Thomas Ryan's Blog
May 5, 2014
Free short Story
Gerry
Wednesday night.
Gerry Saunders checked his watch. 7:15pm
In fifteen minutes the group would come through the door. Shoulders hunched, heads drooped, eyes glued to shoes that picked across imagined gaps in the floor. Then a mumbled greeting before they slumped onto their chairs. Nothing more would issue from this band of misfits without a prompt from Gerry.
He hated psychology. If not for the money, and a lack of alternative skills he would have tossed it long ago. The cash made disagreeable encounters with his egocentric patients tolerable.
Just.
His eyes flicked around the office. He made no apologies for the spartan furnishings; white walls, white ceiling, his desk, a chair behind it and six other chairs lined up before it. The desk lacked evidence of family photos. No framed Medical Degrees. Degrees would show that he’d started his career as a psychiatrist. Psychiatry had not been for him. Dealing with the insane had threatened his sanity. Depressed him. Prescribing drugs to blithering idiots to morph them into docile blithering idiots brought limited satisfaction. It reminded him of a recurring dream in which he endeavors to trudge out of bog with legs that had the alacrity of sticks wedged in treacle.
The unpredictability of schizophrenics made him nervous especially when asking these grown men why they defecated on their beds and masturbated into the pages of library books.
When he first raised the subject of a career change his wife had insisted he stayed with Psychiatry. Married to a specialist had given Michelle a social status that her years of waiting tables in waterfront bar’s had not. But Gerry said his decision was set in stone, his mind, unchangeable. The day he downgraded to Psychology Michelle became a hunter; armed with long shapely legs and a shock of red hair that would make an Irishman cry, she stalked the hospital corridors in search of a replacement for her no longer suitable husband. It did not take long. Within months she had moved out of Gerry’s home and run off with Psychiatrist number two.
And, took most of Gerry’s money with her.
Gerry’s eyes dropped to his hand now splayed at rest on the desktop. His brow furrowed at the sight of his podgy fingers. He detested his physique. And, for as long as he remembered he’d been going bald. In junior school he had been athletic. A scholar too. But with the onset of adolescence and the move to high school he’d developed feelings of inadequacy and with it a healthy fear of rejection. To compensate he became brash and rude to the point of bullying. He ogled women in the mistaken belief it made him sexy. Word spread amongst the female fraternity that Gerry Saunders was an odd and creepy young man.
To counter the isolating Gerry became encased in a shell of indifference. He gave up sport. Focused on his studies. The result in giving up sport was a jump in weight. Overweight nerd was added to his growing list of undesirable characteristics making him even less attractive to women. At medical school nothing changed. He participated in mixed study groups. The female students were polite but never responsive to, “Can I buy you a coffee?”
Gerry sought solace in the arms of prostitutes.
He didn’t care that he needed to pay for sex. For an hour he became the centre of attention of any woman of his choosing. The prostitutes pretended to find him entertaining and feigned enthusiasm for the stories he spun. After faking spectacular orgasms they lay on their backs, panting, rubbing perspiration from their foreheads and pleading with him to be merciful as they extolled his stallion-like prowess. And minutes before the hand on the clock above the door hit the hour mark, his chaperone for the night, steered him from the room, lingering in the doorway only long enough to solicit a promise from Gerry to return. He always promised he would and he always did.
Gerry could not have been happier.
For at least two nights every week, sometimes three, he became the man he always dreamed he could be.
After one of these interludes he met Michelle.
In search of a cold beer, Gerry had made his way to one of the waterfront bars a few hundred meters walking distance from the brothel. When waitress Michelle sauntered between tables on the way to take his order he imagined he was watching an angel. Her legs climbed forever before disappearing beneath a tiny leather skirt. Auburn hair bounced as she walked and lips pouted deepest red against milky white skin. She was tall and that excited him. In earlier years he would have found her intimidating but he’d developed a confidence from the sessions with his hookers. He openly studied her and when he was certain he’d caught her attention he dropped his eyes to her chest. A small strawberry tattoo adorned the top of her left breast. His eyes lifted. Deep red lips broke into a smile. Gerry was smitten. He ordered a wine and then another.
