I stopped at the Dally-Deli and picked up two humongous corned beef sandwiches on rye, side orders of cole slaw, and an extra order of kosher dills, which Chas dearly loves. I went next to Ye Olde Reserve Fine Spirits amp; Liquors Shoppe (it opened last year) and bought a liter of Jack Daniels. Then I boarded my new Lincoln Towncar and started out.
I took my usual route, south to the Palmetto Park Road, then far west to the Fleecy Road turnoff, then north on Fleecy to a nameless dirt lane, and then west on that. Way back in the boondocks on five acres of what used to be hardscrabble farmland is where my brother lives and works. He calls it a studio, I call it a barn.
My brother-seven years older than I am-left two legs in Vietnam. The government wanted to fit him with prostheses and elbow canes, but Chas opted for a motorized wheelchair. He had a rough couple of years after he was shipped back-his mind was messed up-but he had psychotherapy and got it all together again.
Now he writes children's books. He's not getting rich, but with his disability pension he does okay and won't take a cent from me.
He's twice the man I'll ever be.
"Hello, shithead," he greeted me.
"Hi, asshole," I said. "You look beat. Been running the four-forty again?"
"I could take you any day," he said. "You're in great shape, your ass is dragging and your eyes are bleeding. You been dipping your wick around town again?"
"And I'm going to keep doing it," I said, "until I get it right." I displayed my purchases. "How does sour mash go with corned beef?"
"Let's find out," he said. "Pull up a chair."
It was more of a counter than a desk, a sheet of heavy plywood across two sawhorses, high enough so he could wheel his chair partly underneath and get close to his word processor.
That's where I spread out our lunch and poured lack Daniels into the jelly jars he used for glasses.
"How's Tania?" Chas asked.
"Okay."
"And Marleen?
" She's fine."
"You're a lucky man," my brother said. "And a foursquare bastard for cheating on her."
"I can't help it," I said. "It's a terrible habit-like picking your nose."
He laughed. "I hope she nails you, sues for divorce, and takes you to the cleaners."
"She won't, " I told him." Marleen knows I tomcat around.
She doesn't care who I boff-as long as it isn't her."
Chas looked at me. "Sonny boy," he said, "when it comes to women you're a total illiterate. Who you shagging these days?
Anyone special?"
"Not really. I've got my eye on the butterball who lives next door.
Great ass. But her husband works in the same lab as Marleen, and we visit back and forth occasionally. It would be hard to manage."
"You'll find a way," he said.
His questions about my love life were not just idle curiosity. When I said that Chas had straightened out his brain, it wasn't the complete truth. Since coming home legless from Nam, I don't think he had even tried making it with a woman. He said he just wasn't interested, but he sure as hell was interested in my extramarital feats.
I asked Dr. Cherry Noble about Chas. She was the shrink who pulled him out of his funk.
"He's a lot better," I told her, "but I don't think he's functioning in the sex department. He lost his legs, but he's still got all the necessary machinery. What gives?"
"He feels he's an incomplete man," Dr. Noble explained.
"He's lost a part of himself. He's convinced women could be turned off by what he thinks is an ugly deformity. He's afraid that if he tries, he'll be rejected, or he won't be able to perform. So he doesn't try."
"How long will that last? For the rest of his life?"
"It could. But I'll try to bring him out of it. Chas is a fine man, and if anyone deserves a little joy, he does.
"Don't tell him," I said, "but send me your bills."
"There won't be any bills," she said.
I had one jelly jar of sour mash, but Chas was starting on his third when I left to go back to the office. He gave me an autographed copy of his new book to give to Tania. It was called The Adventures of Tommy Termite.
I was outside, unlocking the Lincoln, when Dr. Cherry Noble pulled up in her white jag. She got out and came over to me.
"Herman!" she said. "What a pleasant surprise. I haven't seen you in ages-but I was thinking about you this morning. How are you?"
"If I felt any better, I'd be unconscious," I said. "And you?"
"Fine, thank you. You visited Chas?"
"For lunch. Every Thursday."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot. How is he feeling?"
"Fine, I think," I said. "Is he making any progress, doc?"
"Mmm," she said.
"Well, keep trying," I urged her. "I really appreciate it."
She nodded, and I watched her walk toward the barn. She was wearing a short pink linen sheath.
Great legs.
DR. CHERRYNOBLE has Todd was the only Vietnam veteran I ever C treated. I read all the literature on the subject I could find, but nothing I read prepared me for the severity of his problems.
Fortunately, they proved as short-lived as they were intense. Still, it was almost two years before daily sessions could be gradually reduced.
I make no claim that it was my skills as a therapist that led to the disappearance of his horrendous nightmares, deep depression, and sudden onslaughts of uncontrollable weeping. I believe that with no assistance whatsoever he would eventually have recovered by himself.
Chas Todd is a strong man.
During the course of his therapy I found myself attracted to him. At first he was profane with a penchant for scatological humor. But after he found I was unshockable, his speech became more conventional, he revealed a tender and vulnerable persona that I was convinced was the real Chas and not just a role he was playing.
I was aware of his atrophied libido, and our failure to resolve that problem made his recovery less than complete. I hoped that in time his rejection of sex would fade. Doctors treat, nature heals. But it had now been several years since his therapy ended and, during my visits, I found no improvement.
He had locked the door after his brother left, but when I knocked, I heard the hum of his motorized wheelchair. A moment later he unlocked the door, looked up at me, and smiled.
"My lucky day," he said. "And aren't you elegant! Pink is definitely your color. Come on in."
His studio was in disarray. The remains of his lunch with Herman were still scattered on his desk. I began cleaning up.
"Forget it, Cherry," he said. "I'll get to it eventually.
Would you like a dill pickle? There's one left."
"No, thanks," I said, laughing.
"How about a Jack Daniels?"
"A very small one with lots of water and lots of ice. I'll mix it."
"Help yourself."
It was a ramshackle home, but he did have a small kitchenette kept reasonably clean. I made my drink and sat on a spindly ladder-back chair facing him.
"I met Herman outside," I said. "Did you have a nice visit?"
"As usual. I'm always glad to see Herm-once a week. I love my brother, but a little of him goes a long way."
"Why do you say that, Chas?"
"He's such a lecher. That's all he thinks about chasing women. What makes a man act like that, doc?
"It could be a number of things. You say he continually chases women.
Does he catch them?"