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.
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