He began to frequent the bar as often as he frequented his brothel.
Michelle agreed to a celebratory dinner when he passed his final exams. Over champagne Gerry told her of his plans. He wanted to practice Psychiatry. It meant more study. But Psychiatrists made good money. Michelle, a realist concluded that Gerry would be a wealthy man someday and offered a better future than waterfront bars.
She seduced a more than willing Gerry into marriage.
He gave up hookers and turned his attention to his beautiful new wife.
But, early into his new career Gerry realized he had made a dreadful mistake. Psychiatry was not for him. He explained to Michelle he would have to give it up. She turned on him like a viper protecting its nest. She had married a Psychiatrist and he would goddam stay a Psychiatrist.
For the next ten years the thick red hair framing Michelle’s freckled face and highlighting her emerald green eyes was enough incentive to persevere with his miserable working existence. She demanded luxuries. He complied. But like a wilting rose the bloom faded, and once the petals had peeled away and rotted into mulch Gerry’s interest in Michelle fell into the same compost heap. Their relationship no longer held enough interest to keep him in a career that he had long despised.
When he turned forty Gerry entered his office. Packed his personal effects into a cardboard box and walked out of the building forever. He had had enough. Within a matter of weeks Michelle ran off with one of Gerry’s colleagues and sued for half the marital property.
Gerry never married again. Hookers again filled his relationship gap. They kept him happy, never belittled him and the experience was always joyful and sexually satisfying. But he needed money to maintain his finance driven relationships and to get the money he entered the world of Psychology. The patients might be mundane compared to his earlier employment but they were closer to normal and listening to depressants complaining of broken marriages, dead-end jobs, sexual inadequacies and personality dysfunctions was a welcome respite from dribbling zombies.
The money left from the split of assets with Michelle was enough to buy two adjoining inner city apartments. He installed connecting doors, lived in one and the other became his office. A good arrangement and living near the city centre meant as many hookers as his wallet could fund were within walking distance. Gerry needed money to feed his addiction and the easiest money came from group sessions. He organized as many as practicable.
Soft shuffles met his ears.
His evening group was gathering in the outer office.
Gerry allowed a nod of satisfaction. He had done all right. Leaning back in his seat he closed his eyes. A man should be thankful.
###
Gerry stood and placed the six chairs in a half circle. He then pulled his high-backed leather chair from behind the desk and centred it. He intended being comfortable. The patients didn’t care. When it was time to speak they often tended to walk about and rant. Gerry’s lips tightened in a grim smile. It amused him that these people paid a hundred dollars an hour to vent their frustration on why they failed to achieve greatness. It surprised him that he’d found six with this particular problem. And, that they’d agreed to take part in group sessions.
He pulled six files from the cabinet and placed them on the table with easy reach of his chair, then placed a pad and pen on top of the files. He would make notes. Not because he had an interest in keeping records, but to prevent himself falling asleep. He was ready. He sat in his chair.
A light tap on the door.
Mousy brown curls poked around the end of the door. Gerry suppressed an impatient sigh.
“Hi Doc.”
Blerta always called him doc. Not doctor as was his due but doc. It aggravated him. He wasn’t a cartoon character. He checked his watch.
“Hi Blerta. Tell the others to come in.”
They entered single file, mumbled, swapped seats.
He knew the drumming of his fingers on the desktop betrayed his irritation. Betrayed that he disliked these meetings and that he might even nurse an abiding aversion towards the mentally ill. A fleeting grimace crossed Gerry’s face at the truth of it. He didn’t caution his outward displays of impatience because no one in the group would notice.
Finally they settled.
“Okay. Who wants to start?”
As Gerry expected Blerta raised her hand. She uncrossed the large dimpled legs, knees poking from beneath a crumpled green smock covered in yellow daisies. Gerry knew her to be twenty four years old and he guessed she was twenty-four kilos overweight. He breasts jiggled as she leant forward.
