it would be normal for Herm to be jealous, wouldn't it? Or envious?"

"Or both," I said. "And unconsciously decided to excel at another activity-seducing women. He wouldn't win any medals or cups, but he'd have the satisfaction of succeeding and earning a reputation as Hotrocks."

"It makes a nutty kind of sense," Chas said.

"It's a very neat explanation of why he does what he does," I said, "but I don't think it's the whole story. Ready for a refill?"

"Always," he said.

We spoke no more about the behavior of Herman Todd. I had some additional thoughts on the subject, but I was afraid they might offend Chas and felt it best to talk of other things.

But when I returned home later that night, I sat at, my desk and scribbled notes on what might evolve into a case history.

What Chas had told me about his brother was not conclusive, of course, but it did suggest several approaches to Herman's problems.

I thought it justifiable to reckon that the subject had been jealous of his brother's athletic success and had determined to prove his own prowess in a quite different arena. He could have selected chess, for example, or music or any of the other arts to test his talent and skill.

But Herman chose seduction. I thought more than sibling rivalry was involved.

If not wholly sibling rivalry, then what? I saw Herman's behavior as possibly an attempt to establish his bona fides as a "real" man. Inept at sports and games, he had to assert his masculinity by aggressive conduct toward women. He became an obsessive lothario, and each conquest added to his self-esteem.

All this could be bullshit, of course. The subject wasn't in therapy yet, I had hardly spoken to him. But I had learned to trust my instincts, and in this case I was convinced I was on the right track, Herman was continually seeking to conquer because his mistrust of his own masculinity needed constant assuaging.

This preliminary analysis troubled me because it was one short step from determined seduction to a more overt and brutal form of physical aggression toward women, culminating in rape. I wondered if Herman had ever struck his wife or any other woman.

Complicating Herman's dysfunction might well be his brother's war record. Chas had volunteered, fought bravely, and had been grievously wounded. Herman might express scorn for his brother's decision to go to war, but I was certain his admiration and envy of Chas existed, no matter how deeply they were bidden. Chas had proved himself a man.

Herman constantly doubted his own maleness, and those doubts were driving him to a form of aggression that was threatening his marriage and might ultimately destroy his life.

All this was speculation on my part. But I had learned that no one who works in the field of human behavior really knows. We can only make educated guesses-and hope we are right. So when Herman Todd phoned early the next week, I told him I thought I might be able to help him and suggested he come to my office to begin a series of therapeutic sessions.

He thanked me for my interest but said he had been giving his situation a great deal of thought and had decided he could solve his personal problems by himself, without professional assistance.

I wished him good luck and assured him I stood ready to help if he found he needed it. I confess it was a disappointment, and I hung up with a premonition of a tragedy waiting to happen.

BOBBY GURK nobody messes with Big Bobby Gurk-nobody! I Ndidn't get where I am today by being Mr. Nice Guy. You mess with me, and I mess with you. Only I mess first! You snooze, you lose.

Laura Gunther is getting nowhere with Willie Brevoort, and I tell her I don't like it.

"What are you going to do," she says, "feed me to the alligators?"

"Don't talk like that," I says. "It ain't nice."

" Nice-schmice, " she says. "I'm balling the guy, but he just won't spill. What am I supposed to do-beat his kidneys with a rubber hose?

You'll have to give me more time, Bobby."

"Okay," I says, staring at her. "You keep trying."

But I still don't like it. Listen, I know the odds. I learnt them all my life. And I know if your best friend can screw you, he will screw you.

Well, Gunther isn't my best friend, and neither is Brevoort.

But I suspicion the two of them might have got too close and are figuring on giving Big Bobby Gurk the shaft. it's possible. Look, there's a bundle involved here, and money can make people act like rat finks.

Right then, while I'm wondering if I'm being screwed, blewed, and tattooed, I get a phone call from Willie Brevoort.

"Bobby," he says, "I got bad news for you."

"Yeah?" I says. "What's that?"

"The old guy who owned Mcwhortle Laboratory dropped dead-you can look it up-and now the whole business is closed down.

Settling the estate, you know. So they're not doing any work, which means the ZAP pill is on hold. I don't know when they'll start working on it again, if ever, but right now the deal is cold. Sorry about that."

"That's okay, Willie," I says. "It didn't cost me a dime, so no harm done."

I hang up and think, In a pig's ass! So I looked up the number in the phone book and call. A chirpy bird answers, "Mcwhortle Laboratory."

"Hey," I says, you still in business?"

"Of course we're still in business," she says.

"I thought with your boss croaking and all, maybe you closed down."

"Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle is now our chief executive officer," she says.

"The laboratory is functioning normally, and all contracts will be fulfilled."

"Thanks, babe," I says.

Oh Willie, Willie, Willie, I think. And you're the guy who kissed my ass for starting you on a new career. I owe you one, you said. Rat fink!

So I call Tomasino down in Miami and ask if I can borrow Teddy O. for a special job. I will pay Teddy a, sweet per them and also pay Tomasino a grand for the borrow. He says sure, he'll send Teddy up as soon as he gets back from Tampa where he's gone to persuade a deadbeat he should do the honorable thing and pay Tomasino what he owes him so the deadbeat's wife won't get an acid facial.

This Teddy is an enforcer and one of the best in the business. Look at him and you'd think he sells shoes for a living. But how many guys who sell shoes carry a sharpened ice pick in a leather sheath strapped to their shin? He is a little bitty guy and talks polite. And he is true-blue, absolutely dependable. He just likes to hurt people, that's all-but what the hey, no one's perfect-right?

He shows up, and I tell him all about Willie Brevoort and the ZAP stuff that's supposed to put lead in a guy's pencil. I also tell him what I want, the name of the chemist at Mcwhortle Laboratory who is leaking information to Brevoort.

"I get it, Mr. Gurk," Teddy O. says. "You want I should lean on this guy."

"No, no," I says. (Usually Teddy leans a little too hard.) "I figured first you could tail Willie awhile and see where he goes and who he meets. If we can't do it that way, then we'll do it your way."

"Okay," he says. "Is there a good barber in town? I need a trim and a manicure."

It takes maybe a week, no more, when Teddy shows up with a notebook full of stuff he's written down. He's got the names of all the guys Willie Brevoort had a meet with during the week and where they work.

Don't ask me how Teddy does it. I told you he was good, didn't I? But anyway, none of the men Willie met work at Mcwhortle Laboratory, so we got zip there.

"But here's something cute, Mr. Gurk," Teddy says. "This Willie putz likes to do drag. He belongs to a private club where the guys all wear women's clothes."

"No shit? " I says, "You know, I always thought he might be a flit.

He dresses too good."

"I'm not sure he's a flit," Teddy says." He's got two broads on the string."

"Two?" I says. "I know one of them. Laura Gunther. I paid her to pump Willie, but so far she's come up with zilch. Who's the other twist?"

Teddy puts on wire-rimmed cheaters and looks in his notebook.

"Her name's Jessica Fiddler. A real pretty blonde. Looks like a high-class hooker. That's all I got on her."

"Teddy," I says, "we're getting nowhere fast. Well, let's give it some more time. Keep on Brevoort's ass, there's still a chance he might meet with the Mcwhortle chemist. And while you're at it, see what you can dig up on the blond hooker."

He comes back to me two days later.

"This Jessica Fiddler…" he says. "Just for kicks I called Hymie Rourke in Miami Beach. He's been in the skin game all his life and knows every pro in South Florida. He made this Fiddler dame right away.

She used to dance in a nudie club in Miami and then quit to free-lance at the convention hotels.

Rourke says he hasn't seen her around for at least a couple of years."

"That's inarresting," I says. "I wonder if she's hustling up here." , "If she is," Teddy says, "she's making out like gangbusters because she owns her own home."

"That don't sound kosher," I says. "You can't buy a house from turning tricks in this burg."

"I went out there," Teddy says. "Good neighborhood. I talked to an old lady who lives across the street and likes to watch her neighbors more than she likes to watch television. I told her I was a private dick working for a married woman who thought her husband was cheating with Jessica Fiddler and wanted to get evidence for a divorce.

"Well, the old bitch wouldn't talk until I slipped her fifty bucks for an outfit she belongs to. It's called SOS, for Save Our Salmon. Then she tells me Fiddler has two guys who visit her maybe two or three times a week. They both drive big cars, one silver, one white. I figure the silver is Willie Brevoort. He owns a silver Infiniti. I don't know who drives the white."

"So what do we do now, Teddy?"

"I want to get inside Fiddler's house to look around. I'll use a con that's worked for me before. I got a fake ID with my picture on it.

It says I'm from the property tax appraiser's office, and I tell her I want to come inside for a little while just to count the rooms."

"Slick," I says.

"It's always worked," Teddy says. "But if she wants to check me out, I'm going to give her your phone number. Will you be here at noon tomorrow?"

"Sure," I says. "What do I do?", "Just tell her it's the property tax appraiser's office, and yes, John R. Thompson is a legit appraiser.

That's the name on my fake ID."

"Got it," I says.

The next day my phone rings about five minutes after twelve.

I pick it up and says, "Property tax appraiser's office."

A woman asks, "Have you got a John R. Thompson working for you?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," I says. "One of our best appraisers.

He's been with us seventeen years now."

"Thank you very much," she says, and hangs up. Teddy O. comes strolling into my office about an hour later.

"It went like silk," he reports. "That's a nice place she's got there.

Two bedrooms and a swimming pool. And the furniture didn't come from the Salvation Army."

"Find out anything?"

"Yeah. She's got like a jillion jars and bottles in her bedroom and bathroom. They look like perfumes and lotions and makeup stuff – Most of them have plain white labels on them that just say Mcwhortle Laboratory with a code number."

"Son of a bitch!"

"So I says to the Fiddler broad, You must like perfume." And she says, Free samples. From my boyfriend." I look at him. "How do you figure it, Teddy?"

"I'm guessing the boyfriend is the guy in the white car.

He's the chemist at Mcwhortle Laboratory you been looking for.

Willie Brevoort isn't getting his information from the chemist, he's getting it from Jessica Fiddler."

I think about that awhile. "Yeah," I says, "that makes sense. She pumps the chemist and sells Willie everything the guy tells her." , "That's how I see it."

"So all we gotta do is find out who's driving the white car.

Once we do that, we can offer him a piece of change for the ZAP pill.

And if that don't work, you can lean on him."

"What if I can't find out who's driving the white car?

"Then you can lean on Jessica Fiddler."

"I'd like that," Teddy says. he development of Cuddle was taking more time Tand effort than I had anticipated.

As a professional perfumer, I have always believed that scents have the ability to alter moods. But now I was working on a fragrance that would, if successful, alter behavior. And I found that prospect somewhat disturbing.

I was familiar with pheromones, of course, those chemical substances secreted by animals that have the power to alter behavior of other animals of the same species. It seemed to me that in developing Cuddle I was attempting to create a human pheromone, and I wasn't certain of what the final effect might be.

During our drive to the laboratory one morning in August, I asked Gregory Barrow if he had ever worked with psychoactive drugs that affected behavior and personality. I think the question startled him.

"I've had limited experience," he said. "Why do you ask?" , "I was wondering if you had any strong feelings about them, for or against."

"I think they can be a benefit," he said carefully, when properly used."

"But you see nothing ethically wrong in psychochemicals per se?"

"No," he said. "If drugs can be used to alleviate physical pain and treat human disease, I see no reason why they shouldn't be used to ease mental pain and psychic disorders. If a drug was developed to cure or control schizophrenia, for instance, how could one possibly object to it."

"I suppose you're right," I said doubtfully. "But drugs that alter behavior and personality make me a little uneasy. It's like playing God, isn't it?"

"So is prescribing aspirin," he said.

"I'm not doing a very good job of explaining what I mean," I said.

"What about things like marijuana, LSD, heroin, and cocaine. They affect mood, behavior, personality. Would you defend them?"

"Of course not. They can be psychologically or physiologically addictive and do a great deal of harm. But psychochemicals that benefit the subject, that enable him or her to function as a normal human being, are certainly defensible."

I looked at him. "What is a normal human being?" I asked.

"Please define."

He gave me a half-smile, but he didn't answer.

It was not a smartass question on my part because, to be perfectly frank, I was beginning to doubt my own normality. I had been acting very strangely.

Usually when I make up my mind to do something, I do it. I had chided Greg for being indecisive, and now I found myself behaving just as irresolutely. I told Herman I intended to consult an attorney about a divorce. At the time I said it, I meant it. But I was postponing that final act, finding all kinds of reasons to put it off.

I tried to analyze myself, to understand why I was dithering.

The answer, which came as more of a shock to me than perhaps it does to you, was that I loved the man.

He was everything I've said he was, a boot, a drunk, a philanderer.

But love, I sadly concluded, is not a rational emotion. Even recognizing Herman's faults and excesses could not kill what I felt for him. I was at once astonished and ashamed of myself, and even wondered if my intense caring for him was not an aftereffect of my inhalation of aerosolized oxytocin.

I went back to my laboratory with renewed determination to succeed.

What had been a vague idea now became a definite plan that might, just might, provide a solution to my personal problems.

If I could develop a hormone-based fragrance that increased tender affection, it seemed possible that I could alter Herman's behavior in a way that would benefit our family. At that point in my research I couldn't even guess if the effects of such a psychoactive perfume would be temporary or lasting. That was a question that could only be answered after the scent was created.

But I was so excited by the prospect that I simply rejected all those qualms that had made me ask Greg Barrow about the ethicality of behavior-altering drugs. it seemed to me that Cuddle, if perfected, could, have no ill effects on the user or on persons who smelled the fragrance.

I had now developed a few ounces of a perfume that contained a minuscule amount of the aerosolized oxytocin. I then used an alcohol solution as a diluter and put the mixture into a spray bottle that resembled an atomizer. I applied the scent to the inside of my left wrist and sniffed cautiously.

All I could recognize were the floral essences that served as a carrier for the hormone. There was no aroma of mauve, and I was aware of no changes in my mood or behavior. So I strengthened the formulation in stages, gradually increasing the proportion of the oxytocin and decreasing the volume of the alcohol diluter.

It was while these time-consuming experiments were proceeding that I had another conversation with Greg Barrow about psychochemicals. We were heading home one evening (I was doing the driving that week) when he suddenly said, "You may be right."

I was startled. "About what, Greg?"

"About psychoactive drugs. You said that anything designed to alter behavior and personality made you uneasy. You said it was like playing God."

"Well, I've changed my mind about that," I told him. "If psychochemicals can be a benefit and don't have any bad side effects, I see no reason why they shouldn't be developed and prescribed."

"You seem to have overcome your doubts," he said, "but you have stirred up mine. Let me give you a hypothetical case. What would you think of a psychoactive drug designed to make the user behave in a manner that is generally considered to be antisocial?"

"I would be against that," I said. "Definitely."

"Even if it was intended for limited and strictly controlled use? Even if the end result could be shown to have, say, a patriotic benefit?"

"Greg, you're not working on a poison gas, are you? "

"Of course not."

"Well, your hypothetical case sounds like it. If a psychoactive drug results in the user flaunting the norms of society, then it's wrong.

It's unethical and immoral to develop it and prescribe it. Patriotism is no excuse. Humanity comes first."

He sighed. "I wish it was as simple as you make it out to be, but it isn't. There is no absolute good' and no absolute bad." There are infinite gradations. For instance, suppose a psychoactive drug was developed that would cause the user to renounce all personal ambition and desire for worldly gain. One pill or injection would induce him to become a Jesus-like personality, give all his wealth to the poor, and spend his days in meditation and seeking spiritual salvation. Would such a drug be a benefit or a curse? To the individual using it and to humanity?"

I considered that a long time. "It's a tough one," I said finally.

"Probably a benefit to humanity and a curse to the subjects. But I really don't know. It's a philosophical question, isn't it?"

"Ethical," he said. "It's an ethical problem to the research chemist developing the drug. But it illustrates what I said about the difficulty of choice. We just can't be sure, can we? What troubles me most is using a drug to make the subject into a person he or she is not by nature. in other words, changing personality to conform to one's own standards, or one's employer's standards, or one's nation's standardswhich may or may not be to the subject's benefit."

I knew what Greg meant, but his scruples didn't deter me. I was resolved to alter the personality of my husband. I might succeed in making him into a person he was not by nature. But it was the man he ought to be.

The death and funeral of Marvin Mcwhortle Tcaused a slippage of three days in my detailed schedule for the ZAP Project, and early in August an additional day's work was lost when I received an unexpected visit from Colonel Henry Knacker. He demanded a progress report in the development of what he insisted on referring to as a "diet enrichment."

He sat in my private laboratory and viewed all the videotapes I had made. The colonel was favorably impressed with the results.

"Looks good to me, boy," he said when the final tape ended.

"You figure you've got a handle on the sex angle-correct? "

"Yes, sir," I said. "The most recent formulation resulted in increased physical aggression with normal or lessened sexual drive."

"Lessened?" he said sharply. "Not totally, I hope. We don't want to make eunuchs out of our fighting men, do we, son?" , "No, sir," I said. "I don't believe there is any danger of that. The last two tapes you viewed, taken at twenty-four hours and forty-eight hours after the initial injection, show quite clearly that the increased aggression and decreased sexuality are temporary phenomena."

"Any side effects?"

"I've observed none so far, " I told him. "Of course, it's always possible a delayed reaction to the hormone may turn up later, but I have no evidence of that' "Good-oh," hesaid, rubbinghispalms togetherwith satisfaction. "Now what's next on your program?"

"I have two objectives, sir," I said, "and failure to achieve them might possibly threaten the success of the entire project."

He frowned at me. "I don't like the sound of that. What's the problem, boy?"

I resented being addressed as "boy" or "son," particularly since the colonel appeared to be only a few years older than I.

But I made no objection. After all, he was the client-or represented the client-and I had no desire to endanger the funding of my research.

"The first objective," I said, "is the conversion of the liquid formulation to a solid. In other words, a pill or powder.

Such a conversion is usually a relatively simple process. But I should warn you that sometimes a new drug proves not to be orally active. It has no effect when ingested but must be administered by injection to achieve the desired result."

"That's ridiculous," he snapped, as if it were my fault.

"We can't spend time giving shots to a regiment of grunts about to go into combat. The logistics would be impossible."

"I realize that, sir," I said as patiently as I could. "But if a ZAP pill does prove ineffective, there is another method that should be considered. It might he testosterone formulation be possible to structure transdermal delivery. The drug would be carried on small patches applied directly to the skin." "Now you're talking!"

Knacker cried enthusiastically. "The bugle blows our boys stick on their patches, and pick up their rifles.

Correct?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "And I suspect a skin patch might have a longer-lasting effect than injection or pill." ,Sounds good to me," the colonel said. "Now what's the other problem?"

