The Celestial Bed

by Irving Wallace

  "Not true," Freeberg answered sharply. "You're distorting the facts."

  "Am I?" snapped Ogelthorpe.

  "Please allow me the floor," Freeberg demanded. Dr. Ogeithorpe fell silent.

  "I'll give you the facts about Masters and Johnson and prostitutes. They never, not once, used a prostitute as an actual sex surrogate. What happened was this: In 1954, Masters, through movies and observation of seven hundred persons, undertook research to learn what happens physiologically to the human body before, during, and after coitus and orgasm. To accomplish this study, he needed female subjects. So at the outset, he hired prostitutes. This proved ineffective because the anatomies and responses of prostitutes were not like those of other women. So he dropped prostitutes and used female volunteers from the Washington University School of Medicine to be observed and photographed. Then, after Johnson joined him, for their next researches, they decided to study the usefulness of female sex surrogates in therapy."

  Hoyt Lewis stopped Freeberg. "Are you saying that Masters and Johnson never employed prostitutes as sex surrogates?"

  "Never, not ever as sex surrogates," Freeberg told him emphatically as he thumbed through his research notes. He held up a piece of paper. "Allow me to have William Masters speak for himself on this matter." He read from his paper, quoting Masters. "'It should be emphasized that no thought was ever given to employing the prostitute population [as surrogates] . . . . So much more is needed and demanded from a substitute partner than effectiveness of purely physical sexual performance that to use prostitutes would have been at best clinically unsuccessful and at worst psychologically disastrous.'" Freeberg put down his paper. "So Masters and Johnson asked for ordinary women to volunteer as sex surrogates. After careful screening, they found thirteen women from the ages of twenty-four to forty-three to work as their sex surrogates."

  "And these women," Lewis reiterated, "were not prostitutes, although they performed the same role as common whores do?"

  "Not really, not at all," replied Freeberg strongly. "A prostitute is in business to give a man quick gratification sexually. A sex surrogate—in Masters and Johnson's program, and in our own, as you must know—is anything but a sexual athlete. Her task is to rehabilitate an ailing patient. A surrogate is trained and employed to be a therapist's aide, as well as an observer, reporter, role model. In her relationship with a patient, the surrogate—through a series of touching and caressing exercises—tries to help a patient learn how to experience human intimacy. And it works. In the eleven years during which Masters and Johnson treated fifty-four unmarried men with sexual disorders, forty-one of them received help from trained sex surrogates. Of the forty-one men so treated, thirty-two had their sexual problems solved by use of surrogates, and twenty-four of them subsequently married and performed successfully."

  Dr. Ogelthorpe interrupted once more. "How do we know that to be a fact?" he demanded. "How do we know that Masters and Johnson patients were actually cured after being discharged from the clinic? I'm told that Masters and Johnson did sloppy follow-ups on their so-called successful cures, merely getting in touch with each of their subjects five years later—and then only by telephone. Do you regard this kind of follow-up as scientific?"

  Freeberg smiled. "In that regard, permit me to quote the words of William Hartman, a renowned psychologist at the Center for Marital and Sexual Studies in Long Beach, California. When asked about obtaining follow-up data on former patients, Hartman countered with this question: 'When was the last time a doctor ever called you back two years later to ask if you're still cured of that flu?'"

  In response, District Attorney Lewis chuckled good-naturedly, but his companion, Dr. Ogelthorpe, remained unamused. "Let's stick to Masters and Johnson," said Ogelthorpe. "You won't deny one fact. Masters and Johnson gave up the use of sex surrogates in 1970."

  "True," Freeberg admitted, "but not because sex surrogates had proved ineffective. A gentleman named George E. Calvert, in New Hampshire, sued Masters and Johnson for a million and a half dollars on the grounds that his wife, Barbara, had gone to work for them as a sex surrogate and had sexual intimacy with seven male patients. Masters and Johnson settled with her husband out of court and, after that, gave up the use of sex surrogates altogether. Because they were so famous, they were more vulnerable than other sex therapists, and there was always the possibility of further legal harassment. Without sex surrogates, Masters confessed, 'The success statistics with single impotent males have completely reversed. We now have a failure rate of 70% to 75%.' However, with this knowledge of the value of sex surrogates, dozens of therapists, myself included, continue to train them and use them in our work."

