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detect something very odd in his manner. Is it possible that my first impression was correct?
That there is indeed a plot against me? I must be on my guard at all times and not allow
myself to be lulled into a sense of false security by a man who claims to be a doctor but
knows altogether too much about films.
Apparently Mary-Ann has been trying to see me. She comes to the hospital every day,
the adorable girl! I told Dr. Mengers to tell her that I love her dearly and when I am looking
less ghastly I will see her. Meanwhile, I talk to her twice a day on the telephone.
"You don't know what I've been through!" she exclaimed when she first heard my
voice, and promptly burst into tears of joy. I'm afraid I wept, too, at the sound of my darling's
voice. In any case, all is well at the house. The dogs are almost housebroken though there are
still occasional accidents, particularly on the new curtains in the living room. Mary-Ann
continues her singing lessons and attends the Academy where I am much missed. Buck
inquires daily about my health and Dr. Montag is coming to see me tomorrow.
The driver of the car that struck me has not yet been apprehended. The police hope for
me to give them some clue but I cannot. I have no memory of anything once the dog ran up
the garden walk. Apparently I was struck from behind.
Was it an accident, or was it... who? Rusty? Buck? I am suddenly filled with
suspicion. Two weeks ago I was almost run over in front of Larue's. A coincidence? Well, if
either of those sons-of-bitches did this to me I will have his God-damned head or my name is
not Myron Breckinridge!
40
The room is filled with the smell of Randolph's pipe. Across the floor, burnt-out cinders
indicate his various maneuvers. He was in good form. So am I, despite constant headaches
and the odd sensation that my legs are filled with burning pins. Fortunately the cast will be
removed tomorrow.
To my surprise, Randolph did not think me paranoid when I told him my suspicions.
"It crossed my mind, too," he said, sucking at his pipe. "It could very well have been
Rusty's revenge."
"Or Buck Loner's. He would do anything to remove me from the Academy. Even
murder."
Yet as I gave voice to my suspicions I cannot, in my heart of hearts, really believe that
anyone in his right mind could wish to remove me from a world so desperately in need of me.
I prefer to have faith in my fellowman. I must even have a certain tenderness for him if I am
to change, through example as well as teaching, his attitude toward sex. There was a time in
our evolution when hate alone was motor to our deeds. But that age is ending, for I mean to
bring to the world love of the sort that I have learned from Mary-Ann, a love which, despite
its intensity, is mere prelude to something else again, to a new dimension which I alone am
able to perceive, if dimly. Once I have formulated it, the true mission will begin. But for now
I must be cryptic and declare that nothing is what it seems and what nothing seems is false.
"I would suspect Rusty more than Buck," said Randolph, plunging his thick paws into
the huge get-well basket of fruit sent me "with love" from Uncle Buck and Bobbie Dean
Loner. Randolph crushed a peach against his jaws. I looked away. "The motive in the case of
Rusty is more profound psychologically." Randolph's teeth struck the peach's pit with a
grating sound that sent shivers along my spine.
"Well, it's done and past. And I'm willing to forgive whoever it was."
"Are you really?" Randolph sounded surprised, not prepared for the new me.
"Of course. Suffering ennobles, doesn't it?" I had no desire to confide in Randolph,
particularly now when I am assembling an entirely new personality with which to take the
world by storm. "But I do wish you'd talk to Dr. Mengers and ask him to give me a hormone
cocktail. I'm sprouting hair in all directions."
Randolph wiped his lips free of peach juice with a banana which he then unpeeled.
"Yes, he told me about your request. Unfortunately, it's medically dangerous at the moment."
"But I can't let Mary-Ann see me like this."
"I'm sure she'll understand."
Before I could remonstrate with Randolph, he was launched upon one of his
monologues whose subject, as usual, was Randolph Spenser Montag.
"... office in Brentwood, a quiet neighborhood. Many of my patients live nearby which
makes things easy for them if not for me. I've already made the down payment on the house,
which is Spanish-style ranchtype, and so I should be ready for business in a few weeks.
Culturally the Los Angeles area is far richer than I had dreamed, with many extremely
stimulating people..."
I was spared Randolph's rationalizations by the sudden opening of the door and the
nurse shouting, "Surprise, surprise!"
The surprise was an incline board on wheels which the nurse rolled backwards into the
room, to my amazement. Was I expected to get on it and be wheeled about like a sacred relic
or Pharaonic mummy? The mystery was solved when, with a flourish, the nurse spun the
thing around to reveal Letitia Van Allen in a neck brace, strapped to the board.
"Darling!" Letitia was exuberant, despite the strangeness of her position. "Thank God,
you're conscious! We were so worried!"
"I'm Dr. Montag," said Randolph gravely, never one to be kept for long out of a
conversation. I made the introductions.
"Sorry I can't shake hands." Letitia was intrepid. "My neck is fractured and two spinal
discs have fused. Otherwise I'm in a great shape."
The nurse agreed. Obviously she worships Letitia. "Miss Van Allen is just bursting
with energy. It's all we could do to keep her in traction."
"How long have you been here?" I asked, suspecting what had happened.
"Two days after your accident, I took a header on the stairs at Malibu, and here I am,
getting the first real rest I've had in twenty years."
"Except she's a naughty girl and not resting at all." The nurse was adoring. "She has
moved her whole office into the hospital. You should see her room. It's a madhouse!"
"Sweetie, will you mix us a nice martini? Beefeater gin, no vermouth, on the rocks,
with just the tiniest dash of rock salt."
"Oh, Miss Van Allen, you know hospital rules...
"And a glass of champagne for yourself. Hurry up now! Letitia is parched."
The nurse departed. Letitia beamed at us. Then she frowned. "Angel, what's wrong
with your face? It looks like you're... growing a beard." I sighed. "Well, I am. A result of
some sort of hormonal imbalance caused by the accident. Isn't that right, Doctor?"
Randolph blew sparks at Letitia, and agreed, at convincing quasi-scientific length. All
the while, Letitia was studying me with a thoughtful look. I cursed myself for not having used
a thick foundation makeup.
"You know," said Letitia, when Randolph had wheezed into silence, "you would make
a marvelouslooking man. Really, Myra, I mean it." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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