"The conversion of the ZAP formulation for use by humans.

There are actually two questions involved here. First of all, sir, you should be aware that sometimes drugs have effects on laboratory animals that cannot be duplicated in humans. The physiologies, of course, are q r not it will work uite different. The testosterone works on mice, as you have seen. Whether o on humans remains to be proved.

"The second part of the same question is what quantity of the formulation should be recommended for human use. Usually this is a technical problem in which the body weights of mouse and man are compared to calculate the proper volume of the human dose.

Conversion is an inexact science, and too much human dose or too testosterone may be given in the little. Really, the most effective conversions result from trial and error."

The officer looked at me with a pitying smile. "That's no problem, son," he said. "You get your pill made in the strength you think best and give, me a shout. I can provide all the human guinea pigs you need.

Listen, we have plenty of fuck-ups in the stockade right now who'll be happy to volunteer to gulp down a ZAP pill if they'll get time knocked off their sentence. You follow, boy?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "Then you wish to go directly from rodent to human tests without trials on larger laboratory animals?"

"You've got it, son, and the sooner the better. You give me the ZAP pill, and within a few days, a week at the most, I'll be able to tell you if you've got a winner or a washout.

Okeydokey?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

I locked the door after he departed. I thought he was a dreadful man, but at least I had won his approval to go directly from mouse testing to man testing.

Of course I had no intention of providing Colonel Knacker with a supply of pills, assuming I was successful in developing an oral form of the sex hormone. I had absolutely no wish to use imprisoned soldiers as "human guinea pigs." That would be such an immoral thing to do that I had rejected it even as he had proposed it.

My only ethical course of action, obviously, was to test the ZAP pill on myself. I doubted if it presented any mortal danger, but that had to be proved. And self-administration would give me much more precise observation of the results than if the drug was tried on other volunteers.

I must confess that I was eager to try the ZAP pill. I assure you again that I had no desire to become more aggressive.

At the same time I recognized that it would do no harm if I became, even temporarily, bolder and more assertive.

Both my wife and Marleen Todd had, on occasion, remarked on my indecision and a lack of determination that amounted to what they apparently saw as insipidity. Their comments disturbed me.

I was curious (and hopeful, I must admit) as to what effects the sex hormone would have on my behavior and personality.

That evening, before dinner, Mabel said to me, "Guess what?

We've been invited to a cocktail party."

"Oh?" I said. "Who's giving it?"

"Laura Gunther. She takes care of me at Hashbeam's Bo-teek.

I've known her for years. Well, she's having a cocktail party at her condo for all her best customers and their husbands or boyfriends. it sounds like fun." ,when is it to be?"

"Saturday afternoon at two o'clock."

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it," I said at once. "I have to work on Saturday. But why don't you go. I'm sure you'll have a good time."

"I don't want to go alone," she protested. "Laura specifically asked that I bring you. She wants to meet you. I don't see why you can't forget your job for one Saturday afternoon."

"You don't understand," I said, "I'm behind schedule on a very important project, and I've just got to get caught up."

"You never want to go anywhere with me," she said angrily.

"Sometimes I think you're ashamed of me."

"That's not true, Mabel," I said.

"Well, I'm not going to the party by myself. I'll just spend another lonely Saturday afternoon at home. Laura will be so disappointed when we don't show up."

I sighed. "I'll tell you what, Mabel, suppose I take an hour or so off from work and meet you at the party. I'll have a drink or two and then go back to the lab. Will that be satisfactory?"

"I guess it'll have to be," she said. "What an old fogy you are."

My life was changing. I was aware of it, but the M odd thing was that I didn't seem responsible for the changes. I mean I wasn't consciously doing things differently. It was more like I was an observer, sitting back and noting my own metamorphosis.

I knew a lot of it was due to Cherry Noble. After she spruced up my studio, almost immediately I spruced up myself. it just seemed wrong to live like an unshaved bum when she had gone to all that trouble to make my home attractive.

But those were just the physical changes in my life. As a matter of fact, I duplicated the situation in my new book, The Romance of Tommy Termite. Lucy, his girlfriend, cleans up Tommy's nest, and before he knows it, he's bathing in rainwater every day and wearing a tie.

My more important transformations were things you couldn't see because they were happening inside me. The only way I can describe them is to liken them to a thaw. Something that had been frozen was warming. It was the damnedest thing. I knew it was, happening, but I didn't know why or what it portended.

For instance, on the days Cherry didn't visit, I'd phone her at home.

We'd have long, inconsequential talks, but I'd always hang up smiling.

And when she did show up at my place, I'd usually read to her what I had written about Tommy Termite's romance, and we'd discuss it and sometimes we'd argue. Cherry had some great ideas.

I don't think there was any exact date when it popped into my mind that I was in love with this woman. There was no sudden revelation, just a slow, gradual realization of how much she meant to me and how and my life would be without her. It scared me.

My brother came over for our usual Thursday lunch, and I was tempted to tell him how I felt. But I realized that was hopeless because I really didn't know how I felt. And besides, all he wanted to talk about were his own problems.

He mixed us heavy bourbon highballs in my new glasses, and we sat at the new dining table wolfing down the roast beef sandwiches and potato salad he had brought.

"I wasn't going to tell you this, Chas," he said, not looking at me.

"What the hell, you've got your own troubles. But Marleen wants a divorce."

" Shit, " I said. Then I groaned.

"Yeah," he said, "that was my reaction. But if that's what she wants, I'm not going to stand in her way."

I stopped eating to stare at him. He didn't look so good.

His face was puffy, eyes bloodshot, and he had put on so much lard that everything he wore looked a size too small. He was beginning to get a few red lines in his nose, and his cheeks were mottled. Pop began to look like that about five years before his liver gave out.

"Herm, you're an asshole," I told him "Marleen is a fine woman. If you had half a brain you'd do whatever you could to hang on to her. And there's Tania to think about."

"I know," he said miserably. "But what's the use? I'm never going to change."

"You can change. If you want to. You just don't want to."

"Oh, I want to," he said, "but I can't. I just don't have the gumption."

"Balls!" I said furiously. "You can go to AA or get dried out at some drunk farm. And you can stop chasing chippies. That doesn't take gumption. A little common sense will do it. You're just too goddamned selfish."

"You're right, brother. As usual."

He gave me a twisted grin, but I could see he was hurting.

All the anger went out of me and I couldn't yell at him anymore.

I felt sorry for him, and I worried about him. After all, he was my brother, and that counted.

"Herm, do me a favor, will you?"

"What's that? "

"Go see Dr. Cherry Noble. She helped me, she can help you."

He continued working on his lunch and didn't look up. "I already have," he said. "One interview. We talked and she said she'd let me know if she'd take me on. But then I thought about it and decided what's the point, I'm never going to change." , "Man, you're sick," I said.

I guess", he said. "But it's MY choice, isn't it? if I want to go down the tube, down I'll go."

I felt like weeping.

He glanced at his watch. "Hey," he said, "I've got to get back to the office. I may be a lush, but I'm a functioning alcoholic. You take care, y'hear."

He poured himself a tot of sour mash, knocked it back, and started for the door. Then he turned to face me.

"Still brothers?" he asked.

"Sure," I said huskily. "Always."

I just sat there, not moving, after he left. I found myself thinking about a guy in my squad in Nam. He was shooting smack and couldn't stop. He told me he knew he'd OD someday, and he did. Of course he had plenty of reasons. I could understand where he was coming from.

But I couldn't understand my brother. He had a nice home in South Florida, a good job, a loving wife, a great daughter. But he was destroying himself as surely as my buddy did in Nam. What is this thing with people that drives us to screw up our lives?

I knew I had to do something about Herman. I'd fired my best bet probably fail, but I had to try gu would be to ask Cherry for advice.

If Herm had talked to her, maybe he had dropped some clues as to why he behaved as he did.

When my phone rang, I wheeled over to the desk hoping it was her and she'd tell me she was coming to visit that evening. But it was Tania, and I perked up. iihiya, honey," I said. "Enjoying your summer vacation?

"Yes, I am, she said in that serious manner she had that always made me smile. "Uncle Chas, do you still have my hundred dollars?"

"Of course I do," I said. "It's in a special envelope marked with your name, just like I promised. Tania, have you and your boyfriend changed your minds about running away?"

She giggled. "Well, he's not really my boyfriend. And we haven't changed our minds. First we're going to Disney World, and then we're going to Alaska. That's why we need the money."

"Uh-huh," I said. "Honey, you know your parents are going to feel terrible when you leave home. I'll bet they'll cry."

"Maybe my mother will but not Daddy."

"Why not him?"

"Because he doesn't love me."

I caught my breath. "Tania, I don't think that's true. I believe your father loves you."

"No, he doesn't," she insisted. "Or he wouldn't do the. awful things he does. Uncle Chas, I've got to go. I'm going to help Chet decide what to pack. He's not very good at it."

"Pack?" I said. "Then you're leaving soon?"

"Real soon," she said. "Before school starts. Bye now!

I hung up slowly, confused and saddened. I had a wild idea of telling Herman that his daughter planned to run away. It might shock him into changing his ways. But I decided I couldn't risk it. It would betray Tania's trust and probably convince her that neither father nor uncle loved her.

I phoned Cherry at her office, something I rarely, did. The receptionist said Dr. Noble was busy at the moment, but she'd give her my message. I stared at the blank screen of my word processor and waited patiently. It was almost twenty minutes before Cherry returned my call.

"Can you come over tonight?" I asked her.

"Chas," she said, "is something wrong?"

"I need you," I said.

I hadn't been to a party in ages, and I got real excited about going to Laura Gunther's shindig. Of course I had nothing decent to wear so I went down to Hashbeam's Bo-teek.

"Laura," I said, "I bet the only reason you're having this bash is so that all your customers come in for new outfits."

You got it," she said, grinning. "Believe me, you're not the first.

Listen, Mabel, I hope your husband will be there."

"Well, he's working on Saturday but he promised to show up for an hour or two."

"Good enough," she said. "I'm eager to meet him. Now let's pick out something for you that'll knock everyone dead."

She had some great sequined sheaths that were to die for, but I had to admit I was a bit too tubby to get into them. We finally settled for an embroidered chemise-type number, tight across the fanny and with a neckline low enough to show cleavage. , "No bra," Laura warned. "Let it all hang out."

"Suits me," I said, and I imagined what Herman Todd's reaction would be if he saw me in that dress. Maybe it could be arranged.

I left Hashbeam's in time for my appointment with Dr. Cherry Noble. I told her about the party on Saturday, and how happy I was to get out of the house for a change.

"Is your husband going?" she asked.

"At first he didn't want to. He's working on Saturday, and that stupid job of his comes first. But finally he agreed to stop by for a drink."

"Mmm," she said. "No argument?"

"Not really. Sometimes I think he's trying. We even made love the other night. Whoopee. On a scale of one to ten, about a five. I wish there was a pill I could slip into his macaroni and cheese that would give him a little more oomph."

Dr. Noble smiled. "I'm afraid there's no pill like that, Mabel. " The rest of the session was all about my self-esteem and why I needed to have men wanting me-the only way I could feel important. I figured all women felt that way, but the doc said not so, that self-worth had to come from within, how I felt about myself, and not from the approval of others.

I thought that was a squirrelly idea but I didn't tell her that. And I didn't tell her about the new cocktail dress I had just bought that made my knockers look like a baby's ass.

By the time Saturday rolled around I was in a state. But it was a nice feeling, a real high I hadn't felt for a long time. I had my hair done that morning and even splurged on a manicure. I rushed home a little before noon to shower and dress before driving to the party, fashionably late.

I certainly didn't want to be the first one there.

Chet was in his bedroom with Tania Todd. A lot of his junk was spread out on the floor, and the kids were sorting the stuff into piles.

"What's going on?" I asked.

They looked up at me. "It's for school, Mrs. Barrow," Tania said.

"When we go back, we'll have to give talks on how we spent our summer vacations. I'm helping Chet pick out some things for his showand-tell."

"That's nice," I said. "Chet, I'm going out for a while around two o'clock, but I'll be back in time to get supper on the table. Maybe we'll have hot dogs and beans. If you kids get hungry this afternoon, there are jelly doughnuts in the fridge.

Have a good time."

I spent the next two hours getting dolled up. It made me feel ten years younger, and the finished Product looked sharp, if I say so myself. I had that glow I used to get when I was going out on a date before I was married. Those were the days! And I was such a dope I thought they'd last forever.

I had to be careful sliding onto the driver's seat of the Roadmaster because that embroidered chemise was snugger than I thought, and the last thing in the world I wanted right then was a split seam. I checked my makeup in the rearview mirror and wiped a fleck of lipstick off a front tooth.

There were at least a dozen people already there when I sashayed into Laura's condo. There was a bar set up with a hired bartender, a yummy boy with a, great tan. There was also a table with plates and bowls of nibbles like macadamia nuts and miniature pretzels. No one was sitting down, everyone was standing and mingling, carrying their drinks and talking up a storm. I knew it was going to be a good party.

Laura grabbed me the moment I walked in and gave me a quick once-over.

"Mabel," she said, "you look fantastic. That dress is you.

Where's your husband?"

"He'll be along," I said. "Can I have a drink?"

"I'll get it for you, lion, " she said. "Then I want you to meet some of these wonderful friends of mine."

I must have been introduced to a dozen guests in the next fifteen minutes. I didn't remember their names, of course, but they were all dressed to the nines, and none of them looked like they had to worry where their next buck was coming from. But there was nothing stuck-up about them, and I got a lot of compliments on my dress. I could see where the men were staring.

Laura left to greet some new arrivals, and I got me a second rum and Coke from the dreamy kid behind the bar. One of the couples I hadn't met came up and we all introduced ourselves.

His name was William Brevoort ("Just call me Willie!") and she was Jessica Fiddler, a real model type, tall and blond, but kind of hard-looking if you know what I mean. They seemed to be close friends, but I didn't get the feeling they were making it together.

They were really good company, just as friendly as they could be.

Jessica was wearing one of those sequined sheaths from Hashbeam's that I loved but couldn't get into, and Willie had on a plaid silk sport coat with lime green slacks. We talked clothes just to break the ice, you know-and then Brevoort asked, "What does your husband do, Mabel?"

"He's a research chemist," I said. "He invents new drugs and things like that."

"No kidding?" he said. "What a coincidence. I'm in the pharmaceutical line myself. I'd like to talk to him. Is he here?"

"Should be along soon," I said. "I'll make sure you meet.

Jessica, who does your hair? It's beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, "but the fall isn't mine." She added, "Willie lent it to me," and we all laughed.

I saw Greg come through the door, and I went over and grabbed his arm.

He was wearing his old threepiece navy blue suit like he had just been confirmed. in that flashy crowd my poor hubby looked like a sorry-assed refugee from Lower Slobbovia.

I got him a drink and brought him over to meet Jessica and Willie. We chatted of this and that for a while, and then Jessica drew me away to the food table where Laura had just put out a big platter of boiled shrimp with a fancy plastic toothpick stuck in each one. When I looked back, Willie was talking a mile a minute to Greg, and I guessed they were talking business, which men like to do at parties.

After a while Greg came over to where I was standing with Jessica and took one shrimp.

"Enjoying the party, Mr. Barrow?" Jessica asked.

"Very nice," he said. "I wish I could stay, but I'm afraid I've got to get back to work."

"You just got here," I protested. "Stay a little while longer.

Jessica, you hang onto him while I get him another drink."

A lot more people had arrived, and the bar was mobbed. It must have been five minutes before I could get back to Greg. He was still talking to Jessica and had a funny look on his face. I thought maybe she had told him a dirty joke. My husband doesn't like dirty jokes.

Jessica smiled and moved away when I came back. "Hope we meet again, Greg," she said. "Don't work too hard."

I handed him his drink. "Isn't she pretty?" I said.

"Yes," he said. "Very. Listen, Mabel, I'm going to finish this and then I've really got to go. You stay as long as you like. Don't worry about making dinner. Maybe we'll go out tonight. You're all dressed up, so we'll go someplace nice."

"You like my new dress?" I asked, twirling so he could see it back and front.

"I do," he said, smiling. "I really do. just don't take a deep breath."

I was sort of stuck with him, which I suppose is a mean thing to say, but you don't go to a party to associate with your husband. Secretly I was glad when he finished his drink and said he had to get back to the lab.

He kissed my cheek. "Have a good time, Mabel," he said.

And after he left, I did.

This was serious business. Jessica and Laura and TI agreed on that.

I mean we had all pulled small cons, penny-ante scams, the badger game, maybe rolling a drunk now and then. And we had all been in the skin trade. Been busted, did time. But that was two-bit stuff compared to ripping off the ZAP pill. Big money was involved here, and we all knew it.

"We got two problems," I told the ladies. "How to glom on to that pill, and how to keep Big Bobby Gurk away from our throats." Mcwhortle had I said I had told Gurk that Marvin croaked and the deal was dead.

But I wasn't sure Big Bobby bought it, and we had to figure he was still interested. if he ever found out we had the pill an had double-X'd him, he'd come looking for us.

"Yeah," Laura said. "The guy's a slob, but he's a heavy slob-dangerous.

He's still porking me every now and then. My heart really isn't in it, but I'm afraid to dump him, he might get physical.

Also, by letting him jump my bones, I can keep an eye on him, and maybe find out if he's got something nasty on his mind.

"Okay, " I said, "you keep tabs on Gurk. That leaves the job of getting the pill. I checked out the address of Mabel Barrow and scammed her kid, a boy named Chet. He told me his pop is named Gregory, and he's a chemist who works at Mcwhortle Laboratory. So that confirms what the old man told you, Jess.

Now we got to finagle a way to meet this Gregory and see how we can turn him."

We discussed a dozen different scenarios, but nothing clicked until I hit on the scheme of Laura throwing a cocktail party at her condo.

She'd invite her best customers, including Mabel Barrow, and tell them all to bring their husband or boyfriend.

Jess and I would be there and make a move on Gregory.

"I like it," Jessica said. "Maybe he'll get sloshed, which will make him easy meat for a come-on."

"Before you do anything," I said, "let me have a crack at him. He might be suffering from the shorts and ready to peddle the pill for cash. If I strike out, then you take over."

Laura said, "The only thing that bothers me about this party idea is what do we do if Bobby Gurk shows up unexpectedly. He might meet Gregory Barrow, and that could queer the whole deal."

"You could invite him," Jess suggested, "and then keep him so busy he doesn't have a chance to meet anyone.

"Invite him?" Laura said indignantly. "I wouldn't invite that bum to a funeral-unless it was his own."

But she finally agreed to go along with the party after I said I'd pick up the tab for the booze and food. Listen, it takes money to make money, everyone knows that.

