Tu-doh Street in Saigon was known to most Gls as ‘Joy Street.’ Its corridor of gaudy pink and blue neon-lit attractions fulfilled all the wildest dreams of sensuality that a cloistered monk could be expected to repress.
Thus, Captain Hank Dwyer, M.D., felt he was in a sensual Disneyland, whose wonders never paled. And he would return to this fleshly paradise every chance he could.
The girls were so beautiful – delicately, slender ivory statues, whose exquisite hands could rouse a man to passion with a single touch.
True, they accepted money for their company, but in return they offered more than physical delights. They were aware that men sought out their company to cure loneliness as much as sexual desire. They gave them comfort, company, and – there is no other word – a kind of worship.
For men have huge psychic appetites and a hunger for assurance that they are the kings, the ruling gender. And whether they are in battle in the Wall Street jungle or the paddies of Vietnam, they come home hungry every night and need to stand on their pedestals and be replenished.
But the Americans in Southeast Asia were secretly upset by the news that reached them of the changes taking place back in the U.S.A.
Rumor had it that their pedestals were actually being chipped away.
For at the very moment they were firing their weapons here in Nam, at home there was another kind of war. Only, instead of burning villages, the combatants were setting their bras on fire.
To the soldiers in the fields, the news of Women’s Liberation was disquieting. How could they fight to free a foreign country if they faced the specter of returning home to be a prisoner?
Hence, here on Joy Street, they found refuge in the arms of the most captivating women they had ever seen. The jet-black hair and eyes, beguiling smiles – and, most of all, the childlike sensuality, for many looked like budding-breasted teenagers in early bloom.
And the nectar and ambrosia! How could a country that – beyond its capital – was wracked with strife, bloody and staggering, obtain the finest French cuisine and vintage wine? Though peasants were starving in the villages, here in Saigon itself there was no shortage of pâté de foie gras or champagne. In fact, there was nothing you could get in Paris that you could not get in Saigon – except peace.
A mere dozen miles from Joy Street, eighteen-year-old soldiers – farm boys from the fields of the Dakotas, blacks from urban ghettos like Chicago and Detroit – were being killed and maimed, never really understanding what they had been fighting for.
And yet many of their countrymen back home were cursing them for following the flag and dying for their country.
There are only two ways for a doctor to confront the gruesome wounds of war: by hardening his senses – or by feeding them.
Hank Dwyer chose the latter course. And as the fighting grew fiercer – in a single day he might see ten soldiers whose legs had been blown off by hidden mines – he was so steeped in blood that he grew numb. The only time he felt alive was in the arms of Mailing.
They had met on Joy Street under what were then commercial circumstances. But he soon assured himself these porcelain goddesses were from educated families that had dispersed, disintegrated, or just disappeared – that they, too, came to Joy Street hungering for real companionship. And after a week of nightly visits, Hank persuaded Mai-ling to come and live with him in the air-conditioned villa he shared with two other officers who had also acquired Oriental ‘brides.’
Indeed they had the makings of a small commune. For one of the other women had a child already, one was pregnant, and Mai-ling, the new arrival, soon learned from them that her ties with American would be greatly strengthened if she were the mother of a child whose father was a U.S. Army officer.
Hank took the news impassively. If it had been Cheryl who’d announced this, he would have lost his temper and insisted that the pregnancy be terminated.
But here in Southeast Asia things were completely different: the taking care of children was accepted as exclusively the province of women. And besides, Mai-ling understood that every man by nature was polygamous, and she would wait patiently all night till he came home to her … from Joy Street.
Barney Livingston, M.D., was born on June 16, 1937, in King’s Country Hospital, Brooklyn. He was ‘launched’ on April 20, 1970, in the Versailles Room of the St Regis Hotel, New York.
In the interim, between the preview PW rave and publication date, Berkeley had engineered a sale to a paperback house for fifteen thousand dollars, a price Bill Chaplin considered modest but one that so staggered Barney he spent half the day writing the figure on his notepad.
In a festive mood, he went out to be fitted for a made-to-measure suit.
