"Suits me."
"I got a waterbed," I said. "I hope that suits you."
He didn't answer that, but he asked a question of his own.
"Are you a lady of leisure, Laura?"
"Hell, no," I said. "Wish I was. I'm the manager of a boutique." I wasn't, of course, just a salesclerk. But what's the dif?"
"A boutique?" he said, and he seemed to come alive, smiling and leaning forward. "That must be a fascinating job. I suppose you're getting advance info on the fall fashions."
"Some," I said. "Skirts are down and prices are up. But with me, prices are down and skirts are up."
He laughed, and we both started undressing. He was wearing aqua silk briefs. That figured. I stripped down and went to my walk-in closet.
Willie followed and looked over my shoulder.
"You have a lovely wardrobe, Laura," he said. "Unless I'm mistaken, there's a lot of Donna Karan. You like her designs?"
"Love them," I said. "They make me look smaller."
"Yes," he said, "you are a rather large lady. I imagine you and I might wear the same size."
"Wouldn't doubt it," I said.
We were both needle-naked. I yanked a plumcolored chiffon robe off a hanger, and Willie grabbed it.
"What a gorgeous peignoir," he said. He looked at me. "Do you mind if I try it on?"
I wasn't shocked. Listen, if you've been in the game like I have, nothing men do surprises you. I once had a john who liked to play a ukulele while I was blowing him.
"Go ahead," I said to Willie Brevoort. "Slip it on." it fitted him perfectly.
I've been in the manufacture and marketing of phari'maceuticals most of my adult life, and I knew from the git-go that the ZAP Project was a no-brainer. It wasn't that a testosterone pill couldn't be developed gregory Barrow was a dynamite research chemist, and he might just do it-it was the public reaction that would condemn it to become just a chemical curiosity.
Listen, I served in the Quartermaster Corps in World War II, and the rumor got around that we were putting saltpeter in the GIS' food to reduce their sexual desire. It was all bullshit, of course, but it caused a big flap, and the brass had to assure the mothers and fathers of America that their boys weren't being drugged by Uncle Sam.
So despite what I had told Colonel Knacker and Greg Barrow, I knew damn well the ZAP Project would never get off the ground.
Even if the pill did what it was supposed to do, there'd be no way to keep it secret, and there'd be such a public stink that no amount of slick PR would convince John Q. Public that the armed forces weren't force-feeding a dangerous drug to the troops to make them into snarling killers.
But what the hell, it was a juicy contract, and I wasn't about to say no to the Pentagon. If they wanted a ZAP pill, I'd do my best to provide it. The resulting brannigan with the public and the media was a problem for the Department of Defense, not for Mcwhortle Laboratory.
I think it was about the middle of June when Greg Barrow phoned me one morning and asked if I could come down to his lab, he had something to show me. I wanted to know how long it would take, and he said no more than an hour. That was okay. I had alerted Jessica Fiddler to expect me at noon, and I wasn't about to postpone it. I needed some of her
TLC.
Greg was waiting for me at the opened door of his private lab. After I entered, he closed and locked the door carefully-he does everything carefully-and got me seated in front of a TV set.
"The first recording," he said, "shows the results of placing two or more male mice injected with the testosterone compound in the same cage."
The tape was murder-literally. I've never seen such bloody carnage in my life. Whether it was two, three, or four mice, they attacked one another with a brutal ferocity that was hard to believe. in all cases, one victor remained alive, but so badly wounded I knew he'd never recover. Greg confirmed that there were no survivors of these savage contests.
"The final moments of the tape," he said, "show several untreated male mice together in the same cage. Notice there is no sign of violent behavior." , The tape ended, and he rewound and then switched cassettes.
"I think," he said tonelessly, "that from what you have just seen we can conclude that the murderous frenzy was the result of the testosterone and no other factor. This next tape shows the behavior of an injected male placed in a cage with a single ovulating female, and then with several females."
What I saw made it obvious that the injected male had no desire to kill the female mouse-unless he intended to fuck her to death. I've never seen such enthusiastic animal copulation. The same held true when the male was placed in a cage with five females. The little bugger went wild. He just couldn't seem to get enough, but mounted the nearest female first, went on to the others, then started over again. Finally he flopped over on his side and lay still.
"Is he dead?" I asked, awed by the sexual prowess of the injected male.
"No," Barrow said, "just exhausted. After he revived, he started in again. Apparently the testosterone increases physical aggression against males and sexual aggression against females.
It's a very disturbing result that makes me wonder-as I did before, if you'll recall-if a human diet enrichment of testosterone might not have the same results."
"What are you saying, Greg?"
"That it may prove impossible to encourage the kind of behavior we desire without also encouraging the kind we wish to avoid. We're hoping to make soldiers more aggressive in combat.
We certainly don't want to create an army of rapists."
"Yes," I said, nodding, "I can see why you might be concerned, and I am, too. Have you considered a weaker dosage?"
"I've tried it," Barrow said. "The results are the same." I thought a moment, then I told Greg about the saltpeter fuss during World War II.
"Look," I said to him, "I'm no chemist, I don't even know what saltpeter is. But there must be some chemical you could add to the injection that has a proven taming effect. You follow? It would increase male aggressiveness toward other males but would dull their sexual appetite, or at least keep it at normal levels."
I could see Barrow was intrigued. "That's an interesting concept, Mr.
Mcwhortle," he said. "It's just possible that such a compound could be formulated. I'll do some research on it. What we're looking for is a sexual tranquilizer that might be combined with testosterone. "
"Exactly," I said, standing up. "See if you can find something like that. It could be the answer to our problem." I must have broken every speed limit on the books while driving to jessica's house, including running a red light. I just couldn't get there fast enough.
I felt so high you'd have thought I just had one of Greg Barrow's injections. I mean I was in overdrive.
My excitement continued after I arrived. I must confess I tore jessica's panties in my frantic haste to get her undressed, and I acted exactly like that mouse I had just witnessed performing amazing sexual feats. And then, like him, I collapsed, exhausted.
"Oh, daddy," Jess said, "what's with you today? , Why, you're as randy as a teenager. What a lover!"
"Get me a beer," I gasped, "and I'll tell you about it."
I sat up in bed, taking nourishment, and related what I had just seen on Greg's tapes.
She laughed delightedly. "You mean this stuff really works?"
"It sure as hell worked on mice. The chemist is going to try to dampen the aphrodisiac effect. We're trying to produce killers, not rapists.
And, of course, we still don't know if it ill have the same effect on humans."
"It sure had an effect on you," she said. "You better take it easy.
Remember your ticker."
"Screw my ticker," I said. "If I hadn't known you were waiting for me, I'd have popped a gasket. Sorry I ripped your panties, less. I'll buy you more."
"You can strip me bare ass whenever you like. I love it. So you think this ZAP thing is going to be a success? "