We went over our plan again and again until we had it choreographed down to the smallest detail, like what Jessica would wear and how Laura would tip off the hired bartender to slug Gregory Barrow's drinks.

It was a good plot and it should have worked. But it didn't, and I began to wonder if The Luck had deserted me.

First of all, the chemist showed up late, stayed about an hour, and then took off. I don't think he had had more than two drinks, and they didn't help us a bit. Jess and I met him all right-for all the good it did us. He wasn't a badlooking guy, but he dressed like a zombie and wore brown shoes with a navy blue suit. Beautiful. I think maybe he smiled twice.

The party lasted until about six o'clock. Finally, everyone was gone, including the bartender, and we were left with the mess to clean up.

But before we did that, we slumped in chairs, shared a joint, and tried to figure out what had gone wrong.

"The guy's a straight-arrow," I complained. "I think he bought my story of being in the drug biz, but he wasn't giving anything away. I as much as told him he was in a position to make big bucks if he'd be willing to share some of Mcwhortle's trade secrets. He looked at me like he was ready to phone the FBI.

Listen, I've been clipping gulls all my life, and mostly you get to them through their greed. But this Barrow acted like he couldn't care less about gelt. And as for screwing dear old Mcwhortle Laboratory, forget it. I tell you the man's a fucking Boy Scout. He's not going, to hand over that testosterone pill for love or money. Leastwise not for money.

Jess, how did you make out in the love department?"

The folding bar was still in place, and a lot of the booze I had bought was still there. Jessica went over and poured a Chivas for Laura, a Sterling for herself, and a glass of club soda for me.

"You called him a straight-arrow," she said. "He's also a frost. I don't know what's with him. Either I didn't turn him on or he's so in love with that Betty Boop wife of his that he doesn't want to stray.

Anyway, I gave him the full treatment, trying to convince him that I thought he was God's gift to women.

But I just couldn't touch him. I think if I came right out and said, Wanna get naked?" he'd have said, beg your pardon, madam. Like I had my address and phone number written on a piece of paper and slipped it to him. The poor mooch didn't know what to do with it and finally stuffed it in his pocket. Maybe he'll call me, but don't bet on it.

Let's face it, The guy is a natural-born wimp."

Laura took a big gulp of her drink. "No hits, no runs, just one big error," she said. "So where do we go from here, Willie?"

The two ladies looked at me, expecting a brainstorm. They were both good kids but limited, if you know what I mean.

"I'll come up with something," I promised. I always have.

Meanwhile, what say we go have some dinner. My treat."

They were more than willing. We closed the door on the full ashtrays and lipsticked glasses and went to a high-class seafood joint on the Waterway, where we all had lobster, pasta, and a salad. We didn't talk about the ZAP pill while we ate, just traded crazy war stories and had a few laughs.

There was a young couple sitting at the next table with a little boy who was working on a shrimp cocktail. He looked to be a few years younger than Chester arrow, but maybe seeing him was what gave me the B e could convince the chemist to hand idea of how w over the pill.

I drove the ladies back to Laura's place, and then I returned to my own pad. My club was having an affair that night, a costume party called Fete Parisienne. I had rented the outfit of a cancan dancer, complete with black net pantyhose and ruffled skirt. I even had a mouche to stick on my cheek.

It was a good party with plenty of champagne, but there were two other cancan dancers, which spoiled the evening for me. The winner of the first prize was a policeman who dressed like Edith Piaf and sang "La vie en rose."

I got home around two A.m but I was too charged to sleep.

I thought a long time about my new scheme for getting the ZAP pill from Gregory Barrow. I was sure it was doable, but I'd need the help of Jessica and Laura. It would be heavier than anything I had done before, and if it got screwed up I knew what the result would be, five-to-ten in the slammer with all those swell people.

I finally got to sleep, and it was almost noon on Sunday when I woke up.

The first thing I did was phone Laura and ask if she could get Jessica over to her place at, say, three o'clock. She called me back about ten minutes later and said Jess was hungover, and didn't want to go out in the sunlight, but we could meet at her place.

So that's what we did. Both the ladies looked like they had hit the sauce pretty hard after I left them the night before. I mean their faces were puffy, and they held their coffee cups in both hands, a sure tip-off that they had the shakes. But they listened attentively enough while I explained how we could get Gregory Barrow to cooperate.

I finished, and they stared at me. Then they turned and looked at each other.

"I don't know, Willie," Laura said slowly. "It could be a disaster."

"That's right," I agreed. "I wouldn't lie to you. But it could also go off without a hitch. Jessica?"

"It's a tough call," she said. "I've never done hard time and don't want to start now. Isn't there any other way, Willie?"

"I'm open to suggestions," I said.

They were silent.

"Look," I said, not wanting to push them, "I don't expect an answer this minute. But think about itokay? If we pull it off, we'll be set for the rest of our lives."

"And if it flops," Laura said, "we'll be set for the rest of our lives making license plates."

"You've got it," I said. "The choice is yours."

"Tell me something, Willie," Jess said. "If Laura and I include ourselves out, will you recruit someone else and go ahead with it anyway?"

"Sure I will," I said. "I think it's too good to pass up."

That was a lie. If they said no, I was dead.

Here's something I want to throw at you. If there was a way let's imagine this-a guaranteed way that a married man or woman could cheat and be absolutely sure of never getting caught, how many faithful husbands and wives would there be in the world?

Makes you think, doesn't it?

Well, I was thinking about it. What happened was that I was still living on Hibiscus Drive in Rustling Palms Estates, even if I was sleeping in the guest bedroom. And every time I asked Marleen if she had seen a lawyer, she'd say, "Not yet."

So naturally I figured the crisis was just melting away, and I had overreacted by going to Dr. Chernoble. I called that off and started giving serious ry row without thought to how I could hump Mabel Bar getting caught.

Usually I had my fun and games in the woman's home, but I could hardly do that with Mabel, could I? And my Lincoln Towncar, roomy as it was, reminded me too much of my high-school high jinks on the lumpy backseat of a spastic Studebaker. , That got me to trying to devise a foolproof way of cheating with absolutely no possibility of discovery. I finally came to the sad conclusion there was none. But there were ways to minimize the risk, and after a lot of scouting I found a motel down near Fort Lauderdale.

It wasn't the most elegant hot-pillow joint in South Florida, but it wasn't cheesy either. Best of all, it was out in the boonies, and the chances of running into someone who knew me or Mabel were practically nil.

I checked the place out. It was summer, customers were few, and the owner was perfectly willing to rent by the day. And he impressed me as the kind of guy who wouldn't give a damn who I had as a visitor. Also, there was an ice-vending machine in the lobby, and for an extra five bucks you could get a vibrating bed.

All the room lacked were mirrors on the ceiling.

It was fun to plan all this. It was like I had come to a final realization that I was a bastard, always had been, always would be. If I was the way I was, why not relax and enjoy it?

Soulsearching was a waste of time. If my wife was willing to put up with my shenanigans, who was being hurt?

Right about then Marleen decided we should have the Barrow family over for dinner.

"Can't we skip it?" I asked her. "Or postpone it?"

"No," she said in that bossy way she had. "We owe them."

So I didn't make waves. Thinking about it later, I decided it might not be such a bad idea after all. It would give me a chance to diddle Mabel and, by contrast with her dweebish husband, convince her that life offered pleasures she hadn't sampled yet, g, and able to and Herman Todd was ready, willing to share them with her.

My wife was a gourmet cook, and she went all ut on that dinner, gazpacho, pasta with black olives and scallions, lamb chops with an herb crust and ions and shoefresh mint sauce, caramelized on string candied sweet potatoes, mile-high apple pie. I provided the wine, including a duplicate of the anniversary bottle I had smashed. I hoped it would make amends, but Marleen didn't even notice.

It was a fantastic meal, but the pice de resistance as far as I was concerned was Mabel Barrow, a piece I couldn't resist.

She wore a tight embroidered dress ith a neckline that just wasn't there, and I kept waiting (and hoping) for one of her boobs to plop into the soup.

There were six of us at the table, including the kids. Both Tania and Chet were finicky eaters, but they admitted it was a super dinner and cleaned their plates. After dessert the kids disappeared somewhere, and the four of us sat around awhile and chatted as we finished the wine.

Then Gregory and Marleen started talking shop, and Mabel and I wandered out to the backyard where I could smoke a cigar. Marleen didn't let me do it in the house. it was a gorgeous Summer night, just cool enough to be comfortable. it wasn't a full moon, but there to was enough of it so I could see the gleam of Mabel's semi-exposed balloons.

"That's a great dress you're almost wearing," I told her. , "You like it?" she said, pleased.

"Love it," I assured her. "I'd buy Marleen something like it but it would be a waste of money, she'd never fill it the way you do."

"I'm glad you approve," Mabel said. "I wore it to a cocktail party last Saturday, and I got a lot of compliments.

"And passes from the guys," I guessed.

By that time we had strolled to the end of the backyard and were standing near a little herb garden Marleen had planted.

"Have you been thinking about it?" I asked her in a low voice.

"Thinking about what?"

"Don't play games, Mabel. You and me."

"You said you were going to move out and get a motel room," she reminded me. "But you're still here.

"That doesn't change how I feel about you. I found a motel.

How about it?"

"Where is it?"

"The motel? Down near Lauderdale. Way off in the boondocks.

Nothing elegant, but it's clean and away from everything. No one would ever spot us. We could meet there.

She didn't say anything.

"Look," I said, "I guess you know you drive me nuts. I don't think of anything but you. Even in my dreams. When you walked in tonight, I thought my knees were going to buckle. That's how you affect me. Do you ever think about me that way?"

"Yes," she said. "Frequently. But I'm scared."

"Nothing to be scared about, I told her. "No one's going to find out.

Nothing's going to change-except us. it'll be great for both of us, I just know."

Again she didn't reply. But I've been a salesman all my life, and I know the first rule of successful huckstering, Keep talking.

"I Greg such a great lover?" I asked her.

No, she said, "he isn't."

"Well, I am," I said. "And that's not bragging, it's the truth. I know how to pleasure a woman. Things I'll bet you've never even thought of."

"You're getting to me, Herm," she said with a throaty laugh.

"If I decide it's a go-and notice I say if-how do we manage it?"

"Easiest thing in the world. We pick a time that's right for both of us. I'll give you the address and directions how to get there. You drive out in your own car. I'll get there first and be waiting for you.

Believe me, you'll have no hassle at the desk. You're just visiting a guest at the motel-me. I'll be using my own name. That's how sure I am that we'll have no problems."

"I'm still scared," she said. "I've shacked up at motels, but that was when I was single. I've never cheated on Greg before."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Yeah," she said, "I guess you're right."

"Life is short, Mabel," I urged her. "Let's grab a little fun while we can."

"I'm all for that," she said. "But now I think we better get back inside, or they'll start thinking we're grabbing a little out here."

We went back inside, and the Barrows finally left about eleven o'clock.

Tania had already gone to bed,, and I helped Marleen clean up the kitchen. I told her what a great dinner it was.

"Thank you," she said, and went upstairs to the master bedroom.

I stayed downstairs, kicked off my shoes, and mixed myself a big brandy and soda. I flopped into an easy chair and reviewed my sales pitch to Mabel Barrow. I figured it was right on target and a done deal.

I expected to feel the usual excitement and sense of triumph I get when I know I've scored, but for some reason I didn't feel those things that night. To tell you the truth, I was a little depressed. Maybe if Mabel had made more objections, I would have enjoyed my victory more.

I always liked selling an insurance policy to a prospect who starts out by saying no and ends up a client saying yes.

But Mabel never said no. With her it was "maybe" from the start, and it doesn't take a dynamite salesman to convert maybe to yes. I'm not saying she was a pushover, but there was no challenge. I think I had caught her at a time in her life when she was more than ready.

Perhaps that was what depressed me. The thought occurred that if it wasn't me, it would have been some other man. You understand? It wasn't Herm Todd she had the hots for, I just happened to be the nearest guy available. If I hadn't made a move on her, she'd have found someone else, I was sure of it.

Once I realized that, I began to wonder about all the other women I had shagged, thinking I had succeeded in selling them a bill of goods, talking them into something they didn't want to do.

Maybe I had the whole thing ass backwards, they were making the conquest, not me, and all their protests were playacting, either to make themselves feel virtuous or to tickle my macho ego.

Those were not pleasant thoughts, I can tell you that.

Because if my fears were true then I had been used by women all these years, played for a fool, treated like a sex object, for God's sake!

I mixed myself another drink.

Listen, I admit no one would ever mistake me for LMARY Poppins. I mean I've done a lot of scurvy things in my life-not because I wanted to but because I had to if I wanted to survive.

Sure, a lot of things I did were illegal, and even when I wasn't breaking any laws, a lot of people would say I was acting in an immoral way. Screw them! I couldn't afford to have morals.

And I happen to know what the Bible says about casting the first stone.

At the same time I was living a sleazy life, there were some things I just wouldn't do, even though they would have made me a nice buck. For instance I never peddled dope. I've never done a woman, although I had plenty of chances, believe me. And the same goes for orgies. As Willie the Weasel would say, it's just not my style.

So I did have standards, even if you probably think them a laugh. To tell you the truth, all my life I wanted to go straight, but I could never manage it.

My thing with Marvin Mcwhortle was about as close as I ever came, but now that had ended and I was back to the sleaze again. It hurt.

You may not believe this, but Town amp; Country was my favorite magazine of all time. I liked to read about people riding to the hounds, going to formal parties, and all that stuff, and I liked to look at the photos of the women who just got hitched. You could tell they were marrying money, which is okay, but some of them weren't as pretty as me and didn't have the bod. But what the hell, life is unfair, everyone knows that.

I'm telling you all this to help explain why I decided to go in on Willie Brevoort's caper. It was the heaviest thing I had ever done, and I knew that if we got busted, we'd all do hard time. But it was a chance, you see-maybe the only chance I'd ever have to get out of the rat race and go straight. Because if it went down like Willie said, we'd all be on easy street.

I talked it over with Laura Gunther and told her how I felt.

"Yeah, kid," she said, "I know where you're coming from. it could be the answer to your dreams, and it could also be the end of the road.

You know that, don't you?"

"Sure I do," I said. "And if I had a better choice, I'd take it. But the only other choice I have is hitting the clubs again or going back to hustling conventions. So I think I'll gamble on Willie. How about you?

" She sighed. "I guess I might as well," she said finally.

"Right now I've got nothing in my future but standing on my feet all day in that shitty shop and boffing Big Bobby Gurk at night, that asshole.

Yeah, I guess I'll play along."

So we gave Willie a call, and he came over to my place and we started planning.

This wasn't going to be a simple job like when you smash a jewelry store window, grab a Rolex, and run. This was a real scenario with a lot of details and tricky timing, and everything had to go just right or we'd all get racked up. So we spent plenty of time discussing possibilities and how we'd handle things that might go wrong.

We didn't get it all figured out at one meeting, of course.

We got together almost every evening, and gradually it all came out smart and tight. The one objection I had was using my place as headquarters.

"It's got to be, Jess," Willie argued. "My condo is too small, and so is Laura's. We need a safe house, and you've got two bedrooms. We can't rent a hotel suite, can we?"

"I don't know," I said doubtfully. "I don't think I can handle it by myself."

"Not to worry, Willie said. "I'll be right here with you until it's over. Okay?"

So I agreed. Talk about your Fatal Errors!

Everything was going along fine, and we were getting to the point where we were ready to set a definite date for the Crime of the Century when Willie showed up at one of our meetings looking worried.

"Something's happening," he said, "and I don't like it. I didn't want to mention it to you ladies because I thought I might be imagining it.

But now I know it's for real. About a week ago I thought I was being tailed. I kept seeing this black Toyota Camry everywhere I went.

Always driven by the same man, a little y who wears wire-rimmed specs.

Finally I decided I gu better check it out, so I jotted down his plate number. One of the members of my private club is a cop, and I slipped him five yards to have it traced. The Camry is registered to a shtarker I've heard about who's got a name so long that no one can pronounce it.

So he's called Teddy O and he works as an enforcer for Tomasino, a Miami shylock. From what I hear, Teddy O. is not a nice man."

"Why would he be following you?" I asked.

It was the first time I ever saw Willie lose his cool, and it scared me.

"Why?" he shouted. "Why? Use your goddamn head! I don't owe Tomasino, so Teddy O. must have come up from Miami on a special job for someone else. And who could that be but Big Bobby Gurk?

All these South Florida heavyweights are buddy-buddy."

"You think Gurk is keeping an eye on you?" Laura said.

"What else?" Willie said. "He thinks the ZAP Project is still alive, and there's a buck to be made. So he puts this Teddy O. on my tail, hoping I'll lead him to the Mcwhortle chemist.

Then Gurk moves in and takes over. I know how that fat slob works." ii So what do we do now, Willie?" I asked worriedly. "Call the whole thing off?"

He looked at me. "Not a chance. I'm just telling you ladies that it's suddenly become a lot hairier, and if you want to cut out, you're entitled. But I'm going to stick with the plan.

Gurk may have the muscle ve got the brain. If I can't out-finagle that stupe but, I might as well go back to pimping. No, I'm not giving up just because a hatchet man is on the scene. if push comes to shove, I'll figure a way to handle Gurk and Teddy O. Now what about you two?"

Laura and I exchanged a glance. I was impressed by Willie's confidence, and I admired his sass. I think Laura did, too.

"I'll stick," she said. "What the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound."

I nodded. "I'm still in, Willie," I said.

He smiled at us. "You ladies are the real thing," he said.

"I love you. We'll come out of this smelling like roses, you'll see.

Now, Jessica, I want you to find the Barrow home and learn the neighborhood. Not only the main drags but the back roads.

Make a couple of trips from the Barrow place to here at legal speeds, and time how long it takes. This whole caper is going to depend on timing."

So I did what he said. The Barrows lived in a nice clean development, a real family place where everyone seemed to have little kids and big lawns. There was nothing Town amp; Country about it, but it looked solid and respectable, and you just knew that no one who lived there had problems.

I drove around and learned how to get in and out of the development and the fastest route back to my home. I kept track of the times and how long it would take even if traffic was heavy or I got stopped by red lights. I also found another route that took a little longer, a two-lane road with no traffic lights.

On the second day I did this, I drove back to my home in the late afternoon and as I turned into my street, a black Toyota Camry passed me, going the other way. it had just gone by my house. I was spooked me model that Teddy O when I saw that car, the sa shadow Willie Brevoort. the hit man, was using to of a good But that wasn't what set me shaking. I got a look at the guy driving it, and like Willie had said, he was a small gink wearing wire-rimmed cheaters. I had seen him before.

