"Je-zuz! You think maybe this building's going to go?"
She shook her head. "No. When they go, it's always with that boom. You know what that sounded like? The Lexington Avenue subway."
"The subway?"
"Uh-huh. The local train."
"That's crazy. How could the subway be running?"
"I didn't say it was. I said it sounded like. I'll have another, please."
"We need more soda." Mayo explored and reappeared with bottles and a large menu. He was pale. "You better take it easy, Linda," he said. "You know what they're charging per drink? A dollar seventy-five. Look."
"To hell with the expense. Let's live a little. Make it a double, bartender. You know something, Jim? If you stayed in town, I could show you where all your heroes lived. Thank you. Happy days. I could take you up to BBDO and show you their tapes and films. How about that? Stars like … like Red … Who?"
"Barber."
"Red Barber, and Rocky Gifford, and Rocky Casey, and Rocky the Flying Squirrel."
"You're putting me on," Mayo said, offended again.
"Me, sir? Putting you on?" Linda said with dignity. "Why would I do a thing like that? Just trying to be pleasant. Just trying to give you a good time. My mother told me, 'Linda,' she told me, 'just remember this, about a man. Wear what he wants and say what he likes,' is what she told me. You want this dress?" she demanded.
"I like it, if that's what you mean."
"Know what I paid for it? Ninety-nine fifty."
"What? A hundred dollars for a skinny black thing like that?"
"It is not a skinny black thing like that. It is a basic black cocktail frock. And I paid twenty dollars for the pearls. Simulated," she explained. "And sixty for the opera pumps. And forty for the perfume. Two hundred and twenty dollars to give you a good time. You having a good time?"
"Sure."
"Want to smell me?"
"I already have."
"Bartender, give me another."
"Afraid I can't serve you, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"You've had enough already."
"I have not had enough already," Linda said indignantly. "Where's your manners?" She grabbed the whiskey bottle. "Come on, let's have a few drinks and talk up a storm about TV stars. Happy days. I could take you up to BBDO and show you their tapes and films. How about that?"
"You just asked me."
"You didn't answer. I could show you movies, too. You like movies? I hate 'em, but I can't knock 'em anymore. Movies saved my life when the big bang came."
"How was that?"
"This is a secret, understand? Just between you and me. If any other agency ever found out …" Linda looked around and then lowered her voice. "BBDO located this big cache of silent films. Lost films, see? Nobody knew the prints were around. Make a great TV series. So they sent me to this abandoned mine in Jersey to take inventory."
"In a mine?"
"That's right. Happy days."
"Why were they in a mine?"
"Old prints. Nitrate. Catch fire. Also rot. Have to be stored like wine. That's why. So took two of my assistants with me to spend weekend down there, checking."
"You stayed in the mine a whole weekend?"
"Uh-huh. Three girls. Friday to Monday. That was the plan. Thought it would be a fun deal. Happy days. So … where was I? Oh. So, took lights, blankets, linen, plenty of picnic, the whole schmeer, and went to work. I remember exact moment when blast came. Was looking for third reel of a UFA film, Gekronter Blumenorden an der Pegnitz. Had reel one, two, four, five, six. No three. Bang! Happy days."
"Jesus. Then what?"
"My girls panicked. Couldn't keep 'em down there. Never saw them again. But I knew. I knew. Stretched that picnic forever. Then starved even longer. Finally came up, and for what? For who? Whom?" She began to weep. "For nobody. Nobody left. Nothing." She took Mayo's hands. "Why won't you stay?"
"Stay? Where?"
"Here."
"I am staying."
"I mean for a long time. Why not? Haven't I got lovely home? And there's all New York for supplies. And farm for flowers and vegetables. We could keep cows and chickens. Go fishing. Drive cars. Go to museums. Art galleries. Entertain …"
"You're doing all that right now. You don't need me."
"But I do. I do."
"For what?"
"For piano lessons."
After a long pause he said, "You're drunk."
"Not wounded, sire, but dead."
She laid her head on the bar, beamed up at him roguishly, and then closed her eyes. An instant later, Mayo knew she had passed out. He compressed his lips. Then he climbed out of the bar, computed the tab, and left fifteen dollars under the whiskey bottle.
He took Linda's shoulder and shook her gently. She collapsed into his arms, and her hair came tumbling down. He blew out the candle, picked Linda up, and carried her to the Chevy. Then, with anguished concentration, he drove through the dark to the boat pond. It took him forty minutes.
