Benedict had to say. "We need to talk to a nutritionist about Vitamin B-15 and steroids. And we have to arrange a consultation with a neurologist. The problem might be psychosomatic, we've got to have a consultation with a psychologist, someone very good!"
"We'll get the best, Mrs. Melnik, but it will cost money," Dr. Benedict said, taking out his notepad.
It always cost money to get Ralph the best — clothing, private room, hand-picked attendants, as well as extras — sunlamp, special diets, the privilege of being shaved every day — hundreds of thousands of dollars had gone into keeping Ralph a happy boy in the body of a man.
Marian slipped away to telephone again. The line was busy. There wasn't time to wait around and try once more, but she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "At least I know Ferris is there at work, at his office!"
Back in the luxurious padded isolation of their limousine, with snow flurries blowing past the window, beginning to build a lace pattern on the glass that blocked out the dimming outside world, the muffled thump of tires on the slushy highway lulled the mother into a doze but not the daughter.
… P oor Mamma, poor Charles, poor Charles' wife...
The rhythm of it wouldn't let her alone, it kept nagging, repeating.
++++++++++
Chapter 12
"Oh be careful, my nails are still wet!" Andrea kissed Ferris on the mouth with her hands outstretched like a puppet and closed the door with an elbow. "Are you hungry? I've got pizza I can heat up, or what about artichokes? A beer? Scotch? Oops, I'm out of scotch, what about a vodka martini? I didn't know if you were going to want to go out for a Sunday brunch so I didn't get dressed, but I can be ready for anything in two minutes!"
Andrea danced about her room, moving ashtrays, pillows, magazine, box of cheese crackers, a half-eaten apple from one place to another, disappearing behind a bamboo partition then magically re-appearing with glasses. All the while her fingers were twittering. The heel of her hand, the palm, the elbows and knees, even her feet were doing the arranging, shifting, carrying since her fingernails were still drying.
Andrea's black hair was flying. The man's shirt she was wearing had two buttons buttoned in the middle. There were flashes of dainty breasts and bright red bikini underpants as she put the helter-skelter of her room into amazingly good order.
Ice bucket, liquor, a jar of cocktail olives were conjured up out of nowhere just as sometimes breakfast had seemed to materialize, not from kitchen but from outer space. Ferris was never certain which one of the bamboo screens or bamboo blinds actually masked kitchenette.
Ferris knew the bathroom was behind the bamboo framed door that was a montage of photographs — Andrea in the nude, interspersed with professional shots of Andrea modeling hats, panty hose and liquid detergents. The montage was as outrageous, as unexpectedly provocative as Andrea herself was — she was dashing in and out of the bathroom, doing things to her hair, spraying on whatever it was that she sprayed on to give her a Lily of the Valley fragrance while simultaneously serving Ferris a drink, paper napkin, coaster, and a plate of things to nibble on.
"Well Ferris, don't just stand there," Andrea said. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable!"
There was only one place to sit, aside from the bed. Marian's trip to the institution had given Ferris an opportunity to explain face to face that they couldn't meet anymore, so Ferris sat down the swing.
It was a large basket which was attached with chains and bolts to the ceiling. The silver table in front of him looked futuristic. The lamp was a bus stop sign ingeniously bent into an off balance position that seemed to defy the laws of gravity. At his feet, the bed was a collection of pillows on an extra thick, extra large foam mat — it took up most of the remaining floor space.
Ferris invariably ended up feeling like the bus stop sign — in an
"We'll get the best, Mrs. Melnik, but it will cost money," Dr. Benedict said, taking out his notepad.
It always cost money to get Ralph the best — clothing, private room, hand-picked attendants, as well as extras — sunlamp, special diets, the privilege of being shaved every day — hundreds of thousands of dollars had gone into keeping Ralph a happy boy in the body of a man.
Marian slipped away to telephone again. The line was busy. There wasn't time to wait around and try once more, but she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "At least I know Ferris is there at work, at his office!"
Back in the luxurious padded isolation of their limousine, with snow flurries blowing past the window, beginning to build a lace pattern on the glass that blocked out the dimming outside world, the muffled thump of tires on the slushy highway lulled the mother into a doze but not the daughter.
… P oor Mamma, poor Charles, poor Charles' wife...
The rhythm of it wouldn't let her alone, it kept nagging, repeating.
++++++++++
Chapter 12
"Oh be careful, my nails are still wet!" Andrea kissed Ferris on the mouth with her hands outstretched like a puppet and closed the door with an elbow. "Are you hungry? I've got pizza I can heat up, or what about artichokes? A beer? Scotch? Oops, I'm out of scotch, what about a vodka martini? I didn't know if you were going to want to go out for a Sunday brunch so I didn't get dressed, but I can be ready for anything in two minutes!"
Andrea danced about her room, moving ashtrays, pillows, magazine, box of cheese crackers, a half-eaten apple from one place to another, disappearing behind a bamboo partition then magically re-appearing with glasses. All the while her fingers were twittering. The heel of her hand, the palm, the elbows and knees, even her feet were doing the arranging, shifting, carrying since her fingernails were still drying.
Andrea's black hair was flying. The man's shirt she was wearing had two buttons buttoned in the middle. There were flashes of dainty breasts and bright red bikini underpants as she put the helter-skelter of her room into amazingly good order.
Ice bucket, liquor, a jar of cocktail olives were conjured up out of nowhere just as sometimes breakfast had seemed to materialize, not from kitchen but from outer space. Ferris was never certain which one of the bamboo screens or bamboo blinds actually masked kitchenette.
Ferris knew the bathroom was behind the bamboo framed door that was a montage of photographs — Andrea in the nude, interspersed with professional shots of Andrea modeling hats, panty hose and liquid detergents. The montage was as outrageous, as unexpectedly provocative as Andrea herself was — she was dashing in and out of the bathroom, doing things to her hair, spraying on whatever it was that she sprayed on to give her a Lily of the Valley fragrance while simultaneously serving Ferris a drink, paper napkin, coaster, and a plate of things to nibble on.
"Well Ferris, don't just stand there," Andrea said. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable!"
There was only one place to sit, aside from the bed. Marian's trip to the institution had given Ferris an opportunity to explain face to face that they couldn't meet anymore, so Ferris sat down the swing.
It was a large basket which was attached with chains and bolts to the ceiling. The silver table in front of him looked futuristic. The lamp was a bus stop sign ingeniously bent into an off balance position that seemed to defy the laws of gravity. At his feet, the bed was a collection of pillows on an extra thick, extra large foam mat — it took up most of the remaining floor space.
Ferris invariably ended up feeling like the bus stop sign — in an
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