He was John R. Thompson, who had talked his way the property tax appraiser into my house to count the rooms-he said. I started e me, I know how to do it. cursing-and believe The moment I got home I looked up the property directory… he tax appraiser's office in the telephone number was different from the one Thompson had make absolutely certain I had given me to call. just to aid been diddled, I phoned the legit number. They s med John R. Thompson. they had no appraiser na at myself I could scream."hung up, so furious had let that little prick con me, and it made me feel like a moron. I thought I was street-smart, and I fell for a crude scam like that.

Then I started thinking. If Teddy O. knew where I lived and had cased my home, he and Big Bobby Gurk would know I was connected with Willie Brevoort and the chemist at Mcwhortle Laboratory. g time. I knew I'd I thought about my choices a Ion have to tell Willie and Laura that our "safe house" wasn't so safe anymore.

But before I did that, I decided, I better call a real estate agent and get my beautiful home listed. I had a feeling I wouldn't be living in it much longer.

DR. CHERRYNOBLE you would think, wouldn't you, that being a practicing psychiatrist with all my working hours filled with the problems of my patients, I would welcome a placid and trouble-free private life. But that wasn't the case at all. Sometimes I wondered if problems are necessary to feel truly alive. And if they don't come to us, we create them.

All I know is that my existence would have been unutterably empty and sterile if it hadn't been for my relationship with Chas Todd. My work was satisfying on a professional level, but it didn't totally engage me, I wanted something more. I suspected it might be a need for personal drama.

Chas asked for my advice on how he might assist his brother and how best to handle the intention of his niece, Tania, to run away from home. What was most significant to me was his confidence in my judgment and his willingness to seek my help.

It was an added bond between us, another signal of our growing intimacy.

"Chas," I told him, "I find your brother's problems as troubling as you do, and I wish I could suggest a simple and guaranteed solution, but I can't. Some problems are insoluble, you know that."

"I don't want to believe it," he said. "It means I can't do a damned thing but wait for a disaster to happen. Herman told me he went to see you."

He told you that?" I said, mildly surprised. "Yes, we had a single introductory session. Then he called and said he had decided not to continue."

"My brother is an asshole," Chas said gloomily. "Even he knows it, but he's unwilling to make an effort to change. And as for Tania, she says she and Chester Barrow plan to leave home before school starts after Labor Day. Cherry, do you think I should tell their parents?"

"Yes," I said,,"I think you should. I know you feel it will be a betrayal of Tania's trust, but the physical safety of the children comes first."

"Yeah," he said, "I guess you're right. And maybe if I tell, it'll convince the parents that they better start paying more attention to their kids. I'll think about it. Will you fix us a drink?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I said. "It's a good night for it."

I was referring to a heavy rain that had started early in the evening and was continuing with no sign of a letup. I had driven to Chas's studio after dinner, through flooded streets and over palm fronds blown down by a blustery wind. The rain was still rattling against the roof of his barn and streaming down the windows, but we were snug and dry.

I poured us glasses of a tawny Spanish port we were, both developing a taste for. The only illumination in the big room came from the desk lamp. It made a cone of light, holding back the shadowed corners. Chas wheeled his chair in reverse until his face was in semidarkness.

"Hey," I protested, "I can't see you."

"That's the way I want it," he said. "Because I have a confession to make to you, Cherry."

I waited.

"Remember when I was under treatment, I told you about a woman named Lucy I was engaged to?"

"I remember," I said. "She was killed in a car crash."

"It was all bullshit. There never was any woman named Lucy.

I made the whole thing up."

"Why did you do that, Chas?"

"I don't know. Maybe I wanted your sympathy. I really don't know why the hell I told you that lie. It just seemed a good idea at the time."

"And why are you telling me now that it was a lie?

He took a deep breath. "Because," he said, "I don't want any more lies between us. Nothing fake, nothing make-believe. No more bullshit."

"Perhaps you told me about Lucy to persuade me that you had been attractive to women before you were injured."

"That's possible," he acknowledged. "At that stage in my therapy I wasn't thinking too clearly."

"Chas," I said, "Lucy is the name of Tommy Termite's girlfriend in your new book, isn't it?"

He wheeled his chair back into the lighted area and stared at me. I had no doubt whatsoever that he was startled.

"My God, he said, "that's right. And I never made the connection.

What does it mean, doc?"

"it means you're Tommy Termite," I said, laughing.

"Searching for romance."

He looked at me thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "you may be on target. I'm writing a fucking autobiography."

"Only it's not about your life," I reminded him. Itit's about the way you want to live-a projected autobiography.

I was still taking it lightly, but Chas wasn't. I could see he was shaken.

"I was going to have them marry," he said slowly. "Tommy Termite and Lucy. if the book was a success, I planned sequels.

They'd have kid termites, raise a family. it could go on forever.

Was I dreaming of me?"

"Only you can answer that, Chas."

He laughed suddenly. "I could have picked a more impressive insect than a termite to serve as my alter ego- Termites have some "Oh, I don't know," I said. admirable qualities.

They're determined, they work hard, and they survive despite exterminators. They also happen to have a soldier caste."

"Crazy," he said, shaking his head. "Chas the termite."

"May I be Lucy?" I asked him.

He wheeled his chair over to where I was sitting and took my hand.

"Do you think that's possible?" he said, looking sternly at me. "No bullshit now. All I'm asking is, do you think it's possible?"

"Yes," I said, "I think it's possible."

He set his glass on the floor and reached for me. I put my glass aside and leaned to him. It was a twisted, strained embrace, fumbled and awkward, but we managed. We kissed.

"Tommy," I said, stroking his cheek.

"Lucy," he said, and we both giggled.

I don't know what they call it now, necking, petting, smooching-it all sounds so old-fashioned. But that is what we did, kids in a secret place, exploring while the rain surrounded us and blanked out the world.

It was sweet, so sweet.

We stopped, breathless, and stared at each other.

"Give me time," he said in a voice that was almost a croak.

"I need time. Please."

I nodded and smoothed his hair back from his brow. We picked up our glasses and finished our wine without saying another word.

After a while I rose, gathered up my things, and gave him a farewell peck. I left him slumped in his wheelchair, head bowed.

I drove home slowly through a downpour that seemed to be worsening. I tried to sort out my feelings, but they were too chaotic for easy classification. It was only after I was safely home, showered, and in bed that I was able to put my thoughts in order and determine what I wanted to do.

I must have this man, I decided that. With marriage, without marriage, with sex, without sex-none of that seemed important. I just needed him in my life, and I thought he needed me. He had lost his legs and would never regrow them. I had lost-or was in danger of losing-part of myself as well. The loving part. I didn't want that gone. I wanted it to thrive.

I felt I knew Chas. I recognized his weaknesses and deficiencies as clearly as I did my own. But what of that? Love, if not blind, is uncaring. I mean there are really no requirements or standards, are there?

These meandering musings before I fell asleep had a curious conclusion.

They made me question if I analysis of Mabel Barrow and had been correct in my Herman Todd. I had labeled them insubstantial personalities intent only on sexual gratification. Now I wondered if I truly understood them.

Perhaps, like me, they were simply hopeful searchers, aching to give, eager to have their tender passion requited. just to love and be loved in returnit sounds so simple, doesn't it? So easy.

So right.

Then why is it so rare?

ANA TODD told my mother that I didn't think Chester Barrow was a very practical boy, and she laughed and asked me why I thought so.

"Because," I said, "his father bought him a fishing cap with a long bill that shades your eyes. But Chet wears it backwards so the bill shades his neck and the sun is always in his eyes."

"Well," she said, "maybe that's a fad with boys these days.

I see a lot of them wearing their caps backwards."

"I think it's silly," I said.

I didn't tell her the other ways that Chet wasn,t practical, because it was about our running away. For instance, I had to tell him what to take and help him pack. And I was the one who looked up the telephone number of the cab company so we'd have it when we were ready to leave home and go out to my Uncle Chas to get the hundred dollars.

"Now here's what I think,', I told Chet. "Labor Day is on September seventh. Then school starts on Tuesday, the eighth. So I think we should leave on September second, which is a Wednesday."

Why on that day?" he asked me.

I sighed. Sometimes I have to explain things to Chet twice or maybe three times. I know he's smart, but he just doesn't pay attention.

"We decided we would leave before school started," I said.

"And September second is just as good a day as any. Also, it's in the middle of the week, so it will be easier getting a cab than if we leave on a Saturday or Sunday. And besides, your mother and father might be home on the weekend, and mine, too. So Wednesday is when we'll leave." i guess," he said.

"Now you must be all packed on Tuesday night," I said. "And I'll be ready so we can just take off on Wednesday anytime we want. I think we should go around noon, which will give us time to pick up the money from Uncle Chas and start out before it gets dark."

"Boy," he said, "you sure are bossy."

"Well, my goodness," I said, "somebody's got to think of these things.

And I wish you'd wear your cap the right way. You look silly."

"Do not," he said.

"Do so,' I said. "But if you want to look silly, I really don't care."

"Listen," he said, "my folks haven't been so bad lately.

Maybe we should talk about this some more."

"You mean you don't want to go? Chet, it was your idea."

"I know it was," he said like he was mad at me.

"I'm just saying maybe we should give them like another chance."

"Chester Barrow, " I said, "if you back out now after all my work, I'll never speak to you again as long as I live.

"I'm not backing out," he said, getting that look he gets sometimes when he clenches his teeth. "I just mean my mother and father have been nicer to me lately, like I told you. Are your parents still fighting?"

"Yes, they are," I said, "and if you don't want to leave home, then I'll go by myself."

"Oh, no," he said, "you can't do that. I'll go, I'll go just like we planned."

"Promise?"

"Sure," he said, "I promise."

I felt sort of guilty because to tell you the truth my parents hadn't been fighting lately like they usually did. My father was still missing dinner and coming home late smelling from alcohol, but it didn't seem to bother my mother anymore, because she didn't yell at him, and she smiled a lot and was always humming. just because I'm a girl going on nine doesn't mean I don't notice things, and I wondered why she was acting so happy.

We were eating in the kitchen one night late in August, and I said, "I wish Daddy would come home to have dinner with us every night."

And Mom said, "Oh, I think he will. I think he'll change his ways real soon."

I wasn't so sure. "Can people change the way they are?" I asked her.

She said. "People change of course they can," All the time."

I thought about that awhile. "I think Chet Barrow is changing," I told her.

"Is he, dear? How is he changing?"

"I don't know," I said. "But sometimes he says things, and then he goes back on them. I don't like that.

Suddenly she looked sad. "Men are like that, Tania, she said. "As you get older, you'll learn that they frequently say things, promise things, they don't really mean."

"Well, that's just lying."

"Not exactly. Sometimes they'll say things because they want something, or to keep you happy, or because they don't want an argument."

"And all the time they don't really mean it? I think that's awful."

"Yes, it is," she agreed with me. "But you'll just have to learn to put up with it."

Well, she could put up with it if she wanted to, but I wasn't going to.

So the next time I was alone with Chet I spoke right out.

"Now listen here, Chester Barrow," I said, "I don't like the way you've been acting."

He looked at me. "What are you talking about?" he said.

"Well, sometimes you say things because you want something, or to keep me happy, or because you don't want an argument. And all the time you don't really mean what you're saying."

"You're nuts," he said. "When did I ever do things like that? "

"All the time," I said. "Like I can tell that now you don't really want to run away. You're just pretending."

"Oh my gosh," he said. "I told you I'd leave with you, didn't I? I promised, didn't I?"

"But you don't really mean it," I said. "I can tell."

"I do so mean it."

No, you don't. At the last minute you'll make some excuse not to go."

"You know," he said, "you can be a real pita.

"Pita?" I said. "That's like a bread."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "It also stands for'pain in the ass." And that's what you can be."

I started crying. "That's the worst thing anyone ever called me in my whole life," I told him, "and I hate you."

"Well, you called me a liar."

"Did not. I just said that sometimes you say things you don't really mean. Like running away."

"But I do mean it " he insisted. "Will you stop crying, for gosh sakes. just because I said maybe we should think about it some more, that don't mean-"

"Doesn't."

"That doesn't mean I'm not going to keep my word. When did I ever go back on my word, tell me that."

"Cross your heart and hope to die that you'll absolutely, positively, run away with me on Wednesday, September second."

"All right," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Well, that's better," I said, sniffing.

"You believe me now?"

"Yes, I believe you."

We've got some frozen Milky Ways in our fridge, he said. "You want one?"

"Okay, " I said. Making up after an argument is the best part.

Hey," Chet said,,what you said about hating me you don't really mean that, do you?"

"No," I told him. "I just said it because you called me a pita and I was mad, but I didn't really mean it." ,That's good," he said.

After we ate our frozen Milky Ways, we decided to put on our bathing suits and have a hose fight. So that's what we did. We were playing around, dousing each other, when suddenly Chet stopped and stared out at Hibiscus Drive. I looked and saw a big silver car driving slowly by.

"There's that guy again," Chet said.

"What guy?" I asked him.

"A man who knows my mom and dad. He says he's going to stop by when they're both home and surprise them. it's supposed to be a secret."

"What's his name?"

"He didn't say. But he gave me five bucks."

"That was nice of him," I said., "Yeah," Chet said. "He's an okay guy.

BOBBYGURK Something going down," Teddy O. says to me.

"I can smell it."

"How do you figure that?", I ask him.

He squints at me through those crazy specs he wears. "The three of them, Brevoort and the two women, are thick as thieves.

They get together almost every night. Usually at Fiddler's house, but sometimes at Gunther's condo."

"But never at Willie's place?"

"I've never spotted them there."

"Teddy, what do you think they're cooking?"

"You want me to guess?" he says. "That's all I can do-guess.

I'd guess they haven't got the ZAP pill yet from the Mcwhortle chemist.

Otherwise they'd be long gone. Am I right? But they know they're going to get it, maybe soon, and they're figuring how to handle it. If I was them, I'd grab the pill, get out of town, and set up business somewhere else."

I think about this a long time. "Yeah," I tell him finally, "I do believe you got it. And I can't stand the idea of getting the shaft on this deal. People are such rat finks-you know?"

"Maybe we should move on them right away," Teddy O. says.

"Even before they get the pill. Make them tell us the name of the chemist." He takes his ice pick out of the sheath strapped to his shin and waves it at me. "I know how to do it," he says.

"Sure you do," I says. "And maybe we'll have to do it your way. But if we lean on them to get the chemist's name, then we need to pick up the chemist and lean on him to get the pill. So it gets messy-know what I mean? Maybe someone goes screaming to the cops-and then where are we?

If it has to be done, then we'll do it. But first let the Gunther dame again. Maybe she'll go missing.

"I think she's in on the swindle," Teddy O. says.

"Maybe yes, maybe no, I says. "I'll sure as hell find out."

So I give Laura a call and tell her I'm stopping by that night.

"That's nice," she says.

I shouldn't be telling you this because you might think I'm an airhead, but I had a thing for tazy dame. Like what they call a soft spot in my heart.

She's a tall, busty broad with a dirty mouth, but what I like about her is that she's always cracking wise and just don't give a damn.

But, of course, my liking her has got nothing to do with business.

I barge into her place, and she's wearing these baby-doll pajamas that show a lot of skin and make her look as big as a house. I figure it's smart to knock off a piece before I brace her, because who knows what kind of a mood she'll be in after I lower the boom.

So after I get up off the floor, she pours us belts of Chivas, and we just sit around bare-ass naked and shoot the bull awhile. Finally I decide to lay it on her.

"Hey," I says, "I hear you and Willie and a blond twist have become palsy-walsy.

"Yeah?" she says. "Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, you know how word gets around. Who's the blonde?"

"A playmate of Willie's. Her name's Thelma something.

So right away I know she's lying, because the blonde is Jessica Fiddler, and if Laura is palling around with her she'd know her name.

"Uh-huh' I says, like I'm not really inarrested. "The three of you having a scene?"

"Now and then," she says. "You got any objections?

"Not me," I says. "Live and let live. How about an invite to make it a foursome?"

"Not your style," she tells me. "Unless you do coke."

"Oh-ho, I says, not believing her for a minute. "Nose buddies, is that it?"

"That's it," she says. "Just to relax occasionally. Take our minds off our troubles."

"We all got 'em," I says. "Some more than others. What do you hear from Willie about the ZAP pill?

"Not a word. Bobby, you might as well forget that deal.

Since old man Mcwhortle croaked, all the work at his lab has come to a screeching halt."

"it don't make sense," I says. "There's a lot of loot to be made from that pill. Funny that they'd just drop it." i She shrugs and pours us a refill. She's really got all the goodies.

Beefy but not fat, if you know what good skin. Creamy.

I'd hate to bat er I mean. And around and spoil her complexion, but I could do it if I had to.

"What's Willie up to these days?" I ask her.

"How the fuck should I know?" she says. "He doesn't blab about his personal business. I guess he's doing what he did before, peddling information. Why don't you ask him?"

"I haven't seem him around lately. I thought maybe he's cooking up a big deal. I've done a lot for Willie. I hope he remembers who his friends are.

"You figure you're a friend of his?"

"Sure I am."

She laughs. "Come on, Bobby. You're the guy who was planning to shaft him."

"That was just business, but personally I like him. I hear he does drag."

She looks at me. "You hear a lot of things, don't YOU? if Does he or doesn't he?"

"As far as I know he wears pants."

"You've made it with him?"

"That's what you paid me for, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm not complaining," I says. "I just wondered if a guy like that can get it up."

"He's got no problems in that department," she tells me.

"Trust me, I know."

"I'd like to trust you, babe," I says. "I really would.

I'd hate to find out you've been diddling me. Then I'd have to come looking for you. You know?"

"How could I diddle you? I haven't clamped you for money, have I?"

"No," I admit, "you haven't. But there are all kinds of swindles.

Like maybe you and Willie and the blond broad are figuring to glom on to that ZAP pill for yourselves and leave poor Bobby Gurk on the outside looking in."

She shakes her head. "If we had that fucking pill and were going to cross you, would we still be around? Use your head."

"Maybe you haven't got the pill yet," I says, "but you know how to get it. Then you'll split. I wouldn't do that if I was you, babe. You know what they say, You can run, but you can't hide."

"I don't know what you've been smoking lately," she says, "but you've sure got some crazy ideas. Hey, how about an encore on the floor?"

She wants to change the subject-right?

"No," I says to her. "You come over here and do me."

I want to get her down on her knees, because now I know for sure Teddy O. is right and the three of them, Willie and the two women, are figuring to dick me.

I had given Laura every chance in the world to come clean and let me in on what's going onbut, no, she wants to play it cute.

So I got no choice but to do it Teddy's way.

I make a meet with him the next day, and we talk about how we'll do it.

"I got a lot of "Listen, Teddy," I says to him, guys in my organization, and a couple of them are heavies. So if you need some backup, just say the word."

