The Alcoholics (12 page)

"You might sit down," said Gerald Holcomb, quietly. "Brother, can't you persuade the good doctor to be patient with us a little longer. I'm sure that when he understands all, he'll be inclined to forgive."

"I probably would," Doctor Murphy cut in "I'd probably wind up by pinning a medal on you. I'm stupid enough. So let's just save time and say that you can do as you please, get as drunk as you please, and it won't make a damned bit of difference to me. I'm through with you- through with this whole ridiculous, heart-breaking business. As of tomorrow, gentlemen, El Healtho will be no more. I've had enough."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

The General rose shakily from his chair. "But -my book, doctor. What about my book?"

"That's your problem. You're all your own problems from now on, General."

"B-but-but we're-"

"Have fun," said Doctor Murphy, and he gave them an ironic salute.

Then, as they all started talking at once, as Jeff seemed on the point of exploding, he walked out and slammed the door.

That took care of them. Now, to take care of her.

He went up the steps, slowly, giving his anger time to build, focusing it on the lissome and lisping person who was its logical target. After all, while it was only natural to be disgusted and disappointed with Jeff and the others, to give them up as a hopeless job, it was childish to be angry with them. It was as foolish as it was futile to scold them for lacking will power. You might feel they could have resisted, if they'd really tried. But there you were posing a contradiction. Men don't resist the thing that has become all-important to them. They weren't accountable.

Miss Baker was.

Icy-eyed, his thin face flushed and taut, he strode down the mezzanine, and his rage grew with every step. She hadn't left yet, he knew. No cab had called at the sanitarium. And this fact, somehow, was the most maddening of all. The nerve of the dame! Telling him where to head in, feeding booze to his patients, and then hanging around! Thought she could get away with it, did she? Thought he'd be afraid to do anything.

He stopped in front of her door, listened a moment, and raised his fist. Then, grinning wickedly, be lowered it and took out his keys. He selected one, small and flat and multiple-notched, and slid it into the lock. Silently he turned it, simultaneously turning the knob.

He stepped inside, and-and he stopped. His Adam's apple traveled up and down his throat in an awed gulp.

Of course, he'd had an idea what she was like beneath that white starched uniform. He'd known she must be stacked like a brick back- house in windy country. But having an idea of what she was like, and seeing the reality-the
bare
reality-was something else again. So much so that Doctor Murphy felt a dangerous, almost paralyzing weakness creeping over him.

She was sprawled on the bed on her stomach, completely nude, a lush ivory-colored figurine. Her outspread legs, tapering up into perfect thighs, emphasized the flaring, pear-shaped lines of her buttocks. Her firm full breasts pressed against the pillows, exaggerating the delicious curve of her back.

Doc gulped a second time. With an effort he tore his eyes away from her. Incuriously, a little dazed, he saw the half-packed suitcases, saw what appeared to be the remnants of a torn blouse and slip. Helplessly, he looked back at the bed again.

It was too much. That much in one dame-all that in five feet and a hundred pounds-well, it ought to be illegal.

He moved forward, grimly, slowly massaging the palm of his right hand against his trousers.

He came even with the bed. He raised his hand. He swung.

His open palm came down upon her bottom with an explosive, rifle-like
cra-aack!

There was a smothered scream. Then, a louder one as Miss Baker's face came out of the pillow. She scrambled and stumbled to her feet, stood jiggling and swaying on the bed, at once trying to massage her pain-wracked posterior and to shield her body from his gaze.

Doc laughed contemptuously.

"Some fun, eh, Lucretia? Almost as much fun as giving whiskey to alcoholics."

"Y-you get out of here!" gasped Miss Baker. "You get out or I'll-I'll-"

He bent forward swiftly and grabbed at her ankle. Miss Baker stumbled back against the wall.

"G-get away! Y-you-you know she wouldn't let me leave! You know I don't dare to!"

"Who wouldn't? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Josephine. And don't tell me you didn't put her up to it!" Miss Baker gestured to her head and hastily lowered her hand again. "H- hitting me! T-trying to th-tab me! You know I-"

"You had it coming I'll bet. What'd you do to her?"

"Nothing! Not a thing-help!" screamed Miss Baker, for Doc's hand had closed around her ankle.

He dragged her forward, screaming and sobbing, clawing at the bedclothes.

She jerked and kicked herself free, flung herself back toward the wall. Doc cursed and made a dive for her.

"Now," he grunted. "Now, by God…!"

His strong hands pinned her arms. He jerked her around, holding her helpless against him. They lay there, panting, her sweet-smelling hair in his face, her breasts crushed against his chest, her legs locked and held by his.

