Private Pleasures

by Lawrence Sanders

  We had a great dinner at the rib joint. Laura told me about the problem she was having with Gurk. He wanted her to stay home every night in case he suddenly decided to drop by. She told him to get lost, and they were always fighting about it. , "That elephant thinks he owns me," Laura said. "He doesn't pay enough to own, he just rents."

  "Why don't you dump him," I suggested. "You should be able to do better."

  "I'm working on it," she said. "I met a guy out at the club the other night who thinks he's God's gift to women. Married, of course, but he's got deep pockets. I gave him a freebie. The next time he comes sniffing around I'll tell him the facts of life, no pay, no play. it Then we started talking about new summer fashions, what was in and what was out. After a while it was time for me to leave.

  We split the check and made plans to go to the beach on Sunday.

  I got home around eight-thirty. My six-year-old Pontiac was making funny noises, and I decided I needed new wheels. I figured I'd drop a few hints to Mcwhortle. He knew all about no pay, no play.

  Willie the Weasel showed up right on time, looking as nifty as ever.

  That guy sure knew how to dress. All he wanted to drink was a glass of club soda, so I brought him that.

  I told Willie about Mcwhortle's visit that morning. I didn't want to give him the whole jar of the new moisturing creme with bronzer in it, so I dug out a tablespoonful and wrapped it in aluminum foil. He said that would be enough for analysis. I also told him about Mcwhortle's client who wanted the lab to develop a suntan lotion combined with an insect repellent.

  "Sounds good," he said. "See if you can get me a sample when it's finished."

  He took the foil-wrapped moisturizer and gave me a white envelope containing my payoff – I guess handing me bare cash just wasn't his style, it had to be in a clean white envelope.

  He started to leave, then suddenly stopped. "Oh, by the way," he said casually, as if he had just remembered, "anything new on that testosterone pill?"

  It was a great performance, but it didn't fool me one bit.

  I mean the guy was slick but I was slicker, I knew immediately that he was really interested in the ZAP thing, which meant big bucks were involved.

  "Yeah," I said, "Mcwhortle talked about it some."

  "What did he say?"

  "Tell you what," I said, "I figure that project is something special.

  Very important. Top Secret stuff."

  He stared at me. "I told you there'd be an extra two big ones if you can get me a sample."

  "So you did," I said. "But I prefer a pay-as-you-go plan.

  How about an extra grand right now?"

  His expression froze up. "You wouldn't be getting greedy on me, would you, Jess? "

  "Nah, Willie," I said, "not me. I'm just doing what you do.

  You told me you buy information from people who know and sell to people who want to know. Right? Well, I know and you want to know. Greed isn't involved. It's just business."

  His face was still set, but he dug out his wallet and this time he handed over the cold cash, his hand to mine, no white envelope. I thanked him and told him what Mcwhortle had said about the injections making pit bulls out of mice.

  "And does he think it's going to work on men? the Weasel asked.

  "He said he doesn't see why it shouldn't if they can make it into a pill or powder."

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

  The schmuck wanted me to show him my hole card? What did he take me for-a total twerp? I was going to feed him information all right, a little bit at a time. Cash on delivery.

  "No," I said, "he didn't mention any name." Brevoort nodded, tucked his wallet away, and started out. He paused at the door.

  "That's a very attractive frock you're wearing tonight, Jess," he said.

  "Thank you," I said.

  After the door closed behind him, I stood there a moment, still startled.

  How many times have you heard a man use the word "frock"? I wondered, What's with this guy? must confess I had high hopes for a perfume based on oxytocin, the "cuddle hormone." If it succeeded, the wearer and anyone who sniffed it would become emotionally warmer, more affectionate, more caring. It seemed to me that in today's world such a scent would be of inestimable value to both sexes, but especially to men.

  But Cuddle might have an even wider application. I was aware of the exciting things the Japanese were doing with what are called home fragrances or area fragrances. Perfumers were releasing scents through the ventilation ducts of homes, offices, and factories. It was claimed that certain tailored fragrances reduced stress, calmed anxieties, and improved the morale of workers assigned to boring routine jobs.

