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 doz
en 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.
Private Pleasures Page 16
