Prizes (26 page)

The very day Sandy moved in, the two women were fiddling on the roof, adding the last touches to the antenna they had assembled from inexpensive secondhand components. Apparently there was no broadcast code they couldn’t unscramble. Their TV bill of fare was enriched enormously—except on those occasions when Stella and Louise wanted to watch a fight and the guys were more eager to see a movie.

At first it was hard for Sandy and Vic to hold up their side of the bargain. But it was even harder for the ladies—who actually had to eat the stuff the men rustled up.

Within a month the dinners were getting—in Stella’s judgment—marginally tolerable.

Vic Newman was the closest thing to a pal that Sandy had ever had. He was bright, tenacious, and hardworking. Yet what made these initially antisocial traits acceptable was his infectious sense of humor.

Naturally, there were house rules. If, for whatever reason, the door to any of their rooms was closed, this was to be respected in every instance except a three-alarm fire.

But since these were all serious graduate students, they never had to bar their gates when they were studying. Indeed, one of the nicest aspects of this think tank—as Vic referred to it flatteringly—was that any of them could seek the other’s advice on matters scientific.

Vic’s sociological observation had been correct to an extent. Living in such mundane, close quarters, men and women somehow did not develop erotic thoughts about each other.

And yet, if you are a red-blooded American boy taking a shower, grabbing for a towel and finding instead a brassiere—albeit an empty one—the testosterone does not remain totally quiescent.

Also, summer was coming to Boston. And since graduate students did not enjoy the luxury of a vacation, for the first time in five years Sandy would not visit the Coast, where the likes of Gloria were annually replenished. (Where the old ones went, he never knew.)

But by now the rise in ambient temperature evoked a corresponding Pavlovian rise in Sandy’s libido.

He would have to fend for himself that summer.

And he was determined to do so.

The first naked woman Sandy saw that summer was the last he expected to see.

Cruising down a row of periodicals in the Coop, his glance fell casually on
Playboy,
whose cover enticed potential readers with the promise of “Exclusive Photos—Hollywood’s Hottest Newcomer.”

The rest was masked by the barrier of publications displayed on the shelf below. Sandy quickly grabbed a copy. His worst fears were confirmed: silver letters proclaimed that the Playmate of the Month was—Kim Tower.

He suddenly felt dizzy and needed fresh air fast. Rushing to the cashier’s desk, he bought the magazine and bolted outside.

Finding shelter behind a column, he hurriedly turned the pages. The double-length centerfold tumbled out—and there she was: artfully careless blond tresses, unique turquoise eyes, dazzling smile and flawlessly even teeth.

And yes, her breasts. Perfectly formed, exquisite—and bare.

He sprinted all the way back to the apartment, the erotic publication bouncing in his bag.

When he arrived, Vic Newman was sprawled across
the couch, working on his astrophysics. He looked up. “What’s the matter, Raven?”

Too upset to speak, Sandy tossed the bag at Vic, who took out the
Playboy
and examined it with pleasure. “Hey, terrific. I’ve always wanted to see what she … looked like.”

Sandy snatched it back and agonized, “I don’t understand it. Why the hell would a nice girl from a decent family do something so gross?”

“Are you serious, Raven? This is about the greatest publicity a starlet could get”

“But she’s not an actress anymore.”

“Come on, Sandy,” Vic chided. “People never give up acting—only vice versa—and they never stop dreaming. Who knows, this might even get her started again. I’ll bet every able-bodied guy in the country’s ogling her right this minute.”

Indeed, this was the very thought tearing Sandy apart. She was public property now.

Disconsolate, he retreated to his room, sat on the bed and stared at the photographs.

Is this the woman I’ve worshiped all my life? he asked himself.

Gradually he realized his dominant emotion was not shock, nor outrage, but embarrassment.

And profound sadness.

25
 

As Christmas neared, the level of excitement in the Coopersmith household intensified. Adam took Heather to pre-ski exercise classes at the local gym, and Toni awoke fifteen minutes earlier each morning to perform some of the routines in the Royal Canadian Air Force book.

Since it would be a long drive, Adam proposed that they invite Charlie Rosenthal, his colleague from the fertility clinic, to join them. Toni liked his wife, Joyce, and Heather was midway in age between their two sons—which gave her two near-contemporary playmates.

The two husbands took turns at the wheel of the Rosenthals’ station wagon. They were inspired in great measure to press on because of the intolerable rap music their offspring insisted on blasting through the car’s loudspeakers.

Late in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, tired but exhilarated, they reached the resort hotel at the tip of Georgian Bay.

The families separated, each to their own bungalow, and agreed to meet in the main lodge for dinner at seven. Eager for winter action, the young Rosenthals and Heather stayed outside to build a snow person—as politically correct Heather insisted it be called.

By the time Heather condescended to go into the cabin, she was thoroughly soaked—and freezing. She
willingly dumped herself into the Jacuzzi bathtub and then put on the new plaid skirt and blue blazer Toni had bought her for the holiday. Later they all donned boots and hiked off to the main dining room with high spirits and large appetites.

Charlie and Joyce and the Rosenthal boys were waiting by the gigantic stone fireplace, each with a glass of eggnog, although the youngsters’ drinks were rum-free.

“This place is great,” Joyce enthused. “If you guys are game, I’ve signed us up for tobogganing tomorrow morning.”

“Why not?” Charlie joked. “We’re doctors, we can set each other’s legs. Come on, let’s go in before all the turkey’s gone.”

