Adams’ Apples
20 As Yet, Undisclosed Location
I FILED A STORY Tuesday morning to follow up on the attack on Jack Adams. I listed Jack as “Recovering at an undisclosed location.” The speed of our relocation left the rest of the press in the dust. Of course, it wouldn’t take many more visits by Colonel Smythe, Kitty Muffley, Lieutenant Smith, or the Smith MIBs for people to surmise that Jack was living with the Smiths in Orlando.
“Just say Jack is in a secure location which is only available on a need to know basis. He is being attended by the best medical care possible,” I told Mattie. Apparently, half of SORDID had shown up at Blair House Monday afternoon to “check on the subject” and had only then found out he wasn’t there. Email was flying.
“Oh, dear,” Mattie said a few minutes later. I was sitting in my recliner in the Man Cave reading the sports section. She’d taken over my desk.
“What? What is it?” I demanded.
“Your statement has caused an email explosion. It seems everyone has a ‘need to know’ and Mr. Sporu is fielding questions regarding how to apply for the knowledge,” Mattie said.
“Send a reply-all and make sure everyone understands that I will have final approval of anyone considered to be on the ‘need to know’ list. Then shut off your computer. It’s lunchtime and I’m thirsty.”
I checked in on Jack and Evelyn when I went upstairs to fix lunch and found Sheila in the kitchen fixing plates of food.
“Liz showed me where everything was before she left for her classes and office hours. Hope you don’t mind me taking over the kitchen,” Sheila said. “There really isn’t that much to do for Jack. I just need to be near to respond if needed and to administer medication and change dressings.”
I looked at Sheila in her nurse outfit and high heels. It was a porn star nurse’s uniform if I’d ever seen one. I sat at the kitchen table to simply enjoy the view of the short skirt sliding up far enough to expose Sheila’s butt ledge above the black garter belt and stockings. Mattie sat at the table and followed my eyes to the sight. Her eyes glazed over, never leaving Sheila’s posterior.
After we’d eaten, I decided to do more research. There wouldn’t be much to write about Jack for a while, other than to report on his progress each week. In a way I missed the activity in DC, though the most fun part was tweaking all the government noses I could get out of my ass. I read all Dr. Mangeler’s papers and reports, revealing a man who was as fanatic about creating a superior race as any Hitler ever was. Of course, this superior race was to be white, blond, six feet tall, and near genius in intellect.
I had Mattie help me unlock records in the NRP to discover the confiscated sperm had been sorted into ‘usable’ and ‘inferior’ categories. The inferior categories were inevitably any other race, hair color, or intellect Mangeler didn’t like. The inferior sperm had been treated with just enough radiation to slow the sperm to near lifelessness. This sperm had all been rendered over to the NIP and used to attempt in vitro fertilization. So far, less than one in a hundred attempts had resulted in a fertilized egg and those successes failed to attach to the host mother’s uterine wall.
There was some justification for Mangeler’s disdain for the NIP. Dr. Pius, in charge of insemination, was so convinced of the sanctity of life that he considered every sperm and every egg to be a human being. His focus was on using as few sperm as possible to fertilize an egg and insisted on saying a prayer over every failure. The man was so uptight over human sexuality that he couldn’t say the words sperm and ovum, nor could he use anything but Latin when discussing human sexual organs. Even ‘penis’ and ‘vagina’ were beyond his ability to cope.
So, between Mangeler’s sabotaging of the available sperm and Pius’s spartan techniques, no new eggs were being fertilized.
“Doc! To what do we owe this visit?” I asked when I answered the door.
“I’m here to see my patient,” Dr. Simpson said. “Sorry it’s so late but I’ve been very busy in the lab. How is Jack doing?”
“You’re Jack’s doctor?”
“Yes, of course. Maybe not as long as I’ve been trying to patch up your decrepit body, but since he moved to Orlando. Months ago, not yesterday. Nurse Smith was kind enough to forward me his current file,” Simpson said.
“Well, come on in. He hasn’t been feeling up to much activity yet, but Sheila says it’s as good as could be expected for a guy who got his balls sliced open yesterday. Second room on the right. And believe me, I’m going to remember you make house calls,” I shouted after him. I rejoined Elizabeth at the dinner table. “Had no idea we’d be having doctors running in and out.”
“Dr. Reynolds stops by once a week to look in on Evelyn and Lily,” Elizabeth said. “Dr. Gardner even stopped in once. They’re all hoping Evelyn will get pregnant again. They seem to forget that Jack’s been in a different city almost since Lily was born and it’s only been a month.” Elizabeth looked thoughtfully at me and I went on alert. “Why don’t you give Dr. Simpson’s invigorator a try, sweetie? Jack won’t be planting any babies before at least Christmas. We could be underway by then.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said. “The FDA won’t even touch testing his concoction. All he’s managed so far is to make a malformed sperm wiggle once before it dies. That’s not good enough.”
“But you could advance science for all men.”
“I’ve been watching his developments. It’s not like I don’t want something to work. Everyone with a kitchen has been cooking up some kind of solution. His latest test has been to add acetic acid to his mix. Do you know what that is? Vinegar. His other major ingredient is ammonia. I’m already full of piss and vinegar. I’m not drinking his snake oil.”
“You don’t love me.”
“Of course I do, darling. And I plan to keep loving you long into our old age.”
“Then help me with the dishes and take me to bed.”
“Get started undressing. I’ll finish the dishes and be right in.”
“Well, the dead arise,” I said when Jack walked into the room Saturday morning. “You’re alive.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Jack squeaked in a falsetto.
“My God! He’s become a castrato!”
Jack laughed and doubled over in pain, sinking onto the living room sofa.
“Oh! Ev said I shouldn’t make jokes. It still hurts to laugh,” Jack said. “Do I get a cocktail on the weekend?”