My God, he thought to himself, as the tailor measured him from every conceivable angle, he’s more thorough than a doctor.
Nothing was left to chance. The master tailor even asked him, ‘Which way do you dress, Doctor Livingston?’
The question totally confused him. I mean, how did anybody dress? He said nothing.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ the tailor said respectfully, ‘I didn’t hear your answer.’
‘I didn’t really understand the question.’
The tailor tried to rephrase it. ‘The way your member falls—’
‘My what?’
‘Your member, sir,’ he answered, indicating Barney’s crotch as unobtrusively as possible. ‘In the majority of men, it usually rests on the left.’
Unreal! This guy is asking me on which side I hang my cock!
‘Well, let’s go for the left,’ said Barney, choosing the statistically preponderant alignment. And also hoping that the measurements would not get any more detailed.
‘My God, do you look great,’ said Emily enthusiastically. ‘I’d better watch out at the party or some woman will seduce you on the spot.’
He took her in his arms and said, ‘Listen, kid, when you’re in a room with me, I wouldn’t even notice Raquel Welch.’
‘Is Bill’s new “Playmate of the Year” going to be there?’
‘Yes,’ Barney answered with a grin, ‘his editorial assistant has made all the arrangements.’
‘Bet she’s a knockout.’
Barney sighed. ‘Oh, Em, you know I want to be monogamous. I want to grab you by the left hand and squeeze a ring onto your finger.’
Emily was not assured. She was conscious that when limelight suddenly shines on some men they get priapic thoughts.
‘Then there’s the golden goddess of physicians—’
‘You mean Laura?’
‘Am I finally going to meet this creature – or is she someone you dreamed up just to make me jealous?’
‘I’m sure she’s much too busy,’ Barney casually replied. ‘I had Bill send her an invitation just so she’d know I would have wanted her to be there.’
Twenty minutes later, they were in the lobby of the St Regis. Estelle, Warren, and his wife Bunny (looking very pregnant) were waiting nervously.
‘Why didn’t you go up?’ asked Barney cheerfully. ‘The early people get the best hors d’oeuvres.’
He hugged his mother, who had arrived from Florida that morning.
‘Thanks for flying up,’ he said.
‘Oh, Barney, do you think I’d miss a grand event like this? I was a librarian, remember? To me, the greatest thing a man can do is write a book.’
Warren did his best to conquer all his pangs of jealousy. ‘C’mon, let’s go and see what kind of goodies Berkeley House is serving in the author’s honor. If they’re inadequate, I’ll file suit tomorrow.’
They were not the first to arrive. Indeed, most of the champions were already there. Breathless with excitement, Barney introduced his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and Emily to the immortals of the sporting pantheon.
‘That Rafer Johnson is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen,’ Estelle whispered to Barney.
And as the other brand of heavy weights appeared – the heroes of the media – the Fourth
Estate was snowed.
The festivities were at their height when an unexpected visitor arrived.
And Emily knew instantly that it was Laura Castellano. Though simply dressed in a dark navy suit, unadorned by anything but her golden hair, the doctor looked breath-taking.
Barney rushed to welcome her, exchanged a kiss, and immediately brought her over.
‘Em, meet Laura – my best friend since kindergarten.’
Both women answered in unison, ‘I’ve heard so much about you—’
‘I’m glad you could come,’ said Emily, ‘I know how busy you must be.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Barney’s my dearest friend. And I think Mind of a Champion is brilliant.’
‘I do, too,’ said Emily, ‘and if you liked the piece SI excerpted, you’ll go wild when you read the book.’
‘But I’ve read it all – Barney sent me galleys.’
Emily’s worst fear was confirmed. She’d sensed from the beginning that Barney’s deepest feelings were pledged to the quasi-legendary Laura – however many times he protested that their friendship was platonic.
She found herself unable to sustain the conversation. Spying a co-editor from SI, she excused herself and hurried off.
‘Isn’t this terrific?’ came a sudden voice from behind Laura.
She turned and there, looking handsome and sartorially elegant as usual, was Bennett Landsmann.
