'I wouldn't care to be used, Herman,' Dr. Noble said softly.
'I don't like the idea of your thinking of therapy as a ploy to keep Marleen from seeking a divorce. If I took you on, your treatment could conceivably take a long time. Perhaps months.
Perhaps years. Meanwhile, do you intend to keep living the way you have been?'
'I see what you're getting at, doc,' I said slowly. 'I can't ask Marleen to put up with my bullshit just because I'm going to a shrink.
Is that what you mean? '
'Something like that.'
'That doesn't leave me much hope, does it?'
'There may be a way of working it out,' she said evenly.
'Let me think about it. Phone me early next week. I think you've done a good job of analyzing your problem, but whether or not I can help you is a question. I hope you realize that the success of therapy will depend on you. Not on me, on you.'
'Sure, I know that. Okay, I'll call you next week.' I got up to leave.
'Have you seen Chas lately? ' I asked her.
'Yes,' she said. 'I stopped by his place last Saturday.'
'How's he doing?'
'Better,' she said. 'Are you going to tell him about your problem?'
'No. He's got his own worries.' She nodded, rose, and opened her office door for me. , She was wearing a pantsuit so I never did get a good look at her legs.
It was then about three in the afternoon, and I didn't feel like going back to work. I could have gone out to the club and hoisted a few, but that didn't appeal to me right then. So, believe it or not, I went home. I guess I wanted time to think about what Cherry had said. She hadn't agreed to take me on, I noted, but she hadn't said no either. I figured my chances were fifty-fifty.
When I got home, I pulled into the driveway and didn't even get out of the car. I just sat there with the engine running and the air conditioner on. I saw Tania and Chester Barrow. They were both in their bathing suits, and they were having a hose fight across our two lawns.
They were having a helluva time, running around and screaming and dousing each other with water. I envied them. They ate, slept, enjoyed life, and that was about it. You had to grow up to have troubles.
I watched Chet Barrow, a good-looking boy, and thought about his mother.
She was primed, and I knew if I had to move into a motel room, she'd be my first guest. I was glad I hadn't mentioned that project to Dr.
Noble. She'd have thrown my ass out of her office for sure.
Tania came running over to the Lincoln, and I lowered the window.
'Why are you home so early, Daddy?' she asked.
'Just stopped by for a minute,' I said. 'Having a good time, honey?'
'It's okay,' she said. 'Better than going in that smelly pool.'
Then Chet came close and sloshed her with water from his hose. She shrieked and ran away. He followed. I put up the window and watched the two of them scampering about, not a worry in the world.
I decided I wanted some of that. I backed out of the driveway and headed for the club. By the time I got there the Happy Hour would be starting.
That was a curious summer. I had six weeks of accumulated vacation time, and Mabel and Chester were continually asking when we were going away, and where. I told them how busy I was at the lab and mumbled something about taking time off in October. I didn't tell them that even a fall vacation was iffy.
The truth was I had no desire to go anywhere. I was totally engrossed by the ZAP Project, possibly the most interesting research I had ever done, and I even resented taking Sundays off.
I wanted to be in the lab every day with my mice and video cameras.
The problem was to develop a testosterone formulation that increased aggressiveness without inflaming sexual desire at the same time. After several failed experiments, I began to wonder if the two might not be inextricably linked.
My first small success resulted from the addition of potassium nitrate and sodium nitrate to the solution of synthetic testosterone. I had clear evidence (on TV tape) that male mice injected with the altered testosterone showed a small but discernible lessening of their desire to copulate.
To achieve even this minor reduction required countless experiments.
And as I began a search for other chemicals that might further decrease the sexual consequences of the hormone injection, my notebooks filled with the record of seemingly endless trials, all of which ended in failure. One cause of that, naturally, was that I had no prior research by others to guide me.
I felt like Edison who reportedly tested hundreds of materials before finding a filament that worked in his incandescent lamp.
While I was so deeply involved in the ZAP Project, I must confess that I was completely unaware of the worsening crisis in my relations with my wife and son. I thought we had arrived at a plateau of unhappiness, unpleasant but endurable. I suppose I was content because things didn't seem to be getting worse.
I expressed these sentiments to Marleen Todd, and she was scornful.
'Greg,' she said, 'you simply can't let matters drift.
That's like neglecting to seek a cure for an illness because you've become used to the pain.'
I admit I was somewhat miffed. She wasn't treating me like the village idiot, exactly, but she made no effort to hide her exasperation with my predilection for letting things slide. She may have had a point, I do hate to make waves.
'And what do you suggest I do, Marleen?'
'Either have a long, intimate talk with Mabel and get things straightened out between you two, or take some other action to end your estrangement.'
'I wouldn't call it an estrangement,' I said lamely, 'No? Then what would you call it?'
'I don't know,' I said helplessly. 'A coolness, I suppose.
We inhabit the same house, but we seem to be living in different worlds.
It's a very unsettling situation, Marleen, and I suspect most of the fault is mine. I know I'm not the husband Mabel wants me to be.
She thinks I'm a failure as a man.'
'Not all women think that, Greg,' she said quietly.
Then an event occurred that was to affect profoundly all our lives.
On the morning of July 27, I heard the sounds of people running in the corridor outside my private laboratory and shouts I could not comprehend. I feared a fire might have broken out-a terrible danger since we had so many inflammables on the premisesbut the alarm didn't go off.
A moment later my lab phone rang. It was Marleen, excited and breathless.
'Did you hear?' she gasped. 'It's Mr. Mcwhortle. He collapsed on his putting green. They're giving him CPR.' I went out there as quickly as I could. The company doctor was in attendance, now using a portable oxygen tank. He and a nurse worked frantically for several minutes, while a crowd of employees that had assembled stood a respectful distance away.
'It's his heart,' I heard someone say. 'The doctor gave him a shot, but he hasn't moved since I've been here.
Then we all waited in silence. A fire rescue truck arrived followed by an ambulance. They had additional equipment, and the paramedics joined the chore in ministering to the fallen man.
It was almost a half hour before the paramedics gave up, turned away, and began to pack their gear. The ambulance crew wheeled a stretcher across the putting green. The company doctor came over to the assembled employees.
'He's gone,' he reported.
The sudden death of Marvin Mcwhortle shook all of us. He really was a generous, beneficent employer, and after mouming his demise, we all began worrying about the future of Mcwhortle Laboratory. I think my greatest anxiety concerned the continued funding of the ZAP Project.
The laboratory was closed for three days, but those of us conducting animal research were allowed entrance
