Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

won't, why..." He started to argue. "Rusty!" I was sharp. "Doexcctly as I tell you. You don't want me to tell Mr. Martinsonthat you've been uncooperative, do you?" "No... no."Standing rest on one foot and then the other, he awkwardlypulled off the boots. He wore white cotton socks; one had alarge hole in it through which the big toe protruded. Hegrinned sheepishly. "Guess I'm full of holes." "That's allright." The small room was now full of the not unpleasantodor of warm leather. Obediently he got onto the scalesexactly as I directed, face to the wall. In a most professionalway, I measured the width of the chest, and then allowedmyself the pleasure of running my hand down the smoothwarm back, tracing the spine's curve right to the pointwhere it vanished, frustratingly, into the white chinos as theyswelled just below my hand, masking those famousinviolate buttocks. "All right," I said, marking down figureson the physical examination chart. "Now we need yourweight which is one seventy-four and your height which issix one and a quarter. The chart's filling up nicely. All right,you can get down." He stepped off the scales. He wassurprisingly at ease: obviously our dinner at the Cock andBull had given him confidence. "This doctor can really fixme with something that will work?" He was genuinelycurious. "He thinks he can, yes. Of course, he'll have to fityou himself. This is just the preliminary examination which,while we're at it, Uncle Buck said I should turn into anordinary physical and so kill two birds with one stone, as heput it in his colorful way." "You mean like height and weightand that stuff?" As yet he showed no particular alarm.