“I am Dr. Freud,” he told her. “Dr. Sigmund Freud.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nein! I had my name changed legally. I find that in private practice it gives my patients more confidence in me. Also, mein colleagues treat me with a great deal more respect. Except,” he sighed, “in Vienna. There they are skeptical. Very skeptical.” He shook his head. “But enough of that. It is you we must talk about, no? I see from the tests you took that you have great aptitude for the soldier’s life. Perhaps even an officer, you would make. Ja, you have the genuine military mind.”
“But didn’t I answer all the questions wrong?” Penny objected.
“Of course. A real dumkopf you are. Ideal officer material. But let us delve further. Do you like girls?” He shot the question at her.
“Well, yes. I guess so.”
“You guess so? So! And boys? Do you like boys?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You are trying to pull the argyles over my eyes, no? You think you can convince me you are bisexual.”
“I most certainly am not!” Penny was indignant.
“Then which is it, my boy, that you would rather play the kitchy-koo with? Girls or boys?”
“Boys, of course.”
“Of course? So! And when did you decide to wear your hair like that, young man?”
“A few years ago.”
“You like that length?”
“Well, yes. I do think it’s becoming to me.”
“Aha! And now the crucial question! Have you ever had relations with a man?”
Penny hung her head. “Yes,” she admitted in a very small voice.
“More than once?”
“No. Only once. Once was enough.” Penny sighed.
“Why do you say that? Explain.”
“Because I’m pregnant,” Penny confided.
“But you cannot be!”
I“That’s what I kept telling myself. But it was no use. I am.”
“You are really convinced that you are pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Schizophrenia!” He stamped Penny’s card emphatically.
“Enough schizos the army has already. More they don’t need. I am rejecting you.”
“Thank you.” Penny got up to leave, almost bumping into Studs who was just entering.
“So, you want to be a soldier,” Dr. Freud greeted Studs as he entered.
“Oh, yeth, thir. Only I’m a homothexual. I do hope that won’t keep me out.”
“It won’t!” Dr. Freud told him grimly. “There are degrees in everything. So you’re a little bit queer. So what? That fellow that just left; now that’s what I call a homosexual. Ja! He’s actually convinced he’s pregnant. Now admit it, this you can’t top.”
“Well, no, but—”
“Aber no buts! Congratulations, lad. You are One-A!”
Studs slunk out of the office and caught up with Penny. “I’ve been drafted,” he told her. “How will I ever break the news to Mother?”
“Don’t worry,” Penny told him sweetly. “She’ll probably enlist right along with you. And God help the Viet Cong then. She’ll defoliate them with chicken soup!”
“But what will I do?” Studs moaned.
“Give them hell, soldier,” Penny told him. “Give them hell!”
CHAPTER TEN
“GIVE THEM hell!”
With those final words flung over her shoulder to Studs, Penny at last managed to make her exit. Emerging from the building, she found Balzac Hosenpfeffer waiting for her. He was both impatient and annoyed.
“Have you got dysentery, or something?” he greeted her sarcastically.
“What?”
“You said you were going to the john. And you’ve been gone for hours. I was about to give up on you. Where have you been? What happened?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. And it would take too long to convince you. But how did you make out?”
“It was a stand-off,” Balzac told her moodily. “They couldn’t come to a decision. So they’re referring my case to the Pentagon. They said they’d get in touch as soon as they heard anything.”
“Well, I hope it comes out all right. I have to say good-bye now. I’m going to grab a cab and get up to the office.”
“Won’t you have lunch with me?”
“Not today. Sorry. I really do have to get to work.”
“Oh. Well, thanks a million for everything you did in there for me. If I can ever return the favor ”
“I’ll remember that,” Penny assured him.
“I hope you do. I’d really like to see you again. Socially, I mean.”
“I know what you mean. And wipe that lecherous smirk off your face. Don’t call me; I’ll call you.” With those final words, Penny hopped into a taxi and waved good-bye to Balzac Hosenpfeffer. She gave the driver her office address, and some forty minutes later she was back behind her desk at Pussycat Publications.
There was a note pinned to her calendar. It said that Marie D’Chastidi’s husband had called to say that she was ill and wouldn’t be in today. Penny frowned when she read it. She had been hoping to have a talk with Marie, a talk that might help her evaluate Marie’s ability to step into her job when she took her leave of absence. Penny didn’t want to wait until the last minute to decide between her and Annie and Sappho.
Annie and Sappho were both out of the office, too. It was lunchtime and Penny had the place virtually all to herself. She’d decided to skip lunch, but an unexpected visitor changed her mind.
He was tall and good-looking with flashing white teeth, olive skin, jet-black hair, and dark, brooding eyes-—very Italian. He stood patiently and politely in front of Penny’s desk until she looked up and noticed him. “Yes?” she asked. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Vito D’Chastidi, Marie’s husband.”
“Oh. Well, I’m glad to meet you.” Penny held out her hand.
She was startled when instead of shaking it he bent low and kissed it in the Continental fashion. “I am most pleased to meet you too, Miss Candie,” he said formally.
“There’s nothing serious wrong with Marie, I hope,” Penny said, recovering her aplomb.
“No. Nothing serious. She will be in tomorrow. I am taking advantage of her absence because I wished to talk with you alone, Miss Candie.”
“Oh? What did you want to talk about?”
“It is rather personal. I wonder if we might not go some place for a cocktail. Or, if you have not eaten yet, it would be my pleasure to take you out to lunch.”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t had any lunch. And I certainly could use a drink. It’s been quite a morning.”
“Then it is settled. I am ready whenever you are.”
“Give me ten minutes.” Penny was still wearing the slacks she’d worn to the draft board. But she always kept a dress in her closet in the office just in case she wanted to change for an evening date. Now she went to the ladies’ room, put the dress on, powdered her nose, and rejoined Vito D’Chastidi. A few moments later they were snugly ensconced in a cocktail-lounge alcove, sipping their mar- tinis and waiting for the club sandwiches they’d ordered.
“Now what was it you wanted to speak to me about?” Penny asked.
“Marie. Our marriage. Our situation. This is not easy for me. But you are her boss. More than that, the nature of your work qualifies you as having some insight into marital affairs. Still, I do not know quite how to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” Penny advised him.
“Very well. The beginning.” Vito took a deep breath. “That would be shortly after Marie’s father died, the first time I met her. . . .”
Vito D’Chastidi had no idea of how bizarre would be the problem he would be called upon to solve when he went out on the service call to the Frustrato house. He noticed the black funeral wreath on the door as he rang the bell, and it made his manner even more respectful than usual to the middle-aged woman in widow’s weeds who answered. “You called for a locksmith?” Vito asked.