The Last Collection (11 page)

“Later that same week, he was due to address the Rotary Club, which he did, again speaking entirely in Yiddish.

“A while later he issued a memo in Yiddish to all his company personnel, forty-five hundred people, making Yiddish the official working language of his company in the future.

“He finally, of course, alienated his entire family and all his friends. They forced him, against his will, to come and see me, and I cured him.”

Kerner felt a surge of elation. If the crazy doctor could cure that man, then he might have a hope of regaining his senses.

“How did you cure him?” Kerner asked, trying to sound calm.

“That's for me to know and for you to find out or, to put it more plainly, it's none of your fucking business,” the doctor snapped back.

“But I just . . .” Kerner began.

“What? What?”

“Nothing,” Kerner said.

“Right. We're getting off the subject. Let's get back to you and your messhugas, okay? Because from the sound it it, my friend, you're in deep trouble.”

“You're right, I am. This damn buying sickness is ruining my life. You can't believe what it's done to me. It just keeps getting worse and worse. If I try to fight it I go through sheer agony. Nausea, cramps, diarrhea, vomiting, nervous tension, splitting headaches, terrible anxiety.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” the doctor said and pressed a button so that his chair reclined all the way back like a bed.

“Why are you so insulting with me?” Kerner asked, feeling angry.

“Look, don't start with me, okay? You wanted to talk, so talk while you have your chance. If I want to make comments, that's my prerogative. This is my office and I can do whatever I want in here. Okay? So just talk and shut up.”

The doctor lay back on his chair and closed his eyes.

Oh God, Kerner said to himself, help me.

“So c'mon. I'm waiting,” the doctor said.

“I was saying that I go through agonizing withdrawal whenever I try to control myself from making a buy. . . .”

“And I said, ‘My heart bleeds for you.' Now go on already,” Dr. Lehman mumbled.

“Okay, okay. Don't rush me. I have to think this out.”

“
Now
you have to think this out?” Dr. Lehman grunted with his eyes closed.

“Yes, well, I want you to know exactly how this thing is affecting me.”

“All right, go on.”

“Okay. Let's see . . . Right. I've been pulling money out of my business for six months now. I got over-extended. My company has grown quite fast.”

“I'm not impressed, Kerner. I finished medical school when I was twenty. Just stick to the facts,” the doctor said.

“I'm not trying to impress you. It's part of the story.”

The doctor began snoring.

“Anyway, I figured the way the business had been growing I would eventually catch up. I just had to keep buying things. At first it was costing me a hundred to a hundred and fifty dollars a day. Then it went up gradually so I was spending as much as five thousand dollars a week. Even though the business was growing, I couldn't expand fast enough to compensate for the money I was pulling out. I started losing customers. I started paying late to my suppliers so some of them became leery of selling to me in the quantities that I needed, so I lost more customers. It was a vicious circle. I started borrowing from the banks to meet my commitments. Finally, they wouldn't extend me any more credit. Now I'm on the verge of bankruptcy. Any day, any one of three major creditors could force me into bankruptcy. About two months ago I borrowed money from a loan shark. Now he's sending an enforcer after me to put me in the hospital.”

“You borrowed money from a shylock?” the doctor said.

“I was buying time. I had to. I began to realize I was sick but I had to have time to figure out what to do about it. I needed time. I also needed money to keep my main creditors off my back for a few months. I was counting on digging up some new business but it didn't work out that way. I still have a few thousand dollars in the bank and a worthless piece of land that I own up North, but this loan shark wants everything I owe him right away. I haven't got it. I'm telling you, Doctor, what I'm going through is a real horror. The thought of being without money to buy terrifies me. I couldn't take it. Thank God I still have my credit cards. If my cash runs out, I'll be able to use them for a while before they cancel them. After that I don't know. I just don't know.”

Kerner lowered his head and stared disconsolately at the floor.

“Did you really make an effort to control yourself?” the psychiatrist asked.

“Are you kidding? I tried everything. I tried putting myself to sleep for days using heavy sedation. One time I slept for two and a half days. You wouldn't believe the nightmares I had, and after I finally woke up, I made up for it with a three-thousand-dollar spree. Believe me, I've tried. I've tried everything.”

