Chapter 11
After freshening up a bit, Candy left the apartment and started walking down West 4th Street. The rain had stopped, and a cool gentle breeze was blowing; apparently it was going to be a lovely evening indeed.
It was too late now of course to think about the job; in fact, it was almost dark when she reached the corner of Sixth Avenue. She decided, quite on impulse, to stop in at the "Riviera" and have a Pernod.
Jack Katt and Tom Smart were there, at a front table, lushing it up and keen for puss. These were two fellows whom Candy vaguely knew and generally avoided. They were extraordinarily handsome and clever chaps, and Candy alone seemed immune to their undeniable charm; this was a constant source of annoyance to them. Now, when she entered, they graciously invited her to join them, but she refused. She wanted to sit quietly alone and cherish the memory of the past few hours with... but she didn't have the name to conjure with! And that was the blight of the experience, for she kept thinking of him now simply as 'the hunchback,' and every time the word formed in her mind she was cross enough with herself to bite. She didn't like thinking of him that way. 'What earthly difference could it make!' she kept demanding, pouting her pretty mouth and clenching her small fist on the bar. Then she recalled the name she had given him, 'Derek,' and was happy with that for the moment, smiling again and sipping her drink.
"What the deuce is wrong with you?" asked the bartender suddenly, he who had been staring at the girl and had seen the gamut of emotions flit across her face.
"Nothing that you would understand," replied Candy imperiously; she didn't like the looks of this fellow, nor his forward manner. She lowered her eyes to the glass in her hand and quite ignored him; but he walked around the bar and looked frowningly down at the stool she was sitting on.
"Anything wrong?" Candy asked, and with an icy hauteur she knew would send a shiver up his spine.
"Apparently not," he replied easily, though without relaxing his consternation altogether, "somehow, from the gamut of emotions which crossed your face, I had the idea the stool had slipped up into your damp."
"I beg your pardon," said Candy, not comprehending, but not too keen on the fellow's tone.
"You know," said the bartender, going back behind the bar again, "your puss, your jelly- box... I thought the stool had somehow slipped up into your jelly-box. It happened the other night, a hefty babe was sitting here at the bar... not on the stool you're on, but the next one, and I was watching her. Well, she seemed to gradually sink down toward the floor, you know,
as though the stool itself were going right through the floor, and... well, as I say, I was watching her, and, by God, a veritable gamut of emotions was crossing her face while this was happening... and what had happened was that somehow the stool had slipped or pushed up into her jelly-box, right up inside it, taking all the clothes with it, skirt, slip, panties and all, right up into her thing... the whole seat of the stool and about a foot of the legs. Christ, I never saw anything like it before. Of course, she was a good deal heavier than you, in fact, a lot heavier. She was a hefty babe, and..."
Candy didn't like this gabby intrusion into her thoughts about Derek and the afternoon behind them, and she was quick to let her expression reflect the annoyance she felt; but she allowed him to ramble on, not following the words at all, because she didn't care for this chap's tone. She supposed that he needed her in a way, but she wouldn't think about that now, she was too full at the moment, too full and warm from... she recalled Professor Mephesto's words, "from this wonderful business of living." She thought of herself for the moment as a lovely, contented, cat... snuggled warm before the fire in her furabout, purring happily; she could have hugged herself. Yet on another level she did feel that the general ambiance of the bar was somehow degrading to the experience of the afternoon, the experience she wanted so much to keep pure and whole, to nurture and fondle, privately, as one might a new-born babe of one's own. She knew that she should be in a more refined place than this Riviera bar, and she decided she would try to find out if any good foreign films were playing at the art movie- houses.
She went over to the table where Jack Katt and Tom Smart were sitting and inquired. Of course they had no notion of what was playing at the art-cinemas, or anywhere else for that matter, being out only for cheap strong lush and slick tight puss. But they pretended they knew all about the various programs and insisted that Candy sit down while they discussed it. Then the suave Tom Smart leaned forward and spoke confidingly to the girl: "I'd sure like to dip my jumbo into that hot little honey-pot of yours tonight!"
"No, no," said Jack Katt, his dark fire-glint eyes flashing with an impatience which would have made most girls tingle and cream, "let me handle this!" And he tried to pull the handsome Tom Smart away and at the same time actually attempted to thrust his hand into Candy's sweet little blouse.