  In other words, mood and behavior modification via the sense of smell! it was fascinating to imagine what effect Cuddle might have on a large gathering in an enclosed area. It was possible that such a mollifying scent, released, through air conditioning vents, could be used to control prison riots.

  And sprayed in the hall of a diplomatic conference it might result in quick and friendly agreements.

  Our supply department had to order the aerosolized form of synthetic oxytocin from Europe, and while awaiting its arrival I busied myself experimenting with top and central notes for the new perfume. Top notes are usually of the citrus family. They give the scent a fresh, tangy odor when first sniffed, but rarely last long. Central notes are the body of the fragrance, giving it richness and "heart." They are customarily floral scents.

  The base or bottom note in the final meld is the longest lasting and gives each perfume its unique personality.

  I started blending a lemony extract as a top note with lavender for the central. The oxytocin, if its scent was acceptable or if it had an objectionable odor that could be neutralized or masked, would be the distinctive foundation of Cuddle., When the containers of the aerosolized synthetic hormone finally arrived, I carried them into the lab and organized my private worktable. There were two other "noses" in the lab at the time, but they were intent on their own projects and paid no attention to what I was doing.

  I prepared several strips of blotting paper and set up a drying rack.

  Then, donning thin latex gloves, I held a strip of paper with wooden tongs and dampened the lower half with oxytocin spray. I passed the strip quickly beneath my nostrils and sniffed. I smelled nothing.

  Then I brought the strip closer and inhaled deeply. I caught an odor that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. I tried again.

  The faint scent puzzled me. There was nothing in my experience as a perfumer that was even remotely similar. It was not citrus, floral, resinous, oily, or of animal origin. It really had no relation to any scent that I could recall.

  I clipped the dampened paper strip to the rack to dry. Then I slowly walked along the shelves of bottled fragrances and extracts, reading labels and hoping to find one that might jog my olfactory memory and provide a clue to which family of scents the hormone belonged. I found nothing that could be compared. The oxytocin seemed to have a unique fragrance.

  I returned to my table and sniffed my test strip again.

  This time the distinctive odor was more pronounced, as it naturally would be since the liquid carrier was evaporating. Now the drying scent was more Pleasing and triggered a vague association in my mind I could not define. I sniffed once again and was convinced the scent was stirring a sensory memory. But I couldn't pin it down.

  I took the test strip from the drying rack with tongs and carried it across the lab to the worktable of Mary Goodbody. If there was ever a misnamed woman it was Mary, for the poor dear was terribly obese. But she was sweet-tempered and an absolutely first-rate "nose." She looked up as I came near.

  "Mary," I said, "I hate to interrupt, but would you take a sniff of this and tell me if it reminds you of anything."

  "Sure," she said cheerfully. "Hand it over." , She took the tongs and passed the strip quickly beneath her nostrils, taking a small sniff. "Odd,"
she said.

  She brought the strip closer to her nose and inhaled deeply.

  She was obviously as puzzled as I had been because she stared at the stained blotting paper a moment, shaking her head.

  "Does it recall anything to you?" I asked.

  She took another whiff of the diluted hormone, and her eyes closed.

  She was silent for almost a minute. Then her eyes popped open.

  "Got it!" she said triumphantly.

  "What is it?" I said excitedly. "What does the scent recall?

  "Mauve," she said.

  You know, she was completely correct. The smell of oxytocin produced a memory of mauve. It was the first time in my professional life that a scent had called up a recollection of a color.

  I bent to kiss Mary's cheek. "You're wonderful," I told her, "and right, as usual. Thank you so very much."

  "What is that stuff?" she asked curiously, handing back my sample.

  "Something new," I said, and sailed back to my worktable considerably elated. The recalled memory of mauve fit Darcy amp; Sons' prospectus perfectly. They wanted Cuddle to be a "soft, sentimental, and nostalgic" fragrance. What color fit those specifications better than mauve?