‘Ben,’ she cried, and they embraced warmly. ‘How are you?’
‘You know the answer to that,’ he said, grinning. ‘How is any resident? He’s either half-alive or half-dead. On this exceptional occasion, however, I’m happily half-drunk.’
‘So what do you think of our mutual friend’s success?’
‘You and I both know it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,’ Bennett replied. ‘And how about that Emily? She’s a real winner, isn’t she?’
‘She’s lovely,’ Laura answered. ‘We haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet, but she seems like a real live wire. Are they happy?’
‘Barney loves her, I know that,’ said Bennett. ‘He wants to marry her. Yet for reasons we might diagnose as cryptogenic, she keeps saying no. But Barney figures they’ll keep going as roommates till he wears her down.’
‘Hey, listen, Landsmann,’ Laura chided, ‘no offense, but I didn’t fly all the way from Boston just for a class reunion. I wanna meet the stars. Where’s Jackie Robinson?’
Bennett pointed. ‘Do you see that mob across the room? Behind it is the man himself. I haven’t met him either, so I think I’ll ask the party boy to introduce us.’
‘Great. You run interference through this crowd and I’ll be right behind you.’ And off they set.
Bill Chaplin was ebullient. The party had exceeded his expectations.
To see Jesse Owens talking track with Roger Bannister (flown over just for the occasion), and watch Joe Louis and Muhammad Ali strike pugilistic poses for the cameras. God, what a fight that would have been – the Brown Bomber in his prime against the self-styled Greatest.
Bill had asked Bannister, now a practising neurologist in London, to propose the toast.
He was brief and to the point.
‘Having had both experiences, I can safely say that four hours talking to Doctor Livingston is far more stimulating than four minutes on the track.
‘I think Barney should be congratulated for his imagination and for his insights, which demonstrate that an athlete has a soul as well as a body.’
There was appreciative applause, and as the two doctors shook hands for the cameras, Muhammad Ali shouted, ‘Hey there, Doc, you forgot to mention me – I got the most soul in this room!’
Barney glanced over at Estelle and Warren. His brother looked as if he’d burst with pride. His mother was dabbing her eyes. And he thought, Oh God, if only Dad were here.
‘I got everybody’s autographs.’
‘Oh, Bunny, you didn’t. That’s so corny,’ Warren chided.
‘They didn’t seem to think so. Ali even scribbled a poem on a napkin for me.’
Barney had arranged for a small group (what he called the ‘home team’) to come back to the apartment for deli sandwiches and champagne.
‘Hey, Bun, that’s wonderful,’ said Laura as Warren refilled her glass. ‘Can we hear it?’
Bunny withdrew the cloth napkin from her pocket. ‘It’s a little short but it’s genuine Ali: “Livingston may be the latest star/but me Ali is still the best by far.”’
There was suitably appreciative laughter.
‘Save that, Bunny, it may be valuable some day,’ Barney advised.
‘I’ll do more than that,’ she replied happily, ‘I’m going to frame it.’
Emily brought out a huge platter of the best cold cuts the Carnegie Delicatessen could offer, and everybody munched as they continued to consume champagne as if it were Doctor Brown’s celery tonic.
‘Hey, Barney,’ Laura asked, a little tipsy, ‘just among the gang here, who did you think was the most impressive guy you interviewed?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ he answered, even woozier than she, ‘but I can tell you one thing. If I had to choose a single person in the world to have dinner with—’ He paused for dramatic effect and then concluded, ‘– it would be Emily.’
The little group of inebriates applauded.
‘So when’s the wedding, Barn?’ called Bunny.
Barney’s wits were too sozzled to come up with an immediate answer. But Emily took over.
‘Bunny, you’ll be the first to know,’ she replied, feigning gaiety.
‘No, no,’ Barney protested. ‘Me first.’
Just after ten, Laura stood up.
‘I hate to be a party-pooper, but I’ve got to catch the last plane back to Boston.’
Then Bennett rose as well. ‘I think it’s sack time for this young surgeon, too. But Laura, can I drop you? La Guardia’s right on the way to Yale.’
