(1987) The Celestial Bed (37 page)

Paul Brandon, Gayle, and Hunter’s own Suzy Edwards. Briefly, Hunter gave his attention to Brandon and Gayle, once more. Brandon, Hunter remembered, was also a surrogate like Gayle. According to Suzy, they were a close number. How odd, Hunter thought, two surrogates going steady. How could two professional surrogates make it together? Did they go through all those caressing and touching exercises first? Probably. Then again, probably not. Anyway, Hunter thought, they might make a fascinating follow-up feature story for the Chronicle one day.

His eyes continued to scan the room. There were the other female surrogates he had met earlier, and with his excellent recall he remembered their names: Beth Brant, Lila Van Patten, Elaine Oakes, and Janet Schneider. Everyone in this grouping seemed anguished, doubtless concerned about the fate of Dr Freeberg.

Hunter decided to check in with Suzy.

Entering the waiting room, he crossed it until he came to Suzy. He leaned over to kiss her, and then gave her a questioning look. ‘Anything yet?’

‘Not a peep,’ said Suzy. ‘I overheard a nurse say it may be another half hour. It depends where the bullet is embedded.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ said Hunter quietly.

‘They’ll save him, Chet. God won’t let a man like that die,’ said Suzy.

‘Your word in God’s ear,’ Hunter said. ‘I think I’ll hang around a little while. I want to have a private talk with Gayle, if it’s OK by you.’

‘You know it’s OK.’

Hunter took two steps along the sofa until he was confronting Gayle Miller, who had just stopped saying something to Brandon.

‘Mind if I cut in?’ asked Hunter. He addressed Brandon. ‘Do you mind if I take Gayle away from you for a fewrfninutes? I’d like to have a personal word with her.’

‘Remember, she’s only on loan-out,’ replied Brandon, good-naturedly.

Hunter extended his hand, and helped Gayle up from the sofa. ‘Just something between us,’ Hunter whispered. ‘There’s an empty laboratory next door. It seems like a safe place to talk.’

‘Sure,’ said Gayle.

Hunter led Gayle into the hallway, then opened the door to the deserted laboratory and gestured for her to precede him.

At the nearest formica counter, he drew two high stools from under it, helped Gayle onto one and seated himself on the other opposite her.

‘I wanted a few words with you, Gayle, before whatever happens … happens.’

‘What is it, Chet?’ Gayle asked.

‘You know now that Suzy is my girl, the one who sent me to Dr Freeberg.’

‘That was a real surprise,’ said Gayle. ‘You’re a lucky man. We all adore her.’

‘So do I,’ said Hunter. ‘But that’s not what I want to talk to you about. If not for her, I’d be the mess I always was. Anyway, she loved me as much as I loved her, and she is the one who encouraged me to go into therapy with Dr Freeberg. When she told me about the clinic and what was going on there, about you, and the other sex surrogates, that’s when I forgot her real purpose in confiding in me. That’s when I went haywire.’

‘Chet, what’s on your mind?’

He gulped. ‘You know, I’m responsible for your arrest as well as Dr Freeberg’s.’

‘I know, Chet. The District Attorney showed me your journal.’

Hunter shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Gayle, I really am. I meant neither you nor Dr Freeberg any harm. I just wasn’t thinking ahead. I couldn’t see what my machinations might lead to. I could think only of myself and my immediate future. I was totally the victim of an all-consuming ambition. All I could see was the chance to get the inside story on the clinic and its operation, on Dr Freeberg and one of his sex surrogates, because I knew the expose would land me a job as a writer on the staff of the Hillsdale Chronicle.’ He paused. ‘I simply got too involved with getting someplace.’

Gayle nodded. ‘We all do sometimes.’

‘After Suzy read the report, she got mad and pounded some sense into my thick skull. Luckily she found a few brain cells containing decency and morality. She made me see you for what you really are - and I wanted to tell you … and beg your forgiveness.’

‘All’s long since been forgiven.’ Gayle smiled at Hunter. ‘You saw me for what I really am - what am I, Chet?’

‘A guardian angel.’

‘Oh, come now.’ Gayle eased herself off the stool. ‘You know what I really am?’ She pulled open the laboratory door. ‘I’m someone who knows how to use the squeeze method.’ Hunter laughed. ‘The angel of squeeze.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Gayle, and she left the laboratory.

Paul Brandon was slouched on the sofa, cold pipe in hand, wishing he could smoke, when he saw Gayle come back into the waiting room. Observing her cross the room, he once more admired her feline grace, and he desired her again.

