her missed period arose, he had seized the opportunity to remove any possibility of pregnancy. However, the practical consequences of the operation did not provide the aphrodisiac that he had expected.
What was the problem?
It came to him one day with unexpected clarity: He was making love to a cripple-a freak. Oh, not on the surface; externally, of course, Claire was as beautiful and desirable as ever.
But potency and impotency exist largely in the mind. And Moe Green’s mind was focusing on the uterus he had removed. That perfectly normal healthy organ was gone. Claire was not whole. That’s what had been distracting him; that’s what was impeding his performance to the point where the situation was adversely affecting his entire life.
What was to be done?
He could try to rationalize himself out of this tight corner into which he’d painted himself. He could see one of his psychotherapist colleagues; a few sessions on the couch might restore things to their normal level.
Simple-but he knew that he would never go that far; he would never trouble himself to that degree.
Why should he? There were plenty of other potential mistresses around. And the next time, he would be more careful. He would make certain that the next woman-women? — would take every precaution … with the certain knowledge that being with child would automatically mean being without Moe.
But first he must get rid of Claire.
Dr. Green was not disposed to the soft touch or the language of diplomacy. He tried intercourse with her one more time. It was a near disaster.
As he abruptly left the bed and reached for his clothes, Claire pulled the sheet up around her. She was, of course, aware there was a problem. She had no idea what the cause was; she only hoped that somehow Moe would solve it. She had abiding faith in him.
“Claire,” Green said as he pulled on his shorts, “I think it’s time we went our separate ways.”
“Wh-what?” Her heart began to pound.
“A relationship like ours doesn’t last a lifetime. It’s time we recognized that and moved on.”
“But … but you’re going to divorce your wife. When … when it’s time. That’s what you said. I know we’re having problems … but we can work them out. I know we can. Maybe it’s something I’m doing wrong. We can talk about it. It’ll get better, you’ll see. I can be a perfect wife. Please, Moe, let’s talk.”
“Talk time is over. You’re a good kid. But you have to take a more realistic approach to life. For one, you’re never gonna be a dancer. I’ve had to pay your teacher over scale just to keep you as a student. Haven’t you noticed that Jake hasn’t moved you up in the chorus line?”
Ignoring the hurt and vulnerability on her face, indeed in every line of her body, he swept on. “As for sex, ours is deteriorating. Even you admit that. Take it from me, you gotta read the signs of the times. And, with us, the signs all point to the end of the game. It’s over. What we gotta do now is bury it. Let’s do this like civilized people, without making an unseemly fuss. Whad’ya say?”
“Moe, I don’t have to be a dancer-not if I’m your wife!”
“My wife! That’ll be the day! Margie’s a shark when she has to be. She wouldn’t give me a divorce unless she walked away with everything. And I’m kinda used to everything.”
“But you said …”
“I say lots of things. Some I mean and some I’m not so sure.”
“Moe, what’s going to happen to me?” She pulled the sheet higher about her neck. It was as if she were nude in this room with a stranger. The rare glimpses she’d gotten of Moe’s ruthless side had been quickly glossed over. Now she could see the truth. This Moe Green who was discarding her like a card in a poker game was the real Moe Green, the genuine lowdown article.
Nothing she could do or say would prolong their relationship. It was now a matter of salvaging whatever she could. “Moe, what’s going to happen to me?” she repeated.
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t know.” He really didn’t give a damn, but he didn’t want to push her over the edge into anger. At the moment she was defensive. That was the state of mind he wanted to deal with.
“You can stay here,” he said, “for a little while. But there’s got to be a time limit on this arrangement-say, a month, two at the outside. You can find a job. Look around. I’ll even help you if I can. But”-his voice was harsh-“not dancing. Nobody can help you there.”
Now fully dressed, he paused in the doorway. “Have a nice life, Claire. But first, get one.” And he was gone.
In just a little more than two weeks her newly found lifestyle had not only crumbled, it had virtually evaporated.
It had all begun when she’d told Green of her missed period. What if she had gone to another doctor? She could have had the operation and he would have been in the dark, none the wiser.
It was over.
She was alone.
Tears flowed. Sobs racked her. She wished fervently that she had never met Dr. Moses Green.
THE PRESENT
Father Koesler was impressed. Of all the people he’d met in his entire life, surely no one appeared to be as amoral as Dr. Moses Green.
Still, Koesler did not second-guess himself on granting this wake. If deceased people needed a consensus to be granted a religious funeral, he wondered how many would qualify.
“Well, what did you do then?”
“First of all,” Claire said, “I made up my mind I wasn’t going to be beholden to him for anything. I cleared out of the apartment the next day. I had saved up some money. So I got a decent place to stay even before I started looking for a job.
“Thank’s to Moe’s laying it all on the line, I didn’t waste any more time trying to be a dancer. I took stock of what I had to offer. I’m good looking-that’s not vanity, Father; that’s the truth.”
“Honest humility is the truth,” Koesler said. “And I would second your assessment: You are good looking.”
“And I’ll third it!” Stan Lacki was grinning.
“So,” Claire continued, “I figured there was good money in waiting restaurants, if the tips were generous. After checking around, I settled on Carl’s Chop House. Lots of men go there. I counted on their appreciating a good-looking waitress. And I was right. That’s”-she smiled broadly-“where I met Stan.”
“The guys at the station go there maybe once every week or two,” Lacki said. “Course I picked up on Claire right away.”
“He was more than a real gentleman,” Claire said. “He was very respectful to me. And I needed that. I could joke with the guys at the restaurant, but it was just kidding. Whenever any of them started coming on to me, I’d cut ’em off at the pass. I’d just had it with sweet-talkers. Good old Moe Green cured me of falling for sweet talk. Stan was real mannerly.”
“She’s a lady.”
“So, anyway,” Claire went on, “about a year ago we started going out. Then we got serious and … well, we’ve been sort of engaged for the past five months. And, you know, Father …” She blushed again, then smiled and said firmly, “We wanted to wait awhile to get married-you know, to be sure?”
Koesler nodded understandingly.
“But then, a little while back, when we decided to plan our wedding … well, we ran into trouble. A lot of trouble, it turns out.”
“Oh?” Koesler said. “You’re both Catholic, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Either of you married before?”
“No.”
“You’re both entering this marriage freely?”
“Yes.”
“Then, I’m at a loss. What’s the problem?”
