"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 pe
rsonality.
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."
Private Pleasures Page 15