"I don't think so," he says, "but thanks for the offer. We don't want a mob scene."

"Then you and me will manage it," I Says.

"What's the script?"

I'm guessing the blonde, that Jessica Fiddler, is the key.

She's the one banging the chemist-right? So we hit her when she's alone in her house. It shouldn't take long. All we want is the name of the chemist and where he lives."

"Piece of cake," I says. "I'd like it if we can scare the shit out of her without no rough stuff."

"Maybe she don't scare," Teddy says. "Then what? "

"Then you take over," I tell him.

He nods. "What I'll do is get to know her routine, when she's home, when she goes out. Then we'll pick a good time and pay her a visit."

"Whenever you're ready, just give me a call-" He looks at me. "You sure you don't want me to handle this by myself?"

"Nah," I says. "I'll come along. I want to get a look at this broad.

Maybe after the chemist is out of the picture, she'll be cruising for a new boyfriend. Like me."

We both laugh. I'm bullshitting him, of course.

I got no particular interest in the blonde. But I don't want Teddy O. leaning on her by himself.

Accessory to a homicide is a rap I don't need.

I know there are more inspired research chemists at work today, but I have frequently comforted myself with the belief (possibly mistaken) that few have my talent for self discipline. This applies not only to my professional assignments but to my personal life as well. I think I can say without fear of serious contradictions that I am a singularly regulated man. I never act on whim or make capricious decisions.

So you can imagine my surprise and wonderment at what occurred during my brief attendance at a cocktail party given by the saleslady of a boutique patronized by my wife. in fact, I put in an appearance only to please Mabel.

Ordinarily I try very hard to avoid social functions. I am just not very good at them, and I am certain my awkwardness and discomfort are obvious.

Two unusual things happened. First, I was engaged in conversation by an elegantly dressed man who claimed to be in the pharmaceutical business.

To my astonishment, he lost no time in making it very plain that he was prepared to pay me large sums of money if I would divulge to him trade secrets of Mcwhortle Laboratory. Naturally I rejected his offer immediately.

The second curious incident involved a shapely young woman, rather flashy but quite attractive. I can only report that she "came on" to me. She did not seem inebriated, and frankly I was bewildered by her behavior. I know very well that I am far from being the handsomest of men, and most people find me cold and aloof, not realizing that my reserve springs mainly from shyness.

In any event, I was nonplussed by her warm and intimate manner and then embarrassed when it became clear that she was suggesting a sexual liaison. Of course, I rebuffed her advances as politely as I could, but she insisted on giving me a slip of paper (obviously prepared in advance) with her name, Jessica Fiddler, and her address and phone number.

It was possible she was a prostitute and distributing her "business card" to all the men at the cocktail party, but I was inclined to doubt it. I had the feeling that she had singled me out, but for what purpose I could not have said.

But even more unaccountable was my reaction to that bizarre meeting. I have claimed to be the most self-disciplined of men, and I truly believe that. Yet in the days and weeks following the cocktail party I found I was thinking frequently of Jessica Fiddler, wondering about her motives, and fantasizing about what might have happened if I had accepted her generous invitation. This invasion of my thoughts came at a particularly unwelcome time, for I was working very hard to bring the ZAP Project to a successful conclusion.

I was being badgered frequently by Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle, who was in turn being constantly annoyed by Colonel Henry Knacker.

Actually, I was very close to completing the project. I had succeeded in developing a testosterone formulation I judged would be effective on humans, and I had converted the liquid into pills not much larger than a 325 mg aspirin. I produced a dozen pills and put them into a small plastic container. The only step remaining was testing on humans.

As I have stated before, I had every intention of trying the ZAP pill first. It was the moral and ethical thing to do. And yet now that the moment had arrived, I confess I felt a certain amount of, perhaps not fear, but trepidation. The chances of fatal poisoning were, I told myself, so slight that they could be ignored.

But I was entering the realm of behavior modification and, quite honestly, I was not certain of the ZAP pill's effects on humans. I thought ruefully that my situation was somewhat akin to that of Dr.

Frankenstein, not knowing if I might produce a monster or a saint.

After a great deal of reflection, I decided it would be too risky to ingest a ZAP pill at the laboratory with so many people nearby. I thought it best to take the pills home, lock myself in the den, and swallow the pill in solitude. But before I did that, I planned to leave a detailed document instructing my wife and the authorities what actions to take in case I died, lapsed into a coma, became unconscious, or began behaving in an antisocial manner.

It was then the last week of August. I took the container of ZAP pills home and carefully concealed it behind a stack of journals in the den.

I did not inform Mrs. Mcwhortle or Colonel Knacker that the ZAP pill had been finalized. I hoped after my test I could assure them that it had no injurious consequences.

I could have conducted the trial immediately, of course, but I admit I dithered. It was not fear of death so much as fear of an irreversible personality change. After all, even if the pill had the desired effect of increasing aggression, I could not be absolutely sure it would not be permanent, even though the result had been temporary when the testosterone formulation had been injected into mice. And also there might be side effects I hadn't anticipated.

I wanted to become more assertive, but what if, after gulping one or more ZAP pills, I underwent a complete transmutation and became a totally different man? The danger that the testosterone might turn me into an insensate brute was very real to me. The possibility was there, I might lose the ability to feel anything but fury and hostility that demanded physical aggression for release.

This concern had an unexpected consequence, I realized how much I loved my wife and son. I confessed to myself that I had neglected my familial responsibilities. I had become an absent husband and an absent father. it was during this period, when I was contemplating all the possibly dire results of swallowing the ZAP pill, that one night, while preparing for bed, I said to my wife in a low voice, "I love you, Mabel." astonished would be no To say that she was she stared at me, eyes wide in exaggeration, belief.

"What brought that on?" she asked.

But having blurted out an intimate truth, I didn't have the courage to continue. It was all so new to me, you see. I was not in the habit of verbalizing my innermost thoughts and emotions.

Somehow it seemed shameful. I know how ridiculous that must sound to you, but it was the way I was.

So I merely shook my head in answer to my wife's question and went to bed. I could see the disbelief in her face, and it saddened me.

I met the same doubts when I attempted to repair my relations with my son.

"Chet," I said to him one morning, "before school starts maybe I'll take time off from work, and you and I can spend a day together. How would you like that?"

He looked at me strangely. "Gee, I don't know," he said hesitantly.

"I got a lot of things planned. I'm going to be awfully busy."

So I dropped it, discouraged by my failure to communicate with wife and son. I couldn't blame them, my behavior must have seemed suspect.

They were so accustomed to my chilly reserve that my awkward attempts to demonstrate my love caused uneasiness. I began to wonder if I could ever convince them I was trying to change, to improve.

I admit I was confused, and ordinarily I might have confided in Marleen Todd, described my problem, and asked for advice. But she would surely inquire why I was suddenly intent in persuading my wife and son that they were important to me, that I loved them and wanted their love in return.

To answer that question truthfully, I would have to inform Marleen that I was about to test a pill that could conceivably turn me into a savage beast. And before that might happen, I wanted to establish myself as a warm and loving husband and father. I wanted to prove my humanness.

But, of course, I could tell Marleen nothing about the ZAP Project.

First of all, I was sworn to secrecy. And second, if I did tell her, I knew what her reaction would be, She'd be horrified and outraged that I had developed a product designed to increase aggression in a world already awash in violence.

So I sat in my den, the door locked, and bounced those darrmable white pills on my palm, reflecting they had the potential to utterly change my life. Whether for good or for evil I could not say.

But I knew I would soon find out.

I always had a very close relationship with my daughter Tania. I was thankful, and proud, that she treated me more as a peer than a mother.

She confided in me, asked my advice, and seemed genuinely interested in my work.

But recently I had noticed a kind of secretiveness in her behavior.

She wasn't as forthcoming as usual, and she seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time with Chester Barrow.

"Tania," I said to her, "you have so many nice friends, but you've hardly seen any of them this summer."

"Mostly they've been away," she said. "Like, on a trip with their parents. And Gloria Peretz went to tennis camp, and Marsha Gilcrest had her tonsils out. So not many of them have been around."

"I'll bet you'll be happy when school starts, and then you'll see them all again."

She didn't reply to that, and I let the matter drop. I wanted to mention that I thought she was, spending too much time with Chet Barrow, but if she was lonely during the day and he offered companionship, it seemed cruel to criticize.

Knowing what I know now, I realize I should have been more alert to her moods and resentments, no matter how fanciful. But to tell you the truth, I was so engrossed in my work at the lab that I neglected my duties as a mother. So part of what happened was undeniably my fault.

The development of Cuddle progressed faster than I had dared hope.

Because of my personal situation with Herman, I had decided to reconstitute the aroma so that men might find it attractive as a cologne or after-shave. This was a relatively simple task of replacing the lavender and floral essences with sprightlier scents such as citrus, pine, and peppermint.

The most difficult problem was increasing what we called the "Projection" of the fragrance. There are perfumes, for instance, that simply don't "carry", only the user is aware of the aroma, and a person standing quite close might not even be able to sniff it. Other perfumes, of course, project so powerfully that the smallest amount can fill an elevator.

After trying several different top notes, I came to the conclusion that for chemical reasons I could not understand, the oxytocin had a deadening effect on other scents. When I tried it on my wrist, I was certainly conscious of the aroma. But when I asked the opinion of my coworkers in the perfume lab, they could hardly believe I was wearing a scent.

But as a mood and behavior modifier, Cuddle exceeded all my expectations. Repeated trials on myself proved that it had a fantastic ability to make the user feel relaxed, almost languid.

More importantly, it increased sympathy for others, spurred a desire for loving togetherness, and heightened a sense of caring.

Darcy amp; Sons had asked Mcwhortle Laboratory to produce a new fragrance that would create a feeling of romance, intimacy, and warm understanding. I was certain Cuddle fulfilled those specifications and would be an enormous commercial success.

I was so proud of my triumph that I could not resist telling Greg Barrow what I had accomplished. We were driving home from the lab on the last day of August when I said, "Greg, I have something wonderful to tell you. But you must promise to keep it absolutely confidential." "Of course," he said.

Then I related the whole story, the assignment to develop Cuddle, my serendipitous discovery of an aerosolized form of oxytocin, and how I had succeeded in using the sex hormone in a perfume that had amazing effects on mood and behavior.

"Good effects," I emphasized. "Cuddle just makes you love the world and everyone in it."

"Congratulations," Greg said. "it sounds like you've done an original and ingenious job."

I was driving and couldn't turn to stare at him. "I thought you'd be more excited," I said.

I heard him draw a deep breath. "Marleen, you deserve all the credit in the world. It was a creative idea. But I doubt very much if Cuddle can ever be marketed commercially."

I was stunned. "Why on earth not?" I demanded.

"The Food and Drug Administration," he said. "Can you really see them approving an over-the-counter product that contains a human sex hormone?

I can't. The FDA would demand years of tests.

And even if they eventually okayed it, I think there would be endless objections from consumer organizations. Look at the problems with getting the public to accept the growth hormone and genetic engineering.

You had a remarkable concept and achieved what you set out to do. But I suspect the client will reject it out of hand. It's just not a salable product."

I knew at once that he was right, and I wondered how I could have been such a fool to think that Cuddle could ever be sold alongside Obsession, Passion, and Opium.

"Oh, God," I said, "what an idiot I've been! All those months of work wasted!"

"Not necessarily," Greg said in his serious way. "It's quite possible the aroma you have created might well find a use in psychotherapy. It would have to undergo rigorous testing, of course, but if it alters mood and behavior the way you describe, it could prove valuable in the treatment of, say, depression and suicidal tendencies. I certainly wouldn't junk it just because it'll never be a best-seller. It may turn out to be a very, very important discovery.

That made me feel a little better-but not much. suppose that in some crazy way I had envistoned Cuddle being easily available to everyone Greg had and making for a kinder, gentler world. brought me down from cuckoo-land. But I found reality depressing.

That night, alone in my bed, I was still dejected, still wondering how I could have been such a simp to think for a moment that a fragrance containing a sex hormone could be sold at perfume counters in department stores. I had just been carried away by a rosy vision, never stopping to consider its practicality.

But, dammit, I told myself, it was a good idea, an original idea, and I really had nothing to be ashamed of. I had worked hard, and I had suchad said, it was possible ceeded. And, as Greg that my formulation might be a big help in the treatment of behavioral problems and psychic disorders. After testing, of course. And I knew of one behavioral problem on which I was determined to do the testing myself. I after midnight.

Herman didn't return home until late. I heard him come stumbling up the stairs and slam his way into the guest bedroom, making no effort to avoid waking Tania or me. I listened to him preparing for bed, showering to remove the traces of his most recent infidelity, no doubt.

I had absolutely no qualms about what I intended to do. at the breakfast table, he The next morning, e was puffy, eyes looked like God's wrath. His fac bloodshot, and he was barely able to get a cup of, black coffee to his lips, his hands trembled so. But I made no comments on his appearance.

"Herm," I said as casually as I could, "I've been working on a new cologne for men at the lab, and I think I've finally got it right. I wish you'd try it and tell me what you think."

He looked up at me dully. I frequently gave him samples of new colognes and after-shaves, as I did to Greg Barrow and other male neighbors, to test their reactions and hear their suggestions.

"Sure, lion," Herman said. "Leave it on the bathroom sink in the guest bedroom, and I'll give it a go. It's not flowery, is it?"

"Oh no," I said. "It's a real he-man's scent, spicy, minty, and very refreshing. I think you'll like it. The client wanted something different and powerful.

"Sounds good," he said. "What are they going to call it?"

"Stud," I told him.

"Hey," he said, perking up, "that's for me." know that? Like runirls can be bossy, you Gning away from home was my idea, I thought it up.

But then I told Tania Todd about it, and mean she was right away she was taking over. I going with me, told me what to pack, and even picked the day we were going to leave. Are all girls like that? of course, I admit she got her uncle to lend us a hundred dollars which we needed. And the other things she did weren't wrong, it's just that she acted like she was running things and I wouldn't be able to leave home without her. That was wrong. I probably would have done better without her tagging along. But I didn't tell her that because she'd start crying, and then I'd have to take it back.

So we were going to go on Wednesday, September 2, like she said. I had all my stuff packed in a bag I had shoved under my bed, because my mom never dusted under there. Also, I had decided to make some baloney sandwiches to take with us, on the morning we left. Tania said that was a good idea but they should be ham and cheese. See what I mean?

The funny thing was that during that last week my father was trying to be real friendly and talking to me and all. He even wanted to take a day off from work and we would do things together. I couldn't figure out why he was acting so strange like that, and I wondered if maybe he knew I was going to run away and was trying to make up for how mean he had been to me so I wouldn't go.

I told Tania about it, and also how happy my mother suddenly was, laughing and joking with me all the time. Maybe she knew, too. But Tania kept saying it was just a faze (I think that's how you spell it) that they were going through and pretty soon they'd be right back to the way they were before and treating me miserable.

"I guess you're right," I said.

"I know I'm right," Tania said. "Sometimes my father is nice to me when he remembers to be, but then he's up to his old tricks again. I hope you're not thinking of backing out, are you, Chet?"

"Of course not."

"Because if you change your mind, I don't care. I'll just run away by myself."

"I'm not going to change my mind," I said. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

We were sitting in our garage where we went so no one could see us. We were talking about what would be the best way to get to Disney World after we left her uncle's place, like, should we hitch a ride or take the bus? And suddenly, right out of the blue, Tania said, "You don't care for me." Boy, she really knew how to mix up a guy. I said, "I do so care for you. I kissed you, didn't I?"

"oh, that," she said. "That didn't mean anything to you."

"it did so, too."

"I bet you've kissed lots of girls."

"Well, I haven't."

"Never?

"Well, maybe one or two," I said.

"Who were they? Do I know them?"

"Nah," I said, "you don't know them-" That was a lie. "They were just girls."

"Why did you kiss them?"

"Holy moley!" I said. I was getting sore. "I don't remember why I kissed them. Okay?"

"You don't care for me," she said again, and we were right back where we started.

I began to think that if she was going to talk like that all the time, maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let her come along when I left home. I mean I couldn't figure out what she wanted.

"Look," I said to her, "I don't ask you how many boys you've kissed."

"Well, I haven't," she said. "You're the only one. So that proves how much I care for you. Because you're the only boy I've let kiss me."

"Tell me what you want," I begged her. "Just tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it."

"That's no good," she said. "You've got to say it on your own." , Well, that was one talk we had in the garage, and I didn't know what she was getting at. I was all mixed up, and even though I thought about it a lot, I couldn't understand why she was, like, mad at me. I didn't do anything to her. I wished there was someone I could ask about it, but there wasn't.

I was hoping she'd forget about it, but she didn't. Almost every time we talked she'd ask if I cared for her. I mean she really picked on me.

"Now look here," I told her, "if we're going to be traveling, I'll take care of you. Don't worry about it.

"That's not what I mean, Chet," she said.

"Well, what do you mean?" I asked her.

"When I ask if you care for me, I mean do you like me?"

"Sure, I like you."

She was quiet a while, then she said, "Do you love me?"

Geez, she was something. First it was did I care for her, then it was did I like her, and now it was did I love her.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Kids are supposed to love their parents, and maybe their relatives and a sister or brother, if they've got one. But kids aren't supposed to love other kids."

"Who says so?" she said.

"Everyone knows that. When you get grown up, it's okay to love someone and then you get married. But kids can't get married, so what's the point of loving someone? It wouldn't do you any good."

"You can love someone and not get married," she argued.

"Freddy Washburn told Velma Burkhardt he loved her, and they're just kids and can't get married. ,who told you that?"

"Told me what?"

"That Freddy Washburn told Velma Burkhardt he loved her."

"Velma told me."

"Well, Freddy Washburn is a real nerd, everyone knows that, and he was probably lying."

"No, he wasn't," Tania said. "He gave Velma a friendship ring. it's got like this little blue stone in it. So that proves he loves her, Chet."

"He probably found it in a box of Cracker Jack."

"But he gave it to her. That's the point."

"Well, what do you want me to do-give you a friendship ring?"

"That would be nice," she said. "it would show you love me."

"I didn't say I did."

"Does that mean you don't?"

"I didn't say I did, I didn't say I don't. What's important about it anyway?" so She sighed. "You just don't understand."

"I sure don't," I said. "Explain it to me."

"Well, if a boy says he loves a girl, then she is his girl and he can't love anyone else. And if a girl loves a boy, then she can't love anyone else either. It's just the two of them, forever and ever."

"That's stupid," I said. "What if one of them moves away?" , "Then they write each other or talk on the telephone.

"But what if one of them moves to like Russia and they never see each other again. What happens then? "

"It doesn't make any difference, Chet," she said. "They've got to keep on loving each other, because they said so."