He carried Linda into her bedroom and sat her down on the bed, which was decorated with an elaborate arrangement of dolls. Immediately she rolled over and curled up with a doll in her arms, crooning to it. Mayo lit a lamp and tried to prop her upright. She went over again, giggling.
"Linda," he said, "you got to get that dress off."
"Mf."
"You can't sleep in it. It cost a hundred dollars."
"Nine'nine-fif'y."
"Now come on, honey."
"Fm."
He rolled his eyes in exasperation and then undressed her, carefully hanging up the basic black cocktail frock, and standing the sixty-dollar pumps in a corner. He could not manage the clasp of the pearls (simulated), so he put her to bed still wearing them. Lying on the pale blue sheets, nude except for the necklace, she looked like a Nordic odalisque.
"Did you muss my dolls?" she mumbled.
"No. They're all around you."
"Tha's right. Never sleep without 'em." She reached out and petted them lovingly. "Happy days. Long nights."
"Women!" Mayo snorted. He extinguished the lamp and tramped out, slamming the door behind him.
Next morning Mayo was again awakened by the clatter of dispossessed ducks. The red balloon was sailing on the surface of the pond, bright in the warm June sunshine. Mayo wished it was a model boat instead of the kind of girl who got drunk in bars. He stalked out and jumped into the water as far from Linda as possible. He was sluicing his chest when something seized his ankle and nipped him. He let out a yell and was confronted by Linda's beaming face bursting out of the water before him.
"Good morning," she laughed.
"Very funny," he muttered.
"You look mad this morning."
He grunted.
"And I don't blame you. I did an awful thing last night. I didn't give you any dinner, and I want to apologize."
"I wasn't thinking about dinner," he said with baleful dignity.
"No? Then what on earth are you mad about?"
"I can't stand women who get drunk."
"Who was drunk?"
"You."
"I was not," she said indignantly.
"No? Who had to be undressed and put to bed like a kid?"
"Who was too dumb to take off my pearls?" she countered. "They broke and I slept on pebbles all night. I'm covered with black and blue marks. Look. Here and here and—"
"Linda," he interrupted sternly, "I'm just a plain guy from New Haven. I got no use for spoiled girls who run up charge accounts and all the time decorate theirselves and hang around society-type saloons getting loaded."
"If you don't like my company, why do you stay?"
"I'm going," he said. He climbed out and began drying himself. "I'm starting south this morning."
"Enjoy your hike."
"I'm driving."
"What? A kiddie-car?"
"The Chevy."
"Jim, you're not serious?" She climbed out of the pond, looking alarmed. "You really
don't know how to drive yet."
"No? Didn't I drive you home falling-down drunk last night?"
"You'll get into awful trouble."
"Nothing I can't get out of. Anyway, I can't hang around here forever. You're a party girl; you just want to play. I got serious things on my mind. I got to go south and find guys who know about TV."
"Jim, you've got me wrong. I'm not like that at all. Why, look at the way I fixed up my house. Could I have done that if I'd been going to parties all the time?"
"You done a nice job," he admitted.
"Please don't leave today. You're not ready yet."
"Aw, you just want me to hang around and teach you music."
"Who said that?"
"You did. Last night."
She frowned, pulled off her cap, then picked up her towel and began drying herself. At last she said, "Jim, I'll be honest with you. Sure, I want you to stay a while. I won't deny it. But I wouldn't want you around permanently. After all, what have we got in common?"
"You're so damn uptown," he growled.
"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's simply that you're a guy and I'm a girl, and we've got nothing to offer each other. We're different. We've got different tastes and interests. Fact?"
"Absolutely."
"But you're not ready to leave yet. So I tell you what; we'll spend the whole morning practicing driving, and then we'll have some fun. What would you like to do? Go window-shopping? Buy more clothes? Visit the Modern Museum? Have a picnic?"
His face brightened. "Gee, you know something? I was never to a picnic in my whole life. Once I was bartender at a clambake, but that's not the same thing; not like when you're a kid."
She was delighted. "Then we'll have a real kid-type picnic."
And she brought her dolls. She carried them in her arms while Mayo toted the picnic basket to the Alice in Wonderland monument. The statue perplexed Mayo, who had never heard of Lewis Carroll. While Linda seated her pets and unpacked the picnic, she gave Mayo a summary of the story and described how the bronze heads of Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare had been polished bright by the swarms of kids playing King of the Mountain.
"Funny, I never heard of that story," he said.
"I don't think you had much of a childhood, Jim."
"Why would you say a—" He stopped, cocked his head, and listened intently.