"You silly boys!" she said crossly. She knew that this was simply their way of expressing a need for her, but she didn't care for this sort of talk, at any time, and especially not now when all her thoughts were with Derek.
"Good Christ Almighty," exclaimed Tom smart, turning to his companion, "will you let me handle this! Now you've offended her! Christ!"
"You!" shouted Jack Katt, "you and your damned oblique approach! I want puss!"
And so they fell to arguing and discussing the tactic, though to Candy it was a respite and she pursued her reflections on the hours past.
She hardly noticed when they were joined at the table a few minutes later by another person, Dr. Howard Johns, a pleasant, middle-aged chap, certainly not the looker that Tom and Jack were, but perhaps more stable, and no doubt more comfortable for a young girl to be with. Nor did Candy catch his name at first, if in fact these two even troubled to introduce him, so informal were they in such matters.
"Listen, do you know what he is?" asked Tom Smart, after a minute, speaking to Candy, "... a gynecologist! Ha-ha-ha!"
"Good Grief," said Candy.
"Sure," said Tom Smart, and turning to the doctor, went on in his winningly irrepressible way, "how would you like to look up that snatch, Doc? Boy, it's honey and cream!"
"It's a living snake!" said Jack Katt.
This seemed to embarrass the doctor somewhat and he shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Well," said Candy, "I've never met a... a gynecologist socially. How do you do?"
"Are you kidding?" shouted Tom Smart, "'how does he do ?' He gets more pussy in three hours than most chaps do in a week! Right Doc?"
"Now, really, Tom, Jack," said Dr. Johns, "I mean, fun is fun, but..." He was clearly upset about the turn the conversation had taken.
"I think you boys are terrible," said Candy indignantly, and she got up and went to another table.
"Good God!" cried Jack Katt. "Now you've lost that hot puss for us! Christ! Christ!"
"What! What!" said Tom Smart, "I lost it? Great Scott man, don't you realize that if..."
And so they would discuss it for hours on end.
Meanwhile, Dr. Johns got up and joined Candy at the other table.
"Well," he said, "they are certainly... certainly outgoing chaps, I must say. I'm terribly sorry about that. Really... I hardly..."
"Oh they're just silly boys," said Candy, "it's just their way of trying to... trying to express themselves... aesthetically, I suppose."
"Hmm," said Dr. Johns, glancing at them again. They were scuffling about on the floor now, wallowing in the pools of beer and sawdust, shouting remarks about "tight quim", "hot puss," etc., etc.
Both Candy and the doctor looked away.
"Do you happen to know what's playing at the 5th Avenue Cinema?" she asked.
"No, I'm afraid I don't," said Dr. Johns. "Sorry."
"I'd like so much to see a good film tonight," said the girl.
"I don't go to the films much myself," he said. "Enjoy them, do you?"
"Well, of course, I only go to the art films," said Candy.
"I see," said Dr. Johns.
"Films like The Quiet One, and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari."
"Well," said Dr. Johns, "would you like me to go and get a paper for you? It would probably be listed there."
"Oh no," said Candy, "that's all right, thanks very much." She was pleased by his consideration.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Oh yes, thanks. I'm sure someone will come in who knows what's playing there tonight. I know almost everyone who comes in here."
"I'm afraid I don't," said the doctor.
"Oh you'll get to know them," said Candy, "they're all swell kids."
"Yes, I'd like to," he said. "Who is your doctor, perhaps I know him."
"Well, I haven't been to a doctor since I've been in New York... not to a gynecologist anyway. I'm not married, of course, and... well, I suppose a single girl doesn't need to go to a gynecologist very often, does she?" In spite of her smile, the perfect girl was blushing.
Dr. Johns frowned.
"Well, of course, you should really have a periodic check-up," he said, "I mean certainly you should have that. When was the last time you did?"
"Oh gracious," said Candy, trying to recall, "it must have been a year ago at least."
"Far too long, far too long," said the doctor seriously.
"Gosh, guess I'd better make an appointment," said Candy.
"Hmm. The difficulty is, you see, I'm off on two months' holiday starting tomorrow," said Dr. Johns. He looked around the bar. "I'll tell you what," he said, "wait... if you'll excuse me a moment." He got up from the table. "I won't be a moment," he said, and went out the door.