  I wasn't yet ready to test the aerosolized oxytocin on my skin. I first had to determine its effects on mood and behavior.

  If it proved to have none or had deleterious effects, it would simply have to be discarded.

  Our most recent company newsletter had reported the pharmaceutical division was working on a new nasal decongestant to be packaged in an inhaler. I took the elevator up to their enormous lab and asked one of the chemists, Tony Siddons, if I could have any empty plastic inhalers.

  He gave me three of them.

  I returned to my own lab and spent the remainder of the afternoon carefully packing one of the inhalers with sterile cotton batting that had been saturated with synthetic oxytocin.

  Finished, I plugged the inhaler into my nose, once in each nostril, and inhaled deeply. I had an almost instantaneous physical reaction. I was flooded with warmth, a condition somewhat akin to a hot flash. And I felt a mild tingling in my extremities. But these symptoms lasted no more than a minute or two. Then I went down to the garage to drive Greg Barrow back to Rustling Palms Estates.

  We were almost home, chatting of inconsequential things, when Greg said,

  "Would you drop me at the Seven-Eleven, please, Marleen. Mabel phoned and wants me to pick up a quart of milk.

  I'll walk home from there."

  "Of course, darling," I said. "But there's no need for you to walk home, I'll wait for you, sweetheart."

  He turned slowly to look at me. "There's really no need for you to wait," he said. "I'm sure you're anxious to get home."

  "No problem, " I said gaily. "Herman is taking a client to dinner tonight, and Tania and I are just having a salad. No cooking to do, so I'll be delighted to wait for you, dear."

  He said nothing more until I pulled into our driveway.

  Before he could get out of the car, I grabbed his arm, yanked him close and kissed his cheek.

  "Have a wonderful, wonderful evening," I said. "And sleep well. I love you, Greg."

  "Thank you," he said faintly, and hastened away.

  Tania was downstairs, setting the table in the dining nook.

  "Hello, you beautiful thing!" I caroled. "You look so charming in your jeans and T-shirt. Give Mother a great big kiss."

  She complied but then drew away to stare at me. "You okay?" she asked.

  "Never felt better in my life," I said, laughing. "Give me another hug," Herman came downstairs, showered, shaved, and dressed for his dinner.

  Well, don't you look handsome!" I cried, embracing him. "I married a movie star!"

  He pulled away to inspect me. "If I didn't know better," he said, "I'd say you had a few."

  "Love your jokes!" I said. "Just love them! Oh, honey, hurry home as soon as you can." I looked around to make certain Tania couldn't hear.

  "Sweetie," I whispered, "you and I are going to have such fun tonight.

  It's been a long, long time, but tonight we'll make up for it. I love you, Herm."

  "Yeah," he said. "Sure." And he left hastily.

  I heard myself chattering nonstop during dinner. But before it was finished, I became so sleepy I knew I had to get to bed before I collapsed into the salad bowl.

  "Mommy is going to take a nap," I said brightly to Tania. "Now you finish your dinner like the angel you are, and I'll come down later and clean up. I love you, sweetheart. Love you, love you, love you!"

  I managed to get upstairs but I was too sleepy to undress.

  I fell atop the bed fully clothed and was instantly asleep. I never did go downstairs to clean up the kitchen, and I wasn't aware of my husband coming home. I slept for twelve hours.

  All my dreams were colored mauve.

  I got maybe ten phone calls a month, at the most, and three or four of them were usually wrong numbers, Late in May my phone rang one evening, and I couldn't imagine who it might be unless the cops were calling to tell me my nutsy brother was in the hoosegow and needed bail.

  But it turned out to be my niece, Tania, and I laughed.

  "Hiya, honey," I said. "It's good to hear from you.

  Behaving yourself?"

  "Of course I am," she said, very primly. "I called to thank you for that book you gave me which you autographed."

  "My pleasure," I said.