"That's stupid," I said again. "It just don't make sense." "Doesn't," she said. "And it's not stupid. It means the boy and girl belong to each other. And if one of them gets hurt or gets sick, the other one takes care of them."

I didn't say anything.

"If I get hurt or sick, Chet," she said. "I mean after we run away.

Will you take care of me?"

"Sure," I said. "Of course I would. I wouldn't just leave you."

"Well, that proves you love me. And if you gave me a friendship ring, it would be like a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That we belong to each other."

"Hey," I said, "it's awfully hot. Let's put our suits on and go to the pool."

"All right," she said.

I was glad she agreed. Talking about love and all that mush was making me nervous.

I sat in that stinking wheelchair every day, and every day I wondered if I had been a goddamned fool not to accept Uncle Samuel's offer of prostheses and elbow canes. I don't know why I opted for a chair. I think maybe I didn't want to display my infirmity in public. Or maybe I wanted to play the martyr. who the hell knows. Do you always know why you do the things you do?

That's especially true of moral choices. They're a bitch, because no one gives you a guid when you're born. You're supposed to learn by education, training, and experience. But sometimes you're faced with conflicts that nothing has prepared you for. There are no precedents, and common sense can only take you so far.

What brought on that fit of introspection was the business of my niece, Tania, planning to run away from home. I figured that if I snitched on her, she'd never forgive me. But if I kept her plans secret, as I had promised, I could be endangering her safety. I didn't like to think of what kids like her and Chester Barrow might face on the road by themselves.

So I batted it back and forth, and I finally decided to inform their parents. I told Cherry Noble what I was going to do.

"I'm glad, Chas," she said. "Children are not just young adults, they're children and haven't yet learned to act in their own best interests."

"I guess," I said. "I keep wishing Tania may eventually forgive and forget I betrayed her. And maybe it'll make the parents pay a little more attention to their kids. It's a gamble."

"All our choices are gambles," Cherry said. "Aren't they?

We try to calculate the odds and go with the decision that offers the best chance of success. But sometimes we go against the odds.

That's called hope."

"Thank you, doctor," I said.

"How are you going to tell the parents?" she asked, ignoring my sarcasm. "Telephone them?"

"No, that's too cold. Herman comes here for lunch every Thursday.

I'll tell him then," "I think that's wise," she said. "Be sure to say or imply that you think it's the shortcomings of the parents that made Tania want to leave home. I wish you could talk to the mother, too."

"I will," I vowed. "I'll tell Herman to ask her to come out here so I can talk to her one-on-one. I'm going to be tough on them."

"Good," Cherry said. "Even if Tania is imagining her grievances, they should be aware of them."

So that was that, another crisis dealt with, a decision made.

But I couldn't forget what Cherry had said about all our choices being gambles. The most important bet I had to make involved her.

What convinced me were things I had said and things she had said about my book-in-progress, The Romance of Tommy Termite. It didn't take a giant brain to realize I was writing about myself.

All of Tommy's indecisions were mine, and all his hopes were mine.

That included love, marriage, home, family-the whole megillah.

It wasn't that I was unhappy with the way things presently were between Cherry and me, ut our relationship irked me because it seemed b incomplete. There was something missing-and it wasn't just sex.

It took me a while to figure out what was bugging me, but I finally identified it, There was no commitment.

I had reached the point in my narrative where Tommy the Termite decides to give up his bachlorhood and ask Lucy to marry him. (I could hardly wait to write the termite wedding scene, that was going to be fun.) Anyway, Tommy goes through a lot of mental and emotional anguish before he decides to pop the question. He's afraid of giving up his independence. He's afraid of losing his freedom.

He's afraid of taking on responsibilities he isn't sure he can handle.

I was afraid of those things, too, and in addition I had the fear of impotence to overcome. It was no use saying the decision was a gamble, take a chance, and what did I have to lose. I had a lot to loseand so did Cherry Noble. Maybe it was because we had spent those years as analyst and analysand that I had little hesitation in talking to her about it. , "First of all," I said, "I want you to know that I realize this isn't wholly my decision to make. I have no idea what your reaction might be, but I know it's just as important or more important than mine. So you'll have your mind to make up after you help me make up mine. What I'm trying to say is that I'm not taking you for granted. I hope you understand that."

"I understand," she said quietly.

It might have been the first day of September but South Florida was still sweltering. I had finally sprung for a new air conditioner, a beast of a machine that could bring the inside temperature down to the point where you could hang fresh hams on the walls.

It wasn't quite that cold, but I kept it chilly enough so that Cherry always brought a light sweater along when she came to visit. We were sitting close to each other, working on a bottle of Frascati, when I started my confession.

I remember very well that the bathroom door was open and the light was on in there. It didn't provide much illumination for the big room, but it was a bright night, a full moon or close to it, and a pearly glow was coming through the windows. It was like being under water, looking up and seeing a wavery translucence, almost hypnotic.

Cherry was paled by that light. It made her eyes seem dark and enormous. I suppose I looked as masked to her, and I thought it odd, because that night I wanted no part of disguises.

"You must know I care for you," I started.

"Care?" she said with a small smile. "That's rather insipid, wouldn't you say, Chas?"

"How about I'm fond of you, " I said. "Is that better?

"Not much."

"You're a tough lady. All right, I like you. Will you buy that?"

"You can do even better," she said. Try."

"First let me tell you what's bothering Tommy the Termite."

I told her about all his fears and the struggle he was going through trying to decide whether or not to propose to Lucy.

"Those are my fears, too," I told Cherry.

The bottle was in a bucket of ice at her feet. She leaned to refill our glasses. The wine looked as colorless as water in the moon t.

"And what does Tommy decide?" she asked.

"That's fiction," I said. "This is us."

"And I thought you had made up your mind," she said mockingly. "After all, you did say you liked me."

"Oh, God!" I burst out. "Care for, fond of, like, have affection for-is there anything I've left out?"

She looked at me. Was she amused or hurt?

"Whatever happened to love?" she said.

"Ah," I said, "the four-letter word. What is it?

Tell me that."

I think she laughed. "Someone once asked Louis Armstrong what jazz was.

He said, Man, if you gotta ask, you'll never know."

"

"At least tell me the symptoms."

"An ache, uncertainty, a hope, longing."

"That's it?

"That's it."

"I may have it," I said.

All right, I was bewildered. You've got to picture me, a grizzled old fart planted in a wheelchair. And there was that slim, elegant woman, brainy, with the greatest legs God ever created. And she wanted me to say I loved her. I knew she did. And I couldn't. You'd say I had been popping stupid pills, wouldn't you?

We stared at each other, and there were so many things unsaid, by me at least.

"This is worse than going into a firefight," I said.

"Is it so painful? I'm not pressuring you, you know. I wouldn't want you to think that."

"I don't think it. All the pressure is coming from meand it's driving me nuts. Give me a clue, doc."

"Chas, you're thinking about it too much, trying to solve your problem by linear reasoning."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

"Not in matters of faith. That is determined by emotions.

"Are you telling me love is a faith?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. You can analyze the beiesus out of any faith, tear it to tatters with logic and reason. But if it's strong enough, it will survive."

"That's heavy stuff," I said. "You want me to act on what I feel and not on what I think? " She nodded. "Follow your heart and not your head. Is that banal enough for you?"

"Plenty," I told her. "It's what Tommy the Termite does.

He decides to marry the girl, and they live happily ever after."

"Well?" she said. don't scare easy, but I admit I was getting antsy.

What happened was this, Willie and I had a meet with Jessica at her place, and she told us how she had spotted a black Camry driving past her house. But the guy behind the wheel, who Willie claimed was Teddy O an enforcer from Miami, Jess made as John R.

Thompson, who had conned his. way into her home by posing as a property tax appraiser. , and they got no one by that name working for them. So the bastard diddled me. I should have my brain examined."

I was spooked by the story, but Willie didn't lose his cool.

"Let's not panic," he said. "I'm just guessing that Teddy O. is working for Big Bobby Gurk. But it's possible that he's cooking some caper of his own that's got nothing to do with the ZAP pill."

"That's crap," I said, and I told them about Gurk's last visit when he told me he suspected the three of us were planning to dork him.

"Oh, he knows all right," I said bitterly. "And I'm betting he and his bloody playmate are plotting something nasty."

"Shit," Willie said, which surprised me, because usually he talked like a perfect gentleman.

"Hey," Jessica said, "I think right now we could all use a belt.

Chivas for you, Laura, vodka for me, and club soda for you, Willie.

Okay?"

She brought the drinks, and we sat there awhile without speaking. Jess and I were waiting to hear how Brevoort was going to handle these new developments. After all, the whole fucking deal was his idea, and he was supposed to be the ballsy honcho.

"I still think our original scenario is a good one," he said finally.

"But now we'll have to make a few minor adjustments.

First of all, let's move up the schedule and make our move before Bobby Gurk and Teddy O. can hit on us. Suppose we do it on Wednesday, September second, at noon. All right with you ladies?"

Jessica and I nodded.

"And since they may be tailing jess's car and mine, let's switch to your Taurus, Laura. Okay?"

"Sure," I said. "Jess and I can trade cars for the day."

"We'll still use this for our safe house," Willie went on, "because I'm convinced it won't be for more than one day.

Gregory Barrow will hand over the pill after the first phone call, I'm sure of it, he'll be at work in the lab. But now the problem is how do we get Mabel Barrow out of the house on September second? If she's around, it might queer the whole operation."

"That's easy," I said. phone Mabel on Wednesday morning and tell her Hashbeam's Boteek got in some new lingerie that's just right for her. She'll come running, I can practically guarantee it."

"Good," Willie said. "Then I think that takes re of everything. Any questions?" ca "You'll be with me in the Taurus?" Jessica asked him.

"Of course," he said. "That part of it will go just like we planned.

We come back here, call the chemist at the lab, and that's it."

"Willie," I said, "are you sure this cockamamy thing is going to work?"

"I'm sure," he said. "It'll go like silk, you'll see." He still had half his club soda left, but Jess treated me and herself to refills.

"Then what?" Jessica asked him. "Assuming we get the pill, what happens next? Go over it one more time."

"All right," he said patiently. "I take off as planned. I go to another city, probably another state. I get the ZAP pill copied and the business organized. it might take a month or so, but trust me.

I'm not going to shaft you. It's not my style.

And I figure that after a month or so Gurk will lose interest. After all, what can he do? He hasn't got the name of the chemist so he can't glom on to another pill."

"The asshole can come looking for us," I reminded, him. "Jess and I will still be here."

"That's right," he agreed, "but you both knew that when you signed on for this. If he shows up, just tell him that I suddenly disappeared, you don't know where I went, and to the best of your knowledge I never did get the ZAP pill. I honestly don't think he's going to lean on you."

We didn't say anything. Willie finished his drink and stood up.

"I don't think we should meet again," he said, until this goes down.

Let's stay in touch by phone. And by Wednesday or the day after this whole thing will be wrapped up, and we'll be on our way to easy street.

After he left, Jessica poured us another drink and we sat staring at each other.

"What do you think?" she asked me.

"I thought I could handle Big Bobby," I told her. "But after that last boff I'm not so sure. When Willie takes off, I think Gurk will come looking for us, and he might get physical. Him and that Miami killer."

"Let me tell you something," Jess said. "Something I haven't told Willie the Weasel, and I don't want you mentioning it to him.

After I saw Teddy O. casing my home, and remembering what Brevoort said about him being a hatchet man, I decided to put the house up for sale.

So I've got it listed with a real estate agent. After we get the ZAP pill, I'm leaving with Willie, and I'm never coming back. Wherever we go, I'll hire a lawyer to handle the sale of the house for me. But I'll be long gone with no forwarding address so Big Bobby Gurk and Teddy O. can't feed me to the sharks. Guys like that scare the hell out of me."

"My God, less," I said. "Then what happens to me? You and Willie will leave me to face the music. And like you said, those guys don't play nice when they think they've been dorked."

She thought a moment. "Laura, do you own that condo of yours?"

"No, it's leased."

"Then you can walk away from it. Take my advice and start packing. Do like I am, I'm taking two suitcases of stuff I really want and just leaving the rest of my shit. What the hell, if you can believe Willie, we'll have all the money in the world to buy new things."

I looked at her. "You know, Jess, I think you're right.

I'll get ready to split as soon as we have the pill. The three of us will leave together."

"Also, she added with a twisty grin, "it won't do any harm to keep an eye on Willie the Weasel, in case he has any cute ideas of screwing us out of our shares." in,m,i like the way you think," I told her.

"I'm beginning to have my doubts about that grifter. ever since he found out He's been running scared Teddy O. was on his tail. We'd be schmucks to let him take off by himself with the pill. We'd probably never hear from him again."

"That's the way I see it," Jess said, nodding. "So the two of us will stick to him like a second skin. just to protect our investment, you know."

"Right on!" I said. "I'm going home now and start packing. You have any idea where you'd like to go after we dump this burg?"

"I've been thinking about New Orleans, " she said.

"I've never been there, and I hear it's a wide-open town."

"Suits me," I said. "I'm ready for a change of scene.

Anyplace where Big Bobby Gurk isn't part of the landscape."

I finished my drink, kissed Jessica good-night, and headed for home.

I turned into the parking lot of my condo just as a black Camry was coming out. I saw the driver in my headlights, a little guy wearing wire-rimmed specs. I could have sworn he smiled at me.

I almost wet my pants.

I wasn't surprised that Gurk had told Teddy O. where I lived, but it was a shock to see him keeping tabs on me. I hurried inside, locked the door, drew the drapes. I pulled out two suitcases and started packing.

I had some nice things, and it was going to break my heart to leave most of them behind, but it had to be done. I finally selected my favorites, not the stuff William K. Brevoort was storing in my closets.

Wherever we were going, the sonofabitch could buy his own dresses. got up Tuesday morning with the usual industrial strength hangover.

When I stared in the bathroom mirror, I could see what all the boozing and whoring was doing to me. I was beginning to look like an old lush, my face pasty and bloated. I wondered how long it would take my liver to collapse, just like my father's.

Marleen had left for work, and Tania was out somewhere, so after I showered and shaved, I wandered next door to cadge a black coffee.

Mabel Bar row was sitting at her kitchen table flipping the pages of a tabloid magazine. She glanced up as I came in.

"Herm, you look shot," she said.

"I am shot," I admitted. "But nothing that your delicious coffee won't cure. How about it?"

She got up to make me a cup of instant and put out a plate of glazed doughnuts. She was wearing pink plastic curlers in her hair. That turns me off. But she was also wearing, a T-shirt (no bra) and short shorts. That turns me on.

She sat across the table from me and nibbled on a doughnut.

I know it will sound like I was around the bend, but the sight of her sharp white teeth biting into that doughnut was the sexiest thing I had ever seen, and I decided it was time to go for broke.

"Tomorrow's the day," I told her.

"For what?" she said, all innocence.

"What you and I talked about," I said. "The romance of the ages."

"I don't know," she said hesitatingly. "I'm not sure.

I reached across the table to take her hand. "Mabel," I said, looking directly into her eyes, "don't pass up this chance, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life-and so will I. You and I are meant for each other, I just know it. We think alike, and we feel alike. We both want the same thing-a little fun, a little- happiness, before we get too old to enjoy it. Am I right?"

She nodded.

"Then let's do it," I urged her. "Tomorrow at noon. No one will know, no one will find out. just you and me. It'll be our secret, and it'll be great." She finished her doughnut and licked her fingers. "What should I wear, Herm?" she asked in a low voice.

I grinned at her. "Whatever you can get out of in a hurry.

We're not going to be playing Chinese checkers, you know. Mabel, this is going to be the joy of a lifetime. I'm going to love you like you've never been loved before."

"I've got to get home in time to make dinner. if "That'll give us at least four hours together. Four hours of paradise."

"You'll get there before me?"

"Guaranteed.

"And there won't be any problems with the desk clerk?

"Absolutely not. I'll grease his palm to make sure.

There's an ice machine in the lobby. What do you want me to bring along to drink?"

"I like Galliano."

"You've got it. I'll even bring a lime. Now let I'll write down the me have a piece of paper, and I address and how to get there."

Before I left the Barrow kitchen, we embraced and exchanged a soul kiss.

My God, she was soft.

And so ready! I could feel it.

"Wednesday noon," I whispered in her ear. I'm going to take you to the stars."

"Don't forget the Galliano," she said.

I drove to my office as horny and excited as a teenager.

The first thing I did was phone the motel and reserve a room for noon on Wednesday, September 2. I asked for a vibrating bed, figuring it might be good for a laugh.

I slaved all day, catching up on the paperwork I had been neglecting.

I went out for lunch but didn't have a single drink.

I was determined to stay sober and get to bed early. I wanted to be physically fit for the motel scene on Wednesday. I, just knew it was going to be a memorable bang.

I was a Boy Scout for the remainder of the day, worked hard, treated my employees with respect (to their shock), and went directly home from the office. I did stop briefly to pick up fresh flowers and a key lime pie.

Question, Why are married men who plan to cheat so attentive to their wives beforehand?

What a nice, peaceable, domestic evening that was! Marleen loved the flowers, and Tania loved the pie. But I think what they liked best was that, for the first time in a long time, I was acting like a "man of the house," a sober and solicitous husband and father. To tell you the truth, I didn't find it a trial. I think I enjoyed it.

I may have been wrong, but that night I had the feeling that with a little salesmanship I could have persuaded Marleen to let me into her bed. I didn't make the effort. All I could think about were sharp, white teeth biting into a glazed doughnut. I guess there are words for guys like me. Schmo is one of them.

"Oh, by the way, Herm," Marleen said, "that new cologne I told you about-I left a sample on your bathroom sink. I wish you'd try it and tell me what you think."

"Sure, lion," I said. "I'll use it tomorrow."

I awoke early on Wednesday morning. It was a strange feeling to get up unhungover. What a high that was! I heard Marleen and Tania moving about and talking downstairs, so I stayed in bed until the house quieted down and I knew Marleen had left for work.

Then I started getting ready for the first day's assignation-with emphasis on the syllable.

I probably don't have to tell you, but in situations like this the man's preparations are as detailed and finicky as the woman's, if not more so.

I mean I took extra care in brushing my teeth and shaving closely. I did a thorough job in the shower, too, and spent a lot of time in selecting my seduction costume, not too dull, not too flashy. it was, I thought, something like putting on a confirmation suit.

But before I dressed, I inspected the new cologne marleen had left on the bathroom sink. It was in a spray dispenser and unlabeled. I spritzed a little onto one hand, rubbed my palms together, and sniffed the fragrance.

I liked it. As Marleen had said, it was spicy and minty and had a very refreshing after-scent. I sprayed my armpits and rubbed some on my chin, neck, and chest. it was cooling which, I supposed, came from the alcohol base. But even after that evaporated, I could smell the aroma.

