them to come. What was their deep-seated primal attitude toward liver in a can."
"Frontiers of human sexuality," I said.
He shook his head. "Sad thing is, it could have been valuable. Look at all the clinical data Masters and Johnson came up with. But Kruse wasn't serious about collecting data. It was as if he was going through the motions."
"Didn't the granting agency care?"
"No agency. These were private suckers—rich porn freaks. He promised to make them respectable, put the academic imprimatur on their hobby."
I turned and looked at Kruse. The blonde in the black dress was teetering on spiked heels.
"Who's the woman with him?"
"Mrs. K. You don't remember? Suzanne?"
I shook my head.
"Suzy Straddle? The talk of the department?"
"I must have slept through it."
"You must have been comatose, D. She was a campus celebrity. Former porn actress, got her nickname for being... limber. Kruse met her at some Hollywood party while doing 'research.'
She couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. He left his second wife for her... or maybe it was the third—who keeps track? Got her enrolled in the university as an English major.
I think she lasted three weeks. Ring a bell yet?"
I shook my head. "When was this?"
"Seventy-four."
"In seventy-four I was up in San Francisco—at Langley Porter."
"Oh, yeah, you double-shifted—internship and dissertation same year. Well, D., your precociousness may have
dumped you in the job market one year sooner than the rest of us, but you missed out on Suzy.
She was really supposed to be something. I actually worked with her— for a week. Kruse assigned her to the study, doing secretarial work. She couldn't type, screwed up the files. Sweet kid, actually. But somewhat basic."
The honoree and spouse had come closer. Suzanne Kruse tagged along after her husband as if Page 24
bolted to a track. She looked fragile, with bony shoulders, a tight-corded neck bisected by a diamond choker, nearly Hat chest, hollow cheeks, and sharply pointed chin. Her arms were shapely but sinewy, bony hands ending in long, spindly fingers. Her nails were long and red-lacquered. They clutched her husband's sleeve, digging into the tweed.
''Must be true love," I said. "He stuck with her all these years."
"Don't bet that it's wholesome monogamy. Kruse's got a rep as a major-league pussy hound and Suzy's known to be tolerant." He cleared his throat. "Submissive."
"Literally?"
He nodded. "Remember those parties Kruse used to throw at his place in Mandeville Canyon the first year he joined the faculty? Oh, yeah, you were in Frisco." He stopped, ate an egg roll and ruminated. "Wait, I think they were still going on in 75. You were back by '75, right?"
"Graduated," I said. "Working at the hospital. I met him once. We didn't like each other. He wouldn't have invited me."
"No one was invited, Alex. These were open houses. In every sense of the word."
He chucked me under the chin. "You probably wouldn't have gone, anyway, because you were a good boy, so serious. Actually, I never got further than the door, myself. Brenda took one look at them coating the floor with Wesson oil and hauled my ass out of there. But people who went said they were plus-four orgies, if you could stand fucking other shrinks. Oh.' Calcutta! meets B.
F.
Skinner—what a scary idea, huh? And Suzy Straddle was one of the main attractions—tied up, harnessed, muzzled, and flogged."
"How do you know all this?"
"Campus gossip. Everyone knew—it was no secret. Back then, no one thought it was all that weird. Pre-microbe days—sexual freedom, liberating the id, expanding the boundaries of consciousness, et cetera. Even the radical libbers in our class thought Kruse was on the cutting edge of something meaningful Or maybe it just got their rocks off being dominant. Either way, it was philosophically acceptable to flog Suzy because she was fulfilling some need of her own."
"Kruse do the flogging?"
"Everyone did. It was a real
"Frontiers of human sexuality," I said.
He shook his head. "Sad thing is, it could have been valuable. Look at all the clinical data Masters and Johnson came up with. But Kruse wasn't serious about collecting data. It was as if he was going through the motions."
"Didn't the granting agency care?"
"No agency. These were private suckers—rich porn freaks. He promised to make them respectable, put the academic imprimatur on their hobby."
I turned and looked at Kruse. The blonde in the black dress was teetering on spiked heels.
"Who's the woman with him?"
"Mrs. K. You don't remember? Suzanne?"
I shook my head.
"Suzy Straddle? The talk of the department?"
"I must have slept through it."
"You must have been comatose, D. She was a campus celebrity. Former porn actress, got her nickname for being... limber. Kruse met her at some Hollywood party while doing 'research.'
She couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. He left his second wife for her... or maybe it was the third—who keeps track? Got her enrolled in the university as an English major.
I think she lasted three weeks. Ring a bell yet?"
I shook my head. "When was this?"
"Seventy-four."
"In seventy-four I was up in San Francisco—at Langley Porter."
"Oh, yeah, you double-shifted—internship and dissertation same year. Well, D., your precociousness may have
dumped you in the job market one year sooner than the rest of us, but you missed out on Suzy.
She was really supposed to be something. I actually worked with her— for a week. Kruse assigned her to the study, doing secretarial work. She couldn't type, screwed up the files. Sweet kid, actually. But somewhat basic."
The honoree and spouse had come closer. Suzanne Kruse tagged along after her husband as if Page 24
bolted to a track. She looked fragile, with bony shoulders, a tight-corded neck bisected by a diamond choker, nearly Hat chest, hollow cheeks, and sharply pointed chin. Her arms were shapely but sinewy, bony hands ending in long, spindly fingers. Her nails were long and red-lacquered. They clutched her husband's sleeve, digging into the tweed.
''Must be true love," I said. "He stuck with her all these years."
"Don't bet that it's wholesome monogamy. Kruse's got a rep as a major-league pussy hound and Suzy's known to be tolerant." He cleared his throat. "Submissive."
"Literally?"
He nodded. "Remember those parties Kruse used to throw at his place in Mandeville Canyon the first year he joined the faculty? Oh, yeah, you were in Frisco." He stopped, ate an egg roll and ruminated. "Wait, I think they were still going on in 75. You were back by '75, right?"
"Graduated," I said. "Working at the hospital. I met him once. We didn't like each other. He wouldn't have invited me."
"No one was invited, Alex. These were open houses. In every sense of the word."
He chucked me under the chin. "You probably wouldn't have gone, anyway, because you were a good boy, so serious. Actually, I never got further than the door, myself. Brenda took one look at them coating the floor with Wesson oil and hauled my ass out of there. But people who went said they were plus-four orgies, if you could stand fucking other shrinks. Oh.' Calcutta! meets B.
F.
Skinner—what a scary idea, huh? And Suzy Straddle was one of the main attractions—tied up, harnessed, muzzled, and flogged."
"How do you know all this?"
"Campus gossip. Everyone knew—it was no secret. Back then, no one thought it was all that weird. Pre-microbe days—sexual freedom, liberating the id, expanding the boundaries of consciousness, et cetera. Even the radical libbers in our class thought Kruse was on the cutting edge of something meaningful Or maybe it just got their rocks off being dominant. Either way, it was philosophically acceptable to flog Suzy because she was fulfilling some need of her own."
"Kruse do the flogging?"
"Everyone did. It was a real
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