(1961) The Chapman Report (12 page)

“But they know your work.”

“They know more. I’ve submitted to them, in writing, not only a complete explanation of my methods and achievements, but a detailed outline of my plans and needs. Still, the grant would be so large, it requires study by each individual board member-and a favorable majority vote when they meet in the fall. As things stand now, I believe the majority are inclined to support the idea of an academy devoted to international sex studies. But much can happen between now and the meeting. Those men, the members of the board, they’re human beings. They’re intelligent, but they come from every walk of life, with every background and prejudice and susceptibility-I mean susceptibility to unfavorable criticism-they can be swayed for or against. I’ve seen it too many times.”

Paul knew that Dr. Chapman had something specific in mind. He did not know what. “I don’t think you have any reason to be worried.”

“But I have, Paul, I have. I won’t beat around the bush with you. I have. Here, within grasp, is the biggest thing that’s ever happened in my life-and yours-fulfillment of a dream beyond dreams-and yet, some small nonsense between now and late autumn, some carping little thing, could ruin the whole plan and turn Zollman against us.” He stared at Paul. “Have you ever heard of Dr. Victor Jonas?”

“Of course.”

Everyone associated with Dr. Chapman was aware of Dr. Jonas, the iconoclastic, outspoken, free-lance psychologist and marriage counselor. When Dr. Chapman’s second book had appeared, Dr. Jonas had reviewed it for several academic journals and had been highly critical. His rhetorical skill and imagery were such that he was often quoted in newspapers and the news magazines.

“He’s our Devil’s Advocate,” said Dr. Chapman.

“I don’t understand.”

“You spend your lifetime trying to promote Sainthood for some obscure, courageous, miracle-working missionary, and then you go to the Vatican to present your case and promote your cause, and there is one-appointed who is the Devil’s Advocate, who tries to demolish your cause, who tries to show that your subject does not deserve Sainthood. Often the Advocate succeeds, too. Well, Dr. Jonas is our hurdle, our opposition. He’s been making a study of our work-“

“Are you sure?”

“Certainly I’m sure. I’ve told you, Paul, you can’t hold my job and be pure scientist alone. You can’t be above the battle. I have my sources. Dr. Jonas is doing this study, and I happen to know that it is antagonistic. He will publish it before the Zollman Foundation board meets.”

“But why would he do that-I mean, undertake the whole thing?”

“Because he’s been hired to do it. I don’t have all the facts. It’s been rather hush-hush. But there’s a small, crotchety splinter group of the Zollman board, the Anthony Comstock wing, who are opposed to putting money in my academy. They have other plans for the endowment. Well, they looked around for a kindred spirit in dissent. Jonas was a natural choice. He’s against us-whether out of envy or malice or because he wants headlines, I can’t say-but he is, and this Zollman minority is exploiting his attitude. They’ve given him money, out of their private purses I am sure, to make a thorough analysis of our methods and accomplishments, and tear them to shreds. Once done and published, it could have a devastating effect-not on the public at large, but on the judgment of the Zollman board. It could very well destroy my-our-academy.”

Paul was bewildered. “You mean you’ve known this all along, and you’ve done nothing?”

Dr. Chapman shrugged. “What can I do? It’s not befitting that I … I even recognize this man-“

“Reinforce your case before the public. Hire publicists if you must.”

“It wouldn’t help where I want it to help. No, I’ve thought it out. There’s only one thing to do-see Jonas-he’s in Los Angeles -see him and speak to him.”

“I doubt if he’d listen to reason.”

“Not reason.” Dr. Chapman smiled. “Cash. He’s obviously a man who can be bought.”

“How?”

“By bringing him into our project as a consultant, an associate, and promising him an important place in the academy. We can’t beat him, so we’ll absorb him. He can’t criticize what he’s a part of.”

Paul shook his head. “A man of your stature can’t go to him with a bribe.”

“Bribe?” Dr. Chapman’s large, open face reflected astonishment. “Why, it wouldn’t be that at all. We would have real use for this man on our team. I should have stressed that at once. He could keep us from becoming complacent. He could still play Devil’s Advocate, but to bolster us and improve us, for our benefit, not to our detriment.”

