Naked Came the Stranger (16 page)

"Some idea," she said. "But I might be wrong on that."

"It doesn't matter now," he said.

They both heard the cab pull up in front of the office. Gillian
nodded at the doctor and opened the door.

"By the way," he said, "by the way, Mrs. Brown, you are a very
beautiful woman."

It was a strange way to end it, Gillian thought, closing the door
behind her. The door closed away the sight of Dr. Alan Hetterton
holding both hands straight out in front of him. The tremor was
barely noticeable. He stopped then and answered the ringing
telephone.

"I told you I had some calls to make," he said. "Yes, yes, I know
what time it is. Why am I still at the office? Christ, I was in the
neighborhood and had to take a leak. I think, Gerda, I'm capable of
coming to these decisions by myself."

He replaced the receiver and sat staring at the phone for ten
minutes or more. When he could stand it no longer he went to the
locked cabinet, opened it, took down the bottle of morphine. He
placed two of the tiny white pills, half-gram pills, in the belly of
a tablespoon. He drew a single cc of sterile water into the syringe,
squirted it onto the spoon, watched the pills effervesce. Rolling up
his left sleeve, he searched out the vein and daubed it gently with
alcohol. Soon, soon. Drawing the precious liquid into the hypodermic,
he squirted out a drop, then jabbed the needle home. An hour. One
hour to get home and shower before the euphoria would grip him.

The cramps began the following morning and by noon the abortion
was complete. Gillian flushed the shapeless mass away. Bye bye, baby,
she thought. She dragged herself back to bed and the bleeding did not
let up. She dozed off and awakened to feel the dampness spreading
beneath her legs. She barely had time to call Dr. Hetterton before
passing out again. Within an hour, the doctor arrived. He gave
Gillian an injection of ergot to stop the bleeding. And some
follow-up tablets for the next day.

"Gillian
Blake,
" he said. "You know, I honestly had no idea
who you were until I looked at the paper you filled out. I catch your
program frequently."

"Do you, doctor?"

"I especially liked the one the other day, the one about the
God-is-dead-theory. I mean, calling it the biggest publicity stunt
of the decade. Imagine! God as PR man, planting God-is-dead
theologians around to start controversy, to bring His name into the
limelight – that was a master stroke!"

"I'm so tired, doctor."

"But seriously," he said, "something like that can start people
back on the road to doing some serious reevaluating."

"Even you, doctor?"

"Maybe not me," he said. "But some people."

"One last question, doctor – does my husband, does Billy
have to know about this?"

"Not if he stays away from you, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Gillian said. "And I don't think that will
be a problem."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "You know there's a lot of
people who feel you must have the ideal marriage. What is it your
announcer says? You know, about the reality of marriage in the
crucible of modern living. Well, people listen to you and you seem to
have all the answers."

"I'm so very sleepy now," she said.

"Of course, of course," he said. "I'll want to see you when you're
up and around."

"Good night, doctor," she said. "Good night and thank you."

"You're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Blake."

A few days passed before Gillian felt her old self again. Still,
she didn't go back for the checkup. A few weeks. A month. And then on
a Thursday in February, Gillian examined herself in the full-length
mirror. The reflection was smooth. She thought of that old joke
– the patient died but the operation was a success; she decided
the time had come.

Thursday afternoon she went to the doctor's office. This time,
with the pale gray end-of-day light streaming through the windows,
she was unaware of the colors clashing. And this time there was a
third party, a nurse – a tiny sparrow of a woman. Gillian
decided, yes, a large-mouthed small-breasted sparrow.

"Do you have an appointment with Dr. Hetterton?"

"Well, not exactly," Gillian said. "But the doctor asked me to
stop in for a checkup."

"I'll have to see if the doctor can take you," the nurse said.
"The name, please."

"Mrs. Brown," Gillian said.

"I'll see if he can take you," she said.

Gillian had to smile at that.
If he can take you –
the waiting room was conspicuously empty, and dust had gathered on
the magazine rack. That nurse, she was as dreary as everything else
connected with the office.

"Mrs. Brown," the doctor was saying, "yes, of
course.
Won't
you please come right in? Is there anything wrong,
anything…."

"I have this terrible aching feeling," Gillian was saying as the
door closed behind them, shutting the sterile little nurse out in the
sterile little antechamber.

"Where?" the doctor said.

"That's nonsense," Gillian said. "I feel fit as a fiddle. But you
did say to stop by for a checkup."

"So I did, so I did," he said. "And I must say I'm glad you came.
Any trouble at home? Any… complications?"

"Not a one," Gillian said. "Of course, I haven't… done
anything that might be considered risky. I didn't dare."

"I'll write out a prescription for feosol," he said. "That will
keep your pep up. I don't suppose there's anything else I can
do?"

"Don't you even want to examine me?" Gillian said.

"After all, you're the doctor."

"I suppose I may as well," he said, "just to be on the safe side.
Why don't you go into the room while I get the nurse…?"

"That won't be necessary," Gillian said. "I think I can trust you
now."

When Dr. Hetterton joined Gillian in the small chamber she was
standing in front of the disrobing screen. She had placed the white
robe over her clothes on the small chair. Her long hair tumbled
freely over her pale shoulders. Her breasts, unfettered now, seemed
to defy the laws of gravity and probability. She swiveled calmly to
face him; it was then she noticed the trembling in his hands.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "in a minute…."

"Don't go," she said. "I think every artist should enjoy his
handiwork…. I haven't thanked you properly, doctor. The only
reason I haven't thanked you properly is that I haven't been able to
thank you properly. Am I able to now?"

"Mrs. Blake, you're able to do anything now. Anything at all. You
don't need me any more."