Candy was humming the theme music of Alexander Nevsky, one of her favorite movies, when Dr. Johns came back in the door, carrying a little black bag. He stopped at the table and smiled at her. "We can give you an examination," he said, "just over there." And he assisted her up.
Candy was amazed. "Here? In the Riviera? Good Grief, I don't..."
"Oh yes," said Dr. Johns. "Just here... this will do nicely." He had led the girl to the door of the men's toilet, and quickly inside. It was extremely small, a simple cabinet with a stool, nothing more. He locked the door.
"Good Grief," said Candy, "I really don't think..."
"Oh yes," Dr. Johns assured her, "perfectly all right." He put his little bag down and started taking off her skirt. "Now we'll just slip out of these things," he said.
"Well, are you sure that..." Candy was quite confused.
"Now, the little panties," he said, pulling them down. "Lovely things you wear," he added and lifted her up on to the stool.
"Now you just stand with one foot on each side of the stool, limbs spread, that's right and... oh yes, you can brace yourself with your hands against the walls... yes, just so... Fine!"
He bent quickly to his kit and took out a small clamp and inserted it between the girl's darling little labias, so that they were held apart.
"Good!" he said. "Now I just want to test these clitorial reflexes," he said, "often enough, that's where trouble strikes first." And he began to gently massage her sweet pink clit. "Can you feel that?"
"Good Grief yes!" said Candy, squirming about, "are you sure that is..."
"Hmm," said Dr. Johns. "Normal response there all right. Now I just want to test these clitoral reflexes to tactile surfaces." And he began sucking it wildly, clutching the precious girl to him with such sudden force and abandon that her feet slipped off the stool and into the well
of it. During the tumult the flushing mechanism was set in motion and water now surged out over the two of them, flooding the tiny cabinet and sweeping beyond the door and into the bar.
There was a violent pounding on the door.
"What in God's name is going on there?" demanded the manager, who had just arrived. He and the bartender were throwing their weight against the door of the cabinet which by now was two feet deep in water as the doctor and Candy thrashed about inside.
"Good Grief!" she kept saying. They had both fallen to the floor. The doctor was snorting and spouting water, trying desperately to keep sucking and yet not to drown.
Finally with a great lunge the two men outside broke open the door. They were appalled by the scene.
"Good God! Good God!" they shouted. "What in the name of God is going on here!"
A police officer arrived at that moment and was beside himself with rage at the spectacle.
The doctor had lost consciousness by the time he was pulled to his feet. Both he and Candy were sopping wet and completely disheveled. She was naked from the waist down.
"He's a doctor!" she cried to the policeman, who was dragging him about like a sack and pulling her by the arm.
"Uh-huh," said the cynical cop, "Dr. Caligari, I suppose."
Candy didn't like this kind of flippant reference to an art-film. "This happens to be an examination," she said with marked disdain.
"You can say that again, sister," said the officer, taking a good look himself.
"Good Grief!" said Candy, snatching the clamp out from between her labes.
The manager and the bartender were speechless with fury.
"You... you..." stammered the manager, shaking his finger at Candy.
"This so happens to be a private examination by my doctor," said Candy with great haughtiness.
"You are barred from the Riviera!" he shouted with the finality of doom itself.
The doctor had regained consciousness now, but was still lost in his insane desire for the girl and flung himself against her in such ardor that they tumbled back into the cabinet with a splash, Candy shrieking, "Good Heavens!"
The policeman snatched them out again and drove them ahead of him with his club through the bar.
Near the door, still writhing about on the floor were the two good-looking madcaps, Katt and Smart.
"Augh," said the policeman in an expression of sheer disgust. And he struck a few blows at them with his stick as he might have at a reptile. But then he had to hurry on to see to his two prisoners.
"What the devil is he doing with that stick?" Jack Katt wanted to know, staring after them from where he play in a great pool of stale beer.
"You poor sap," said Tom Smart, "he's going to put that stick in her honey-pot, don't you know that?"
"Goddam it!" shouted Jack Katt, "why didn't we bring such a stick as that! It's your fault, you swine!"
And so they fell to grappling about again in the mire of wet sawdust under their table.
On the street, Candy and the doctor were hustled into a patrol car, which departed with a roar.