Contigencies

The invitation from Edgar Pelican arrived at Dr. Clayton Niles' office, by courier. It was ivory-colored, gilt-edged, watermarked, scented with chicory and embossed with the Pelican family crest: two eagles devouring a duck. A certified check accompanied the summons, favoring Dr. Niles in the amount of one thousand dollars. Clayton settled his lean, six-foot frame in the swivel-chair behind his desk and studied the jagged signature on the draft. "An expensive way to request a psychiatrist's time," he mused. Then he scratched his thinning blonde hair. "Daddy's little boy must be up to his ass in trouble, again." Prone upon the yellow leather couch across the oak-paneled room, was one of his patients; Mrs. Abbot. She was a plump, sixtyish accountant with blue hair, a taste for floral dresses, preferences for suede wedgies, and a long-standing relationship with support-hose. She also had fantasies for her teenage hair-dresser: Ramón. "My husband, Herbert, says Ramón is gay!" she wailed. Then Mrs. Abbot's blue-veined hands became animated as she quickly added, "But I don't believe it. The way Ramón sings to me during my cuts; the way he cracks his gum during my shampoos; I just know it can't be. Do you think I'm being a slut because I find Ramón so attractive, Doctor? Herbert, does. He says, 'there is no slut like an old slut." "As we reach maturity it is common to fantasize about a younger lover," Clayton cooed, reassuringly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Abbot. In a short time you will see the folly in such a pursuit, and abandon it. Age disparity has its drawbacks when it comes to sex." Mrs. Abbot gave a dismal shrug. "Nothing sexual is going on in my life. Herbert is always too busy, or asleep." There was a short pause and then she smiled. "But Ramón can always fit me in." "I take it you tip Ramón generously?" She gave him a scathing glance. "Of course. I don't want him to think I'm a cheap slut. But my generosity has nothing to do with our relationship. Ramón adores me. Once I wore a low cut sweater and a pushup bra. He said I looked just like a schoolgirl. Ramón is so perceptive." Clayton muttered a note of encouragement as to Mrs. Abbot's selection in wearing apparel, before letting his mind drift back to Edgar Pelican. He tapped the edge of the check against the dimple in his chiseled chin, trying to recall if he had ever met the reclusive billionaire. He decided not. However Clayton was very familiar with Edgar's one-and-only offspring; Roger. For nearly a year Roger Pelican, a creature of the most disagreeable pursuits; a creature who never wearied of wallowing in ever-deepening debaucheries; a creature of murderous intent, had been one of Clayton's patients. Mrs. Abbot twisted slightly to look over at Clayton before she asked, "How many condoms do you think I should bring, Doctor?" "Condoms?" Clayton echoed; his blue eyes squinting in confusion, at his patient. "For after the concert. I'm not sure how many times Ramón will want to - well, you know." "I would counsel against any type of sexual activity with Ramón, Mrs. Abbot. May-December affairs are generally short-lived. And there is Herbert to consider." She lay back whimpering with disappointment, "I don't see why. He wouldn't care if I humped half the men in Austin!" "You've been married a very long time, Mrs. Abbot. If you did not still love your husband you would have left him. Therefore you're feelings for Ramón are more fantasy, than romance." "But Herbert doesn't pay any attention to me," she sobbed. "Every time I suggest he throw me a quickie, my husband decides to check his stamp collection!" THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY SIMILARITY TO REAL PEOPLE IS COINCIDENTAL.