He jumped to his feet when she reached him, then settled down on the sofa with her.

‘Any news yet?’ Gayle inquired.

‘Not a thing.’

‘Oh, God, let him be all right.’

Brandon nodded towards the hallway. ‘You and Chet Hunter, what was that all about?’

‘Confession. Expiation. Cleansing the soul. Chet just wanted me to know he was sorry. And grateful to me for you know what.’ She eyed Brandon. ‘What have you been doing while I was next door? Ogling the other surrogate ladies to find someone prettier?’

‘How did you know? As a matter of fact, yes. Look at that Lila’s legs. But to be honest, I have a preference for women with fat legs, like yours.’

‘Beast.’

Brandon had become serious. ‘To tell you the truth, I’ve been eavesdropping.’ He was seated with his back to Nan and Demski, who were sitting in chairs to one side of the sofa, and he indicated them with a movement of his head, lowering his voice. ‘I wondered if they would be too shy to make contact after they were introduced.’

Gayle glanced past Brandon. ‘Clearly, they’re not too shy.’

‘Did you see how the first half hour they sat alongside each other like two wooden Indians? I was nearby when Nan became aggressive. She mentioned something about the weather.’

Gayle continued to watch them. ‘They’re talking a blue streak now. I wonder what they’re talking about?’

‘Maybe about us.’

‘Maybe about themseles,’ Gayle guessed. ‘I wish we could hear.’ *

Nan Whitcomb had moved her wicker chair a few inches closer to Adam Demski, so that she could address him without being overheard.

‘No,’ she was saying in an undertone, ‘I don’t mind telling you how I got to Dr Freeberg. I had some trouble and an MD recommended him. I had what they call vaginismus.’

Demski, puzzled, mouthed the strange word. ‘What’s that?’

‘Muscular spasms in the vaginal area that make sexual intercourse difficult and painful.’

Demski blushed. ‘I - I guess I never heard of it. Uh, how - how did it happen?’

‘It can have many causes, according to Dr Freeberg,’ explained Nan. ‘One cause can be some bad experiences with men. In my case it came from a terrible experience with a man named Tony Zecca.’

Demski looked blank for a second, and then seemed to recall the name. ‘You mean the fellow who shot Dr Freeberg? I’m sorry about his being killed.’

‘I’m not,’ said Nan. ‘He was an animal — and dangerous.’

‘Why did he do such a terrible thing?’

Nan was silent, and then she spoke. ‘I can tell you why. Maybe I shouldn’t, but — ’

‘You can tell me.’

‘I lived with Tony briefly. It was horrible. He gave me such great physical pain that I went to see an MD, and that’s how I was referred to Dr Freeberg. I finally saw there are decent men in the world, so I walked out on Tony. Just left him. I guess he figured I’d run off with another lover. Somehow he traced me to Dr Freeberg. He must have thought Freeberg was my lover — or at least that he was responsible for my walking out. Tony wasn’t used to that. He was terribly possessive. I don’t know what happened next, but I guess Tony decided to get even by killing Dr Freeberg.’ Nan emitted a sigh. ‘I feel responsible for what happened to poor Dr Freeberg.’

Spontaneously, Demski patted Nan’s forearm, then quickly withdrew his hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Demski reassured Nan. ‘If he could, Dr Freeberg would be the first to tell you that.’

Nan sighed again. ‘Maybe you’re right. Dr Freeberg’s a wonderful man.’ She gazed directly at Demski. ‘What brought you to him? Or shouldn’t I be asking?’

‘You’ve been frank with me. I don’t mind saying.’ Demski’s Adam’s apple moved. ‘I - I’m from Chicago - an accountant … And I am — was — ’

Nan touched his hand. ‘You don’t have to - ’

‘Impotent,’ Demski blurted, hastily adding, ‘but I’m cured now. Thanks to my surrogate.’

‘How wonderful. Who was your surrogate?’

In an almost hidden gesture, Demski pointed to Gayle on the sofa.

‘Gayle Miller?’ Nan whispered, her eyes holding on the attractive brunette. ‘No wonder you’re cured. I’d give anything to look like that.’

‘You do,’ Demski said, gulping. ‘Even - even better.’

‘You do know how to flatter a girl’

‘I mean it,’ said Demski. ‘Who - who was your surrogate?’

Nan put a finger to her lips, and with her thumb indicated Brandon on the sofa.

Demski took in Brandon, and whispered, ‘He sort of looks like a movie star.’

‘Oh, he’s nice. But I find an accountant easier to talk to than any movie star type.’ This time she blushed, then glanced off toward the doorway. ‘I wonder when we’ll hear about Dr Freeberg?’