She squirmed. She squirmed again. And Doc's arms suddenly became nerveless… There was no use in stopping now, of course. This was more than enough to wind him up permanently. Criminal assault. Assault with attempt to commit rape. It wouldn't make any difference now, so he might as well go ahead.

He might as well-but he couldn't do it.

He took a final half-hearted clout at her bottom, and started to rise. And Miss Baker wiggled frantically to escape the blow. And somehow-he was never quite sure how it happened-she was lying beneath him. All the soft, warm wonder of her body was cushioning his. And she was weeping in a curious, helpless way; and her fluttering, frantic hands seemed to caress rather than claw.

And the Doctor Murphy that was surrendered to the Doctor Murphy who had never been allowed to be-the Doc who had felt impelled to beat the dog-beater, jab the impudent waiter, collect from that little Bellevue teaser. That Doc-the one who had never been permitted to resolve a situation in the one satisfactory way possible-took over.

Miss Baker's eyes widened in sudden terror. They closed again, and her breasts arched and trembled with a kind of shivering sob. She gasped. She groaned.

She cried out, faintly.

.. It was all over, seemingly, almost as soon as it began: So long had the submerged Doc been denied. Then, having had his way, he fled, leaving the other Doc-his cautious, safe and sane victim-to face the inevitable and horrendous music. He sat on the edge of the bed, gloomy, shaky, sick with shame and foreboding. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He couldn't

speak. He could only sit and stare at the floor, stare, rather, into the future with its certain disgrace, a prison sentence, the loss of his license, the loss of everything.

Oh, she could do it all right. He wasn't exaggerating the seriousness of the situation. A virgin, just as he'd known she must be, and it wouldn't be any trouble at all to hang it onto him. It would be useless to fight, even if he had felt like fighting.

"Well," he said, at last, and waited. "Well, why don't you say something? Do something and get it over with."

Silence.

"Oh," he said. "Well, I'll get out. Then you can call the cops."

Silence still.

"I'll call them for you, if you like. I'll-do you want me to get you a doctor? I-"

"Thilly," said Miss Baker. "You thilly, thilly man! I already have a doctor."

Her arms went around him.

She mattered none the less to him, but she could not be the all of his world. In her, he had added one more complication to the hopelessly snarled skeins of his life. Nothing whatsoever had been solved.

He was broke. He was or soon would be a doctor without a practice. A doctor who had failed at the only thing he had ever wanted to do.

"Well"-he looked at Rufus coldly-"everyone getting nice and stiff?"

"No, suh, they ain't gettin' nice and stiff," said Rufus. "An' they ain't goin' to. I done picked up that bottle an' put it back in the closet, an' Miss Kenfield ain't drinkin' nothin' either. She say"-Rufus looked Doc squarely in the eye- "she say to tell you you just as stupid as you is ugly."

Doctor Murphy reddened. "I think," he began, sternly, "that you had better-" Then, the full impact of the Negro's words struck him, and he grasped Rufus by the shoulder. "Did you say that they-that she-?"

"Yes, suh," nodded Rufus. "I'm sorry about the baby, doctuh-I mean, not bein' on hand when you must have needed me. But I didn't know, an'…"

"To hell with that! How much did those guys have to drink this afternoon?"

"Just 'at one drink you saw. The one they was waitin' to have with you. Mistah Jeff, he didn't have none. Just fixed 'em for the General an' Mistah Bernie an' Mistah Holcomb."

Doctor Murphy stared, incredulously. "Now, wait a minute! I saw two empty bottles under the… oh," said Doc. "Of course."

"Yes, suh. Reckon them must've been old ones."

"But"-Doc spread his hands helplessly-"what's it all about? What were they all doing there together?"

"They talkin' about the book-how they goin' to make it into somethin' that is somethin'. Miz' Baker come in while they talkin', an' she say, Oh, 'at's fine, an' they can all have a drink, and she gives 'em that quart. She say she tell you the good news, an' you be right in, an'-" Rufus paused, reproachfully. "What you 'spect, anyway? What you 'spect me to do? She my boss. You always tellin' me to min' my own business, an' do what I'm told. You always fussin' about me buttin' in on things I don't know nothin' about."

"But the book," said Doc. "What book do you mean?"

"'At book the General wrote. What you 'spect me to do, doctuh? Tell Miz' Baker she ain't doin' right? Run an' ask you if she is? They wasn't drinking nothin'. Just talkin' an' waitin' for you to come. Looked to me like 'at was what I'd better do. Don't do no nothin'-don't do no thinkin'. Just stay there an' wait for you."