The noise level in the dining room was high and the alcohol level even higher.

A string quartet of college students from Toronto was playing pseudoclassical versions of popular Christmas chestnuts, like “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” in the style of Bach—a concept that delighted the diners young and old and added to the magic of the atmosphere.

Sitting between the two Rosenthal boys, Heather was radiating hints of grown-up beauty that tugged at Adam’s heartstrings.

Charlie could always be counted on for some new jokes, and he did not disappoint on this occasion either, while his sons, who had heard them all before, moaned, “not that one again, Dad.”

After the feast, as they were waiting for the baked Alaska, the concierge suddenly arrived and whispered something in Adam’s ear. Nodding, he rose and addressed the others.

“Hey, guys, be sure they save me a slice. I’ve got a phone call.”

“Look at this, Joyce,” Charlie announced histrionically. “I have a monstrous full-time practice and nobody bothers me. Coopersmith probably has a measly
six private patients and they can’t get along without him. They even chase him across the frontier. Should I feel lucky—or jealous?”

“Hold your fire till we see who’s hassling me,” Adam retorted good-naturedly as he headed for the phone booths, wondering what on earth could be the matter.

“This is Dr. Coopersmith.”

“Doctor, this is Marvin Bergman. I’m the senior resident at Mass. Mental. Sorry to bother you, but it’s about Mrs. Avilov.”

Adam suddenly went cold. “What about her?”

“She attempted suicide, ingested about thirty diazapam fives. Then had second thoughts and called your service, which contacted us.”

“My God,” Adam said in shock. “Is she all right?”

“No problem,” Bergman replied. “We got there in plenty of time and pumped her stomach. She’ll have a nice long sleep. And wake up alive.” He paused, and then continued, “Well, sir, obviously you’re her OB/GYN. Do you know her psychiatrist?”

“She doesn’t have one. Did she, uh, ask for me?”

“She did mention you by first name a couple of times,” Bergman reported in a nonjudgmental tone. “But she’s completely out of danger, so there’s no real need to disturb your vacation.”

“That’s okay. I’ll call Toronto and see if I can still get a plane. If by some chance she should wake, be sure to tell her I’m on my way. Is that clear, Dr. Bergman?”

“Yes, sir. Although depending on when you get here, I may be off duty.”

“Well, then make damn sure your replacement remembers to tell her,” Adam barked. Realizing he may have betrayed his emotional involvement, he calmed himself and said, “Uh, thank you, Doctor, I know Christmas Eve is a rotten assignment, but I’m grateful for your concern.”

Adam hurried to the front desk to see if there was
still another flight to Boston that evening. There was one he could catch if he was willing to risk a wild taxi ride. He asked them to book both and went back to the dining room very slowly—to face the daunting task of extricating himself.

His return was cheered by all those at his table, though his own expression remained grim.

He bent over and whispered to Toni, “Could we talk outside for a moment?”

A worried look crossed her face as she stood up and followed him to the lobby. “Tell me quickly, Adam, is something wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Is it my father?”

“No, no. He’s fine. But there’s a problem and I’ve got to go back.”

“What?” she nearly shouted. “The biggest emergencies you ever have are miscarriages, and there are plenty of people in Boston who can deal with them.”

“This is a hell of a lot more serious.” Adam persisted. “Remember Mrs. Avilov?”

“The Russian?”

“Yes. She tried to commit suicide.”

“God, that’s awful.” Toni’s response was instinctive, then she abruptly realized there was something fundamentally wrong with all this. “Isn’t that a little out of your area? I mean,” she said carefully, “you’re not a shrink.”

“I know, I know. But it’s complicated to explain. I’m her only friend. She’s—how can I put it?—illogically dependent on me.”

“Well, darling, you happen to be on vacation with people who are very
logically
dependent on you. Why don’t you let the Psych Department handle this and come back to the party?” She took him by the hand, yet he remained rooted to the spot.

“Toni, I haven’t got time to explain. Can I ask you to simply accept that I have to make this trip?”

“Adam,” she said with a scowl, “you’re not keeping
your word. I sacrificed our being at Clifton with Dad so we could take this vacation. I mean, I’ve got all the sympathy in the world for this Avilov person. But practically every patient you see is a walking tragedy. What makes her so different? Is there something going on between you two?”

“For God’s sake,” Adam replied with exasperation, “I just want to be certain that she’s properly taken care of. I mean, you can’t imagine what kind of junior people are on duty over Christmas.”

They stared at each other, suddenly aware of how fragile their relationship had become.

“All right,” Toni said with a sigh, stoically suppressing her own outrage. “How long will you be gone?”

“A day—two, at the most.”

“What about your daughter?” she demanded angrily. “This was supposed to be our big rapprochement.”

“I don’t know, dammit. But can’t we just say that I’ve had an emergency?”

“
We
aren’t going to tell her anything.
You’re
the one who has to face not only Heather, but the other members of the jury. And Adam,” she said tartly, “try to be a little more convincing with them than you’ve been with me.”

He spoke to his daughter alone.

“I know this is lousy luck, honey. But you’ve got to understand that I’m a doctor and this patient needs me very badly.”

“So do I,” Heather murmured half under her breath, and then pleaded, “Can I come with you? I don’t want to stay here by myself.”

Adam was uneasy. “Sweetie, this is just going to be a quick turnaround. I’ll go to the hospital and come right back. Do me a favor and take care of Mom while I’m gone.”

Puzzled and disappointed, his daughter looked at him and muttered, “You must be kidding, Dad.”

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