You're powerful enough for me just the way you are."
"Let's go inside," I said.
I was a deca-millionaire, I lived in a nineteen-room beachfront home, I drove a white Mercedes-Benz 560SEL, but nothing I owned gave me as much pleasure as Jessica Fiddler.
Holding that young, springy body in my arms made me young again, I could forget my hairless scalp, dentures, a ticker that keeps acting up. Making love to Jess was turning back the clock, to a time when I thought I'd live forever.
I liked to think I gave her something, too. I don't mean just the house, the salary, the gifts. I mean understanding companionship, a real interest in her health, her feelings, her hurts and her dreams. I also liked to think she enjoyed my lovemaking. She continually said she did and if actions speak louder than words, she was telling the truth, she would do anything I asked her to do.
If you want to believe it was more obsession than love on my part, you may be right. But love is an obsession, is it not? All I knew was that if I could no longer hold that tight, fervid body in my arms, feel it, kiss it, I would suddenly become an old man. uddle seemed to me a cornball name for a new C perfume, but the client pays the piper and calls the tune. So when I saw that article, "The Cuddle Hormone, " naturally I was interested and read it again on Monday morning to make certain I fully understood what the author was writing about.
Briefly, his subject was oxytocin, a hormone secreted by the pituitary gland, which stimulates uterine contractions during childbirth. It has been synthesized and for years women in labor have been given the synthetic form to ease pains and speed up birth.
But recent research indicated a more important role for oxytocin. It was found that it aided sexual arousal and, after intercourse, contributed to a feeling of satisfied relaxation.
More curiously, in animal tests it seemed to result in increased affection, including stroking, grooming, and nuzzling.
Although for a long time oxytocin was studied for its physiological effects on women, it had now been discovered that heightened levels of the hormone were present in a man's blood during copulation and ejaculation. In fact, experiments were underway to see if added doses of oxytocin might help impotent men.
But it was the hormone's ability to foster feelings of pleasure and satisfaction that interested me, especially after I read that an aerosolized form of synthetic oxytocin had been developed. It seemed possible that such a spray might be used in a dilute amount in the new perfume.
If it succeeded, the hormone-enhanced fragrance would give women who wore it a desire for close affection and warm intimacy, and would arouse the same feelings in men who sniffed the scent.
The effects of oxytocin on human behavior mentioned in the article seemed to indicate "love" rather than ilpassion"-exactly what the proposal from Darcy amp; Sons had stated was to be the leitmotiv of Cuddle.
Mulling all this, I wandered to my office window, looked down and saw morning sunlight glinting off the bald pate of Mr. McWhortle. He was practicing on his putting green, and even as I watched, he missed a shot that couldn't have been more than six inches. I laughed and went back to my desk. I wrote out a requisition to the supply department asking them to obtain what I estimated would be an ample supply of the aerosolized form of synthetic oxytocin.
It was quite possible, of course, that the addition of a hormone would have no effect whatsoever on the new perfume. So I spent the remainder of the morning jotting down several combinations of conventional scents I thought might serve for Cuddle if oxytocin proved a failure.
I like to lunch early in the employees' cafeteria, and so does Greg.
We usually sit together at a table in a far corner, where we are away from the crush and have a small measure of privacy.
Greg was already seated when I filled my tray. We had both selected the same items, chef's salad, iced tea, key lime pie.
He helped me unload my tray and gave me one of his buttered rolls because I had neglected to pick up my own at the serving counter.
"I don't know how I could have forgotten," I said.
"Probably too much on your mind," he said. "How is the new perfume coming along?"
"Slowly," I said. "And your project?"
"Even more slowly," he said, and we both smiled. Greg is notorious for his meticulous research. Then, not looking at me, he asked in a low voice, "And how are things at home?"
I hesitated a long moment before I replied. "Greg, I'm going to tell you something, and I know you won't repeat it to anyone.
I'm thinking seriously of divorce.
Then he looked at me but said nothing.
"I want to avoid it," I said. "Because of Tania. But now I wonder which is worse for her, being a child of divorced parents or living in a home where all she sees and feels is coldness between Herman and me.
It's such an unhappy situation for her."
"Marriage counselor?" he suggested quietly.
I shook my head. "I mentioned it, and Herman became absolutely livid.
He refuses to discuss it. I think he's deliberately trying to make my life so miserable that I'll walk out on him. Then he'll be the aggrieved party, and if there's a divorce, he'll hold all the cards."
"Oh, Marleen," Greg said sorrowfully. He glanced around.
The cafeteria was filling up. "Let's talk more about it on the drive home. This isn't the place."
I nodded, and we finished our lunch without saying anything more.
I went back to my office wondering if I had done the right thing to confide in Greg. But then I realized I had no other option. My parents are deceased, I'm an only child, and I have no close women friends. I had to talk to someone, and Greg is a thoughtful, serious man. And I knew he'd be understanding, his married life is as wretched as mine.
The ride home that I was driving that week, and on t g Greg and I resumed our luncheon discussion. evenin I recited the whole sad litany about Herman's heavy drinking, his constant philandering.
"I thought he was a diamond in the rough when I married him," I said ruefully. "He turned out to be a zircon in the rough, and he's getting progressively worse.
"You've spoken to him about how you feel?"
"Many, many times. All he does is laugh and then give his awful imitation of John Wayne, A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." But what am I going to do, Greg? " "It's such a perHe was silent a long time. Then, sonal decision, Marleen, and so difficult that I hesitate to offer advice."
"You're not offering," I said, "I'm asking. I value your opinion.
What do you think?"
"It seems to me," he said carefully, "that if you find your situation completely unendurable, then you must take steps to change it."
"That means divorce, " I said determinedly. "There's no other way.
"Would you consider a trial separation?"
"For what purpose?" I demanded. "He's not going to change."
"Perhaps he might. After he's been away from you awhile and misses you and Tania."
"Never!" I said. "Herman is a self-centered oaf who thinks only of his own pleasures, which, in his case, mean whiskey and women. I blame myself. Marrying him was the worst mistake I've ever made in my life.
I just didn't recognize him for the lout he is. Greg moved uncomfortably in the passenger seat, and I realized my confession was embarrassing him.
"I'm sorry to dump all this on you, Greg," I said, "but you're really the only one I can talk to."
"I wish I could suggest some solution," he said despairingly.
"But I'm no good at personal relations. Human behavior just mystifies me. I suppose that's why I turned to science."
"I think you're too hard on yourself," I said. "You're a sympathetic man, always willing to listen to other people's problems' "Perhaps I'm willing to listen," he said forlornly, "but I don't seem capable of doing anything about them. And that includes my own problems."