Too Easy by Bruce Deitrick Price Page B

somebody else’s sanity. Put the spotlight on this poor schmuck. Very gravely, Robert says again: “You’re really serious?”
    The guy looks around. “Yeah. What’s wrong? Hey, $50,000 makes it guaranteed. Really. We’d get great press all over the country. Think about the photo op. The mayor giving some guy with a bag over his head a big check. Then we do follow-up, see if the guy lives to spend the money. Dealer Lotto, get it?”
    A secretary Robert hardly knows comes in to relay a message to one of the reporters. She leans over to speak in the man’s ear. Robert glances down her blouse, sees the swell of her breasts. Lovely. She stands and smiles pleasantly. At him? Yeah, she’s saying, Use me, big guy. This is all yours. She turns to leave. A tight gray skirt. Robert studies the shadow marking the crack of her ass. Yeah, she wants him to follow her out into the hall, wrap her legs around him right there. His groin jumps. He sees himself springing out of the chair.
    It’s so real. Too real.
    Robert drops his right hand, grips the front of the chair, hard. Steady, man. He feels like Dr. Strangelove, trying to hold his arm down. Or his dick. Or his life. His eyes jump to the ceiling and he shudders inwardly. Kathy! The woman’s made me a maniac. Is this what sexual dementia is like? You want to hump everything.
    All I do, I just call, leave a secret message. In an hour, maybe much sooner, we’re on the 26th floor, she looks so beautiful, we’re kissing, her hand’s in my pants, we’re doing anything I can think of. . . .
    No, no, hold it. We’re meeting at five. Got to hang on. No, what I have to do is call Anne, tell her I’ll be on the later train. Oh, God, Anne. . . . What excuse do I make this time?
    â€œRobert, hey. Robert. Boss!”
    One of the reporters is staring at him. A strange look on his face. See, they can tell. Robert’s sure he stinks of sex,like a man doused in some bad cologne.
    Robert sighs as if he’s been thinking over some deep problem of journalistic ethics. “Yeah, just running that around in my head. It’s a stunt. But why not talk to the legal department. It’s your idea, run with it.”
    They talk story ideas for another thirty minutes, then Robert walks back to his office. Feeling like this obscene pulsing thing, sure that people are staring at him. He wonders who he can ask about it. Notice any change? Horns? Goat’s feet? A tail? Hair sprouting everywhere? Damnit, there are huge tits in front of my face. You must have noticed. Are you blind?
    Robert can’t remember anything like this. He’s obsessed, filled toe to head with thoughts of sex, with thoughts of her.
    He slumps behind his desk. Tries to hold his head up, look intelligent. Oh, sure. A hard-on with an IQ of ten or twelve.
    Think about it. When I was a kid, say sixteen, was that like this? Yeah, horny, horny all the time. But it’s in the body. You jerk off and then you forget about it for a while. This is different. This is in my head, I think. Like a fever, a disease. I want Kathy all the time. I want something. . . .
    I’ve got to call Anne, tell her I’ll be late.
    He stares at the small color portrait of Anne on the right side of his desk and winces. She’s so nice. So trusting. The most decent person. . . . She deserves better than this. It’s just too nuts. It can’t go on.
    He studies her, the smart face, the soft smile. Why can’t they have what . . . what he and Kathy have? It hurts to think about it. They’re both waiting. Maybe that’s it. For the other one to do something, to take the lead, be aggressive. Is that it? Robert isn’t sure. They’re too well bred? They’re too timid? What the hell is it?
    For a few minutes the lust fades away. A rush of guilt takes its place. He feels sad . . . he feels like a failure.