  "Did you read it?"

  "Yes, I did. I liked Tommy Termite-he was funny-and I think you should write another book about him."

  "I'm happy you said that, Tania, because that's exactly what I'm doing.

  In the new book Tommy meets a girl termite and falls in love." , III "That's very nice," she said approvingly, and then she was silent.

  I began to get a little uneasy.

  "Everything all right?" I asked.

  "Uncle Chas," she said finally, "will you do me a favor? A big favor?"

  "Of course I will, honey. What is it?"

  "Could you send me some money?"

  I was startled. I was sure the kid got an allowance, and I wasn't certain if Marleen would approve of my giving cash to her daughter.

  "How much do you want, Tania?"

  "A lot."

  "How much is a lot?"

  A hundred dollars?" she said hopefully. "I really need it."

  That was a stun. "Can you tell me what you need it for? "

  "It's a secret," she said.

  At first I thought she might want to buy her mother or father an expensive birthday present, but then I recalled both their birthdays were in November.

  "A secret?" I said. "Well, you can tell me. I promise not to repeat it."

  "Not to anyone?"

  "Not to a soul. Scout's honor."

  "Well, " she said slowly, "I want to give it to a friend."

  "Oh?" I said. "Boy or girl?"

  A long silence, then, "Boy."

  "What boy?"

  "Just a boy," she said.

  Now I was really concerned. If she had said she wanted to buy a birthday present for a boy, that would have been okay I guess. But I didn't like the idea of her giving a hundred bucks to some nameless boy.

  I had visions of some kiddie extortion racket going on here.

  "I'm not asking you to give me the money, Uncle Chas," she said earnestly. "I want to borrow it. I'll pay you back, really I will."

  "You don't want to ask your mother or father for it?

  "I can't," she said miserably. "You're the only one I can ask."

  I hate dilemmas like that. I mean I loved Tania and thought she loved me. More important, I thought she trusted me. I couldn't betray her secret, not even to her parents. Especially not to her parents. That would, I knew, be the end of my niece's love and trust.

  "Tell you what, honey," I said, "I'll give you the money but-"

  "Lend," she repeated. "Lend me the money."

  "Okay, I'll lend you the money,
but I don't want to mail it because it might get lost or your parents might open the envelope.

  Why don't you tell your mother I phoned and invited you to have lunch with me on Saturday. Tell her it will be like a party, just you and me.

  She can drive you out here and then go shopping or something, and then pick you up later. And while she's gone, I'll give you the money personally. How does that sound?"

  "I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Maybe she'll want to stay for lunch, too."

  "Nothing doing," I said. "This party is just for the two of us. If she gives you a hard time, have her phone me. Okay?"

  "All right, Uncle Chas," she said. "I'll call you back and tell you if I can come."

  I hung up, not certain I was doing the right thing. But I had the definite feeling that something was troubling Tania, and I didn't want to risk compounding the problem with no questions asked and her parents kept in the dark.

  I used to be a man of action-a brainless man of action. I loved track and swimming, fancied myself a world-class miler, and didn't do too badly in the freestyle. I was a real jock and even had dreams of the Olympics. But, of course, all that was when I had legs.

  While I was in the hospital and after I got out, I acquired the habit of thinking-something I had never done much before.

  And this may sound screwy to you, but I discovered thinking can be as addictive as alcohol or nicotine. You can just surrender to pondering, and time passes before you know it and you lose all sense of where you are and what's happening around you. Talk about reverie!

  Thinking can be very seductive. You can dream, fantasize, create all sorts of wild and wonderful scenarios. A lot of my thinking had no relation to reality or-according to Cherry-to what I perceived as reality. But I found it pleasurable. It was still a new world for me, and I never ceased to wonder at the depths of thought. I hadn't yet gotten to the bottom.

  Now I spent at least a half hour thinking about Tania's request for a hundred dollars and envisioning a dozen different plots that might account for it. You may say I was wasting time, but I didn't think so.