“Somehow,” Balzac observed as the elevator doors opened in front of him, “I just don’t think Hugh Hefner takes cold showers.”
“Of course he does,” Penny told him. “He must. How else do you suppose he finds the time to write that long-winded philosophy of his every month?”
The elevator doors closed then, and Penny was alone. She went back to her office and sat down. Perhaps she’d helped Balzac with his problem, but her own problem still remained. She had three candidates to replace her, and all three should rightly be ruled out because of their personal troubles.
Thinking about it, Penny realized there was only one course of action. She would have to help them solve their troubles if they were to be of any use to her. But how?
Fate provided a third of the answer. A copy of Lovelights lay open by chance on Penny’s desk. She found herself looking down at an article by an eminent psychologist.
The title of the article was “How Hypnosis Can Solve Your Sex Problem.” Penny scanned it first, and then, her interest piqued, she started at the beginning and read it through.
By the time she was through, an idea was crystalizing in her mind. She dialed Annie Fitz-Manley’s number. When Annie answered, Penny painted a picture of a Lovelights crisis designed to make her return to the office immediately. And she managed to make sure that Annie would bring Brian Henannigan with her.
While she waited for them, Penny mulled her plan over in her mind. It would only work if she’d judged the situation correctly. It would only work if she was right in believing that Annie Fitz-Manley was not really a Lesbian, but was only driven in that direction because Brian, the man she was in love with, was a homosexual. If she was right, then curing Brian of his homosexuality and redirecting his sex urge toward Annie should resolve Annie’s problem as well as his. And once the problem was resolved, Annie should be clear-headed and capable enough to take over the temporary editorship of Lovelights.
When they arrived, Penny handed Annie a thick sheaf of galleys proofs. “Take these to your desk and check them very carefully,” she instructed Annie. “And Brian, would you mind staying here a minute? I need your help with something.”
“Sure, an’ I’ll be glad to help.”
When they were alone, Penny flicked off the overhead light. She sat in the shadows behind her desk and shined the desk lamp right in Brian’s eyes.
“Isn’t it a wee bit dark?” Brian asked good-naturedly.
“My eyes have been bothering me,” Penny told him. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Well, no, exceptin’ for the way that lamp’s shinin’ so brightly at me.”
“If it bothers you, close your eyes,” Penny said soothingly. “Just close your eyes and relax,” she continued in a calculated monotone. “That’s it. Relax. Relax.” She swung a keychain like a pendulum just in front of the lamp. “Relax . . . Relax . . . Relax . . Your eyelids are getting very heavy now . . You can’t keep them open . . . You’re tired . . . So tired . . . Your eyes are closing . . .They’re closing . . . Closing . . . Closed . . . Your eyes are closed now . . . You’re asleep . . . You’re asleep . . . But you can hear me . . . You’re asleep, but you can hear me . . . Can you hear me, Brian?”
“Yes.” Brian’s voice came from very far away.
“Good. Now, I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, Brian, why are you a homosexual?”
“I . . . like . . . men.”
“Why do you like men, Brian?”
“Because . . . they’re . . . so . . . masculine.”
“I see. And why don’t you like girls, Brian?”
“Because . . . they’re . . . so . . . feminine.”
“That figures. And what do you dislike most about femininity, Brian?”
“There’s . . . nothin’ . . . to . . . be . . . holdin’ onto.”
“Explain that, Brian. What do you mean?”
“Nothin’... at all... to... hold... on to... when. . . makin’. . . love. . . to. . . a. . . woman. . . It makes . . . me . . . be . . . feelin’ . . . insecure . . . Like ... ridin’... a horse... bareback... with... no saddle pommel . . . to . . . be . . . grabbin’ . . . Lovin’ . . . a man . . . there’s . . . somethin’ . . . to... grip.”
“Aha! So that’s it. I understand. Now, Brian, you’re going to do exactly as I say, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’ll take everything I tell you as the absolute truth?”
“Aye.”
“And after you wake up, you’ll remember what I’ve told you, and continue to believe it and act accordingly.”
“That I will.”
“All right, then. Brian, you’re a masterful horseman. You’re an expert bareback rider. You don’t need a pommel to hold.”
“I’m a masterful horseman,” Brian repeated obediently, “an expert bareback rider, an’ I’m not needin’ a pommel.”
“That’s right. Pommels are dirty.”
“Pommels are dirty.”
“They’re disgusting.”
“Sure, an’ pommels are disgustin’.”
“Holding a pommel will give you warts on your hands.”
“I’ll be getting warts on me hands from a pommel.”
“Playing with pommels will drive you insane!”
“Pommel-playin’ will be drivin’ me looney.”
“You’re never going to want to grasp a pommel again.” Penny told him. “Never! Never again!”
“I’ll nivir be touchin’ another pommel so long as I live!”
“Now,” Penny took a deep breath “Do you still prefer men?”
“Sure . . . an’ . . . why . . . wouldn’t . . . I?” Brian droned.
“Remember the pornmels, Brian. Now, how does that make you feel about men?”
“It’s isn’t makin’ me feel anythin’ about men. . . . But saddles, ugh! . . . Sure an’ the very idea of a saddle makes me nervous now.”
“Men are like saddles!” Penny seized the opening. “Men are saddles. Repeat that after me now. Men are saddles! Repeat it three times. Men are saddles!”
“Men . . . are . . . saddles . . . Men are saddles! . . . Menaresaddles !”
“Exactly. And now how do you feel about men, Brian?”
“They’re disgusting! They’re saddles! They have pommels! I hate men! I hate them! I hate men!”
“Not just symbolically,” Penny cautioned.
“Not just symbolically. I really hate them. I hate men.”
“Good. And you will remember that when you wake up. You hate men. They disgust you. And then what will you want to make love to Brian?”
There was a long silence.
“Brian?” Penny tried again. “What will you want to make love to after you wake up?”
“Sure... an’... what... would... you... be . . . offerin’?”
“It’s for you to decide, Brian. What do you feel love for?”
“Me parakeet,” Brian said firmly.
“But you can’t—”
“I want to make love to me parakeet.
“No, Brian. You can’t. Besides, maybe it’s a male parakeet.”
“It is not! Do you be thinkin’ I’m queer, or somethin’?”
“No, Brian.” Penny soothed him. “You’re not queer. We know that. You hate men, remember? But you can’t make love to your parakeet. You’re just confused, that’s all. What you really want to make love to is a woman.”
“I do?”
“Of course you do. Think about it a minute. Wouldn’t you like to make love to a nice, feminine woman?” '
Brian thought about it a moment. “No,” he decided finally. “I’d rather make love to me parakeet.”
“But why?” Penny managed to keep the exasperation she was feeling out of her voice.
“Sure, an’ a woman ain’t got no feathers the way a parakeet does.”
“But feathers are dirty. You hate feathers.”