  District Attorney Lewis was becoming restless. "Gentlemen, let's stop this quibbling about Masters and Johnson. They are not primarily at issue here. Our main concern is the female sex surrogate. And to me, any female sex surrogate sounds exactly like a prostitute. I see no difference."

  They had come to the heart of the conflict, and Freeberg became more intense, more determined to resolve this, as he addressed the district attorney directly. "Mr. Lewis, there are major differences, believe me. The sex surrogate is guided by a licensed therapist who monitors her regularly. The prostitute is not. The sex surrogate is trained in the use of beneficial exercises involving touch. The prostitute is not. The sex surrogate is motivated by a professional desire to help a dysfunctional patient, to cure him. The prostitute is motivated only to make money, a quick buck, nothing else. The sex surrogate usually comes from a family that has at least one compassionate and loving parent. The prostitute usually comes from a devastated family, one filled with hate and abuse. The sex surrogate devotes herself to one patient as a teacher for a long period of time.

  The prostitute gives herself to an endless number of men in a short period, because she's seeking a quick turnover, is interested in bringing in as much money as possible. As Barbara Roberts, the well-known therapist, once summed it up, 'Most surrogates would make very poor prostitutes and, because they haven't had training and their motivation is different, most prostitutes would make poor surrogates.'

  District Attorney Lewis placed the palms of both his hands on his knees and gazed directly back at Freeberg. "Well spoken, Doctor," he said, "but I'm afraid I'm still not convinced as to the essential difference between the prostitute and the sex surrogate."

  "The essential difference?" repeated Freeberg. "Meaning what?"

  "Meaning they both have the same basic function. It comes down to this, Dr. Freeberg. Let me use the language of the streets. They are both hired and paid to fuck."

  Freeberg tried to remain calm. "Let me reply in kind in the argot of the streets. The prostitute's attitude is: get it in, get it off, then get away. Generally, the prostitute is not someone her partner cares about. The sexual surrogate, on the other hand, is not just an available vagina that offers relief or release. The surrogate is a professional friend skilled at making a man comfortable with his body. She's someone who can revive his ability to be a sensual being, a feeling he probably lost through his upbringing and conditioning. Let me put it another way, Mr. Lewis. The difference comes down to a matter of motivation and purpose. It's the difference you'll find between a surgeon and a mugger. A surgeon will use a knife to cut you, but his intent is to heal you. A mugger will also use a knife to cut you, but his intent is to steal your money."

  The district attorney wrinkled his nose. "I still don't see any real difference between a prostitute and a surrogate. To me, when you come right down to it, they're one and the same thing, performing in the same way."

  "You couldn't be more wrong," Freeberg protested. "The prostitute devotes herself totally to lewd acts and sexual intercourse. The sex surrogate may—just may—devote the last one or two of her twelve exercises to actual intercourse, to prove a cure has taken place. Less than twenty percent of a surrogate's activity with a man involves sexual intercourse. I assure you, sir, the surrogate is not a hooker."

  "We may have t
o let a court of law determine that," announced Hoyt Lewis, coming to his feet with a wheeze. "Anyway, I'm not here to threaten you with arrest. At least, not yet. I'm here because I'm a nice guy, because you're new to this community, because even though you are misguided you mean well, and because I'd like to give you a chance to straighten yourself out. I'm here to propose to you exactly what the city attorney in Tucson, Arizona, proposed to you, before you decided to skip town. I'm advising you to give up totally the use of sex surrogates for hire and to go back to being a good, decent talk therapist, like all those psychiatrists around. Do that, and you're performing within the law and perfectly safe. But first you've got to drop your surrogates."

  Freeberg rose from his chair unsteadily. "Drop them all? You mean that?"