‘Fine, Ben. You can fill me in on how you’ve been “cutting up” lately.’
The two of them made the goodbye rounds. When Laura reached Barney, she whispered in his ear, ‘Emily’s terrific. Don’t let this one go.’
‘I won’t,’ he whispered back. He accompanied Laura and Bennett to the door. When he returned to the livingroom, Warren was putting on his jacket.
‘I don’t know about you guys,’ he jested, ‘but I work for a living, Bunny’s got to take the kids to school, and Momma’s looking kind of tired. So we’ll leave you two to bask in glory.’
He then turned to Emily and said, ‘Make my big brother come to Sunday dinner some time, willya? He’s so irresponsible.’
At last the population had decreased to two.
‘Well,’ said Barney, beaming at Emily with affection, ‘how did you like this evening?’
‘She’s absolutely gorgeous.’
‘What?’
‘How come you never told me Laura was so beautiful?’
‘Because she’s not,’ he said straightforwardly. ‘I mean, compared to you—’
‘C’mon, compared to her, I’m nothing. I’ll be frank with you, Barney. Just talking to her makes me feel incredibly insecure.’
‘But why? She’s Mrs Palmer Talbot. And we’re just—’
‘Don’t give me that “platonic” line again. Why don’t you admit there’s some special bond between the two of you? I mean, you did send her galleys of your book.’
‘She’s a doctor – and a sports fan. What do I have to say to reassure you, Em?’
‘You can’t.’
‘What if I said marry me and I’ll never speak to Laura Castellano again? I won’t even ask her to the wedding.’
‘Oh, Barn,’ she moaned wearily, ‘let’s not go through this thing again.’
‘All right, then,’ he said firmly, ‘let’s just have it out once and for all. Why can’t you marry me? What the hell is stopping you?’
Emily began to cry. ‘I knew it. I just knew it wo
uld come down to this.’
‘To what, goddammit?’ This time he was determined not to let her off.
‘I know you, Barney. Probably better than you know yourself. You don’t just want a wife, you want a family.’
‘So what? It’s only natural when a man and woman love each other.’
Out of the blue, like a machine gun, she said, ‘Barney, I can’t have children.’
For a moment there was breathless silence.
‘How do you know?’ he asked softly.
‘I had some problems when I was in college so they did a laparoscopy. They looked inside and saw my tubes were blocked, completely blocked. And before you ask – it can’t be cured by surgery.’
Barney did not know what to feel. But he knew what to say.
He knelt by her chair and whispered, ‘Emily, it’s you I love. Not some child I’ve never met.’
‘Look, Barn, I’ve lived with you and I know the thing you want most in life is to be a father.’
Her sobs increased and her last words were barely audible. ‘And I can’t make you one.’
‘Em, believe me,’ Barney pleaded, ‘it won’t matter. We can always adopt—’
‘You’d hate me for it some day,’ she said with a tinge of anger, ‘even though you’d do the “noble” thing. You’d stick with me and live in your own pain because you didn’t have your own kids.’
Then they both were silent.
In one sense Emily had proved she was right. Barney was in agony already.
‘You won’t leave me, will you, Em?’ he pleaded softly.
‘No, Barn, I’ll be here until you kick me out.’
At least I’ll have another chance to talk to her, he thought – and to myself.
As usual, the annual meeting of the American Psychiatric Association was a chaotic potpourri of squabbles, tantrums, and an extraordinary amount of antisocial behavior. (After all, it was their area of expertise.)
Barney read a paper in the Literary Analysis session on ‘Moby-Dick and the American Psyche’ and was gratified not only by its warm reception but the subsequent invitation to join the editorial board of the Association’s journal.
His joy, however, was not unalloyed. For, to his consternation, at the final plenary session the prize for the most distinguished work in Adolescent Psychiatry was awarded to the notorious Andrew Himmerman. So what if the guy wrote a brilliant monograph? How could a Society whose basic principle was to straighten minds honor someone who had so betrayed their code of ethics?