Five minutes later, a nurse poked her head into the waiting room. ‘The surgeon is on his way here.’

She disappeared.

An immediate hush fell over the waiting room, all eyes converging on the entrance.

Seconds later, a tall, lean, bespectacled physician, still garbed in his green cap and green gown, materialised in the doorway, kneading his fingers together.

He took a few steps into the waiting room.

‘I’m Dr Conerly, the chief surgeon at Central, and I’m sorry to have kept you this long, but the news I have for you was worth waiting for. Dr Freeberg is fine, couldn’t be better, considering his ordeal.’

It was as if a single exhalation of relief permeated the waiting room.

Dr Conerly went on. ‘We’ve just rolled Dr Freeberg out of

surgery, and will place him in the intensive care ward briefly, just to be certain his recovery is complete. Without going into clinical detail, I can tell you that Dr Freeberg’s wound was not life-threatening. It was his good fortune that the bullet which lodged under his left clavicle missed his heart and lungs, in fact did no damage to any vital organs. In surgery, we removed the bullet. No permanent damage, not even serious damage aside from his trauma. We were able to patch him up nicely. We’ll want him here several days, just to keep an eye on him. If everything goes as we expect, he will probably be able to be back at his desk — on a much shorter work schedule for a while - in ten days. You can all relax now and go home.’

The visitors were beginning to rise, when Dr Conerly called out, ‘Oh, yes … Are Miss Miller and Mr Brandon here?’

When Gayle and Brandon stood up and moved toward him, Dr Conerly said, ‘I want to speak to you for a minute before you leave.’

Dr Conerly waited for Gayle and Brandon at the door. ‘I have a message for you from Dr Freeberg. He wanted me to tell you he’d made a table reservation for tonight at eight thirty at Mario’s Gardens. Since he can’t be the host he asked if you two would invite the other guests and sit in as hosts for him. Do you understand?’

‘We do, and we will,’ said Gayle.

‘Oh yes, Dr Freeberg asked me to tell you - have yourselves a great Tom Jones dinner. Well, good luck.’

After the surgeon had left, Brandon looked down at Gayle, puzzled. ‘What was that about a great Tom Jones dinner?’

Gayle winked, slipped her arm through Brandon’s, and said, ‘You’ll find out.’

After supervising the removal of the last piece of padded furniture, the Reverend Josh Scrafield watched from the doorway as the shippers loaded it into the van to put in storage until they heard from him in St Louis.

Scanning the street without success for the return of Darlene Young, Scrafield wheeled back into his empty quarters and began to gather together some of his smaller personal effects.

After about ten minutes, Scrafield heard the front door open and he hurried into the living room to make sure that it was

Darlene who had returned. She was carrying a small paper bag, and frowned at him as she handed him the bag.

‘Here’s the pickup you wanted,’ she said. ‘From Hanover Hardware Store. Mr Hanover wasn’t there, but he left this with one of his clerks, a young guy named Charles. As it turned out, Charles gave me more than this bag.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Darlene moved closer to Scrafield. ‘He gave me some information I didn’t know. Said a couple of policemen are his customers, and they passed along a titbit of gossip. That you were arrested last night for trying to rape one of Freeberg’s sex surrogates named Gayle Miller.’

‘What kind of bullshit is that?’ snapped Scrafield. ‘Rape her? Hell, I’d like to kill her for coming on to me the way she did. A really cheap whore. She tried to blame me, and I was arrested by mistake. But you see me here now, quite unarrested.’

‘Then why are we going to St Louis tonight?’

‘Better offer. Just came up. Don’t worry, you’ll even get a raise. Are you all packed, ready to go with me?’

‘A job’s a job,’ she shrugged.

‘Just remember that,’ said Scrafield sourly. He busied himself removing a small bottle with yellowish liquid from inside the bag. He began to loosen the cap that had been screwed on.

‘Hey, you better be careful with what you’re doing,’ Darlene said. ‘That’s sulphuric acid. If it gets on your skin, the hardware clerk told me, it can disfigure you for life.’ Darlene hesitated. ‘What do you need sulphuric acid for?’

‘It’s the best known drain clearer around. I want to see that our new place is clean. Now enough of this crapping around. Let’s get going. You drive.’ He paused. ‘By the way. One brief stop before we head out of town. You know a restaurant called Mario’s Gardens?’

‘Everyone does.’

‘OK, stop in front of the place for a minute and wait for me. I have to see someone inside, and then we’ll be on our way.’