  "If you refuse to cease and desist in their use at once, I will have no choice but to prosecute you for pandering, and your sex surrogates for prostitution. On the first charge, if convicted, you would be liable to serve one to ten years in prison. On the second, your surrogates could wind up with six months in jail. In either case, you'd be out of business in Hillsdale and anywhere else in California. I repeat, I am serious about this. Give up your antisocial practices or suffer the grave consequences. If you resist this compromise, I will have you and your surrogates arrested and arraigned in municipal court. This will lead to a public hearing, and eventually to a public trial sixty days later. I suggest you decide which route you prefer to take. Let's say, within a week. During that time, you or your attorney can inform me of your decision. Understood?"

  Freeberg nodded.

  Taking Dr. Ogelthorpe by the arm, the district attorney started for the door. At the door, he called out over his shoulder, "Thank you for your patience. I hope you make a wise choice."

  Once the pair had gone, and Freeberg was certain that they had left, he lowered himself heavily into his swivel chair and turned it toward the telephone.

  Rattled, he tried to remember the telephone number of his old friend and attorney, Roger Kile, in Los Angeles.

  Recalling the number, he dialed directly to Kile's office. Getting Kile's secretary on the phone, he told her he had to speak to Mr. Kile at once on an emergency matter. "Mr. Kile was just leaving for lunch," the secretary said, "but I think I can still catch him in the hall."

  "Please do. Please tell him it's Dr. Arnold Freeberg." He held the receiver listlessly until he heard Roger Kile on the phone.

  "Roger? Arnold here. Hate to cut into your lunch, but I'm afraid it's a matter of some importance."

  "No trouble at all, Arnie," Kile said. "Hey, you sound a bit agitated."

  "Because I am," admitted Freeberg. "I'm afraid I'm in trouble again, believe it or not."

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "The district attorney of Hillsdale, Hoyt Lewis, just left my office. It was hardly a social call."

  "Trouble, you said. What did the D.A. want with you?"

  "If you've got a few minutes . . ."

  "I've got as much time as you need. Go ahead, tell me what this is all about."

  Freeberg told him. For over ten minutes, he recounted what he could remember of Hoyt Lewis's visit, his threat, his compromise offer.

  "There you have it," Freeberg concluded. "What do I do? Looks like he's got me up against the wall."

  "Hold it, Arnie. Not so fast. There can be a lot more to this before any decision is made."

  "But why is this going on, Roger? In California yet? It doesn't make sense. What's up?"

  There was silence on the other end for a few moments. At last Kile spoke one word. "Politics," he said.

  "Politics?"

  "Nothing less," Kile said. "I've never met your D.A., but I've heard of him, even in Los Angeles. He's popular, and he wants to be more popular. My guess is that he's on the make. Upwardly mobile. He wants to be known statewide, and zeroing in on you and the sex surrogate is a perfect case to capture media attention. He could become quite well known, even land himself a bigger job, if he could win this one."

  "Sounds to me like he can win this one."

  "Not so fast, Arnie. It could be lots more than just another criminal case. It can have far-reaching legal consequences. There are many ramifications."

  "Can I possibly fight him?" Freeberg pleaded. "Do I even have a chance?"

  "We'll see," said Kile. "I'm going to look into all aspects of the matter. Do a little research on my own. Before you hang up, I want you to give my secretary a list of qualified persons—doctors, therapists, surrogates you know and trust, persons who won't mind answering questions and giving me the information I need. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Once I have the names from you, I'll spend this afternoon and evening, as well as tomorrow morning and afternoon, talking to them, in person or on the phone. I should have everything in hand before tomorrow night. Then you and I can get together on this."

  "When?"

  "Soon as possible, of course. I should be ready for you by early tomorrow evening. To give me more time, why don't you drive into Los Angeles? Say, meet me at La Scala in Beverly Hills at seven o'clock. It's a nice, quiet, classy restaurant where we can talk and thrash this out."

  "I'll be there," promised Freeberg. "You'll be ready to tell me what to do at dinner?"

  "I think so."

  "You think I have a fighting chance, Roger?"

  "I don't know yet. But I should know when I see you tomorrow evening."

