The Dick Gibson Show (34 page)

“Sure you do, Bea. Forget about that. That was a business call. This is social.”

“Social?”

“That’s right. I called to ask how you are. After our last conversation I thought I’d be seeing you. Then when you didn’t come in I got a little worried. I thought you might be sick or something.”

“I’m not sick.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. That takes a load off my mind.”

“I don’t see why my health should be of any concern to you.”

“Bea, I’m a
pharmacist.
Is it against the law for a pharmacist to inquire after the health of one of his customers?”

“Look, I’m not your customer.”

“Your privilege, Bea. It’s no crime for a man to try to drum up a little trade. Well, as long as you’re all right. That’s the important thing. If we haven’t got our health, what have we got?”

A few days later I called again. “Bernie here. Listen, Bea, I’ve been thinking. What do you say to dinner tonight? I know a terrific steakhouse in West Hartford. Afterward we could take in a late movie.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Crazy? I don’t get your meaning. Why do you say something like that?”

“Why do I say that? Why do you call me up all the time?”

“Well, I’m calling to invite you to dinner. Where does it say a man can’t invite a young lady to have dinner with him?”

“I don’t
know
you.”

“Well,
sure
you know me, but even if you didn’t, since when is it illegal for a person to try to make another person’s acquaintance?”

“Don’t call any more.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Bea.”

“Don’t call me Bea.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it? You don’t drag a person into court for saying your name. Even your first name.”

“I don’t know what your trouble is, Mr. Perk—”

“Bernie. Call me Bernie. Bernie’s my first name.”

“I don’t
know what your trouble is, Mr. Perk,
but you’re annoying me. You’d better stop calling me.” She hung up.

I telephoned the next night. “My trouble, Bea, is that I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“I don’t want to hear this. Please get off the line.”

“Bea, dear, you don’t lock a fellow up for falling in love.”

“You’re insane. You must be at least twenty-five years older than I am.”

“There
is
a difference in our ages, yes. But they don’t arrest people for their birthdays.”

She hung up.

My plan was going according to plan. “Bea?”

“I thought I convinced you to stop calling me.”

“Bea, don’t hang up. Listen, don’t hang up. If you hang up I’ll just have to call you again. Listen to what I have to say.”

“What is it?”

“One of the reasons you’re hostile is that you don’t know anything about me. That’s not my fault, I don’t take any responsibility for that. I thought you’d come into the store and gradually we’d learn about each other, but you didn’t want it that way. Well, when a person’s in love he doesn’t stand on ceremonies. I’m going to tell you a few things about myself.”

“That can’t make any difference.”

“‘That can’t make any difference.” Listen to her. Of course it can make a difference, Bea. What do you think love between two people is? It’s
knowing
a person, understanding him. At least give me a chance to explain a few things. It’s not a federal offense for a fellow to try to clear the air. All right?”

“I’ll give you a minute.”

“Gee, I’d better talk fast.”

“You’d better.”

“I want to be honest with you. You weren’t far off when you said I was twenty-five years older than you are. As a matter of fact, I’m even older than you think. I’ve got a married son twenty- six years old.”

“You’re married?”

“Sure I’m married. Since when is it a crime to be married? My wife’s name is Barbara. She has the same initial you do. But when I say I’m married I mean that
technically
I’m married. Babs is two years older than I am. A woman ages, Bea darling. All the zip has gone out of her figure. Menopause does that to a girl. I’ll tell you the truth: I can’t stand to look at her. I used to be so in love that if I saw her sitting on the toilet I’d get excited. I couldn’t even wait for her to wipe herself. Now I see her in her corsets and I wish I were blind. Her hair has turned gray—down
there.
Do you know what that does to a guy?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m telling the truth.
Where’s it written it’s police business when someone tells the truth?”

I sent over a carton of Kotex and a carton of Tampax, and called her the following week. “Did you get the napkins?”

“I didn’t order those. I don’t want them.”

“Order? Who said anything about order? You can’t arrest a man for sending his sweetheart a present. It wouldn’t stand up in court.”

And again the next night.

“It’s you, is it? I’m moving,” she said. “I’m moving and I’m getting an unlisted number. I hope you’re satisfied. I’ve lost my roommate on account of you. You’ve made her as nervous as me with these calls. So go ahead and say whatever you want—it’s your last chance.”

“Come out with me tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I love you.”

“You’re insane.”

“Listen, go to bed with me. Please. I want to make love to you. Or let me come over and see you naked. I want to know just how big you really are down there.”

“You’re sick, do you know that? You need help.”

“Then help me. Fuck me.”

“I actually feel sorry for you. I really do.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not hiding in any bushes. You know who I am. You know all about me. I’m Bernie Perk. My place of business is listed in the Yellow Pages. You could look me up. It isn’t
a crime to proposition a woman. You can’t put a man behind bars for trying.”

“You disgust me.”

“Call the police.”

“You disgust me.”