The doctor's chair began to rise slowly. “So let's see,” he said as he stopped the chair in an upright position. “To recapitulate, you're a buying addict. It's brought you to the brink of bankruptcy. You've borrowed money from a loan shark and now he's sending a goon after you. Yes, my friend, it sounds like you're in a real jackpot. A real jackpot. . . . How do you feel about being chased by a hoodlum who might put you in the hospital, as you put it?”

“It doesn't make me happy!” Kerner replied.

“Is there anything that makes you happy, Mr. Kerner?” the doctor asked sarcastically.

“Just buying.”

The doctor nodded slowly. “Something must have brought this all on, Mr. Kerner, wouldn't you say?”

Kerner shrugged.

“Something must have happened around the time that you started acting crazy, wouldn't you say?”

Kerner shrugged again. “I don't recall anything special,” he replied.

“What were you doing six months ago, just before all this began?”

“Same as always.”

“Which is?”

“I don't know. Like . . . you know, working and so on.”

“And so on? What does that mean? Do you have a family? Are you married?”

“No.”

“How come?” the doctor asked.

“How come I'm not married?”

The doctor nodded.

“I'm not the type. I like to play the field. I can't see settling down with one woman. Not yet anyways.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like action.”

“You mean, pussy?” the doctor said.

“Yes,” Kerner nodded.

“You like that old beaver, eh?”

“Yes.”

“The old quim, eh, Kerner?”

Kerner nodded.

“And tits. You like tits, Mr. Kerner?”

“Yes, I like tits a lot,” Kerner replied. “I just like variety, Doctor. That's why I'm not married.”

“Did you ever think about it?”

“About what?” Kerner asked, suddenly feeling tense.

“Don't play games, Kerner. Just remember the fee.”

“You mean, did I ever think about getting married?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied.

“Not really,” Kerner said.

“Mr. Kerner, why are you holding your balls in your hand?” Dr. Lehman asked.

Kerner quickly withdrew his right hand from where it was resting in his lap.

“That's a sign of nervousness, Mr. Kerner. When a man holds his nuts, it's a sign that he's nervous about something,” the doctor said, smiling.

“It could also be a sign that his nuts hurt,” Kerner replied quickly with a pleased smirk.

“Yes, and if a man's balls are hurting, that's a sign that he's nervous,” Dr. Lehman countered with a wicked leer.

“Or a sign that he's been kicked in the balls?” Kerner replied, wishing almost before the words were out that he had not said them.

“Oh, did someone kick you in the balls?” the doctor asked snidely.

“No,” Kerner muttered, feeling suddenly angry.

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Kerner, I'd like to kick you there, but I didn't, did I?”

“No,” Kerner replied sullenly.

“So why are you holding them?”

“I'm not holding them,” Kerner said, raising his hands.

“So why
were
you holding them?”

“I wasn't.”

“Kerner, I'm not blind. I know a ball-holder when I see one.”

“Okay, so maybe I had my hand there. So what does that mean?”

“Like I said, it showed nervousness on your part. Your hand went to your nuts just as I asked you if you ever considered getting married. Your answer was, ‘Not really.' That's not a very definite answer and makes me think you perhaps did at one time consider marriage.”

“No, I never did. Like I said, I was enjoying myself too much fucking a different girl every other night.”

“I'm not impressed with your cockmanship, Mr. Kerner. Just for the record, I want you to know that I could personally make it with almost every one of my women patients if I was so inclined. Okay? That means I could be scoring as much as ten times a day if I wanted to. Okay? They all want to fuck me, Mr. Kerner. I just want you to know that.” The doctor ran his fingers through his hair. “So don't try and impress me.”

“I wasn't trying to impress you. I was just telling you why I never considered marriage.”

“Okay, okay,” Dr. Lehman said, sighing with exasperation.

Suddenly the phone rang.

“Excuse me,” Dr. Lehman said and picked up the receiver.

