As for Claire, life evolved into dancing lessons, practice, more practice, exercises, preparing meals for Moe, having sex with Moe, being at Moe’s beck and call.
She did not mind in the slightest that they never went out together. It would be a while yet before Moe was able to divorce his unloving wife and marry Claire.
She did not mind seeing newspaper photos of Dr. and Mrs. Moses Green. He was a high-profile celebrity in the fast lane of society. She understood.
Margie was aware of the affair. It was one of many. She never expected fidelity from her husband.
Moe was more than satisfied.
Then, one night, after intercourse, Claire turned on her side so her head was cradled on his shoulder. “I hate to say this, love, but I think something’s wrong.”
“Oh?”
“I missed my period.”
“Just one? That’s not unusual.”
“It is for me. I’m regular as rain, ‘member? I told you that when we discussed rhythm. It would be so easy for me because I’m so regular. That’s why I’m concerned about missing even one period.”
“You’re not going to bug me about that rhythm thing again! I told you I have no intention of making love by calendar.”
Claire propped herself up on one arm. “No, honey, not rhythm. I know how you feel about that. I’m just worried there might be something wrong with me.”
Green considered the situation. “Well, okay. You got dance class tomorrow morning, right?”
Claire, brow furrowed, nodded. She really was concerned.
“Okay,” Green continued. “After you get done, come to my office. We’ll run a couple of tests.”
“Thanks, honey. That makes me feel a lot better.” And to prove how much better she felt, she began again a leisurely foreplay.
The next day she appeared at his office immediately after class. He administered several tests in only one of which he was really interested. That test revealed that Claire was pregnant.
She had missed but one period. The fetus was in its earliest stages. It would have to go. With her strong Catholic upbringing she would, he knew, be utterly opposed.
In everything else she had been docile. Making love … the varieties of lovemaking … being a mistress … she had done it all, and more. All of which were sins in her Catholic training.
But abortion! Green knew she would not under any condition cross that line.
That night, when he arrived at their apartment, he greeted her. “Now I don’t want you to worry, but there’s a little something we have to check.”
She began to tremble.
“Don’t do that!” He could not tolerate cowardice in any form. “I’m going to do some further tests. The problem may require some surgery. But I’ll handle the whole thing. You got confidence in me?”
She quieted the tremors. “You’ve given me everything. Why shouldn’t I trust you?”
A very anxious Claire McNern checked into the hospital. She was lonely and apprehensive. Once the wristband was snapped shut, she felt that she was nothing more than an animated number, rather than a person. Indeed, the admissions clerk related to her as if she were an appliance that needed repair.
And so it went throughout the preparation for what she assumed would be further tests and possibly surgery.
The staff all seemed too busy to give her any expression of reassurance. Only one person, the nurse who would assist Dr. Green, treated Claire with kindness and empathy. Claire drew strength from this sympathetic nurse, Lana Kushner, R.N.
When Claire was fully prepped, Dr. Green made his entrance. Even in his scrub uniform, he was only slightly less imposing than paintings she had seen of God. In his hand, he held a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it and a pen. “How are you doing, Claire?”
“Better now that you’re here,” she said, feeling some small bravery for the first time. “Lana has been a big help.”
“That’s nice.” He did not even glance at the nurse. “Claire, there’s a formality before we take care of you. Just a lot of legal gobbledygook, but we have to have your signature on this line.” Still holding the clipboard, he lowered it so she could sign.
She took the pen, but began to read the paper.
“We haven’t got time to waste on reading this stuff. It just says you give me your consent to take care of you. Haven’t lost confidence in me, have you?” As he ended the question, his voice grew stern.
“Of course not.” She signed.
She did not see the single word typed in describing the treatment for which she had given her consent.
She was wheeled into the operating room and transferred to the operating table. An anesthetist injected her. She drifted quickly into dreamless sleep.
The procedure moved along without complication. Dr. Green removed the uterus containing a fetus so undeveloped he was able to mask its presence by folding the womb over in the receptacle that held it.
No word was spoken during the operation. That was as expected. Surgeons differed in many ways one from the other. Some talked quite freely; some demanded strict silence unless there was an emergency requiring speech communication.
As Green was closing, stitching Claire together, Nurse Kushner reached for the dish holding the amputated uterus.
“Leave it alone!” Green commanded sharply. “I want to take it to pathology myself. I want to follow this thing through right away.”
Kushner was only slightly surprised. Usually, the trip to pathology was taken by a nurse. But … doctors could do whatever they pleased. What did puzzle her was the appearance of the uterus. But she said nothing. No use being raked over the coals on a matter of mere curiosity.
On his way to pathology he stopped at his locker. He made certain no one else was around. He deposited the healthy uterus in a plastic bag, sealed it, wrapped it in abundant paper toweling, and dropped it in the wastebasket. From his locker he took a package containing solidified carbon dioxide-dry ice-and some diseased connective tissue from a previous hysterectomy. This-the cancerous tissue-he delivered to pathology.
The deed was done.
He would have told Claire nothing. He would have left her sterile, without her realizing it.
But that was impossible. She would never again experience menstruation. There was no uterine wall to slough off since there was no longer a uterus. So he had to tell her what had happened to her. What he had done to her. But not everything-and, of course, not the reason.
He told her she’d had a cancerous growth on her uterus and the entire organ had to be sacrificed. It was, indeed, fortunate that she had called his attention to that abnormal condition of the missed period. And lucky that he’d been on the case. He understood that this naturally would come as a shock to her. But it was important that they return to normal sexual activity as soon as possible. It was good for her speedy recovery. And, of course, it would be a solace to him as well.
She reacted with expected dismay. A good part of what made her a woman was suddenly gone. In the face of this, she found only mild relief that a life-threatening situation had been excised.
So she set her mind on being a good mistress.
But something was wrong. She couldn’t identify it, but there was something. …
The “something” was Green’s reaction to Claire’s present physical condition. It surprised even him. He reassured her as well as himself that while the nursery was gone, the playpen was still there.
He had not anticipated this. Given his sexual proclivity, he was edging toward impotence. Intercourse was still possible with Claire. But he no longer was ready instantly. Nor did he last as long.
There was no doubt whatsoever that he did not want a child with Claire. So he had expected their sexual relations would soar to new heights once she had been rendered sterile.
The removal of her reproductive organ had been no part of his long-term plan. But when Claire’s concern over