“Very well Blerta. Off you go.”
“My name is Blerta McKay. I’m twenty three years old and I live at home with my mother and father. I’ll go flatting soon.” A pause then a quickened pace. “But for the moment it suits. I’m single and that’s my choice. I prefer my own company.”
Gerry managed to hide a smirk. The only man interested in Blerta would be a whale hunter.
“When I finished school I applied to an advertisement looking for models. My mother said I was pretty. I had photos taken and sent a portfolio out to agents. Two were interested. Mum and I went in to meet with them and decided to go with the agency closest to home. They were very well known. Barclays.” Blerta glanced around the room. No nods of recognition.“Anyway my career started. Fashion modeling to begin and later magazine photo shoots.”
Gerry, along with everyone else in the room had heard Blerta’s story. The same story told the same way at every meeting. He studied the others. All appeared to be listening, intently. That surprised him. All were egocentric. Maybe they were trying to solve the riddle of how an ugly fat girl could be deluded enough to believe she could become a model.
“After two years I had a reputation of sorts. The photographers liked me because they said the camera liked me. My agency sent photos to New York. The Americans liked what they saw. More photos were taken and I was offered a contract. It was beyond my wildest dream. I had a real chance at becoming a super model.”
Blerta stopped speaking. She slumped back in her chair. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a chocolate bar. The others looked from her to Gerry. Gerry shrugged.
“We can come back to Blerta. Who wants to go next?”
###
Later in the brothel as Gerry soaked in the spa bath waiting for his one hundred dollar per hour companion, he reflected on the earlier group session. The six had agreed to return the following week. A sign the meeting had gone better than expected. More meetings meant more for hookers. Blerta hadn’t spoken again. Gerald had yelled and screamed and alarmed everyone with his failed footballer story. Maybelline whispered how she failed as a dancer because of big feet. Gerry mused that her feet did indeed appear to be over-generous. The girl could have gotten a job flattening bitumen.
Hudson had been the only group member to cry this night. Hudson, of similar physique as Gerry had ambitions to become an international basketball player. Gerry had listened to the tale of woe with the reverence of a priest taking confession. Inside his head a voice screamed silent abuse at the absurdity of Hudson’s ambition. Jackson was an actor with no presence, and Anthony a gay boxer who didn’t like hurting his opponents. Gerry despised every single one of them. They were weak and he hated weakness.
The door swung open.
The sound and flash of light from the corridor snapped him out of his reverie. The door closed and the room again darkened.
The girl, early twenties he guessed. She sauntered towards him. Her silk robe slid from her shoulders silently falling into a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Hi Gerry, I’m Gracie.”
The smile, forced. Too bright. Too professional to be real. Gerry’s eyebrows drew together. He wanted his hookers to be good actresses. The management knew this. He had not seen Gracie before, she must be new. The other girls had not warned her. That was no excuse.
“Where’s Jenny?” Gerry asked.
“She isn’t working tonight.”
“What about Crystal?”
“She’s with another client.”
“You can’t be much older than twenty.”
A rhetorical question.
He followed the line of her legs. Her thighs. Her crotch. Jesus. He had an erection.
Eyes holding Gerry’s, Gracie reached behind and undid the zip to her bra. It fell away. A hot flush ran up Gerry’s neck.
“This won’t do. You’re too young. I’m not a bloody pervert.”
He had always been specific with the management. He wanted women his own age. They were his substitute for a failed marriage. He relaxed with older women. Became less awkward. This was too much.
But Gerry’s eyes stayed glued to the contour of Gracie’s breasts. They were firm, not bouncy like Jennies or Crystals. They looked unnatural. Like clay moulds. He tried to stop himself from staring but his eyes refused budge.
“What’s the matter Gerry? You don’t like these,” Gracie said. She cupped her left breast and pushed it at him. Although the display had the attributes of wantonness he also detected a blush of shyness on her face. He was not to be fooled. He had been in psychiatry long enough to read body language. And he was reading that she disliked herself.
And she despised him.