"Rufus"-Doc hesitated. "I'm sorry, Rufus. You did exactly the right thing. Miss Baker-uh-Miss Baker acted a little thoughtlessly, and she owes you an apology, also. And you'll have it from her, Rufus. But-"

"Yes, suh?" Rufus looked at him anxiously. "Everything all right, then? You ain't goin' to close up the sanitarium?"

"I don't…" Doc turned away, leaving the sentence unfinished. He did know, of course. And he should have given Rufus and the others some warning before this. But as long as he had waited this long. "I want to know more about that book," he said. "Have Mr. Sloan come to my office, will you?"

"He waitin' for you there now, doctuh. You say you ain't really-?"

"I'll talk to you later," said Doctor Murphy, and he hastened across the dining room and entered his office.

Jeff was seated on the lounge, thumbing through a medical magazine. He arose as Doc came into the room, his boyish good-natured face set in an expression of defiant reproach.

"Boy," he said, "do you ever go off half-cocked! Just because you see a guy with a glass-"

"I know, I know! I've talked to Rufus." Doc dropped down on the lounge, drawing Jeff down with him. "Now, what's all this about the General's book?"

"Why we're going to go to town with it, that's what!" said Jeff. "Bernie's going to rewrite it, under the General's by-line, of course. And I'll do the promoting, and the Holcombs will handle the sale. On their own-outside of their agency. I'm telling you it's a natural, Doc! Everyone's heard of the General! With Bernie to put his stuff in shape, and the rest of us to push and peddle it, I'll bet we have a million-copy sale"

Doc nodded slowly. "You might, at that," he said. "I think you will. What I'm wondering is…"

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't I think of something like this myself. It's been right in front of me all along. I've watched the General sliding further and further downhill every day. I've watched the same thing happen to John and Gerald and Bernie. All essentially because of the lack of any real interest in life. And I didn't know what to do about it. I had all the pieces in my hands and I was too damned stupid to put them together. You, now, you're in here less than two days and you-"

"I saw it," Jeff shrugged. "Why not? I'm not outside the boat looking in. I'm right in there with the others. But I'll tell you something, Doc." He tapped Doctor Murphy on the knee. "Before a guy can see anything, he's got to have his eyes opened. He's got to want to see."

Doc shook his head. "I'm afraid you're giving me too much credit, Jeff. Naturally, I like to think that what I said helped, but I've talked myself blue in the face to hundreds of other patients. And for all the good it did, well…"

"How do you know it didn't do any good? How do you know it won't do some good eventually?"

"Well…"

"I'll tell you the way I see it, Doc. It's kind of like my game. You call on a guy with a proposition, and maybe you hit him with exactly the right line at the right time, like you did me, and he goes for it. But the chances are that you won't. You have to keep pounding at him, day after day, and even then you miss out on the deal. But that doesn't mean, Doc, that absolutely doesn't mean that you haven't done any good. He'll remember you, if you've done your job right. He'll pick you up on your deal later, or maybe he'll mention you to a friend who is ripe for your proposition."

Doc sighed, and shifted on the lounge.

"The point is, Jeff, that I don't know my job. Not in anything resembling the way that you know yours. It's all pretty much hit or miss, shooting in the dark. You don't know where to aim or what to aim with."

"So?" said Jeff. "What's the difference? You just aim at and with everything."

"Jeff, you just don't understand."

"Yes, I do, Doc," said Jeff earnestly. "I can be a pretty lousy bastard when I'm drinking, but there's nothing wrong with my head-yet. You asked me earlier today why I'd decided not to drink any more, and I couldn't tell you. Now, I can. It's because you believed I could and would stop."

"Yes?" Doctor Murphy turned on him sharply. "How do you figure that?"

"You believed I could and you believe these other patients can. You're sure that eventually you can get them back on the track. Don't you see, Doc? You have to believe or you wouldn't be doing what you are. You wouldn't have gone into this kind of practice in the first place."

"Umm," said Doc. "And what if I'm all wet for believing that way?"

"But you know you're not. Everyone else might think so, even the alcoholic himself may have given himself up as hopeless. But you don't. You stay right in there pitching, giving it everything you've got, because you believe you're going to win out. Do you see how important that is Doc, to have someone to believe in you? Do you see how it would be if you gave up-if you stopped believing along with everyone else?"

Doc grimaced wryly. "You aren't a very hard-bitten case, Jeff. You might have made the decision to stop drinking by yourself."

"Leave me out of it, then. What about the others? I feel that I've got to know them pretty well today-better than you, maybe, because they'll let their hair down with another drunk. You can't give up now, Doc, just when you're on the point of succeeding. Those guys would hit the bottom and keep right on going."