“Hello. . . . Oh yes, how are you, Mrs. Glintz . . . uh huh . . . yes . . . yes . . . I see . . . He does, eh? . . . Well, no Mrs. Glintz. I wouldn't say that it means he's a homosexual, maybe a pervert but not necessarily a homo; after all, he wants to do it with you not with a man, right? . . . Uh huh . . . uh huh . . . yes . . . Hurt? I can't really say . . . no, I don't think I can make that decision for you. It's strictly up to you and your husband . . . He wants to use butter? . . . You're allergic to butter? . . . That's a problem . . . I understand. Well, what about cream cheese? . . . He wants it only with butter. . . . I see, you're allergic to cream cheese as well. . . . Hmm. Will he accept any substitute? . . . Well, like margarine, for instance? . . . Well, explain to him that margarine is healthier than butter. It's much less harmful. . . . Sure. . . . Of course. . . . Sure, I think he'll go for that. . . .”

As the doctor continued to speak on the phone, Kerner suddenly thought of Estelle Bercowitz. The memory which he recalled almost in spite of himself was of the day she had said goodbye to him. He saw her in his mind as she stood framed in the doorway of his apartment. He could see the tears in her eyes. He could hear the inflection in her voice. “Goodbye, Arthur,” she had said, then turned and went away.

Kerner's thought came back to the present. He glanced up at Dr. Lehman who was still on the phone. As he did so, he suddenly realized that he had lied to the doctor when he said he'd never thought about marriage. He hadn't lied intentionally. For some reason, he had blocked the idea out of his mind.

It had been a while ago. Over six months. At that moment it hit him. He heard Dr. Lehman's question in his mind.
Something must have happened around that time to make you act crazy, wouldn't you say?
Kerner could feel his legs suddenly grow cold. He felt angry. He looked at his watch. He had twenty minutes left. Why was Dr. Lehman wasting his time talking on the phone? He tried to catch the doctor's eye, but he ignored Kerner and continued talking.

“Well, anyways, Mrs. Glintz, those are your options. . . . Right. . . . Sure, no problem. . . . Any time. Just remember to send me a cheque for $25.00 for this consultation. Very good. Goodbye.”

Dr. Lehman hung up. “Sorry, Mr. Kerner, it was urgent business.”

“It's okay, I didn't mind.”

“Don't lie, Mr. Kerner. Of course you minded. You probably felt like telling me to get off the fucking phone, didn't you?”

Kerner shrugged to let the doctor know that he was right.

“Okay. Now let's get back. You were saying?”

Kerner hesitated. He knew exactly what he wanted to talk about but he again felt reluctant to speak.

“You're holding your balls again, Mr. Kerner,” the doctor said in a light, lilting voice.

“I was just thinking . . .”

“Yes?”

“You asked me before if I'd ever thought about getting married.”

“Yes?”

“Well, actually, I did once think about it . . . very briefly. I mean, there was a girl I liked. . . . I met her about a year ago. I remember it very clearly because it was just the day after I'd landed a big contract and I was out celebrating. Anyway, I took her out a few times and I liked her, so I started seeing her quite regularly. But, as I said, I liked variety so even though I was seeing her, I was also seeing several other girls. You know . . . three, four, sometimes five others at the same time. But for some reason, I really liked her. There was something about her that appealed to me.”

Kerner glanced up at the doctor whose eyes were now closed.

“Anyway, after a few weeks, she told me she wanted me to spend more time with her. I agreed and so instead of sharing my time with her and the other four or five girls, I cut down to seeing her and only two other girls. I mean, the two others varied. They weren't the same all the time. I changed these two others almost every week. Well, this went on for a while, maybe a month or so. Then Estelle, the girl I liked, told me that she wasn't prepared to share my time with any other woman. She told me I would have to concentrate entirely on my relationship with her or she wouldn't see me anymore.

“Well, I thought about it and I said okay. I really liked her. She was the first woman I ever missed if I didn't see her for a few days. But I wasn't really honest with her because I kept seeing at least one other girl at the same time. I couldn't help it. Everything went all right for a while, until I began to feel sort of confined. Trapped. Pretty soon I was seeing two other girls on the side and then three and sometimes four. Estelle started giving me flack again, so I cut down again. I guess I didn't want to lose her, but after a while I started getting angry at her. I started playing around again.