to feed and care for our subjects.
The laboratory reopened the day after the funeral. All employees were summoned to a meeting in the cafeteria where Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle, Marvin's widow, spoke to us.
She was a large, imposing woman, and no one could doubt her sincerity and determination. She said she was now the sole owner of Mcwhortle Laboratory, had every intention of keeping the business going, and saw no reason not to follow her late husband's plans for expansion.
She also told us she would act as chief executive officer until she could hire a more experienced CEO with the aid of a management consulting firm. All of us were to continue working at our assigned projects,, all contracts with clients would be fulfilled. The company was in excellent financial condition, she added, with ample cash reserves.
Good news indeed!
And so, with only a brief interruption, I returned to my assignment with renewed enthusiasm, as I think other employees did as well. I even heard several, including Marleen Todd, express satisfaction that a woman was now in charge of our company.
'I suppose it's selfish of me,' Marleen said, 'but I'm hoping Gertie will increase the budget of the perfumery. We've been trying to get our library of essences inventoried and computerized for ages. Greg, now is the time for you to put in a requisition for that electron microscope you've always wanted. it 'It would be nice to have, Marleen,' I said, 'but it's really not essential.'
'What an old stick-in-the-mud you are,' she said, laughing.
I tried to laugh too, but couldn't. Her remark rankled, as did her previous comments about my tendency to let things drift.
She seemed so vehement about what she considered my wishy-washiness that I had a feeling of being pressured, of being manipulated to fit a scenario she had designed. It was a disquieting notion.
But I had other, more important matters to consider. A week after Mr.
Mcwhortle's death I succeeded in adding a chemical to the solution of synthesized testosterone that had a very definite, easily observed effect of diminishing, if not totally eliminating, the sexual aggression of injected male mice. I cannot identify the chemical for proprietary reasons, but I can state it was an inexpensive ingredient found in many common household soaps and detergents.
Repeated experiments with the new formulation ielded the same gratifying results, and I pondered y my next move. Logically, I should have repeated my final experiments on larger mammals, guinea pigs, dogs, and chimps.
But I was so excited by my recent success that I decided to progress immediately to trials on human volunteers-myself first, of course.
Analyzing my own conduct in this regard, I see now that I had an ulterior motive for wishing to try the hormone formulation on myself.
I had no desire to become more physically aggressive, that is simply contrary to my nature.
But I did hope to become more assertive, to express myself and act more forcibly. I believe I had some vague notion of proving to Mabel and Marleen that I was a real man. Macho posturing had nothing to do with it. It was simply a matter of masculine pride.
On July 27,
I was lying on a chaise out by my swimming pool, naked as a jaybird. I had my portable radio tuned to an oldies station. The local news came on, and I heard the announcer say Marvin Mcwhortle, a well-known businessman, had dropped dead that morning on his private putting green.
I immediately dashed into the house, phoned the Pontiac dealership and canceled my order for a white Bonneville. Thank God I hadn't signed a contract yet. Then I poured myself a vodka on the rocks, took a gulp, and started crying.
Part of my boohooing was because I had lost my sugar daddy, I admit it.
But part was because I really felt sorry the old man had shuffled off.
I mean he was always straight with me, never beat me, and he wasn't all that kinky. I knew I'd never find another john like him.
I finished my drink, dried my tears, and tried to figure out where I stood. The house was in my name, I owned my old heap, and I had about ten thousand in cash, most of it from Willie the Weasel. I knew that wouldn't last long, and I also knew that as soon as new management took over at Mcwhortle Laboratory, my no-show job as a consultant would be gone with the wind.
I had to discuss my predicament with someone in the same fix, so I phoned Laura Gunther at Hashbeam's and asked her if she'd like to share a plate of lasagna that night. She said she had a dinner date and couldn't make it.
'Anything wrong, Jess?' she asked. 'You sound down.'
'Yeah,' I said, 'I just had some superbad news.'
'Look,' she said, 'suppose I stop by for a drink after work, I can stay an hour or so.'
'I'd appreciate that,' I said gratefully. 'I can use some sympathy.'
By the time Laura showed up, I had my act together and was thinking, what the hell, I wasn't so bad off. I had a roof over my head, a car, and money in the bank. I was surviving, and if I had to go back on the street again, I could do that, the body was used, but it was still a bargain.
I poured Laura a Chivas, which she dearly loves, and put out a bowl of Doritos. Then I flopped down on the couch next to her and took a deep breath.
'Okay, kiddo,' she said, 'what's the a news you want to unload on me?'
'A man named Marvin Mcwhortle dropped dead today,' I told her. 'I guess it was a heart attack.'
She was startled. 'Don't tell me he was the guy who owned Mcwhortle Laboratory?'
'That's the one.' , 'Shit,' she said. 'That'll screw things up.' She looked at me. 'But what's it got to do with you?'
'Laura,' I said, 'Mcwhortle kept me. He was my one and only trick. He bought this house for me and put me on his company payroll.'
'Son of a bitch, ' she said. 'I knew you were balling an old geezer, but I had no idea it was Mcwhortle. Tough luck, Jess.
You think he left you anything in his will?'
'I doubt it, I said. 'But he was going to buy me a new Bonneville.
That's out the window now, of course. But that's not the worst of it.
Listen to this…
I told Laura how Mcwhortle was always bringing me samples of new products his laboratory had developed, and how he liked to gab about new clients he had landed and projects the lab was working on. Then I'd sell the samples and stuff he had told me for a nice buck to a guy who was in the information business.
'It was a sweet racket,' I mourned, 'but with Mcwhortle dead, that cash cow just dried up, and I've got to think about hustling again.'
Laura drained her Chivas and held out the empty glass.
'Another,' she said hoarsely. 'Please.'
I brought her the bottle and told her to help herself. She poured a double, at least, and took a hefty belt.
' Jess, ' she said, 'this guy who bought information from you-his name wouldn,t be Willie, would it? Tall, thin, dresses like a fashion plate?'
It was my turn to be startled. 'Sure it is,' I said.
'William K. Brevoort. I call him Willie the Weasel because he's got a long, pointy face. You know him?'
'Oh, Jesus, do I know him!' she said. 'This is the damnedest thing.
Now you listen to this, Jess…'
Then she told me how Big Bobby Gurk and Brevoort had a deal cooking that involved a ZAP pill being developed by Mcwhortle Laboratory, and how Gurk wanted to cut Willie out and had hired Laura to find the name of the chemist feeding Willie the information.
'So I cozied up to Brevoort,' Laura went on, 'and he's twice the guy Big Bobby is. Also he smells better. So I told him Gurk was planning to dump him as soon as he found out the name of the chemist.'
I laughed like a maniac. 'Willie doesn't know the chemist at the lab.
