The Edge

to deal with this.

    I decided then and there that I'd give my right nut for a beer. I didn't think it through, just pushed the call buzzer. In four minutes, according to my digital clock with its big red numbers, Midge Hardaway, my night nurse, stuck her head in the door.

    "Mac? You okay? It's really late. You should be asleep. What's the problem?"

    Midge was somewhere in her thirties, tall, with short honey-colored hair and a sharp chin. She was smart, reliable; you could count on her in a crunch. Whenever I'd drifted back to consciousness at the beginning of my stay here, she'd be right beside me, talking quietly to me, her fingers lightly stroking my arm.

    I smiled at her with what I hoped was my best boyish smile, filled with irresistible charm. I wasn't sure she could even see it because the room was very dim, the only light coming from the corridor at her back. But I hoped she could at least hear all the effort I was putting into my voice. "Midge, save me. I'm in bad shape here. I just can't stand it any longer. Please, you've gotta help me. You're my only hope."

    The corridor light framed a smile that was at once sympathetic and filled with laughter that she didn't bother to hide quite enough. Then she cleared her throat. "Mac, listen to me now. You've been out of commission for over two weeks. I guess since you're feeling better, this could become more and more of a problem. But hey, hon, I'm married. What would Doug think? He's got this temper, you know?"

    Forget boyish charm. I tried for pathetic. "Why would Doug care? He isn't here. He wouldn't even have to know if you think it would upset him, which I can't begin to imagine that it would."

    "Now, Mac, if I weren't married, I'd be truly tempted, even though you're not even close to batting a thousand yet in the health department. Hey, I'm flattered. You're good-looking, at least you were in that photo they used of you in the newspaper, and you've got the use of both hands now. But the way things stand, Mac, I just can't do it."

    "I'm really dying here, Midge. I'm not lying to you. Just this one time and I won't beg again-well, at least not until tomorrow night. Just one, Midge. I'll go slow. I've already got drool pooling in my mouth."

    She stood there just shaking her head back and forth, her hands on her hips, very nice hips I'd noticed nine days ago when I finally wasn't so dulled from painkillers.

    I sighed. "All right, if it's really against your ethics, or Doug's ethics. But I'll tell you, Midge, I just don't see why it's such a big deal. And why your husband would care is beyond me. He'd probably be begging just like I am if he was in my shoes. Hey, maybe you could call Mrs. Luther. She's tough, but maybe she'll give in. I think she likes me, just maybe-"

    "Mac, are you nuts? Mrs. Luther is sixty-five years old. For God's sake, you can't be all that desperate. Ellen Luther? She'd probably bite you."

    "Why would she do that? What are you talking about?"

    "Mac," she said with great patience, "you're horny after two weeks of celibacy. I can understand that. But Mrs. Luther?"

    "I think you've got the wrong idea here, Midge. I don't want Mrs. Luther. I want you in that way, but you're married, so I only think about that in passing, like any other guy would, you know, maybe once every five minutes or so during the day, maybe more the better I feel. No, what I'm dying for, what I want more than anything in the world, is a beer."

    "A beer?" She stared at me for the longest time, then she started laughing. That laughter of hers grew until she had to come into the room and close the door so she wouldn't disturb other patients. She was doubled over with laughter, holding her sides. "You want a beer? That's what all this is about? A damned beer? And you'll go real slow?"

    I gave her my innocent look.

    She paused a moment in the open doorway, shaking her head and still laughing. Said over her shoulder, "You want a Bud Light?"

    "I'd kill for a Bud Light."

    The Bud can was so cold I thought my fingers would stick to it. There couldn't be anything better than this, I thought, as the beer slid down my throat. I wondered which nurse was hoarding the Bud in the nurses' refrigerator. I drank half the can in one long slug. Midge was standing beside the bed, just looking down at me. "I hope mixing the beer with your meds doesn't make you puke. Hey, slow down. You promised you'd make it last. Men, you really can't believe them, not when it comes to