“You do. You hate feathers.”
“I do?”
“Yes. You do.”
“I hate feathers.”
“Good. Now, wouldn’t you like to find a nice, soft woman waiting for you when you get home? A girl like Annie, say?”
“I’d rather find me parakeet.”
“With all those dirty feathers? Why?”
“So I can strangle it. Feathers, ugh! I want to be gettin’ home an’ stranglin’ me parakeet.”
“Forget the damned parakeet!” Penny exploded.
“I’ve forgotten the damned feathery parakeet,” Brian echoed obediently.
“Feed it poison!” Penny raged.
“What?”
“The parakeet.”
“What parakeet?”
“The one you’ve forgotten.”
“I don’t understand,” Brian droned.
“That’s all right. Just forget it.”
“I’ve already forgotten it. Beggin’ your pardon, but you’re gettin’ a mite redundant.”
“Right.” Penny heaved a sigh. This was more complicated than she’d expected it to be. “Now, listen very carefully, Brian. You want a woman. Do you understand? A woman!”
“I . . .want . . . a . . . woman.”
“That’s it. You want Annie. You want Annie Fitz-Manley.”
“I want Annie.”
“I think he’s got it,” Penny murmured to herself.
“But what be I wantin’ her for?” Brian asked.
“For sex, you boob!”
“For sex boobs?”
“For sexy everything! You want Annie for sex. You want to make love to her. You can’t wait to make love to her. Only to her. You can’t wait!”
“I can’t wait to make love to Annie.”
“Right. Now, just remember that. Hold it in your mind. When I count three and snap my fingers, you’re going to wake up. And you’re going to want to make love to Annie Fitz-Manley. Now, and for the rest of your life, you’re going to want to make love to her.”
“I want to make love to Annie Fitz-Manley.”
“Right. Now— One . . . Two . . . Three!” Penny snapped her fingers.
“I must have dozed off.” Brian rubbed his eyes.
“I guess so.” Penny turned on the overhead light.
“Where’s Annie?” Brian asked.
“In there.” Penny pointed.
“Then I’ll be goin’ to her now.” Brian started out the door, shedding his clothes like a moulting canary as he went. By the time he reached Annie, he was wearing only his shoes, socks, and shorts. He embraced her from behind before she saw him. “Annie, me love,” he panted. “Let’s!”
“What? Brian, what are you doing? Brian, you’re tearing my bra, Brian, stop! No, don’t stop! Brian, if you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll take them off without—-— Oh! You ripped them, too! Brian, what’s gotten into you? Oh! I don’t care! But right here, Brian? In the middle of the office like this? . . . Oh, my darling, you really can’t wait, can you? Oh, my, I can see that! . . . But what about Penny? She’s right in there! She’ll see us! . . . Oh, darling! Ahhh! Yes! Yes! . . . Sorry if this embarrasses you, Penny . . . Now, Brian! Now-now-now!”
Ever discreet, Penny left then. As she went down in the elevator, she congratulated herself. She had indeed solved Annie’s problem. The scene she’d left behind her confirmed it without a doubt, And Annie would certainly be a better temporary editor for Lovelights because of it.
Inspired by her success with Annie, Penny decided to drop by Sappho Kuntzentookis’ place on her way home to see if she mightn’t be able to help her as well. The door to Sappho’s apartment was ajar when Penny arrived. She knocked softly, and when there was no answer she pushed the door open and went through the foyer to the living room.
She stopped in the doorway, not knowing quite what to make of the scene which greeted her. There were a dozen or so men strewn around the living room, some thumbing through magazines, one or two puffing on cigarettes rather nervously, none of them talking to each other, or even looking at each other. It was obvious that they were all strangers to one another. The atmosphere was like that of a dentist’s waiting room—polite, quite, impersonal, anticipatory.
Even considering the atmosphere, though, the men seemed an oddly assorted group. There was a tough-looking Marine, two very young and very jittery sailors, a button-down Madison Avenue type who kept zipping and unzipping his leather attache case, a bearded beatnik, a youngster wearing the syrup-stained apron and white cap of a soda jerk, a unshaven and muscle-bulging dockworker strumming a baling hook, a meter-reader still wearing the jacket and cap of the electric company, a teenager in a black leather jacket, and others. All in all, it was quite an assortment, about as well-balanced a cross-section of masculinity as one could hope to find.
There was a question in all their eyes as they looked up at Penny. But they were either too polite or too shy to put it into words. In any case, their attention was diverted as the door leading to the bedroom opened.
A milkman came out, zipping up his trousers. He picked up his bottle-holder -- still half-filled-—from beside the couch, and headed for the foyer. From the darkened bedroom behind him. Sappho’s voice sang out merrily: “Next!” The soda jerk stood up and began unbuttoning his white jacket as he headed for the bedroom door.
Penny had seen enough, She followed the milkman out. Obviously Sappho had been so frustrated by the interlude with Balzac that she had decided to allow her nymphomania free play. And, Penny realized, this was no time to attempt to cure it.
Or was it? Suddenly Penny had an idea. Some of the basic psychology data she’d picked up in her reading now popped into her head. And following it was the thought of a sort of shock treatment to help Sappho. Yes, a kind of shock treatment that just might shock her right out of her nymphomania!
Penny went into the first open drug store she passed and headed straight for the phone booth in the rear. She was in the booth a long time. Incredulity, disbelief and suspicion poured out of the receiver in response to all she said. But she kept pounding away, purring into the mouthpiece seductively, trying to arouse erotic feeling at the other end with her voice, overcoming arguments with lewd suggestions, wearing away resistance with passionate promises, pleading and luring and inviting-—and in the end, finally making the invitation stick.
A half-hour later the cab pulled up in front of Sappho’s building. An elderly man’s head popped out of the rear window. “Young Miss,” he called to Penny on the sidewalk. “You it was who called me?”
“Yes.” Penny hurried over to the cab.
“The driver you promised to pay.”
“That’s right.” Penny paid the driver as the man got out of the cab. “Follow me,” she said then, leading the way into Sappho’s building.
“A big crush you really got for me, eh?” The elderly man chuckled. He reached out and pinched Penny’s buttocks as she preceded him up the stairs. “Hard to believe it is, at my age. That a young girl like you should—”
“It isn’t me,” Penny interrupted. “It’s my friend.”
“Aha! I should have known. Too good to be true, it is. This friend? A bow-wow she is, eh?”
“You can be particular at your age?” Penny stared him down.
“I suppose not. Tell the truth, at my age, I ain’t got a helluva lotta opportunities. But then, truth is I ain’t got a helluva lot of jizzum or drive left either. Only thing is, I sure do have less opportunity than I do jizzum. So, young Miss, if this ain’t some kind of gag or something, I’m very grateful for the chance.”
“It’s no gag,” Penny assured him, leading him into the living room. “At least not the way you mean.”
The waiting men looked up as they entered. The Marine was just coming out of the bedroom, looking smug and satisfied. Sappho’s voice trilled again, sounding a little bored this time: “Next.” The button-down huckster got to his feet,