Gerry had had patients like Gracie. They inflicted injury upon themselves. Sometimes they even killed themselves. He looked for signs. When she spread her legs he saw the scars. Cigarette burns on the tops of her thighs. Old scars but still visible. It made him want to vomit.
Gerry’s head was the only part of his body above water. He hoped the girl couldn’t see his erection. His hands sank to cover it. She recognized the movement and set her gaze on his crotch and smiled. The heat in his neck spread to his cheeks. He knew was turning bright red.
Gracie’s voice came to him as a whisper.
“It’s my first night Gerry.”
She slipped out of her panties. Tossed them back over her shoulder. Now naked she slow danced. Her body gyrated to imagined music. Eyes glazed over. For a few seconds lost in another world.
Then she sat on the side of the spa, opened her legs.
“This is not right Gracie. You’re too young. I’m not a pervert.”
“You want me to leave Gerry.” The voice purred as she slid into the water. She moved towards and as she did so reached down and took his penis in her hand.
“At a guess, I think you’re pleased to see me Gerry.”
“Let me be.”
Gerry was immobile. He closed his eyes. Why wouldn’t she go? Why was she doing this? She was licking his ear. Oh god the feelings. He was bad. He shouldn’t let this happen. She was a victim and now he was adding to her harm. She was making him feel dirty. Why? The girl moved in front of him and pulled his arms around her. Gerry pulled her to him. Jesus help me. This is not what I want. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. Snakes eyes. Wide open. Flashing messages. Was that torment he detected? Disgust? Hatred. There was no warmth. Not like with the others.
No pretense.
“You fucking slut. You bitch,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “What are you doing to me?”
His hands were on her throat. Soft, caressing, like holding a new born chick.
She laughed at him. Daring him.
“You’re weak Gerry. Like all men. “
Fingers tightened. Harder. And, harder. He held her stare. The smile remained. But her eyes, they begged him to continue.
“You slut. You fucking slut. You deserve this. You should have left me alone.”
He squeezed. His teeth grinding and his muscles taut as he forced her head under the water. She thrashed about. Clawed at him. But he held firm. He held her under long after she stopped moving.
He released her. She stayed submerged.
He backed up against the side of the spa.
###
The high-pitched scrape of a catch unlocked. A hinged panel placed in the metal door at head height drops down. The opening wide enough for a half dozen heads. The Med students in white coats, clutching clipboards, peer in. The room that met their eyes was stark white. A bed against the side wall. No table, no chair. A book lay open on the floor. A chubby naked man squats, resting on his haunches, reading it.
“Can everyone see the patient?” Doctor Steiner asked.
Five heads nodded.
“Gerry Saunders, forty two year old male. Mother a prostitute. Father unknown. Abused from age four by his step father. Institutionalized at sixteen. Mother’s name, Gracie. Gerry excelled at school. Good athlete, exceptional scholar. School reports suggest he might have gone on to university. Socially an extrovert. This is unusual. Most abuse victims become withdrawn. Ashamed. Gerry didn’t. He kept it stored. Threw himself into all sorts of activities, boxing, football, acting but of course bottling up emotions can only last so long. One day he refused to participate in any activity. Binged on chocolate bars, pies and whatever pastries were available in the bakery he passed on the way home. Gained weight. At this stage someone in the school system should have noticed but then teenagers are teenagers. Unpredictable. The school put it down to adolescence. Everyone was too busy to notice. No one cared. Gerry blamed his mother for his stepfather’s abuse. One night while she was soaking in a bath Gerry strangled her. Then he went upstairs and beat his father to death with his fists. As a young man Gerry was as solid as he looks now. We’re not certain when Gerry developed his schizophrenia. We’ve counted six personalities so far. It’s doubtful he will ever leave the hospital.”
“Questions?” No raised hands. “Let’s move on shall we. Someone shut the panel.”
The Doctor turned and walked toward the next paneled door. A straggler student took another look at Gerry. He was now kneeling over the book masturbating. She watched for a moment. Transfixed.
Gerry looked up. Smiled.