It wasn't overpowering, and I had the feeling Mabel Barrow would love it. That wonderful woman!

All perfumed and duded up, I went out into a perfect day, warm sun, cloudless sky, kissing breeze. What a great world it was! I saw Tania and Chet huddled in the Barrows' garage and waved to them. What marvelous kids! Both of them were winners, and I loved them, I really did.

The drive to the Fort Lauderdale motel was a delight. I just felt so good that I wanted it to go on forever! It was like being born again, seeing, everything for the first time. Colors seemed so vivid, traffic sounds were music, and I even sang as I drove. I don't remember the tune but it was so bright and cheerful I had to laugh!

The people at the motel couldn't have been nicer, I had no problems at all. The room they gave me was spacious, sunlit, and spotlessly clean.

It was only then that I realized I had forgotten to bring a bottle of Galliano. I went back to the lobby and from a vending machine I bought two cans of cold A amp;W diet root beer. I was happy with my choice.

Mabel would be delighted!

She arrived about twenty minutes later, and she looked absolutely beautiful! She was wearing jeans and a pink cotton shirt, and her hair positively glistened. She was radiant, and I realized how fortunate I was that she loved me.

I took her in my arms and told her how I felt.

"Sweetheart," I said, "just being with you is all a man could want.

These moments are so precious to me. You look so sweet I could eat you up."

"That, too," she said. "Where's the Galliano?"

"First," I said, "let's snuggle awhile."

She looked at me strangely. "Snuggle?" she said. on Tuesday morning Herm came over for a Hcup of java and gave me the motel pitch again. I figured what the hell, fish or cut bait, Shouldn't-I have fun. and I was tired of the shit I was taking So I made up my mind right then and told him okay, I'd shack up with him at noon on Wednesday If he was even half the lover he claimed to be, it would be a hoot. had Finally deciding calmed me down. I mean I been worrying the problem a long time, and now I felt with Dr. Cherry things. I had a session better about esday afternoon and tried to explain. Noble on Tu "Look," I said, "I'm no great brain, and I know it. I happen to be a very physical woman, and I need my jollies. Is that so awful?"

"Quite normal," she said, smiling.

"So I've decided to kick over the traces," I went on. "One time, at least. I don't like the idea of cheating on my husband, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him-right? , "Mmm," she said.

"I know I'm taking a chance," I said. "I mean if this guy turns out to be the world's greatest stud, I might get hooked.

Know what I mean?"

"I know," she said.

"Then it would become a habit, and I'd turn into a bimbo.

But I don't think that's going to happen. I may not be brainy, but I know what's best for me. Greg has a lot of good qualities.

He's steady, a hard worker, and I guess he loves me in his own nutty way. And he brings home the paycheck. I'm not giving that up for a toss in the hay, even if the guy turns out to be Superman."

Cherry looked at me a moment. "I presume the man you're talking about is your next-door neighbor, the one you told me about."

"That's right. He's a boozer, which is another reason I can't see myself getting seriously involved. But he's fun, and that's something that's been missing from my life."

"By fun I presume you mean sexual pleasure."

"That's what I mean all right. Do you blame me?"

"No, Mabel, I don't blame you. I'm not going to tell you that you're doing the right thing or the wrong thing. It's your choice to make.

Do you want to continue seeing me?"

That question surprised me because after I decided I'd give Herman Todd a hump, I also decided I didn't need Dr. Noble anymore. I mean I had found a cure for what ailed me, hadn't I?

So why did I need a shrink? Besides, it cost plenty.

"I think I should stop," I admitted. "I really appreciate your listening to all my complaints. It's been a big help talking to a smart woman like you. But maybe I'll try things on my own for a while.

Okay?"

"of course," she said. "I understand completely. I wish you the best of luck, and if you ever decide you'd like to talk to me again, I'll be here."

"You're a darling," I said.,You know that? Listen, doc, you got a guy?"

She flipped a hand back and forth. "Sort of," she said.

"Well, he's an idiot if he lets you get away," I told her.

She laughed. "Thank you, Mabel. I think so, too, but I'm not sure he does."

"What's the problem?" I asked her.

She looked at me in a strained kind of way. "Much the same as yours," she said finally. "With complications."

And that's all she'd say.

I spent all Wednesday morning getting ready. Chester was out in the garage with Tania Todd-I guess they were playing or something-so I had the house to myself.

I was going to get all gussied up because this was a big deal in my life. But then I figured what was the point because I'd be bare-ass naked all afternoon and didn't have to impress Herm with my duds. He'd probably rip them off anyway. So after I showered, I just pulled on jeans and a cotton shirt so if anyone saw me, they'd think I was heading for Sears or someplace like that. , While I was doing my hair, Laura Gunther phoned from Hashbeam's Bo-teek.

"Mabel," she said, all excited, "you've got to come down right away.

We just got in a new shipment of lingerie, and you're going to love some of the things. I took one look and immediately thought of you."

"Aw, Laura," I said, "I can't make it today. I promised this friend to have lunch with her at Mizner Plaza. As a matter of fact, I was just leaving when you called."

"That's too bad," she said. "You'll be gone all day? "

"Probably," I told her. "But I'll try to stop by tomorrow.

"

"That's fine," she said. "See you then."

So I finished dressing. I didn't take a purse or handbag, just my wallet stuck in the hip pocket of my jeans. I didn't want to run the risk of leaving ID in the motel room.

"Chester, I'm going out now," I called into the garage.

"Got some shopping to do. I'll be home for dinner."

"Okay, Ma," he yelled. "Take your time."

I got into the Roadmaster, took a deep breath, and started out for Fort Lauderdale. Herm's directions were easy to follow, and I don't think it took much over twenty minutes to find the motel. What can I tell you-it looked like a motel. It wasn't the Ritz-Carlton, but it seemed clean enough. The best part was that it was way off in the woods, and the chances of being spotted by someone I knew were practically nil.

Like Herman promised, I had no trouble at the desk. They gave me his room number right away with no questions asked. Up to that point, everything had gone without a hitch, and I was really beginning to get excited at what was going to happen now.

The room he had rented was nothing special, just your standard motel flop, but what the hell, we weren't going to live there. What was a shock was Herm's behavior. He greeted me with this sappy smile, and if I didn't know better, I'd have guessed he was stoned. Not drunk, but stoned.

After the door closed and locked, he grabbed me in his arms and held me tightly. He said he wanted to snuggle awhile. So we stood there clasped together like a couple of idiots for what seemed like five minutes. "Oh, I just love to hug," he said.

"Don't you just love to hug?"

"Well, yeah, sure," I said. "A hug is okay. Sort of like an appetizer-know what I mean?"

Finally he turned me loose and led me over to one of the beds. We sat close together. Now we'll get down to business, I thought. Then I noticed a thing on the bedside table that looked like a little vending machine. it had a long wire leading to the mattress.

"What's that?" I asked him.

"Oh, that's funny," he said. "You turn it on, and the bed starts to vibrate."

"No kidding?" I said. "I've never seen anything like that.

Turn it on, Herm."

"We don't need it, sweetheart." , "I just want to see how it works. Switch it on.

So he did, and I turned the dial to High. Sure enough, the whole bed began to shake.

Hey," I said as we started jiggling, "that's crazy. Now's a good time to have a swig of Galliano."

"Oh, I forgot to bring it," he said. "But I do have this cold A amp;W diet root beer. Isn't that great!"

I just looked at him, and he put an arm around my shoulders.

"The important thing, Mabel," he said, "is caring. Don't you agree?"

"Oh sure," I said, wondering where the hell he was coming from.

"I care for you so much," he went on. "You have no idea.

Do you care for me, dear?"

"Would I be here if I didn,t?"

He held me tighter and nuzzled at my neck. "We must respect each other," he crooned, "and love each other. I want to tell you my innermost feelings, and I want you to tell me yours. I want us to be truly intimate, Mabel, to share all our secret thoughts and dreams."

Meanwhile that insane bed had warmed up, was going faster, and we were bouncing up and down like acrobats on a trampoline.

Herm had trouble hanging onto me.

"Just to cuddle with you is so wonderful," he said, speaking louder because the bed was beginning to sound like a meat grinder.

"I've wanted a romance like this all my life. I know now that if there can be warm understanding between a man and a woman, that's the most marvelous thing in the world."

"Herm," I said, "how do you turn this goddamned thing off?"

"You and I can create a whole new world of two," he babbled on, still with that sappy smile. "I want us to become so loving that nothing, not even death, can ever part us. Oh, Mabel, Mabel, Mabel, I love you so much.

"When?" I yelled. "When?"

He hugged me tighter to keep me from being bounced off.

"Snuggling like this," he shouted in my ear, "is the answer to my dreams. I want to spend the rest of my life being. the best, the truest, the most loving friend you've ever had. I want tall "Shit!" I screamed, and got off that galloping bed. I staggered a moment, caught my balance, and headed for the door.

As I ran down the corridor, I heard his echoing wail, "I love youuuuuu!"

EYEWITNESSTESTIMONY made a meet with Teddy O. on Wednesday morning, this is September 2, and I says to him, "Teddy, I'm sick and tired of futzing around. Let's do it today."

"Yeah," he says, "it's about time. I figure about one o'clock will be best. The Fiddler dame is usually home then."

"How do we do it?"

He shrugs. "Nothing fancy. We just bust in and ask her politely to give us the name of her boyfriend, the chemist with the ZAP pill."

"And if she clams up?"

"Then we unclam her," he says, grinning. "Believe me, she'll talk.

Either the easy way or the hard way."

"Okay," I says. "Let's leave here at noon. Maybe we'll grab a burger and some fries first. We'll go in your car. Are you sure you won't need any backup?"

"I'm sure," he says.

I phoned Mabel Barrow on Wednesday morning, figuring to get her out of the house by tricking her into coming to the Bo-teek to look at a new shipment of lingerie. But she said she had a lunch date and couldn't make it.

So when Jessica and Willie showed up at Hashbeam's in jess's car, I told them what had happened.

"But she said she'll be gone all day," I added. "So there's no need to change our plans."

"Good enough," Willie said. "As long as the kid is there by himself."

"Look," I said, "I don't want to sit here all day sucking my thumb.

Give me a call after it goes down and let me know what's happening."

"I'll phone you," Jess promised. "Now give me the keys to your Taurus.

You got enough gas?"

"Full tank," I assured her. "Listen, I wish you guys the best of luck."

"Piece of cake," Willie said, and I hoped he was right.

I brought all my stuff over to the Barrows' garage on Wednesday morning after Mother left for work. Chet had already brought his things down, so we were all ready to go. But Mrs. Barrow was still in the house, and we talked about how we could run away while she was there.

"We didn't think of that," Chet said. "How are we going to call for a cab if my mom is here? She'll want to know what's going on." , Then we saw my father wave to us, and he left in his car.

"Now we can move all our stuff to my house," I said, "and call a cab from there."

"Gee, I don't know," Chet said, and I could see he was worried. "Mom could be looking out the window and see us leave."

We were still talking about what we should do when Mrs. Barrow shouted from inside the house and said she was going shopping and would be home in time for dinner. So we waited until she drove away, and then we went into the Barrows' kitchen to phone.

I drove Laura's car with Willie the Weasel in the passenger seat.

He wasn't saying much, and I could tell he was going over our scenario in his mind, figuring how to react if something went wrong.

"No rough stuff, Willie," I warned him.

"Nah, Jessica," he said. "It's not my style. I've got a scam all worked out. The kid knows me, see, and thinks I'm a friend of his dad.

So I'm going to tell him his old man was hurt in a lab accident and is asking for him."

"You think he'll fall for it?"

"Sure he will. Then once he's in the car, I can handle him."

"I hope you're right."

"Trust me. And as soon as we get to your place, I'll phone Barrow at Mcwhortle's."

"It's tricky, Willie."

"It's a sure thing," he said.

"The last time someone told me that, I got busted didn't i, had to pay a fine, and was lucky I get tossed in the slammer." ,you worry too much," he said.

Tania and I waited in the garage until my mom drove away. Then we went into the kitchen and phoned the cab company. Tania wanted to do the talking, so I let her. She gave the man our address and told him to hurry. She was real bossy.

He said it,ll be about twenty minutes," she reported. "So now all we have to do is wait."

"Maybe we should move all our stuff out to the curb," I said.

"No," Tania said. "Someone might see us and ask where we're going.

We'll have the cab pull in the driveway and we'll load up right here."

"Listen, Tania, do you think you should call your uncle and tell him we're coming? He might be out."

"He can't go out," she said. "He's in a wheelchair and never goes anyplace. But maybe I'll phone anyway and- tell him we're on our way."

So she did and talked to her uncle a few minutes. Then she hung up and said, "He's there, and everything's okay."

"Are you sure he'll give us the money?"

"I know he will," she said. "He promised, and I trust him."

We were standing outside in the driveway, watching for the cab, when a Ford Taurus pulled up in front of our house. A man and a woman got out and came walking toward us. I recognized the man. He was the guy in the silver Infiniti who said he was an old friend of my dad. , Tania phoned me a few minutes before noon on Wednesday and said she and Chester Barrow were all packed and ready to go, and she had already called for a cab. They would be out at my place within a half hour to pick up the hundred dollars.

That was the worst news I could have heard. I had planned to tell Herman about the kids' intention to run away when he came for lunch on Thursday. But now I only had thirty minutes to figure out what to do, and I admit I was totally flummoxed. So I called Cherry and explained the situation.

"How do I handle it?" I asked her. "Give them the money or try to talk them out of it or what? I need quick advice, doc.

She was silent a moment. Then, "I can cancel my afternoon appointments, Chas. I'll have my receptionist tell them I have a family emergency.

It's a half-truth. I think I better come out to your place. Perhaps I can help you with the kids."

"God bless," I said. "I write books for children, but this is something beyond me."

"I'm on my way, she said.

I hung up thinking what a true-blue woman she was. I realized then how much I had come to depend on her. Not just for offering to help with Tania and Chet, but for doing her damnedest to make me a whole man again. It took this crazy emergency to make me see it.

I made up my mind right then. She might say no, but if I didn,t at least try, I didn't want to imagine what my future would be like. They don't give you medals for regret.

Jessica and I got out of the car, and I saw Chester Barrow standing in the driveway outside his house.

There was a little girl with him.

"There's the boy," I told Jess.

"Who's the girl, Willie?" she asked.

"Never saw her before," I said. "A complication, but I can finagle it.

Let's go."

We walked up to the kids, and I took the boy by the arm.

"Hiya, Chet," I said. "How you doing?"

"Okay," he said, looking at me.

"Listen, I got some bad news. Your dad's been hurt in an accident at his laboratory. He's been taken to a hospital, and he's asking for your mother."

"She's not home," he said.

"Then you better come along with me," I said, tugging at his arm.

"Your dad should have family with him."

"Don't go, Chet," the little girl said. "Phone the lab first and see if he's telling the truth."

I knew right then it was going to go sour if we didn't move fast.

"Jessica," I said, "hold the loudmouth until I get the kid in the car."

Jess got a good grip on the girl, and I started to drag the boy toward the Taurus.

"Is this a snatch?" he asked me.

I almost laughed out loud. That kid had been watching too many crime shows on TV. "Yeah, it's a snatch," I told him, talking tough. "And I , got a big gun. I'll blow your head off if you give me any trouble."

I pushed him into the backseat and climbed in after him.

Jessica released the girl and came running. She got behind the wheel, and we pulled away with a chirp of tires.

"How much ransom you going to ask for?" the kid wanted to know.

I was in my office on Wednesday morning, working on a reformulation of Cuddle. After what Greg had said about the objections of the FDA, I realized a perfume or cologne containing a sex hormone could never be marketed commercially. That did not mean, of course, that I could not produce a limited amount for my private use if the sample I had given Herman to try had the desired result of modifying his behavior.

I was preparing to go down to the employees' cafeteria for lunch when my phone rang. It was my daughter, so excited she was almost incoherent.

"Tania," I said patiently, "I can't understand a word you're saying.

Now just slow down and tell me why you're calling."

"They just took Chet Barrow away!" she shouted.

"What? Who took him away?"

Then she told me a man and woman had pushed Chet into their car and driven away with him.

"They kidnapped him," she said, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. "And the woman held me, and I tried to kick her and bite her, but I couldn't. She really held me tight, and I bet I have bruises tomorrow."

"Tania, where are you now?"

"I'm in our house, in the kitchen."

"I want you to stay inside. Lock all the doors and windows.

Don't go out and don't let any strangers in, no matter what they say.

You understand?"

"Yes, Mother. Should I call 911 and tell them what happened to Chet?"

"I'll take care of it, dear. You just stay inside."

"Can I call Daddy's office and tell him?"

"Yes, you can do that. And I'll tell Mr. Barrow immediately.

We'll be home as fast as we can get there." I hung up and rushed down to Greg's private lab.

I worked all Wednesday morning on the final ZAP Project report.

I left the Conclusions section blank until I had tested the testosterone pills hidden in my study at home. Those were the only tablets I had produced, and I didn't intend to make more until I had observed their effects on myself.

My phone rang shortly after twelve-thirty. I did not recognize the man's voice.

"Mr. Gregory Barrow?"

"Yes. Who is this calling, please?" lilt,s not important. What is important is that we're holding your son, Chester."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your son has been kidnapped, Mr. Barrow."

"I don't believe it!"

"Would you care to talk to him? just a minute." , I waited, frightened and trembling. Then, "Hi, Dad," Chester said cheerfully.

"Are you all right, Son?"

"Oh sure. They haven't hit me or anything. They just pushed me in a car outside our house and drove me here. It's a snatch, Dad."

"Chet, put the man on again."

After a moment he came back on the line and said, "Satisfied, Mr.

Barrow?"

"You hurt him, and I'll kill you, I said.

"No need for threats," he said calmly. "We have no intention of harming the boy-if you agree to our terms."

"How much?" I asked hoarsely.

"Not money," he said. "Just a few of the ZAP pills.

I caught my breath. "How did you know about that? "

"What difference does it make?" he said. "That's the ransom, Mr.

Barrow. You hand over a few testosterone pills to us, and the boy walks away unhurt.

You refuse, and I can't guarantee his safety. Think it over. I'll call you in about an hour, either at the lab or at your home, and give you instructions for delivery.

I suggest you refrain from informing the police. That wouldn't be smart, Mr. Barrow." Then he disconnected, and I sat staring at the dead phone in my hand. There was a pounding on my lab door. I unlocked it, and Marleen Todd rushed in.

" Greg, " she said in a stricken voice, "Tania just called and said something dreadful happened to Chester."

"I know," I said. "I've got to get home."

