Private Pleasures

by Lawrence Sanders

  "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.
r />   "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.