The student slammed the panel closed and slid the locking bolt across.
The end.
Wednesday night.
Gerry Saunders checked his watch. 7:15pm
In fifteen minutes the group would come through the door. Shoulders hunched, heads drooped, eyes glued to shoes that picked across imagined gaps in the floor. Then a mumbled greeting before they slumped onto their chairs. Nothing more would issue from this band of misfits without a prompt from Gerry.
He hated psychology. If not for the money, and a lack of alternative skills he would have tossed it long ago. The cash made disagreeable encounters with his egocentric patients tolerable.
Just.
His eyes flicked around the office. He made no apologies for the spartan furnishings; white walls, white ceiling, his desk, a chair behind it and six other chairs lined up before it. The desk lacked evidence of family photos. No framed Medical Degrees. Degrees would show that he’d started his career as a psychiatrist. Psychiatry had not been for him. Dealing with the insane had threatened his sanity. Depressed him. Prescribing drugs to blithering idiots to morph them into docile blithering idiots brought limited satisfaction. It reminded him of a recurring dream in which he endeavors to trudge out of bog with legs that had the alacrity of sticks wedged in treacle.
The unpredictability of schizophrenics made him nervous especially when asking these grown men why they defecated on their beds and masturbated into the pages of library books.
When he first raised the subject of a career change his wife had insisted he stayed with Psychiatry. Married to a specialist had given Michelle a social status that her years of waiting tables in waterfront bar’s had not. But Gerry said his decision was set in stone, his mind, unchangeable. The day he downgraded to Psychology Michelle became a hunter; armed with long shapely legs and a shock of red hair that would make an Irishman cry, she stalked the hospital corridors in search of a replacement for her no longer suitable husband. It did not take long. Within months she had moved out of Gerry’s home and run off with Psychiatrist number two.
And, took most of Gerry’s money with her.
Gerry’s eyes dropped to his hand now splayed at rest on the desktop. His brow furrowed at the sight of his podgy fingers. He detested his physique. And, for as long as he remembered he’d been going bald. In junior school he had been athletic. A scholar too. But with the onset of adolescence and the move to high school he’d developed feelings of inadequacy and with it a healthy fear of rejection. To compensate he became brash and rude to the point of bullying. He ogled women in the mistaken belief it made him sexy. Word spread amongst the female fraternity that Gerry Saunders was an odd and creepy young man.
To counter the isolating Gerry became encased in a shell of indifference. He gave up sport. Focused on his studies. The result in giving up sport was a jump in weight. Overweight nerd was added to his growing list of undesirable characteristics making him even less attractive to women. At medical school nothing changed. He participated in mixed study groups. The female students were polite but never responsive to, “Can I buy you a coffee?”
Gerry sought solace in the arms of prostitutes.
He didn’t care that he needed to pay for sex. For an hour he became the centre of attention of any woman of his choosing. The prostitutes pretended to find him entertaining and feigned enthusiasm for the stories he spun. After faking spectacular orgasms they lay on their backs, panting, rubbing perspiration from their foreheads and pleading with him to be merciful as they extolled his stallion-like prowess. And minutes before the hand on the clock above the door hit the hour mark, his chaperone for the night, steered him from the room, lingering in the doorway only long enough to solicit a promise from Gerry to return. He always promised he would and he always did.
Gerry could not have been happier.
For at least two nights every week, sometimes three, he became the man he always dreamed he could be.
After one of these interludes he met Michelle.
In search of a cold beer, Gerry had made his way to one of the waterfront bars a few hundred meters walking distance from the brothel. When waitress Michelle sauntered between tables on the way to take his order he imagined he was watching an angel. Her legs climbed forever before disappearing beneath a tiny leather skirt. Auburn hair bounced as she walked and lips pouted deepest red against milky white skin. She was tall and that excited him. In earlier years he would have found her intimidating but he’d developed a confidence from the sessions with his hookers. He openly studied her and when he was certain he’d caught her attention he dropped his eyes to her chest. A small strawberry tattoo adorned the top of her left breast. His eyes lifted. Deep red lips broke into a smile. Gerry was smitten. He ordered a wine and then another.
