Paul Kavanagh - Not Comin' Home to You

“Oh, God,” she said.

He did not move.

“Oh, do it, do it. I want you to.”

He drove into her. She sobbed and her arms tightened around his back. He made himself move slowly, gently, but it was impossible to do so for long, and then she was moaning his name and moving with him and he moved fast and hard, fast and hard, and when he came it was like a gunshot.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, doctor. I understand that Mrs. Ella Hall is a patient of yours?”

“Could I ask your interest in the matter?”

“I’m sorry. My name is Carstairs, I’m with the Associated Press.”

“Yes?”

“I wonder if it would be possible for me to see Mrs. Hall.”

“We have no Mrs. Ella Hall here.”

“I was given to understand—”

“I assume you mean a Miss Elizabeth Jenks.”

“I mean the mother of James John Hall, but I believe ’Jenks’ was her maiden name. She’s a patient here?”

“She is.”

“Would it be possible for me to see her?”

“I’m afraid not. Miss Jenks cannot have visitors. In any case, you would find her unresponsive.”

“If I could just observe her—”

“I’m afraid that’s against policy.”

“Could you tell me anything about her condition?”

“I don’t see why this would be of interest.”

“It’s good to be able to give our readers a full picture, doctor. There’s a great deal of public interest—”

“Yes, there always is, isn’t there?”

“If you could just—”

“Miss Jenks has been officially diagnosed as schizophrenic, catatonic type.”

“Could you put that in layman’s terminology, doctor?”

“Oh, shit.”

“Sir?”

“It isn’t layman’s terminology you want. What you’re after it something sensational. Something scary that will please your most gruesome readers. Something to sell papers.”

“Doctor...”

“Skip it. Miss Jenks has to be fed with a spoon. Miss Jenks pisses in her bed like an infant. She hasn’t said a word since she was admitted to this hospital.”

“When was that?”

“Three years ago February.”

“Would you say she’s a human vegetable?”

“I would say she’s suffering from schizophrenia, catatonic type. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Doctor, would it be your opinion that her son’s behavior might have been responsible for her mental condition?”

“It would be my opinion that you’re trying to put words into my mouth.”

“I merely asked—”

“I know what you asked. Look, dammit, we know hardly anything about schizophrenia. We don’t know what causes it. We don’t know for certain what it is. It may be a biochemical imbalance, it may be hereditary, it may be any of a number of things. Miss Jenks displayed obvious symptoms shortly after the onset of menopause. Whether the illness was related to menopause I cannot say. Whether she was emotionally ill beforehand I cannot say. I understand her son left home some years before she was hospitalized.”

“You mentioned something about heredity, doctor. Is it possible her son inherited a predisposition toward mental illness?”

“That would call for an assumption concerning the nature of her illness that I am not prepared to make. It would also call for an assumption concerning her son’s mental condition.”

“Would it be possible to say—”

“I’m afraid that’s all for now.”

She awoke to the sound of him gagging in the bathroom. It was a horrible sound. She said, “Jimmie John? Honey?”

He didn’t answer. She got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom door. She called his name again and he told her not to come in. She heard the toilet flush, and then he was sick again, and the toilet flushed a second time. She sat down on the side of the bed with her hands on her knees.

When he came out she said, “Are you all right? I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sick?”

“I just get nauseated sometimes. Especially in the mornings.

“Like first thing in the morning before I have any breakfast in me.”

“Should we get dressed and have breakfast?”

“Not just yet,” he said, and smiled, and she felt his eyes on her body. His gaze warmed her. He sat down beside her and moved to kiss her but she turned her face aside.

“I didn’t brush my teeth yet,” she said. “You don’t want to kiss me.

“Well, I do want to kiss you. And other things. Go brush your teeth.”

“Actually, I don’t have a toothbrush.”

“You can use mine. ’Less you’re afraid of catching something.”

“If there’s anything you’ve got, I wouldn’t mind having it.”

“You brush your teeth and you’re more than welcome to it.”

He was waiting in bed for her when she returned. She was excited the minute he put his hands on her. No — she had been excited before then. All it took was a glance from him and she wanted him. He was slow and gentle with her now, and she reached orgasm twice before he put himself into her. She came a third time the instant he was inside her and a final time, most powerfully, when he finished. That last time was like drowning, and she closed her eyes, and when she opened them he was seated on the chair again, watching her.

“Did I do it again? Fall asleep, I mean.”

“Just for a couple of minutes. More like passing out than fall asleep.”

“Do I look different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not being a virgin. I looked in the mirror before but I didn’t notice anything. Do I look any different to you?”

“Not a bit.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, just thinking. You sure got over being a virgin in a hell of a hurry.”

“Does it bother you? That I like it so much.”

“Why would it bother me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Put some clothes on,” he said. “Got to put some food into you. Got to keep you supplied with energy.”

They went to Rinaldo’s and took the same booth they had shared the night before. It was twenty minutes to eleven, and the first thing she thought on noting the time was that she was late for school. She wanted to laugh. That high school would never see her again. There would be no more daydreaming at her desk, no more mindlessly writing her name in her notebook, over and over again. No more pencils, no more books—

“What’s my name?”

He looked at her. “That supposed to be funny?”

“Huh?”

“As if I don’t know your name? As if you don’t mean anything to me?”

She put her hand on his arm. “Oh, no! That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Well, you said you were registered under another name, because of the credit cards? So I thought whatever name you used, that was my name, too.” She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t mean for you to take it the way you thought.”

She looked up hesitantly, and his face was relaxed now. The expression before had alarmed her, and the edge to his voice had very nearly made her tremble. But now everything was all right.

“Well,” he said. He took out a wallet, selected a plastic card, handed it to her. “Not so loud, though.”

Softly she said, “Walker P. Ferris. Who’s that?”