“Press charges. They’ll throw them out.”

Her threat about an unlisted number didn’t bother me; a simple call to the telephone company the following afternoon straightened
that
out. I gave them my name and told them that Bea had brought in a prescription to be filled. After she’d picked it up I discovered that I had misread it and given her a dangerous overdose. I told them that if I were unable to get in touch with her before she took the first capsule she might die. And they’d better give me her new address as well so that I could get an ambulance to her if she’d already taken the capsule and was unable to answer the phone. Love
always
finds a way!

I gave her time to settle herself in her new apartment and get some of her confidence back. Then, a week later—I couldn’t wait longer: it was getting pretty close to her period—I took the package I had prepared and drove to Bea’s new address. Her name on the letter box had been newly stenciled on a shiny black strip of cellulose, the last name only, the little darling—you know how single girls in big cities try to protect themselves by disguising their sex with initials or last names: the poor dears don’t realize that it’s a dead giveaway—along with her apartment number. I walked up the two flights and knocked on her door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Giddons from Tiger’s.” The building was managed by Tiger’s Real Estate and there’s actually a Mr. Giddons who works there.

“What do you want?”

“We have a report there’s some structural damage in 3-E. I want to check the walls in your apartment.”

She opened the door, the trusting little cupcake. “It’s you.”

“‘All’s fair in love and war.’”

“What do you want?”

“I’m berserk,” I said, “amok with love. If you scream I’ll kill you.”

I moved into the room and closed the door behind me. What can I say? In the twentieth century there is no disgrace. It happened, so I’ll tell you.

I pushed her roughly and turned my back to her while I pulled on the rubber. As I rolled it on I shouted threats to keep her in line. “One false move and I’ll kill you. I’ve got a knife. Don’t go for the unlisted phone or I’ll slit you from ear to ear. I’ll cut your pupick out. Stay away from the window. No tricks. I love you. Bernie burns, the pharmacist on fire. Don’t double-cross me. If I miss you with the knife I’ll shoot your head with my bullets.” At last it was on. Still with my back to her I ordered her to stand still. “Don’t make a move. If you make a move I’ll strangle you with my bare hands. Don’t make a move or you die. I’m wearing a State Trooper. They’re the best. I’m smearing K-Y Petroleum Jelly on me. Everything the best, nothing but the best. All right,” I said, “almost through. I just have to take this box of Kleenex out of my package and the aerosol douche. I’m unfolding the Venus Folding Feminine Syringe. There: these are for you.
Now.”
I turned to her.

“My God!”
I said.

She had taken off her dress and brassiere and had pulled down her panties.

“Oh God,” I gasped. “It’s so
big!”

“I didn’t want you to rip my clothes,” she said softly.

“But your legs, your legs are so thin!”

“Pipestems.”

“And your poor frail arms.”

“Pipecleaners.”

“But my God, Bea. Down
there!
Down there you’re magnificent!”

I saw the vastnesses, the tropical rain forest that was her pubes, the swollen mons like a freshly made Indian tumulus, labia majora like a great inverted gorge, the lush pudendum.

“Fantastic!”

“I’ve the vulva of a giantess,” she said sadly.

I reached out and hid my hands up to the wrists in her pubic hair. As soon as I touched her I felt myself coming. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. I love you—oo—oo—oo!” It was over. The sperm made a warm, independent weight in the bottom of my State Trooper. It swung against me like a third ball. “Oh God,” I sighed. “Oh dear. Oh my. Let me just catch my breath. Whew. Holy Cow! Great Scott!

“Okay,” I said in a few moments, “now you listen to me. I’m at your mercy. How can you throw a man in the hoosegow when you know as much about him as you do? I didn’t jump out at you from an alley or drag you into a car. Look—” I turned my pockets inside out— “I’m not armed. There’s no knife. I don’t carry a gun. These hands are trained. They fill prescriptions. Do you think they could strangle? Granted I threatened you, but I was afraid you’d scream. Look at it this way. I was protecting
you.
You’re just starting out in the neighborhood. It’s a first-class building. Would you want a scandal? And didn’t I take every precaution? Look at the douche. Everything the best that money can buy. And what did it come to in the end? I never even got close to you. To tell you the truth I thought it might happen just this way. It’s not like rape. I love you. How can you ruin a man who loves you? I’m no stranger. You know me. You know my wife’s name. I told you about my son. I’m a grandfather. Take a look at these pictures of my grandchildren. Did I ever show you these? This one’s Susan. Four years old and a little imp. Boy, does she keep her parents hopping! And this is Greg. Greg’s the thoughtful one. He’ll be the scholar. Are you going to put a grandfather in jail? You got me excited. Perk perks, the pharmacist in flames. I love you, but I’ll never bother you again. I had to, just this once. Give me a chance. It would break my wife’s heart to find out about me. Okay, they’d try to hush it up and maybe the grandkids would never hear about it, but what about my son? That’s another story.