He began to frequent the bar as often as he frequented his brothel.
Michelle agreed to a celebratory dinner when he passed his final exams. Over champagne Gerry told her of his plans. He wanted to practice Psychiatry. It meant more study. But Psychiatrists made good money. Michelle, a realist concluded that Gerry would be a wealthy man someday and offered a better future than waterfront bars.
She seduced a more than willing Gerry into marriage.
He gave up hookers and turned his attention to his beautiful new wife.
But, early into his new career Gerry realized he had made a dreadful mistake. Psychiatry was not for him. He explained to Michelle he would have to give it up. She turned on him like a viper protecting its nest. She had married a Psychiatrist and he would goddam stay a Psychiatrist.
For the next ten years the thick red hair framing Michelle’s freckled face and highlighting her emerald green eyes was enough incentive to persevere with his miserable working existence. She demanded luxuries. He complied. But like a wilting rose the bloom faded, and once the petals had peeled away and rotted into mulch Gerry’s interest in Michelle fell into the same compost heap. Their relationship no longer held enough interest to keep him in a career that he had long despised.
When he turned forty Gerry entered his office. Packed his personal effects into a cardboard box and walked out of the building forever. He had had enough. Within a matter of weeks Michelle ran off with one of Gerry’s colleagues and sued for half the marital property.
Gerry never married again. Hookers again filled his relationship gap. They kept him happy, never belittled him and the experience was always joyful and sexually satisfying. But he needed money to maintain his finance driven relationships and to get the money he entered the world of Psychology. The patients might be mundane compared to his earlier employment but they were closer to normal and listening to depressants complaining of broken marriages, dead-end jobs, sexual inadequacies and personality dysfunctions was a welcome respite from dribbling zombies.
The money left from the split of assets with Michelle was enough to buy two adjoining inner city apartments. He installed connecting doors, lived in one and the other became his office. A good arrangement and living near the city centre meant as many hookers as his wallet could fund were within walking distance. Gerry needed money to feed his addiction and the easiest money came from group sessions. He organized as many as practicable.
Soft shuffles met his ears.
His evening group was gathering in the outer office.
Gerry allowed a nod of satisfaction. He had done all right. Leaning back in his seat he closed his eyes. A man should be thankful.
###
Gerry stood and placed the six chairs in a half circle. He then pulled his high-backed leather chair from behind the desk and centred it. He intended being comfortable. The patients didn’t care. When it was time to speak they often tended to walk about and rant. Gerry’s lips tightened in a grim smile. It amused him that these people paid a hundred dollars an hour to vent their frustration on why they failed to achieve greatness. It surprised him that he’d found six with this particular problem. And, that they’d agreed to take part in group sessions.
He pulled six files from the cabinet and placed them on the table with easy reach of his chair, then placed a pad and pen on top of the files. He would make notes. Not because he had an interest in keeping records, but to prevent himself falling asleep. He was ready. He sat in his chair.
A light tap on the door.
Mousy brown curls poked around the end of the door. Gerry suppressed an impatient sigh.
“Hi Doc.”
Blerta always called him doc. Not doctor as was his due but doc. It aggravated him. He wasn’t a cartoon character. He checked his watch.
“Hi Blerta. Tell the others to come in.”
They entered single file, mumbled, swapped seats.
He knew the drumming of his fingers on the desktop betrayed his irritation. Betrayed that he disliked these meetings and that he might even nurse an abiding aversion towards the mentally ill. A fleeting grimace crossed Gerry’s face at the truth of it. He didn’t caution his outward displays of impatience because no one in the group would notice.
Finally they settled.
“Okay. Who wants to start?”
As Gerry expected Blerta raised her hand. She uncrossed the large dimpled legs, knees poking from beneath a crumpled green smock covered in yellow daisies. Gerry knew her to be twenty four years old and he guessed she was twenty-four kilos overweight. He breasts jiggled as she leant forward.
“Very well Blerta. Off you go.”
