"No," he said. "Thanks, but no."
I told him that after listening to eight or more hours of human pain, it was a relief to drive home to the peace and security of my parents' home. I could only wish all my patients had similar sanctuaries.
"I do," he said, but I didn't believe him.
My work was going well, my income was increasing, I was able to keep up with recent research in my field-so why wasn't I content?
Please notice that I use the word "content" rather than "happy." I have always felt that contentment is a more feasible aim than happiness. To be contented is to be satisfied with one's life.
Happiness is something else.
"Physician, heal thyself." But in my case it was, Psychiatrist, analyze yourself. I did, frequently, and the reason for my discontent was not difficult to recognize. I lacked a man in my life.
I know there are those, including women, who will scoff at such a lament. Indeed, there are many women who lead productive and contented lives without men. But I am not one of them. I felt the absence of a man as a hunger.
Some of it was physical, of course. That was part of the craving I felt, the need for a naked male body pressed to mine.
The other part was an emotional need, I wanted desperately to love and be loved in return. Not affection, not devotion, but love, mutual and complete. A romantic psychiatrist, you smile? Well, why not?
And so on a Saturday afternoon, I drove out to visit Chas Todd.
He unlocked the door for me, then wheeled over to switch off his word processor. His housekeeper had obviously been there that morning, the barny studio was as clean and ordered as it could ever be.
"Were you working, Chas?" I asked. "Sorry to interrupt." " "That's okay," he said gruffly. "I wasn't really working, just reading over what I wrote last night."
"How is it coming?"
"I like it," he said, and laughed. "And I think you will, too. It's a love story, Cherry."
"I like it already," I told him.
"Between a boy termite and a girl termite. My God, you look great today. A luscious bouquet!"
I was wearing a flowered sundress. The back was wholly straps. I twirled in front of him. "You approve, Chas? " "What's not to approve? How about a gin and tonic? " "Only if you'll let me make them," I said and went into his tiny kitchenette. "I know what I'll get you for your birthday, a set of decent highball glasses. I'm tired of drinking out of jelly jars. When is your birthday? " "You've got it in your records, doctor," he said.
There was an edge to his voice, but I let it pass. I handed him his drink and sat in one of his spindly kitchen chairs. We raised glasses to each other but made no toast. He took a deep gulp, then grinned at me. What a handsome hulk he was! A damaged hulk.
"Feeling all right?" I asked him. "No nightmares? No depression? "
"Nothing I can't handle," he assured me. "I'm fine. What have you been up to?"
"Work mostly. Plus an hour on the beach this morning and maybe another hour or two this afternoon."
"Yeah, you're getting a tan. But no serious mischief?
"No," I said. "No mischief. How about you?" I saw his expression and added hastily, "I'm asking as your friend, not your shrink."
He shrugged. "Friend or shrink, no mischief to report. "
"Drinking?"
"Of course I'm drinking," he said testily. "And smoking up a storm.
And thinking lewd, lascivious thoughts. Okay?
"The last part is," I said.
"You never give up, do you?" he said, shaking his head.
"No," I said, "I never do. Tell me more about the boy termite and the girl termite."
"He meets her, loses her, finally gets her. And they live HEA. That's trade talk for happily ever after."
"How does he lose her?"
Chas gave me a crooked smile. "Because the poor schlumpf can't get it up. Even termites have problems."
"But you said that eventually he gets the girl. How did he solve his problem?"
"Did you put any gin in this?" he demanded, holding out his empty glass. "I couldn't taste it."
I mixed a fresh drink and brought it to him. "Chas, you didn't answer my question, How did the boy termite solve his problem?"
"I was kidding, for chrissake," he said. "Let's just drop it."
"All right," I said.
He looked at me. "You never argue, do you?"
"Would it do any good?"
"No," he said, "it wouldn't. Tell me something, doc, Why do you waste your time with me?"
"I don't consider it a waste. I enjoy being with you." "You do? " he said, sounding surprised. "I can't think why.
I don't particularly enjoy being with myself."
I regarded him thoughtfully. For some time I had been wondering if shock therapy might cure his impotence, which, I was certain, was psychic in origin. I decided, at that moment, to try it. But it would have to be framed as a request rather than a question he could kill with an explosive "No!"
"Chas," I said quietly, "I'd like to make love to you." it was the first time I had ever seen him blush. His naturally ruddy face took on a deeper hue, and I saw how shaken he was.
"What the hell is this?" he blustered. "is this a new kind of treatment? Something you provide all your hung-up patients?"
"You know better than that. This is something for me."
"I don't believe it."
"Believe it," I said, confused by my own motives.
"It's impossible," he said hoarsely.
"Let's find out," I suggested.
"No!" he cried. "I don't want your pity."
"I want yours," I told him. "Please."
He sat there, face twisted, and I could see how this struggle was roiling him.
"No," he repeated in a softer voice. "I can't. I'm afraid.
"Of what?"
"Failure. Leave me alone, doc."
I finished my drink and rose. "You'll think about it after I go," I said. "I know you will."
"You think you know everything," he said furiously. "Get the hell out of here and don't come back." I left, wondering if that line from Hamlet could be correct. "I must be cruel, only to be kind."
WILLIAM K.
That evening a florist's box was delivered to my home. inside was a luscious bouquet and a brief card from Chas, "Come back." don't care how smart you are or how rich you are, if you haven't got The Luck you've got nothing, zip, zilch.
Now take me, I've always had The Luck. All my life.
Like I was running a small crib out in
Denver.
Nothing flashy, but clean.
I had four girls three white, one black and a boy.
None of them dopers. I also had a police sergeant on the pad, a nice enough guy who was as straig lit as a crooked cop can be.
One night Phil comes up to my place and I poured him a Chivas which was all he drank.
Willie," he says, "I think you better get out of town."
That was all he had to say.
I closed up shop and caught a plane the next morning.
My kids got away, too.
I read later the Denver vice cops had made a sweep the afternoon I was flying east.
All the skin peddlers I knew got cuffed, and some of them ended up doing time.
See what I mean by having The Luck?
I went to Miami and looked up some wiseguys I knew to see if I could work a deal. But they were all in heavy stuff like drugs and guns.
Not my style. So I went to Fort Lauderdale and located Big Bobby Gurk who was my cell mate once when I did a little bitty stretch in a Frisco clink.