Paul wanted to believe this. He tried to see Dr. Jonas’ value if he quit the society of dragons and enlisted as a knight of the round table. He could see that Jonas’ values would be considerable. “Yes,” Paul said. “But no matter what your motives, it’ll still look like a bribe if you go to him-“

“Oh, I wouldn’t go to him. You’re right, of course, Paul. I couldn’t.” He shook the long ash off his cigar. “No, I’m not right for it, Paul. But you are. You’re just the person to do it. I hope you will.” He smiled again. “It’s not just me now, you see, it’s both of us-we’ve both got everything at stake.”

“Well, well, the heir apparent,” said Cass as Paul made his way into the lounge car and joined the other two at their table.

“That was long enough,” Cass added, slurring his words. “What did you and the old Roman cook up for the Ides of March?”

“A new survey,” said Paul pleasantly. “We’re going to interview men who interview women and find out what makes them so goddam sour.”

“Big joke,” said Cass, noisily downing his drink.

Paul glanced at Horace, who was morosely twisting his glass, “Cass got you down, too?”

Horace lifted his head. “I was just thinking about Los Angeles. I wish we could skip it. I don’t like Los Angeles.”

“And miss all that great weather?” said Paul.

“You can have it.”

Paul leaned across the table and pressed the buzzer. In a moment, a white-coated colored waiter appeared. Paul ordered refills for the others and a Scotch for himself. Watching the waiter go, he saw

that there were three other people in the lounge car. An elderly couple, seated side by side, were absorbed in leafing pages of their bound magazines. At the far end sat a girl, bleached blonde and rather self-conscious as she pretended to read a paperback book and occasionally sip at her drink.

Cass saw Paul looking off, and he half turned and observed the blonde. “She must have just blown in,” he said. “Nice tits.” “Cut it out,” said Horace. “Do you want her to hear you?” “That’s right. That’s just what I want her to do.” Cass grinned at Paul. “If they got ‘em, they should be proud of ‘em. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Paul.

“And maybe even share the wealth.” Pie half turned again and stared at the blonde. She crossed her legs, tugged her skirt down, and concentrated on her book.

Cass swung back and began to recount a pointless and pornographic anecdote about a blonde he had once kept in Ohio. Presently, the drinks came. Paul paid, and they all devoted themselves to the business of oblivion.

Cass finished first. “Dammit, I’d sure like to tear off a piece.”

“It’s the movement of the train,” said Horace ponderously. “I’ve often observed that when people are on moving vehicles-trains, -boats, airplanes-they are sexually stimulated.”

“Shove it,” said Cass.

“You’re drunk,” said Paul. “Why don’t you hit the sack?”

“Not alone, I don’t.” He pushed his chair back. “I’m going to do some missionary work, spread the gospel of Dr. Chapman, make our little slut there a statistic-“

“Shut up,” said Paul angrily.

Cass glared at him, then suddenly smiled wickedly. “Did I take His name in vain? Sorry, Apostle.”

He rose and unsteadily made his way to the rear of the lounge. He picked a magazine off a chair, and then he sat down next to the girl. Stiffly, she continued to read. Slowly, Cass turned the pages of the magazine.

Paul drained his glass. “Ready for bed?” he asked Horace.

“I suppose so.”

But Horace had made no move to leave. He sat staring gloomily at his drink.

Observing the downcast look on Horace’s face, Paul waited, puzzled. “Anything wrong?”

Horace did not reply at once. He remained immobile, except for

his hands, one absently kneading the other. At last, he pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose and squinted through them at Paul.

“Yes, I guess I am worried,” he said in his professorial way that sounded oddly unemotional. “I know it’s foolish of me.”

Paul was at a loss. “Is it anything you want to talk about?”

“Well …” He hesitated on the edge of some frontier of privacy, and then, averting his eyes, he left privacy behind. “You know I was married once,” he said. It was a flat declaration.

Paul played no games. “So I’ve heard.” Although he had known Horace for three years, and known him well, and exchanged many minor confidences with him, he had never heard his friend discuss his marriage. Occasionally, Paul remembered, others had mentioned the former Mrs. Van Duesen, always in passing and obliquely, and Paul understood no more than that she had left her mark on the campus and departed its ivy walks filled with dishonors.

“My ex-wife lives in Los Angeles,” Horace was saying. And then he added: “I hate her. I don’t ever want to see her again.”