"That's where you're mistaken – can I call you Alan? That's
where you're mistaken, Alan. If I can do anything at all, then I need
you right now."

"But the nurse…."

"The nurse is out there," Gillian said. "She is out there two
doors away and we're here."

"That nurse is my wife; she's Gerda."

"Come here, Alan."

He didn't move, and Gillian walked the three short steps to him.
His arms moved slowly to hold her and she reached her hands to his
neck and stroked his hair gently. Then she urged him with her hands
to follow her backward to the examination table. She fell back onto
the table, her feet still touching the floor, and he bent over her.
Gillian nibbled at his ear lobes, and her lips ran feverishly over
his throat. His mouth groped for her mouth before he moved down
toward her breasts.

As he continued to kiss her breasts and then advanced upon her
stomach, Gillian remained calm. So strange. She felt no physical
attraction to this strange round-faced man who was coming at her
with increasing urgency. She did not particularly like his looks. She
felt nothing but embarrassment for his fumbling ways. And yet even he
– even this flawed and damaged specimen of a man – could
arouse her, could lick at her center of passion, perhaps could even
satisfy her.

She pushed the doctor back then and reached for his belt. She
efficiently undid the belt, then the zipper, smiled as the trousers
fell down around his ankles. He mounted her, entered her, probed with
his rigid flesh where he had once poked with a speculum. Gillian
realized idly that she had never before made love in this position.
His frenzy controlled her then, and the climax of the one sparked the
climax of the other, his ejection riding the waves of her spasmodic
contractions.

"Alan!"

It was a scream and the two of them looked at the door, at the
small woman in the starched uniform. Her mouth seemed suddenly
smaller, perhaps because of the size of her eyes. Gerda had entered
at the wrong moment; there was no way for her husband to stop, to
apply brakes, to turn back, to explain. He drove home his final
thrusting motions under the gaze of his outraged wife. Even later he
made no effort to undo the damage. Trousers around his ankles hobbled
him, and Gillian's legs encircled him. He looked at his wife –
hopelessly, helplessly – and the three of them seemed frozen in
positions that were individually ludicrous. Then Alan felt the warmth
returning, felt the motions of the woman beginning anew. He made no
effort to stop himself and he responded slowly to Gillian's
encouraging undulations.

"Alan, get off her right now!"

"Go away, little bird," Gillian said. "Go away unless you want to
see your husband in a new light."

"Go away, Gerda," the doctor said. "This really doesn't concern
you at all."

"It's better the second time" – Gillian raised her voice so
that Gerda could hear each syllable – "it's always better the
second time, lover."

"Alan," Gerda said, "I'm not going to ask you again." Looking back
at Gerda one last time, Alan turned then and settled his mouth into
Gillian's throat. Neither of them took any visible notice as the door
slammed behind Gerda. Gillian, at that moment, felt a surprising
sense of disappointment. The disappearance of the audience,
particularly a disapproving audience, took some of the edge off it.
Live and learn, live and learn. Still, she did not convey her
disappointment to the good doctor – she relaxed, rising and
falling with his ebb and flow. Then methodically she drained him a
second time, emptied him, calmed him and gentled him.

"I'm sorry about your wife," she said finally. "I didn't intend to
ruin your marriage – seriously I didn't come here to do
that."

"It was ruined a long time ago," the doctor said. "Just one thing
– did you take any precautions this time?"

"Yes," she said. "But it was nice of you to ask, Alan."

"l was just curious," he said.

Before facing Gerda, Hetterton went again to his locked cabinet.
This time he dropped four of the tiny pills onto the spoon. And then
he sat down in his empty office and waited for the drug to take
effect. When the shaking in his hands was under control, he walked
over to the house and faced a strangely composed Gerda. To his
surprise, she said she did not want a divorce. She said that she
still loved him and would remain with him on two conditions. Alan
agreed that never again would he see Mrs. Brown. He also agreed to
the purchase of a $545 electronically amplified guitar for his
son.

Gillian never saw Alan Hetterton again – and she was not
surprised or disappointed by this. However, from time to time, she
heard rumors. Rumors linking Alan Hetterton and Maxine, Alan
Hetterton and a fifteen-year-old candy striper at Huntington
Hospital, Alan Hetterton and a sixty-four-year-old spinster school
teacher. And then in June she read the final chapter in a newspaper
gossip column -

Billy: You seem especially bright and chipper
today, dear.

Gilly: Why not? It's a nice day, we're having lovely weather
for this time of year, and I had a splendid time at the doctor's
yesterday.

Billy: Oh … you didn't tell me.

Gilly: It wasn't anything important, sweetheart. Just a yearly
checkup.

Billy: Well, what'd it show?

Gilly: That's just it. According to the doctor, I'm in splendid
shape. Marvelously healthy.

Billy: I don't know what he gave you, but you look
radiant.

Gilly: It's probably psychological, but I do feel at the top of
my form.

Billy: If you'll allow me to say so, dear, your form has always
been tops.

Gilly: Why, thank you, kind sir. You are a sweetie,
today.

Billy: It's just my natural charm, hon. But seriously, I've
always admired your ability to keep in shape.

Gilly: Well, I think it's very important for people to stay in
condition. I mean, I can't see physical conditioning as an end in
itself, but certainly the body does house the brain, and it pays to
be healthy.

Billy: Of course, there are some people who have natural
physiques.

Gilly: Yes, some athletes are like that.

Billy: That's true. But there are others who go to pot the
minute they stop training. For instance, there's nothing sadder than
an ex-prizefighter who lets himself get flat. Some of them turn into
balloons.

Gilly: That's a shame when it happens, because I think some
fighters have the best builds of all. You know, the ones with the
broad shoulders and the muscular arms who taper down into narrow
waists.