  The following evening the two of them were seated in a striped brocade and velvet padded booth, fairly private, in the rear of La Scala Restaurant on a street known as "Little" Santa Monica Boulevard.

  Driving down the coast to Beverly Hills to meet with his attorney friend, Dr. Arnold Freeberg had been nervous and obsessed with the threat hanging over him. If the district attorney, as Kile had suggested earlier, was determined to use Freeberg and his surrogates as a stepping stone to advance his political career, there would be little hope that he could be stopped. He would certainly prosecute. Yet, there had been a fair amount of give in his attitude. He had met with Freeberg yesterday to put him on warning, to give him a chance to retreat on the surrogate matter and to withdraw treatment. Had Hoyt Lewis been more hard-nosed and opportunistic and ambitious about his career, he would not have bothered to put Freeberg on warning. He would have just proceeded against him.

  Yet, Freeberg had seen, there was no recklessness in Lewis's behavior. He would not undertake a legal action unless he was almost certain that he could win it. He was no fool. In politics, you had to win. A no-win case would get him nowhere. So it all came down to what Kile had been researching since yesterday, and his findings would guide them in making the final decision. If Kile decided that Lewis had a strong case, and Freeberg a weak one, then Freeberg would have to shut up shop in Hillsdale, and the aftermath would be that he'd have nowhere else to go in California. True, he could still retain his clinic, and work as one more, less-than-effective sex therapist, and somehow survive, but it would be sad, very sad, to deny so many decent, needy persons a positive cure.

  In their booth in La Scala, they were both drinking martinis, the subject of their meeting still unvoiced.

  "I really did a lot of running around yesterday and today," Kile had stated at the outset. "I'm bushed. Let's have a pick-me-up drink first, then order, and after that, we can talk."

  They drank and talked about personal matters. Freeberg discussed his wife and son. Kile, a bachelor, with the regular features and jutting jaw of a virile male featured in cigarette ads, discussed a new girlfriend, a buyer at Saks, and some corporate cases his office had undertaken. During this delaying action, the Caesar salad they had ordered came and was served. As Roger Kile finished his salad, he reached down to the side of the booth, hoisted his briefcase onto the seat, and rummaged inside until he had found a dozen or so file cards. He placed them beside his butter plate, but before he could consult them, his breaded veal cutlet was served and Freeberg's dish of spaghetti carbonara was set down before him.
Once the waiter had left them alone, Kile took up his file cards.

  "Okay, Arnie, let's get right into priority A," said Kile. "You gave me a good list of persons to telephone and visit. Each one was cooperative when they heard you were involved and what Lewis was threatening."

  "You told them?"

  "Why not?" said Kile. "The medical experts and surrogates you sent me to are themselves threatened if you are threatened. They all have a stake in what's happening to you. They were, every one of them, indignant, then helpful."

  Freeberg poked at his heap of spaghetti. "How helpful, Roger?"

  "Well, for one thing, I learned a lot more about what you do," said Kile. He sliced into his veal and began to munch the pieces. "It's clear to me that a female sex surrogate in no way functions like a prostitute."

  "Didn't you know that already?"

  "I had to hear it again from someone else, from others with expertise who were not immediately involved. Yes, I have no doubt that a professional sex surrogate possesses motivation and attitudes quite different from the average prostitute's. And a sex surrogate's goals are vastly different from those of a prostitute. A sex surrogate wants to repair her patients, and she feels she has succeeded only when her patient can make it normally with other women."

  "Roger, I told all that to Hoyt Lewis yesterday," Freeberg said impatiently.

  Kile ignored him. Chewing his veal steadily, Kile was going through his file cards once more. "You've got a lot of people on your side, no doubt about that. Here's a statement by the head of the Human Resource Developers Clinic in Chicago . . ."

  "Dr. Dean Dauw," said Freeberg.

  "Yes, Dauw. He says flatly, 'In no way are surrogates prostitutes . . . If a man is impotent and unmarried, how can he be treated without the help of a woman? She has to be someone who cares about helping people—but definitely not a prostitute. Prostitutes often hate men and are motivated by money.' I like that."