Night Chills

prompted. The third cube held a very evident letter E in the area of light and shadow that comprised the cube itself. The fourth chunk of ice contained the subtle but unmistakable outline of the letter X: S-E-X.

Salsbury had come around behind Dawson’s desk and had carefully traced these three letters with his forefinger. “Do you see it?”

Scowling, Dawson said, “I saw the E immediately and the other two without much trouble. But I’m finding it hard to believe they were put there on purpose. It could be an accident of shading:”

“Ice cubes usually don’t photograph well,” Salsbury said. “When you see them in an advertisement, they’ve nearly always been drawn by an artist. In fact, this entire ad has been painted over a photograph. But there’s more than the word in the ice.”

Squinting at the page, Dawson said, “What else?”

“The bottle and glass are on a reflective surface.” Salsbury circled that area of the reflection that dealt with the bottle and the cap. “Without stretching your imagination too far, can you see that the reflection of the bottle is divided in two, forming what might be taken to be a pair of legs? Do you see, also, that the reflected bottle cap resembles a penis thrusting out from between those legs?”

Dawson bristled. “I can see it,” he said coldly.

Too interested in his own lecture to notice Dawson’s uneasiness, Salsbury said, “Of course, the melting ice on the bottle cap could be semen. That image was never meant to be entirely subliminal. The conscious mind might recognize the intent here. But it would not recognize the reflection in that table unless it was guided to the recognition.” He pointed to another spot on the page. “Would it be going too far to say these shadows between the reflections of the bottle and the glass form vaginal lips? And that this drop of water on the table is positioned on the shadows precisely where the clitoris would be on a vagina?”

When he perceived the subliminal sex organ, its lips parted, Dawson blushed. “I see it. Or I think I do.”

Salsbury reached in his briefcase. “I’ve got other examples.”

One of them was a two-page subscription solicitation that had appeared shortly before Christmas several years before, in Playboy. On the right-hand page, Playmate Liv Lindeland, a busty blonde, knelt on a white carpet. On the lefthand page stood an enormous walnut wreath. She was tying a red bow to the top of the wreath.

In one test, Salsbury explained, a hundred subjects spent an hour studying two hundred advertisements, including this one. When the hour ended they were asked to list the first ten of those items that they could remember. Eighty-five percent listed the Playboy ad. In describing it, all but two subjects mentioned the wreath. Only five of them mentioned the girl. When questioned further, they had trouble recalling if she was a blonde, brunette, or redhead. They remembered that her breasts were uncovered, but they couldn’t say for sure whether she was wearing a hat or was clothed from the waist down. (She had no hat and was nude.) None of them had trouble describing the wreath, for it was there that the subconscious had been riveted.

“Do you see why?” Salsbury asked. “There’s not a walnut in that ‘walnut’ wreath. It’s composed of objects that resemble the heads of penises and vaginal slits.”

Unable to speak, Dawson leafed through the other advertisements without asking Salsbury to explain them. Finally he said, “Camel cigarettes, Seagram’s, Sprite, Bacardi Rum… Some of the most prominent companies in the country are using subliminals to sell their products.”

“Why shouldn’t they? It’s legal. If the competition uses them, what choice does even the most morally uplifted company really have? Everyone has to stay competitive. In short, there are no individual villains. The whole system is the villain.”

Dawson returned to his executive chair, his face a book of his thoughts. One could read there that he disliked any talk against “the system” and that he was nonetheless shocked by what he had been shown. He was also trying to see how he could make a profit from it. He operated with the conviction that God wanted him to sit in an executive chair at the pinnacle of a billion-dollar corporation; and he was certain that the Lord would help him to see that, although subliminal advertising had a cheap and possibly immoral side to it, there was also an aspect of it that could aid him in his divine mission. As he saw it, his mission was to pile up profits for the Lord; when he and Julia were dead, the Dawson holdings would belong to the church.

Salsbury returned to his seat in front of the desk. The litter of magazine pages on the blotter and bare oak seemed like a collection of pornography. He felt as if he had been trying to titillate Dawson. Irrationally, he was embarrassed.

“You’ve shown me that a great deal of creative effort and money goes into subliminal commercials and ads,” Dawson said. “Evidently, there’s a generally held theory that subconscious sexual stimulation sells goods. But does it? Enough to be worth the expense?”

“Unquestionably! Psychological studies have proved that most Americans react to sexual stimuli with subconscious anxiety and tension. So if the subliminal half of a television commercial for XYZ soda shows a couple having intercourse, the viewer’s subconscious starts bubbling with anxiety — and that establishes a motivational equation. On the left side of the equals sign, there’s anxiety and tension. To complete the equation and cancel out these bad feelings, the viewer buys the product, a bottle or a case of XYZ. The equation is finished, the blackboard wiped clean.”

Dawson was surprised. “Then he doesn’t buy the product because he believes it will give him a better sex life?”

“Just the opposite,” Salsbury said. “He buys it to escape from sex. The ad fills him with desire on a subconscious level, and by buying that product he is able to satisfy the desire without risking rejection, impotence, humiliation, or some other unsatisfactory experience with a woman. Or if the viewer is a woman, she buys the product to satisfy desire and thus avoids an unhappy affair with a man. For both men and women, the desire is well relieved if the product has an oral aspect. Like food or soda.”

“Or cigarettes,” Dawson said. “Could that explain why so many people have trouble giving up cigarettes?”

“Nicotine is addictive,” Salsbury said. “But there’s no question that subliminals in cigarette ads reinforce the habit in most people.”

Scratching his square chin, Dawson said, “If these are so effective, why don’t I smoke? I’ve seen the ads before.”

“The science hasn’t been perfected yet,” Salsbury said. “If you think smoking is a disgusting habit, if you’ve decided never to smoke, subliminals can’t change your mind. On the other hand, if you’re young, just entering the cigarette market, and have no real opinions about the habit, subliminals can influence you to pick it up. Or if you were once a heavy smoker but kicked the habit, subliminals can persuade you to resume smoking. Subliminals also affect people who have no strong brand preferences. For example, if you don’t drink gin or don’t like to drink at all, subliminals in the Gilbey’s ad won’t make you run out to the liquor store. If you do drink, and if you do like gin, and if you don’t care which brand of gin you drink, these ads could establish a brand preference for you. They work, Leonard. Subliminals sell hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of goods every year, a substantial percentage of which the public might never buy if it were not subliminally manipulated. ”

Dawson said, “You’ve been working on subliminal perception up there in Connecticut for the last ten years?”

“Yes.”

“Perfecting the science?”

“That’s correct. ”

“The Pentagon sees a weapon in it?”

“Definitely. Don’t you see it?”

Quietly, reverently, Dawson said, “If you’ve perfected the science… you’re talking about total mind control. Not just behavior modification, but absolute, ironlike control. ”

For a moment neither of them could speak.

“Whatever you’ve discovered,” Dawson said, “you apparently want to keep it from the Defense Department. They might call that treason.”

“I don’t care what they call it,” Salsbury said sharply. “With your money and my knowledge, we don’t need the Defense Department — or anyone else. We’re more powerful than all the world’s governments combined.”

Dawson couldn’t conceal his excitement. “What is it? What have you got?”

Salsbury went to the windows and watched the snow spiraling down on the city. He felt as if he had taken