“Who says you have to see her? Los Angeles is a big city. What the devil, Horace, you were there four years ago on the bachelor survey. She must’ve been there then. Yet you seem to have survived it.”

“That was different,” said Horace. “Four years ago she lived in Burbank. Now she lives in The Briars.”

Paul frowned. He tried to think of something reassuring to say. “Are you positive she’s still there?”

“She was a year ago.”

“Well, I’d be damned if I’d let that bug me. The odds are all on your side, The Briars must be swarming with women. We’ll only be seeing a handful.”

Horace shook his head with resignation, as one awaiting the blindfold. “I don’t like it, that’s all. I don’t like being anywhere near her. I don’t trust myself thinking of what I might do if I saw her.” He paused, and glanced furtively at Paul. “If you knew what had happened, you’d understand.” But he compressed his lips and did not reveal what had happened.

Paul felt as useless as a good Samaritan on a foggy night. “I think you can trust yourself,” he said, “Apparently you didn’t do anything rash when you had the-when you broke up.”

“At that time I couldn’t,” said Horace mysteriously, “But I’ve had over four years to think about what she did.”

Again Paul speculated on the kind of scandal that could possibly embitter a man so unfamiliar with deep emotion as was Horace. He hoped his friend would say more, but he saw that Horace had beaten his way back across his frontier of privacy.

“Well, try to put it out of your head,” Paul said lamely. But he wanted to do better than this. “If you happen to run into her, you’ll manage the situation. Hello. Goodbye. But I’ll bet you a week’s salary you don’t get within a country mile of her.”

Horace had hardly listened. He wagged his head miserably. “I begged Dr. Chapman to take the San Francisco date instead of Los Angeles, but once he sets his mind …”

Paul saw that nothing more could be done for his friend. Like so many males who lived alone, old maidishly, Horace had too much spare time to masticate small things and past things. His apprehension had grown out of proportion to probability, but no one would convince him of it.

Paul pushed his chair back and stood up. “Come on, old man. Try to sleep it off. We’re lucky if we get six or seven hours, as it is. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be too damn busy to worry about anything.”

Horace nodded without conviction, pushed himself to his feet, and came around the table.

Waiting for Horace to precede him, Paul glanced off at Cass and the blonde. Apparently, they were already on a friendly footing. Cass had said something, and she was laughing, and she leaned nearer to him, and he patted her arm. Now he was reaching behind her to touch the buzzer, and she was saying something to him.

The movement of the train, Paul thought. Or maybe this project. A Sex History of the American Married Female. Was she a married female? Did she have a sex history? Question. Do you feel any sexual desire at the sight of the male genitalia? Well, do you? Answer. Fourteen, per cent feel strong desire..

Paul turned away. Horace had already gone. At once Paul remembered how someone had described Horace’s ex-wife. The someone had been a pinched and fussy dean. The word he had used was hetaera. What had he really meant? Suddenly, Paul was too tired to explore it further. He started hastily after Horace, bumping against the narrow corridor of the train.

Far ahead, a whistle shrieked. The yellow streamliner hurtled westward into the night.

WHEN Kathleen Ballard slowed her Mercedes in the thickening traffic of The Village Green-which always increased through the morning, as women converged on the business section to shop before lunch-and then drew to a halt beside the stop sign at Romola Place, she realized that her fantasy had been no more than a fantasy and a wish, after all.

She had awakened early, in the gray dawn, before the sun was up, and lay very still, eyes closed but mind awake, adjusting to the day ahead and knowing that this was the day.

The night before, the newspapers had been full of Dr. Chapman’s arrival, and Dr. Chapman’s lecture (all enlarging considerably on Grace Waterton’s press release), and several ran pictures of Dr. Chapman, But even knowing that they had arrived, Kathleen lay daydreaming of a last-minute reprieve. Perhaps something would happen to Dr. Chapman; he would drop dead of a heart attack-no, that was not fair-he would be hit by a car, and survive (after a long convalescence), and his associates would agree to cancel The Briars sampling, because they had enough material already. Or maybe it would happen another way. Each woman, individually, would feel that she did not want to subject herself to this ordeal. Each would stay away, certain that she would not be missed. In this way, at the appointed hour, no one would appear. Discouraged, Dr. Chapman would cancel the lecture and take his troupe to Pasadena or San Diego.