"I'm going with you," she said.

Willie sat in the backseat, hanging on to the boy while I drove.

I was afraid the kid might scream or start crying but he was no trouble at all. He just kept asking how much ransom we were going to demand.

To tell you the truth, I think he was en)oying it, like it was a big adventure he could brag about to his pals.

When we got to my place, we hustled him inside and closed all the venetian blinds. Our original plan was to tie him up in case he got any ideas of making a break for it. But he was so well behaved we didn't have to use the clothesline I had bought. I brought him a Coke and some Doritos and he thanked me politely.

Nice kid.

Willie called Gregory Barrow at the lab and let him talk to his son a minute to prove we had him. Then he told Barrow we wanted the ZAP pill and would call again in an hour to tell him how to make the drop.

"Let him sweat awhile," Willie said after he hung up "My Dad don't sweat," the kid said.

Willie said, "Doesn't." I thought that was funny.

I got myself a vodka and a club soda for Brevoort. Then I phoned Laura at Hashbeam's like I had promised and told her everything was copacetic.

We were all just sitting there waiting for the hour to pass when my front door bell rang.

"Don't answer it," Willie said in a whisper. "And everyone keep quiet." just to make sure, he got a grip on the Barrow boy and put a hand over his mouth.

The bell rang again, a good long ring, but we sat there without making a sound.

Then suddenly my front door burst open. It was locked and chained, but there was a splintering sound, and I thought it was coming off the hinges. It didn't, but it swung wide open, hung crazily, and the elephant who had put his beef to it came stumbling in. And right behind him was a little guy wearing wirerimmed glasses.

I knew who those bums were.

Believe me I've busted through heavier doors than that one. So Teddy O. and me go barreling in, and there's this classy-looking head, Willie Brevoort, and a little kid, a boy who was maybe ten years old, about that.

"Well, well, well," I says. "May we join the party?

No one says a word.

"I bet you're Jessica Fiddler," I says to blondie. "Am I right?"

She doesn't answer.

"And what's your name?" I says to the kid.

"My name is Chester Barrow," he says, "and I have been kidnapped. I think you should call the police and these people should go to jail."

I look at Teddy O and he looks at me.

"Kidnapped?" I says to the boy. "Why should they do that? is your daddy rich?"

"They don't want money," he says. "This man phoned my father at the laboratory where he works and told Dad he wants some kind of pills, and when he gets them I can go home."

I grin at Teddy O and he grins at me.

"Beautiful," I says. "Just lovely. And is your daddy going to hand over the pills?"

"I guess," the boy says. "This man told my father he'd call him again in a little while and tell him how to deliver the pills."

"Stoolie," Willie says.

"Hey," I says, "watch your language. He just wants to go home. Am I right, kid?"

"Yes," he says, "and they should go to jail."

"They certainly should," I says. "Willie, phone the boy's daddy and tell him to deliver the pills here." He doesn't make a move.

"Teddy," I says, "persuade him."

That guy was some slick operator. With one fast swoop he's got the sharpened ice pick out of the ankle sheath and he's holding the point under Brevoort's chin.

"Make the call, Willie," I says gently. "Tell the chemist to bring the pills here."

"Very well," he says.

Teddy O. looks disappointed.

After I left Herman Todd at that funky motel, I drove home as fast as I could. I had never been so humiliated in my life. I mean, after the way he, pitched me, I was primed for a world-class hump, but he turned out to be all talk and no do. All I got was an earful of caring, respect, warm understanding, and cuddling. What kind of bullshit is that?

When I got home, Greg, Marleen Todd, and Tania were standing in the driveway talking and all excited. They filled me in on what had happened, and I almost fainted. My first thought was that God was punishing me for going to the motel with Herm. I was. glad we hadn't screwed, or maybe I'd never see Chester again.

"Greg," I said, "what are we going to do?"

"Wait for the phone call," he said grimly, "and then do whatever they want to let Chet go."

"Maybe we should call the police."

"No," he said, "definitely not."

Then Marleen saw a pile of bags and suitcases stacked just inside our garage door. "Tania," she said,,lwhat is your overnight bag doing out here?"

The girl started crying. "Chet and I were going to run away," she sobbed.

"Oh my God," her mother said, flopped to her knees, hugged Tania, and started crying herself. Then I started crying. What a scene that was!

But then we heard the phone ring inside our house, and Greg dashed into the kitchen with me right behind him. He grabbed up the phone.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, this is Gregory Barrow. That's correct. Yes, I understand. Would you repeat the address, please. Thank you. I'll be there as soon as possible."

He hung up and rushed into the den with me on his heels.

"How much money do they want?" I asked him.

"They didn't say."

I watched him root around under a pile of magazines and dig out a little plastic container. He opened it and shook two white pills into the palm of one hand.

"What are you doing?" I said.

He shoved the pills into his mouth and gulped them down without water or anything. Then he shuddered, closed his eyes, and grabbed the edge of his desk. I think he was shaking.

"This is a hell of a time to be popping aspirin," I yelled at him.

His eyes opened slowly, and he stared at me.

What a look that was!

"Shut your big, fat mouth," he said.

Well, when those two guys came busting through the door, there was a huge one and a little one with glasses, I thought everything was going to be okay. I mean I figured they would call the police, and I would tell them how I got kidnapped. Then those crooks would go to jail, and the cops would take me home.

But it didn't work out like that. It looked like they all knew each other. The guy who claimed he was a friend of my dad, his name was Willie, and I think he was lying, I don't think he ever went to school with my father like he told me. He and the pretty lady, her name was Jessica, were the two crooks who snatched me.

The other two guys who broke the door down were really tough. The huge one was named Bobby,, and the little one was Teddy. I was scared of him because he had this ice pick he held under Willie's chin and made him call my dad and tell him to bring the pills right away if he wanted to see me alive again.

I don't know what kind of pills they were, but I hoped my father would bring them right away.

So we sat there waiting, and I decided they were all crooks.

I was afraid they would kill me and my father, because even if he gave them the pills, I didn't think they'd let us go on account of they'd know we'd call the police and report them. I didn't know what to do, and I felt like crying, but I didn't.

Bobby made the lady bring him and Teddy some drinks, and she also brought me another Coke.

"Don't worry, Chet," she said to me. "You're going to be all right.

You'll go home with your dad."

"Sure you will, kid," Bobby said.

But now I didn't believe any of them.

That Teddy, the one wearing glasses, made me nervous. He never sat down, he just stood holding his ice pick and watching us. If I had a gun, he wouldn't act so mean, believe me. If he tried to stick me, I'd just shoot him.

"I've got to go to the bathroom," I said.

"Sure, kid," Bobby said. "And I'll come with you. I wouldn't like you to take a powder."

I didn't know what he meant by that. But he went with me to the bathroom, which was at the back of the house. Bobby inspected it first, and it didn't have any windows so I guess he figured I couldn't get out and run away. He waited for me to come out, and then we went back to the living room.

After we had all been sitting a while, no one talking or anything, we heard a car pull up outside. "That must be the guy," Bobby said.

"Teddy, I'll handle him. You just keep an eye on these two assholes."

My father came in and looked at all of us. He looked a long time at Willie and Jessica, then turned to stare at Bobby and Teddy. And then he motioned to me. "Go out to the car, Chet," he said quietly. " "We're going home." the "Hey, wait a minute," Bobby said. "You chemist from Mcwhortle Laboratory?"

Dad nodded.

"You got the ZAP pills?"

"Yes, I have them." "Then hand them over and we talk about what comes next." "Come on, Chet," my father said. "We're leaving-" Bobby sighed.

"Get the pills, Teddy," he said.

The little man moved close to Dad, holding out his ice pick, waving the tip back and forth.

"Let's have them," he said.

Then my father moved so fast I could hardly off Tedsee what happened.

He jerked the glasses from the face, snapped them in two, dropped them on the floor, and stomped on them hard. I heard the sound of breaking glass.

Teddy jabbed out blindly at where Dad had been standing, but he wasn't there. He had moved to, Lawrence Sanders the side, caught Teddy's arm, and twisted it up behind his back.

The ice pick fell on the floor. Dad pulled the arm up higher and the little guy screamed when the bone broke. My father released his arm, and it just dangled.

Then, quick as lightning, my dad rushed at Bobby and punched him in his fat belly. Bobby went "Ooof!" and kind of doubled over. Dad grabbed up a big brass table lamp and smashed it down on Bobby's skull. He just fell down and my father started kicking him in the head. He kept kicking until Bobby's face was all bloody and his nose was yucky.

Then he went back to Teddy who was flat on the floor, groaning and holding his broken arm. Dad started jumping up and down on him, his chest and his stomach. Held just leap in the air, come down hard, and then do it again. I think the little guy passed out.

Then my father stopped and took a deep breath. He looked at Willie and Jessica. While he had been destroying the two guys, they just sat there, really stunned.

"Chet and I are going home now," my father said sternly.

"Any objections?,' Willie cleared his throat. "None whatsoever," he said.

"Let's go, Son."

We went out to our car together. I took his hand.

"Dad," I said, "you were awesome."

After Mabel Barrow left the motel, I stayed for almost an hour, sipping diet root beer and reflecting on what an intimate and nurturing encounter ours had been. I felt that I had, perhaps for the first time in my life, been totally open and honest with another human being. I had shared myself, my inner self, with Mabel, and the experience gave me a glow of happiness.

I returned to my office, and Goldie told me that my daughter and wife had phoned several times, sounding frantic. I called home immediately and learned that Chester Barrow had been kidnapped and his father had gone to rescue him. In addition, Tania and Chet had been planning to run away. Also, my brother Chas had phoned and wanted me to call him as soon as possible.

"Courage, dear," I said to Marleen. "I'll come home at once and provide all the support I can."

By the time I arrived at Rustling Palms Estates, Greg Barrow had returned home with Chester, and that family was reunited and happily bonding with one another. Marleen, Tania, and I gathered in our own kitchen, and I urged Tania to tell us honestly why she had intended to run away.

She offered many critical comments on my past behavior. I assured her that the censure was warranted, and the blame was completely mine. I promised to abandon my bad habits and begin to conduct myself as a loving father should.

"That's another thing, Daddy," Tania said. "Sometimes I think you don't love Mother and me. You never say you do."

After ten minutes of earnest pleading, I believe I convinced both wife and daughter that my love for them was genuine and deep.

Henceforth it would be verbalized frequently and reflected in my actions. , "Remember," I told them, "we are a world of three, and it is in our power to be supportive of one another. The important thing is to get in touch with our innermost feelings and share them in a homey atmosphere of warm intimacy."

They eagerly agreed that sharing could revive our family and create the closeness we sought. Then Tania left to learn from Chester Barrow the details of his brief kidnapping. I phoned my brother and related all the events of that afternoon. I also informed him of my resolve to mend my ways and provide the spousing and fathering my dear family deserved.

"Glad to hear it," Chas said. "So Tania isn't going to run away?"

"I think I persuaded her that I am fully aware of her discontent and will do everything in my power to ensure her happiness."

"Good God Almighty!" Chas said, and hung up.

My wife had gone upstairs, and after speaking to my brother I followed her. I went first to the guest bedroom where I freshened up, using more of that cologne Marleen had given me to try. Then I knocked on the door of her bedroom.

"Come on in," she caroled.

We sat close together on the bed, and I spoke again of our love, the need to share our innermost feelings, the importance of compassionate understanding, sympathetic parenting, and mutual nurturing.

Marleen lay back on the bed and held her arms out to me.

"And don't forget quality time!" she cried.

Jessica phoned me at Hashbeam's Bo-teek, and the moment I heard her voice I knew the whole deal had crashed. Well, what the hell, I knew it was a crapshoot when I got into it.

Jess told me what happened, talking so fast I could hardly keep up.

"Laura," she finished, "Willie and I are taking off. As soon as we can.

Before those two gorillas come to."

"They're not dead?"

"Nah. I wish they were, but they'll revive. Both of them are candidates for Intensive Care. But eventually they'll get out, and I don't think we ought to be around when they do."

"You got that right, Jess," I told her. "If you and Willie are lamming, I think I better skedaddle along with you. How soon can I get my car back?" w. I'm taking my packed "We're leaving right no e things." suitcases. I hate to leave so many nic "Don't worry about them," I said. "They're only things. just worry about saving your ass."

"Yeah," she said, "you're right. Survival is what it's all about-" it was Wednesday evening before we got everything organized. We met at my place. Willie had his silver Infiniti packed with all his wardrobe, including evening gowns and wigs. Jessica decided to dump her old clunker and drive with me in the Taurus.

"Drive where?" I asked again. "How about New Orleans?" Jess suggested again. , "Suits me," Willie said. "I got enough cash to keep us going awhile.

If we have to, we could open a small crib until I can set up an information racket again. Is that okay with you ladies?"

I didn't like the idea of getting back in the skin trade, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life at Hashbeam's either@specially with Big Bobby Gurk on the prowl.

So we all had a final drink before we set out. I had a bottle of champagne in the fridge, left over from my cocktail party, and that's what we had.

"Here's to a glorious future," Willie said, hoisting his glass in a toast.

We all drank to that, and then we got in our cars and headed out. I remember that as we drove along that night Jessica and I sang that old song that goes, "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream..

" Like she said, survival is the name of the game.

On the drive back home I said to Chet, "I want you to promise me something, Son." And whatever had happened, whatever Mabel had done or hadn't done, he was my son.

"Sure, Dad," he said. "Whatever you say."

"When you tell Mother and your friends about your kidnapping, please don't mention anything about the pills. It's a confidential research project I've been working on, and I wouldn't like people to know about it."

"I won't say a word, I promise."

"It'll be our secret," I told him. "Just the two of us."

"Yeah," he said happily. "I can keep a secret."

Mabel was delighted to see us, of course. She wept, embraced both of us, and wanted to hear the story of Chet's rescue over and over as if she could hardly believe our good fortune.

"And you didn't have to pay any ransom!" she marveled. k care of "Not a cent," Chet assured her. "Dad too those crooks. He just mopped up the floor with them. You should have seen him. He was Rambo!"

After dinner-macaroni and cheese-I went into my study and closed the door. I had some heavy thinking to do.

There were ten ZAP pills remaining, and I hid the container in the bottom drawer of my desk. Their potential frightened me because I realized I had been in a murderous frenzy when I attacked those two men.

It was only by the grace of God that I refrained from killing them.

Drugs with that effect, I knew, should not be made available, even on a limited basis for what might be considered patriotic reasons.

The question was how to end the ZAP Project. If I told Colonel Henry Knacker I had failed, he'd be sure to take the assignment to other research laboratories, and what I had created, I was certain would eventually be duplicated by other chemists. t There was also the problem of what might happen when the two criminals I had assaulted were released from the hospital.

Surely they would come, looking for me again, and I feared they might devise more vicious and successful methods of obtaining the pills.

I finally decided that my best course of action was to make the ZAP Project a matter of public knowledge and depend on public outrage to put an end to the development of testosterone additives.

To accomplish this, I determined to write anonymous letters to The Miami Herald, The New York Times, and The Washington Post, detailing the interest of the U.S. military in producing a "diet enrichment" that would turn our combat soldiers, even temporarily, into conscienceless killers. I was confident that investigative reporters would be assigned to look into my allegations, and I had faith that the resulting outcry by the American people would end the ZAP Project forever. And the publicity would certainly deter the criminals from attempting further mischief.

I realized, of course, that by writing even anonymous letters to the newspapers, I was breaking the vow of secrecy I had signed, and I could be prosecuted. But I didn't care. Marleen Todd had been correct, A psychoactive drug that flouts the norms of society is simply wrong. It is unethical and immoral to develop it and prescribe it. Humanity comes first.

There was a soft knock on my study door, and it was opened.

"I'm going up to bed now, Greg," my wife said.

"Chet is already asleep. I guess he was worn out, the poor kid."

"Mabel, we should have spoken to him about why he wanted to run away.

He's obviously unhappy."

"Was, maybe, but he isn't now. He said that after what happened today he knows we both love him. I told him we certainly did, but we haven't paid as much attention to him as we should have. I said all that is going to change. From now on we're going to do more things together, as a family. Am I right, Greg?"

"You're exactly right. And I'll tell him so myself tomorrow.

"Are you coming up soon?"

"In a few minutes, after I lock up."

"Hurry, honey," she said.

I went through my nightly routine, locking doors and windows, turning off lights. Then I went upstairs. Mabel was waiting for me, naked in bed.

Later she said, "Darling, I've never had so much fun in my life!"

I said, "I haven't finished yet. We've got all night."

"oh lordy, lordy, lordy!" she said joyfully.

"You know, Cherry," Chas said to me, "if I didn't know better, I'd say my brother was stoned. He wasn't drunk, but he was talking like a goof.

After he told me the kids had decided not to run away, he started blathering about parenting, sharing his innermost feelings, and nurturing his wife and daughter. You think the idiot has finally flipped his wig?"

"I doubt that," I said, laughing. "I think he's suddenly discovered some basic truths and is trying to, express them in the gobbledygook that passes for the language of sociology these days. I don't know where he picked up the jargon, but if he really means what he says, it doesn't make much difference how he expresses it. The important thing is that he seems to have become a paterfamilias again."

"Yeah," Chas said. "Let's hope it lasts."

The problem of the runaways having-been solved, we relaxed for the first time that afternoon. There was beer in the fridge, and we each had one, drinking from the can because it seemed the lazy, carefree way of doing things now that the crisis had passed.

"Now about us," Chas said, and stopped.

"Yes?" I prompted him. "What about us?"

He took a deep breath. "How about this? Let's get married.

" I stared at him. "You're serious, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"When did you decide?"

"It's been growing," he said. "Germinating. I finally knew I'd have to go off the high board, or it would be the end of me.

A purely selfish decision. Half a decision. The other half is yours."

"You know the answer to that," I said. "Yes, yes, and yes."

"Wait a minute," he said. "There's something that has to come first.

You game?"

"Yes," I said, "I'm game."

"Don't help me. I can do this myself."

He wheeled himself over to the bed and set the chair's brake.

He braced his massive arms, lifted himself up and swung onto the coverlet.

"Over the top, lads," he said. "Follow me, men. Do you bastards want to live forever?"

He began to undress with nervous fingers. I took off my clothes and lay down beside him. He looked at me with a tender smile. He stroked my naked body.

"It all looks so good," he said. "I'll have a few slices of white meat, please. And the drumsticks, of course," he added.

"Do you think we'll live happily ever after?" I asked him.

"Like Tommy the Termite?"

"Hell, no!" he said. "We'll fight, we'll claw, we'll scream, we'll send each other right up the wall. Occasionally. We're human, aren't we? But I think we'll make it. Don't you?"

"Oh, yes," I said, reaching for him. "We'll make it."