York City as of last month. Well, he instructed, I must take notice of the peonies next year, for they are in bloom such a short while, you know, and then they are gone. (Maybe this seems like too obvious a commentary on my own “short-lasting bloom”—but let’s not give Dr. Kellogg that much credit for poetry or pathos. I think he just really liked peonies.)
“Let me show you out, my little duckling,” he said, walking me back down the stairs, and through the doily-strewn living room, toward the servants’ entrance. As we passed by the kitchen, he took an envelope off the table and handed it to me.
“A token of my appreciation,” he said.
I knew it was money, and I couldn’t bear it.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, Harold,” I said.
“Oh, but you must.”
“No, I couldn’t,” I said. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Oh, but I insist.”
“Oh, but I mustn’t.”
My objection, I have to tell you, was not that I didn’t want to be regarded as a prostitute. (Don’t think so highly of me as all that!) It was more a matter of deeply ingrained social politeness. My parents provided an allowance for me every week, you see, which Aunt Peg gave to me on Wednesdays, so I truly did not need Dr. Kellogg’s money. Also, some puritanical voice within me told me that I had not quite earned this money. I didn’t know much about sex, but I couldn’t imagine that I’d shown this man much of a good time. A girl who lies down on her back with her arms straight at her sides, not moving whatsoever other than to attack you with her mouth every time you speak—she can’t be much fun in the sack, right? If I were going to be paid for sex, I’d want to have done something worth paying for.
“Vivian, I demand that you take this,” he said.
“Harold, I refuse.”
“Vivian, I really must insist that you do not make a scene,” he said, frowning slightly, and pushing the envelope toward me with force—this moment constituting the closest I’d come to danger or excitement at the hands of Dr. Harold Kellogg.
“Very well,” I said, and I took the money.
(And how do you like that, my fancy ancestors? Cash for sex, and on the first run out of the gate, no less!)
“You are a lovely young girl,” he said. “And please don’t be concerned: there is still plenty of time for your breasts to fill out.”
“Thank you, Harold,” I said.
“If you drink eight ounces of buttermilk a day, it should help them to grow.”
“Thank you, I will do that,” I said, with no intention whatsoever of drinking eight ounces of buttermilk a day.
I was about to step out the door, but then I suddenly had to know.
“Harold,” I said, “may I ask what kind of doctor you are?”
It was my supposition that he was either a gynecologist or a pediatrician. I was leaning toward pediatrician. I just wanted to settle the bet in my own head.
“I’m a veterinarian, my dear girl,” he said. “Now, please send my warmest regards to Gladys and Celia, and do not forget to observe the peonies next spring!”
I flew down the street, absolutely howling with laughter.
I ran back into the diner where the girls were all waiting for me, and before they could even speak, I shrieked, “A veterinarian? You sent me to a veterinarian?”
“How was it?” asked Gladys. “Did it hurt?”
“He’s a veterinarian? You said he was a doctor!”
“Dr. Kellogg is a doctor!” said Jennie. “It says so right in his name.”
“I feel as though you sent me to get spayed!”
I dove into the booth next to Celia, crashing against her warm body with relief. My own body was in a storm of hilarity. I was all trembling now, from head to toe. I felt wild and unhinged. I felt that my life had just exploded. I was overcome with excitement and arousal and revulsion and embarrassment and pride, and it was all so disorienting, but also fantastic. The aftereffect was so much more striking than the act itself had been. I could not believe what I had just done. My boldness that morning—sex with a strange man!—seemed to have sprung from someone else, but I also felt more authentic to myself than ever.
Moreover, looking around the table at the showgirls, I felt a sense of gratitude so rich that tears almost overtook me. It was so marvelous to have the girls there. My friends! My oldest friends in the world! My oldest