difficult to keep track of what Libra was talking about—but on the other hand, before this morning she would never have believed there was such a person as Nelson the Society Hairdresser either.
“I am not a barber,” Ingrid said, reading Gerry’s bewildered look. “I give scalp massage, body massage, and, of course, vitamin injections.”
“They’re fantastic,” Libra said. “Completely fantastic. I can be exhausted, ready to drop, and Ingrid fills me up with B-12 and Ingrid-only-knows-what-else, and in five minutes I’m a new man. I can go for two days without sleep or food on one of Ingrid’s shots.”
Ingrid took off her black mink coat and handed it to Gerry. She was wearing an immaculate white nurse’s uniform under the coat. “Now I wash my hands,” she said. “And you come in the bedroom, please, Sam. Excuse us, please.”
The two of them went into the bedroom and closed the door while Gerry hung up the coat and poured herself another cup of coffee. She was beginning to feel starved. The telephone had stopped ringing, and she realized it was the sacred lunch hour. Libra had said nothing about her lunch hour—perhaps she should just ask him. The coffee had grown cold. Having signed the bill she knew the breakfast snack for the visitors had cost thirty-one dollars, and she also knew instinctively that none of the nervous, keyed-up people who came into the suite would touch it, and it would all go back in an hour or two, wasted. She wrapped up four of the Danish pastries in a clean napkin and put them into her tote bag. She couldn’t stand to waste food, and besides, she was poor today.
Libra and Ingrid came back into the living room. It was miraculous: Libra was bouncing with energy already. Gerry wondered if it was psychological.
“Coffee, Ingrid?” he asked.
“You always ask me for coffee, and I always tell you no,” Ingrid said disapprovingly. “Coffee has acid.”
“Well, it’s just a figure of speech,” he said. “To be polite. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Water I would like,” Ingrid said. She poured herself a glass of ice water and drank it down in one long draught. “Look at that cake,” she said with distaste. “Who eats that cake? Cake is nothing but starch and artificial preservatives.”
“You run your store and I’ll run mine,” Libra said.
“I eat all the time yogurt,” Ingrid said to Gerry. “When I was pregnant last year I ate four cups of yogurt every day. Do you know, my son was born with two teeth and all his hair?”
“My,” Gerry said.
“You should see him; a big monster! He walks already.” She patted her flat stomach. “Do you know I have four children?”
“Guess how old she is,” Libra said.
“Thirty-five?” Gerry said kindly.
“Forty-five!” Libra crowed. “Look at her! I’m going to make you a movie star, Ingrid.”
“It is not necessary ever to have the menopause,” Ingrid said irrelevantly. “With the new hormones women can function normally until they’re eighty.” She turned to Gerry. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six,” Gerry said.
“You should be taking hormones already. After twenty-five one should start on hormones. Do you take hormones?”
“No.”
“Do you take birth-control pills?”
Gerry looked at Libra, embarrassed. She wished everybody in this office would stop treating her like an object.
“Tell her, for heaven’s sake,” Libra said, annoyed. “Don’t be so coy—she’s a doctor.”
Gerry nodded yes.
“Well, that’s good,” Ingrid said. “The Pill has hormones in it. But that’s not enough after twenty-five. I can give you some hormone shots if you’d like.”
“No thank you,” Gerry said.
“You don’t know what’s good for you,” Ingrid said. She snapped her doctor’s bag shut with a disapproving look on her face. “I come back tomorrow for your massage, Sam. What time is good for you?”
“Eight in the morning,” Libra said.
“Very good. How do you feel
“I am not a barber,” Ingrid said, reading Gerry’s bewildered look. “I give scalp massage, body massage, and, of course, vitamin injections.”
“They’re fantastic,” Libra said. “Completely fantastic. I can be exhausted, ready to drop, and Ingrid fills me up with B-12 and Ingrid-only-knows-what-else, and in five minutes I’m a new man. I can go for two days without sleep or food on one of Ingrid’s shots.”
Ingrid took off her black mink coat and handed it to Gerry. She was wearing an immaculate white nurse’s uniform under the coat. “Now I wash my hands,” she said. “And you come in the bedroom, please, Sam. Excuse us, please.”
The two of them went into the bedroom and closed the door while Gerry hung up the coat and poured herself another cup of coffee. She was beginning to feel starved. The telephone had stopped ringing, and she realized it was the sacred lunch hour. Libra had said nothing about her lunch hour—perhaps she should just ask him. The coffee had grown cold. Having signed the bill she knew the breakfast snack for the visitors had cost thirty-one dollars, and she also knew instinctively that none of the nervous, keyed-up people who came into the suite would touch it, and it would all go back in an hour or two, wasted. She wrapped up four of the Danish pastries in a clean napkin and put them into her tote bag. She couldn’t stand to waste food, and besides, she was poor today.
Libra and Ingrid came back into the living room. It was miraculous: Libra was bouncing with energy already. Gerry wondered if it was psychological.
“Coffee, Ingrid?” he asked.
“You always ask me for coffee, and I always tell you no,” Ingrid said disapprovingly. “Coffee has acid.”
“Well, it’s just a figure of speech,” he said. “To be polite. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Water I would like,” Ingrid said. She poured herself a glass of ice water and drank it down in one long draught. “Look at that cake,” she said with distaste. “Who eats that cake? Cake is nothing but starch and artificial preservatives.”
“You run your store and I’ll run mine,” Libra said.
“I eat all the time yogurt,” Ingrid said to Gerry. “When I was pregnant last year I ate four cups of yogurt every day. Do you know, my son was born with two teeth and all his hair?”
“My,” Gerry said.
“You should see him; a big monster! He walks already.” She patted her flat stomach. “Do you know I have four children?”
“Guess how old she is,” Libra said.
“Thirty-five?” Gerry said kindly.
“Forty-five!” Libra crowed. “Look at her! I’m going to make you a movie star, Ingrid.”
“It is not necessary ever to have the menopause,” Ingrid said irrelevantly. “With the new hormones women can function normally until they’re eighty.” She turned to Gerry. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six,” Gerry said.
“You should be taking hormones already. After twenty-five one should start on hormones. Do you take hormones?”
“No.”
“Do you take birth-control pills?”
Gerry looked at Libra, embarrassed. She wished everybody in this office would stop treating her like an object.
“Tell her, for heaven’s sake,” Libra said, annoyed. “Don’t be so coy—she’s a doctor.”
Gerry nodded yes.
“Well, that’s good,” Ingrid said. “The Pill has hormones in it. But that’s not enough after twenty-five. I can give you some hormone shots if you’d like.”
“No thank you,” Gerry said.
“You don’t know what’s good for you,” Ingrid said. She snapped her doctor’s bag shut with a disapproving look on her face. “I come back tomorrow for your massage, Sam. What time is good for you?”
“Eight in the morning,” Libra said.
“Very good. How do you feel
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