“My name is Blerta McKay. I’m twenty three years old and I live at home with my mother and father. I’ll go flatting soon.” A pause then a quickened pace. “But for the moment it suits. I’m single and that’s my choice. I prefer my own company.”
Gerry managed to hide a smirk. The only man interested in Blerta would be a whale hunter.
“When I finished school I applied to an advertisement looking for models. My mother said I was pretty. I had photos taken and sent a portfolio out to agents. Two were interested. Mum and I went in to meet with them and decided to go with the agency closest to home. They were very well known. Barclays.” Blerta glanced around the room. No nods of recognition.“Anyway my career started. Fashion modeling to begin and later magazine photo shoots.”
Gerry, along with everyone else in the room had heard Blerta’s story. The same story told the same way at every meeting. He studied the others. All appeared to be listening, intently. That surprised him. All were egocentric. Maybe they were trying to solve the riddle of how an ugly fat girl could be deluded enough to believe she could become a model.
“After two years I had a reputation of sorts. The photographers liked me because they said the camera liked me. My agency sent photos to New York. The Americans liked what they saw. More photos were taken and I was offered a contract. It was beyond my wildest dream. I had a real chance at becoming a super model.”
Blerta stopped speaking. She slumped back in her chair. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a chocolate bar. The others looked from her to Gerry. Gerry shrugged.
“We can come back to Blerta. Who wants to go next?”
###
Later in the brothel as Gerry soaked in the spa bath waiting for his one hundred dollar per hour companion, he reflected on the earlier group session. The six had agreed to return the following week. A sign the meeting had gone better than expected. More meetings meant more for hookers. Blerta hadn’t spoken again. Gerald had yelled and screamed and alarmed everyone with his failed footballer story. Maybelline whispered how she failed as a dancer because of big feet. Gerry mused that her feet did indeed appear to be over-generous. The girl could have gotten a job flattening bitumen.
Hudson had been the only group member to cry this night. Hudson, of similar physique as Gerry had ambitions to become an international basketball player. Gerry had listened to the tale of woe with the reverence of a priest taking confession. Inside his head a voice screamed silent abuse at the absurdity of Hudson’s ambition. Jackson was an actor with no presence, and Anthony a gay boxer who didn’t like hurting his opponents. Gerry despised every single one of them. They were weak and he hated weakness.
The door swung open.
The sound and flash of light from the corridor snapped him out of his reverie. The door closed and the room again darkened.
The girl, early twenties he guessed. She sauntered towards him. Her silk robe slid from her shoulders silently falling into a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Hi Gerry, I’m Gracie.”
The smile, forced. Too bright. Too professional to be real. Gerry’s eyebrows drew together. He wanted his hookers to be good actresses. The management knew this. He had not seen Gracie before, she must be new. The other girls had not warned her. That was no excuse.
“Where’s Jenny?” Gerry asked.
“She isn’t working tonight.”
“What about Crystal?”
“She’s with another client.”
“You can’t be much older than twenty.”
A rhetorical question.
He followed the line of her legs. Her thighs. Her crotch. Jesus. He had an erection.
Eyes holding Gerry’s, Gracie reached behind and undid the zip to her bra. It fell away. A hot flush ran up Gerry’s neck.
“This won’t do. You’re too young. I’m not a bloody pervert.”
He had always been specific with the management. He wanted women his own age. They were his substitute for a failed marriage. He relaxed with older women. Became less awkward. This was too much.
But Gerry’s eyes stayed glued to the contour of Gracie’s breasts. They were firm, not bouncy like Jennies or Crystals. They looked unnatural. Like clay moulds. He tried to stop himself from staring but his eyes refused budge.
“What’s the matter Gerry? You don’t like these,” Gracie said. She cupped her left breast and pushed it at him. Although the display had the attributes of wantonness he also detected a blush of shyness on her face. He was not to be fooled. He had been in psychiatry long enough to read body language. And he was reading that she disliked herself.
And she despised him.
