The Müller-Fokker Effect by John Sladek Read Free Book Online Page B

Stagman Tower. In Minneapolis did Glen Dale a stately pleasuredom decree, and a posh and private playground. This lordly manor, replete with a brace of handsome amenities, is fully equipped for funful frolic. Sartorial sophisticate Glen wears Aztec feather crown, whose pinions, handcrafted, spell out Interplanetary Drinking Team.
     
    He took off his Prussian spike helmet and put it in the hat closet. The Phrygian cap was better.

    ‘Is that so?’ The way Feinwelt said it made Glen feel this was all a mistake. Did he really need a psychiatrist? Especially one he knew already.
    ‘Why don’t you go into the den and make yourself at home, Doctor?’ Maybe he just needed an understanding woman. As in the story in last month’s issue.

    Feinwelt picked up an object from the coffee table (DUROTREND CLOCK TABLE LIGHTER CONTAINS RADIO, FLASHLIGHT, TACH, DRINK HYGROMETER AND TAPE RECORDER WITH RECHARGEABLE POWER PACK) and plucked at its chrome attachments for a moment.
    ‘Well then. Shall we get to work?’
    ‘Her name was Meri. M-E-R-I. A model. I thought I had it made: a fire in the fireplace, Billie Holliday on tape, schnapps on the bearskin rug.
I had every step planned.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And nothing!’
    There was silence.
    ‘Why do you think that was, Glen?’
    ‘How do I know? What’s wrong with me?
    ‘I mean I’m forty (not quite), single, not bad-looking, rich, famous, hard-working, successful…And no Babbitt, either. Who owns every side Julian Huxley’s Ants ever cut? Who bought the first holograph Bergen made? Who paid to have Deef John Holler tapes smuggled out of the Library of Congress and re-recorded? I’m hip and I’ve got taste. I blow pretty good piano. I have the best in the city. I’m oenologically wise. My sartorial selection is peerless.
    ‘But I don’t get anything.’
    In the privacy of the penthouse elevator, Feinwelt let out whoops of laughter.
    He was more serious when he conferred downstairs with the managing editor.
    ‘Hank, the way I see it, there’s one frustrated son of a bitch up there. As his doctor, I can’t ethically slow down his therapy or anything, you know, but I’ll tell you how we
can
keep him producing. Fix him up. Line him up with about a hundred or two fine-looking, frigid girls. You know the kind, this place must be crawling with them. “Look but don’t touch” ladies. If necessary, bribe ‘em. Half on non-delivery. You might stick on a monitor camera on that bedroom, to make sure. Then, if things look like they’re getting out of hand, create a diversion.’
    ‘You mean, call him up?’
    ‘Call him up, smash in the door, start a fire, send in the cops, tell him he’s lost a page proof—anything.’ He leaned forward, overpowering Hank with the scent of Chanel No. 5. ‘I hope I don’t have to tell you what happens if we fail. If that guy up there gets his rocks off
once
, it could mean the end!
Stagman
will lose him—and about ten millions readers. The leading men’s magazine today, and tomorrow it could be just one more creep sheet on the boots-and-garter belt counter.’
    The sermon at Vandal Ballpark was considered an unqualified success by everyone—except the preacher, Billy Koch.
    ‘My voice went all cruddy mere at the end, Jerry. You notice that?’ Billy and his computer expert harnessed themselves into the Saette and waited for the guards to open the gates.
    ‘I thought you were fine, Billy. Really.’
    ‘Just the same, I’ll be glad when you get that robot contraption finished. My voice is getting blown out. And that damned thing better work, too, for the money I’m paying.’
    ‘Oh, it’ll work, don’t you worry, sir. Then you can take it easy now and then. You’ve been flying too much, that affects the throat.’
    Billy wheeled the special car into traffic and floored it. The other vehicles around them slowed, stopped, then slipped past in reverse, gaining speed. Billy grunted happily, leaned over and switched on the videotape