“Oh, nurse! Can a man have a cocktail on the weekend?” I called. There were giggles from the third bedroom and Sheila and Mattie walked out. I could hear Elizabeth shaking a Bloody Mary. The two women looked at each other and started giggling again. “What have you been up to?” I asked. Elizabeth handed me a drink and sat on the arm of my chair to watch Sheila and Mattie.
“Oh, just girl stuff,” Mattie giggled. She blushed. My admin blushed!
“I suppose Jack can have a drink on the weekend,” Sheila said, diverting the conversation. She went to the kitchen and they could hear her mixing. I waited. She appeared with a glass for Jack and we toasted each other.
“God in heaven! How much Tabasco did you put in this?” I cried, choking on the first swallow.
“Oh, is it too much for your poor sensitive tongue?” Elizabeth asked. I could see Jack’s eyes watering. Man up!
“No,” I said. “It’s perfect. Really takes the enamel off your teeth.” It did have a bit of an odd flavor, though. I didn’t realize Tabasco could affect the drink so much. I soldiered on. The doorbell rang and I tried to struggle up out of my chair but Elizabeth pushed me back down in it when Mattie went to answer the door.
“Let her get it,” Elizabeth said.
“She does need something to do. She’s completely redecorated my man cave this week.”
“It needed it.” The door was opened and a large green man walked through the door. I looked at my drink and squinted my eyes. I hadn’t had that much to drink yet, had I? My glass was still full.
“Merry Christmas!” Colonel Smythe’s voice boomed. The lieutenant struggled into the house pushing a large evergreen through the door in front of him.
“A Christmas tree? You brought us a Christmas tree?” Elizabeth exclaimed. I took another swig of my BM.
“We got to talking this week while we were variously patrolling the neighborhood and standing watch,” Lt. Smith said.
“Wait! You’ve been patrolling our neighborhood?” I shouted. I took another swig from my still-full glass.
“Very non-intrusive,” Smythe said. I noted the soldiers were in mufti—a term I didn’t know until they started living with us in DC. Not that you couldn’t still tell they were soldiers. Behind them, the Smiths brought boxes of decorations. They weren’t in black. I’d never seen them in anything but black and it took a moment to recognize them. Mr. Smith wore a green ski parka and a red Santa hat. Ms. Smith was in a short red skirt and form-fitting sweater. Kitty Muffley matched her.
“We thought about this being baby Lily’s first Christmas and how she should get the works, not just be stuck in a house she can’t leave,” the lieutenant continued. “So, we brought a tree and decorations.”
“Well, welcome and ho ho ho!” I slurred. My glass was magical and kept refilling itself. I didn’t notice the pitcher Elizabeth kept pouring from.
“I talked to them yesterday,” Elizabeth said. “We need a little Christmas! as the song says.”
Evelyn emerged from the guest room she shared with Jack and Lily to see what was going on and was delighted to see the decorations going up. She took Lily to the tree and the baby automatically reached to grasp a branch.
“It’s a good thing she can’t crawl yet,” Sheila laughed. “She’d have the tree down on top of her in no time.”
I shook my head. When had Sheila put on a red miniskirt and tight sweater like Kitty’s and Ms. Smith’s? I reached over to pat Elizabeth’s bare leg and followed my hand up to her red miniskirt. It was only noon and I was already drunk enough to hallucinate. I took another drink. Might as well enjoy the show. I almost panicked, though, when I saw Mattie’s bare legs up to her very short red miniskirt and tight sweater. I had no idea how sexy my administrative assistant was! Down boy!
The party continued all day. The house was filled with the smells of cookies baking, popcorn popping, and bay scented candles burning. I didn’t remember ever leaving my chair but smiled nicely when Lily was placed in my red-suited lap and tangled her fingers in my white beard while several people snapped photos.
People finally left the house, promising to be back the next day to ‘do the outside.’ I struggled to Smith Stadium, managed to get the big black belt off—where did that come from?—and collapsed on the bed. I wasn’t sure when or how I ended up naked in the morning with Elizabeth riding me for all I was worth.
“Oh,” I groaned as I filled my wife in spite of my hangover. “That was wonderful, but I feel miserable.”
“Hop to the bathroom; you’ll feel better. I’ll make coffee, and you’ll be ready for round two before you know it.”
“Coffee? Round two?” I stumbled into the bathroom.
I didn’t think I was drinking that much, but my head continued to swim, leaving me spinning. Even my coffee tasted bad. I drank it anyway. It was the only way to get through breakfast and back to a Bloody Mary. And somehow, little Lily seemed to be sitting on my lap any time I thought about doing something else. I couldn’t go outside to help with the lights because Lily was on my lap. I couldn’t make dinner because Lily was on my lap. I couldn’t stand to greet Doctors Simpson, Gardner, Reynolds, and Ulman because Lily was on my lap. I barely made room for Elizabeth to sit on one knee because Lily was occupying the rest of my lap.
And when I did manage to stand, Elizabeth followed me into the bedroom, waited until I came out of the toilet and jumped my bones again. I fell asleep that night after fucking my wife bent over in her red miniskirt with the thigh-high stockings and garters. At least I hoped it was my wife.
It took three days for me to fully recover from the weekend blitz. Elizabeth, of course, had to go to work the last week before final exams, but she made sure I knew her horniness was not just for the weekend. Gradually, my taste buds returned to normal and I attempted to return to work. I’d decided, somewhere in my haze, that Reba had been influenced by Mangeler to make her attack on Jack. She simply didn’t seem to be that violent a person when she’d been at Thanksgiving dinner.
And when I was clear-headed and sat in my chair, either in the living room or in my completely redecorated man cave with Mattie, somehow, Lily would end up in my lap, grinning at me.
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