"You think, then"-Doc's tone was deliberately cynical- "that they'll be all right, now? They won't drink any more, and the prince will marry the princess, and they'll all live happily forever after?"

"I think," said Jeff, "that they're nearer to being permanently sober than they've ever been before. I think they've stopped sliding and started climbing. I think they'll start sliding fast if you throw in the sponge here."

"Well…" Doc spoke the one word, and was silent.

"They were pretty badly upset, Doc. I told them you didn't mean what you said, that everything would be all right as soon as you understood what had happened."

"Did you?"

"I did," said Jeff. "Look, Doc"-he frowned-"what gives with this Miss Baker, anyway? Why did she give them that booze? Why crack down on the boys because of something she did?"

"That was my fault," said Doc curtly. "Miss Baker has been ill, and I knew it. She should be all right from now on."

"Well." Jeff looked at him puzzledly. "I guess I don't get it, Doc. Everything's fine, and yet you-you-"

Doctor Murphy leaped to his feet.

"I've had enough, get me? That's what's the matter. It's just been one goddam headache after another, and now I can't take any more. You've heard the news about Suzy Kenfield? Well, that's a small sample of what I've been up against ever since I opened this place. She might have died. The baby might have died. And all because she didn't and doesn't give a damn about anything so long as she can stay sozzled. I tell you-"

"We all went in to see the baby," said Jeff. "Miss Kenfield said she'd never felt better in her life."

"Sure. The damned selfish bitch is indestructible, but I'm not! I-"

"We were there," said Jeff, "when Rufus offered her the whiskey."

"All right," he said. "I've worked for years without making an inch of headway, and now everything's popping at once. Of course, it may all be a fluke, but I don't think so."

"You know it isn't, Doc."

"All right, I know it. And I wish I didn't. It would be easier if! knew that I'd failed. It would have been better for my patients if I'd done a complete flop. As it is, well just when they're getting their foot on the ladder I yank it out from under them."

"But, Doc-why?"

"You know why, Jeff. I can't do that to Van Twyne. I wouldn't be any good as a doctor if I did do it."

"But," Jeff hesitated uncertainly, "I know how you feel, but you didn't have your mind made up then when you took me up to see him. You were undecided then, when you didn't have any real reason to go on here, and now that you do have-" He paused again, looking down at the floor uncomfortably. "I'm not trying to talk you into it, understand."

"I can't do it, Jeff. I've known all along that I couldn't. So long as I had any time at all left, even a few hours, I ducked the facts. I've tried to kid myself that there was some other way out. Now, my time's run out and I know there isn't any other way. It's that way or none, so it has to be none."

"Well," said Jeff. "I-well," he repeated. "Yes," said Doc, "I've screwed it up good. It's pretty generally known that I was having a hard time financially, but no one's known how bad things really were. Alcoholics are sensitive as hell. The majority of my patients are on their uppers. I was afraid that if I told them the truth, they'd hesitate about coming to me. So I've just gone on, getting in deeper and deeper, and now…"

"You're sure there isn't some way, Doc?"

"I've told you."

"Positive?"

"Dammit," said Doctor Murphy, "how many times do I have to tell you? Van Twyne was my only chance. That was why he was brought here, get me?"

"No," said Jeff, blankly, "I don't."

"His family's got a finger in every financial pie on the West Coast. Real estate, banks-every damned thing. They looked around for a good reputable sanitarium to bury Humphrey in, and when they came to mine they stopped looking. They knew how much this place meant to me. They knew I had to have big dough right away, or else. And they knew that if I didn't get it from them, I just wouldn't-" Doc paused abruptly. His eyes narrowed. "If I didn't get it from them," he murmured. "If I did get it from them, and…"

"Yeah, Doc?"

"Nothing," said Doc.

"That's a pretty dirty thing to do to you, Doc. Forcing a choice like that on you."

"Yes," said Doctor Murphy. "I thought it was myself."

He slapped the cigarette ash from his knees, and stood up. Hands jammed in his pockets, he stood in front of the window, looking down across the shrubbery and gardens and lawn to the highway.

A car was turning into the driveway at the foot of the slope. The afternoon sun sparkled blindingly on its long black hood, and the chrome flashed and sparkled like the dazzling, limitless millions which in a way it represented.

Doctor Amos Perthborg was arriving. Doctor Perthborg, physician to the Van Twyne family.

Doc turned away from the window.

"You'll have to excuse me now, Jeff."

"Sure," said Jeff, and turned slowly toward the door. "I hate to keep asking you, Doc, but are you dead sure there isn't some way to-?"