Gerry had had patients like Gracie. They inflicted injury upon themselves. Sometimes they even killed themselves. He looked for signs. When she spread her legs he saw the scars. Cigarette burns on the tops of her thighs. Old scars but still visible. It made him want to vomit.
Gerry’s head was the only part of his body above water. He hoped the girl couldn’t see his erection. His hands sank to cover it. She recognized the movement and set her gaze on his crotch and smiled. The heat in his neck spread to his cheeks. He knew was turning bright red.
Gracie’s voice came to him as a whisper.
“It’s my first night Gerry.”
She slipped out of her panties. Tossed them back over her shoulder. Now naked she slow danced. Her body gyrated to imagined music. Eyes glazed over. For a few seconds lost in another world.
Then she sat on the side of the spa, opened her legs.
“This is not right Gracie. You’re too young. I’m not a pervert.”
“You want me to leave Gerry.” The voice purred as she slid into the water. She moved towards and as she did so reached down and took his penis in her hand.
“At a guess, I think you’re pleased to see me Gerry.”
“Let me be.”
Gerry was immobile. He closed his eyes. Why wouldn’t she go? Why was she doing this? She was licking his ear. Oh god the feelings. He was bad. He shouldn’t let this happen. She was a victim and now he was adding to her harm. She was making him feel dirty. Why? The girl moved in front of him and pulled his arms around her. Gerry pulled her to him. Jesus help me. This is not what I want. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. Snakes eyes. Wide open. Flashing messages. Was that torment he detected? Disgust? Hatred. There was no warmth. Not like with the others.
No pretense.
“You fucking slut. You bitch,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “What are you doing to me?”
His hands were on her throat. Soft, caressing, like holding a new born chick.
She laughed at him. Daring him.
“You’re weak Gerry. Like all men. “
Fingers tightened. Harder. And, harder. He held her stare. The smile remained. But her eyes, they begged him to continue.
“You slut. You fucking slut. You deserve this. You should have left me alone.”
He squeezed. His teeth grinding and his muscles taut as he forced her head under the water. She thrashed about. Clawed at him. But he held firm. He held her under long after she stopped moving.
He released her. She stayed submerged.
He backed up against the side of the spa.
###
The high-pitched scrape of a catch unlocked. A hinged panel placed in the metal door at head height drops down. The opening wide enough for a half dozen heads. The Med students in white coats, clutching clipboards, peer in. The room that met their eyes was stark white. A bed against the side wall. No table, no chair. A book lay open on the floor. A chubby naked man squats, resting on his haunches, reading it.
“Can everyone see the patient?” Doctor Steiner asked.
Five heads nodded.
“Gerry Saunders, forty two year old male. Mother a prostitute. Father unknown. Abused from age four by his step father. Institutionalized at sixteen. Mother’s name, Gracie. Gerry excelled at school. Good athlete, exceptional scholar. School reports suggest he might have gone on to university. Socially an extrovert. This is unusual. Most abuse victims become withdrawn. Ashamed. Gerry didn’t. He kept it stored. Threw himself into all sorts of activities, boxing, football, acting but of course bottling up emotions can only last so long. One day he refused to participate in any activity. Binged on chocolate bars, pies and whatever pastries were available in the bakery he passed on the way home. Gained weight. At this stage someone in the school system should have noticed but then teenagers are teenagers. Unpredictable. The school put it down to adolescence. Everyone was too busy to notice. No one cared. Gerry blamed his mother for his stepfather’s abuse. One night while she was soaking in a bath Gerry strangled her. Then he went upstairs and beat his father to death with his fists. As a young man Gerry was as solid as he looks now. We’re not certain when Gerry developed his schizophrenia. We’ve counted six personalities so far. It’s doubtful he will ever leave the hospital.”
“Questions?” No raised hands. “Let’s move on shall we. Someone shut the panel.”
The Doctor turned and walked toward the next paneled door. A straggler student took another look at Gerry. He was now kneeling over the book masturbating. She watched for a moment. Transfixed.
Gerry looked up. Smiled.
The student slammed the panel closed and slid the locking bolt across.
The end.
