“I’ve had a vasectomy, Pauline,” he said. “I can’t get you pregnant.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “unless we’re dealing with a case of immaculate conception here—something I seriously doubt—I’d have to say that something has gone wrong with that vasectomy of yours, because I haven’t been with anyone but you in more than a year now and I am knocked up without a doubt, truly and completely knocked up.”
“You took a test and everything?” he asked.
“I’ve peed on two sticks and had a blood test,” she said. “Everything came back positive. Not only that, but I feel pregnant. My tits hurt all the time. Nearly every morning I wake up nauseous and barfing. Trust me on this, Obie. I’m pregnant.”
“I trust you on that, hon,” he told her.
“Uh huh,” she said. “And what about the other thing?”
He looked her in the eye for a few moments and then nodded. “I don’t get any sense that you’re lying to me about that either,” he said. “One of the great things about our relationship is trust, right?”
“Right,” she said. “We’ve always been very honest with each other.”
“But I need to know,” he said. “I can’t have any discussion about what we do from here until I know for sure that I’m really firing live rounds again. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but ... well ... it’s such a long odds kind of thing. You have to know what this Occam guy your brother is always talking about would have to say about this, right?”
She nodded. “The most likely explanation is usually the correct one,” she said. “And the most likely explanation is that I’m been letting someone else supply the tube steak for me. I get where you’re coming from, Obie. But believe me on this one, Occam is full of shit today.”
“It’s easy enough to check, I suppose,” Obie said. “I’m gonna get on the phone with Doc Renter in Portland. He’s the urologist that did the deed on me. You feel like taking a little trip up north tomorrow?”
“You think he’ll be able to get you in tomorrow?” she asked.
“The asshole better get me in tomorrow,” Obie said. “If I have to go to another doctor to verify that he fucked up my vasectomy, he’s gonna want to cut his own balls off.”
“All right then,” Pauline said. “I’ll call Darlene and tell her to cancel all my appointments for tomorrow.”
“And I’ll call that quack and start making arrangements.”
Obie used the house phone while Pauline used the business line. Pauline’s mission only lasted two minutes. Obie’s took a little longer, but it was still pretty quick.
“The fuckin’ answering service,” Obie said, shaking his head.
“Well ... it is after hours,” Pauline told him.
Obie ignored her as someone started speaking to him on the line. “No!” he interrupted. “I do not want to talk to the urologist on-call. I want Renter on the phone and I want him on the phone now.” He listened for a moment and then shook his head. “Now listen, darlin’. Don’t you go telling me what is and is not possible. I know for damn sure you got Renter’s private number in your file there. I am Oren Blake the Second. Perhaps you have heard of me?” Another pause. “Yes, I’m really him and I’m extremely agitated at the moment. I’m having a potential problem with a surgery Renter did on me and I want to speak to him about it now. Now be a dear and get his ass on the line.” Another pause. “Yes, I’ll wait, but not very long.”
Pauline was smiling despite the situation. “It really is fun watching you assert yourself, Obie,” she said. “I’ve never had the balls to pull the old ‘do you know who I am’ routine.”
“You play the cards you’ve been dealt,” he said. “That’s always been my motto.”
Two minutes ticked by and then Obie—who had no idea he had been listening to a piece of on-hold music that featured Laura Best on the saxophone—suddenly perked up again.
“Renter!” he barked. “Oren Blake the Second here. I need you to check something out for me tomorrow morning.” A pause. “I don’t give a shit if you’re not scheduled in the office tomorrow, I’m going to be there at ten and I expect your ass to be there and ready to go.” Another pause. “I don’t want to deal with the on-call or one of your partners—at least not at this point. I want you! You’re the one who possibly botched my fucking vasectomy!”
This, apparently, got Renter’s full and complete attention. There was a longer pause, followed by Obie saying: “I’ll tell you what the problem is. My girlfriend just told me that she’s pregnant. And furthermore, she assures me that mine is the only dick that’s been shooting things up inside her body for more than a year. I have no reason to disbelieve her on either one of these revelations. That only leaves one possibility when you rule out God Himself knocking her up to give us all a new savior: that I’m firing live fucking rounds here despite the fact that you cut those little wires that lead to the detonator! Now, I’m going to be there at ten tomorrow and so are you and we are going to look into this thing. You with me?”
Another pause and then Obie smiled. “Very good, Doc,” he said. “I’ll see you then.” He hung up the phone and then turned to Pauline. “He’s with me.”
They lifted off from Van Nuys airport aboard a private jet at 7:00 AM the next morning. They landed at Portland International Airport at 9:03 AM. A limousine picked them up from there and took them to a medical office building just south of downtown. At 9:40, they were standing before the receptionist’s desk.
“Uh ... yes, Dr. Renter just arrived and is expecting you,” said the slightly frazzled young woman. “He said to send you right back.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” Obie told her. “Would you be so kind as to lead the way?”
Renter’s office was a fairly standard one. He had a desk with his medical degrees on the wall behind him. Two chairs sat in front of the desk. Renter himself was in his early fifties, balding, but in fairly good shape. He wore the obligatory white coat and had a stethoscope around his neck.
What’s with the stethoscope? Pauline wondered as they were directed to sit down in the chairs. Why the hell would a urologist need a stethoscope?
“Doc,” Obie greeted as they took their seats. “This is Pauline Kingsley, the girlfriend of whom I spoke on the phone.”
“It’s uh ... nice to meet you,” Renter said, holding out his hand to her.
“Nice to meet you as well,” she said mechanically as she shook with him. How many dicks has he held in this hand? she could not help but wonder. More than a career prostitute, I’d imagine. She made a mental note to wash her own hand before touching anything else with it.
“Obie,” Renter said, “while I appreciate your desire to see me personally for this matter, I must point out that you could have gotten this test done in Coos Bay. They have a fine medical center and laboratory facility there.”
“I wasn’t in Coos Bay,” he told her. “I was in LA.”
“Well ... you certainly could have gotten this done in Los Angeles.”
“No deal, Doc,” he said. “You’re the one who snipped the wires—allegedly—and you’re the one who is going to check and see if they grew back together or not. It’s called taking responsibility for your actions; and I’m a real big fan of that concept.”
“Well ... yes, we’ll certainly check a sperm sample and see if there is any kind of a sperm count present.” He cast a look at Pauline and then back at Obie. “I just need to point out that a spontaneous reattachment of the vas deferens, while a known complication of the vasectomy, is extremely rare. We’re talking one in thirty-thousand here. I’ve personally done more than ten thousand vasectomies in my career and I’ve never had that happen. And if it does happen, it usually happens in the first sixteen weeks.”