"What's the matter?" Linda asked.
"You hear that bluejay?"
"No."
"Listen. He's making a funny sound; like steel."
"Steel?"
"Yeah. Like … like swords in a duel."
"You're kidding."
"No. Honest."
"But birds sing; they don't make noises."
"Not always. Bluejays imitate noises a lot. Starlings, too. And parrots. Now why would he be imitating a sword fight? Where'd he hear it?"
"You're a real country boy, aren't you, Jim? Bees and bluejays and starlings and all that …"
"I guess so. I was going to ask; why would you say a thing like that, me not having any childhood?"
"Oh, things like not knowing Alice, and never going on a picnic, and always wanting a model yacht." Linda opened a dark bottle. "Like to try some wine?"
"You better go easy," he warned.
"Now stop it, Jim. I'm not a drunk."
"Did you or didn't you get smashed last night?"
She capitulated. "All right, I did; but only because it was my first drink in years."
He was pleased by her surrender. "Sure. Sure. That figures."
"So? Join me?"
"What the hell, why not?" He grinned. "Let's live a little. Say, this is one swingin' picnic, and I like the plates, too. Where'd you get them?"
"Abercrombie & Fitch," Linda said, deadpan. "Stainless Steel Service for Four, thirty-nine fifty. Skoal."
Mayo burst out laughing. "I sure goofed, didn't I, kicking up all that fuss? Here's looking at you."
"Here's looking right back."
They drank and continued eating in warm silence, smiling companionably at each other. Linda removed her madras silk shirt in order to tan in the blazing afternoon sun, and Mayo politely hung it up on a branch. Suddenly Linda asked, "Why didn't you have a childhood, Jim?"
"Gee, I don't know." He thought it over. "I guess because my mother died when I was a kid. And something else, too; I had to work a lot."
"Why?"
"My father was a schoolteacher. You know how they get paid."
"Oh, so that's why you're anti-egghead."
"I am?"
"Of course. No offense."
"Maybe I am," he conceded. "It sure was a letdown for my old man, me playing fullback in high school and him wanting like an Einstein in the house."
"Was football fun?"
"Not like playing games. Football's a business. Hey, remember when we were kids how we used to choose up sides? Ibbety, bibbety, zibbety, zab?"
"We used to say, Eenie, meenie, miney, mo."
"Remember: April Fool, go to school, tell your teacher you're a fool?"
"I love coffee, I love tea, I love the boys, and the boys love me."
"I bet they did at that," Mayo said solemnly.
"Not me."
"Why not?"
"I was always too big."
He was astonished. "But you're not big," he assured her. "You're just the right size. Perfect. And really built, I noticed when we moved the piano in. You got muscle, for a girl. A specially in the legs, and that's where it counts."
She blushed. "Stop it, Jim."
"No. Honest."
"More wine?"
"Thanks. You have some, too."
"All right."
A crack of thunder split the sky with its sonic boom and was followed by the roar of collapsing masonry.
"There goes another skyscraper," Linda said. "What were we talking about?"
"Games," Mayo said promptly. "Excuse me for talking with my mouth full."
"Oh, yes. Jim, did you play Drop the Handkerchief up in New Haven?" Linda sang. "A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket. I sent a letter to my love, and on the way I dropped it …"
"Gee," he said, much impressed. "You sing real good."
"Oh, go on!"
"Yes, you do. You got a swell voice. Now don't argue with me. Keep quiet a minute. I got to figure something out." He thought intently for a long time, finishing his wine and absently accepting another glass. Finally he delivered himself of a decision. "You got to learn music."
"You know I'm dying to, Jim."
"So I'm going to stay awhile and teach you; as much as I know. Now hold it! Hold it!" he added hastily, cutting off her excitement. "I'm not going to stay in your house. I want a place of my own."
"Of course, Jim. Anything you say."
"And I'm still headed south."
"I'll teach you to drive, Jim. I'll keep my word."
"And no strings, Linda."
"Of course not. What kind of strings?"
"You know. Like the last minute you all of a sudden got a Looey Cans couch you want me to move in."
"Louis Quinze!" Linda's jaw dropped. "Wherever did you learn that?"
"Not in the army, that's for sure."
They laughed, clinked glasses, and finished their wine. Suddenly Mayo leaped up, pulled Linda's hair, and ran to the Wonderland Monument. In an instant he had climbed to the top of Alice's head.
"I'm King of the Mountain," he shouted, looking around in imperial survey. "I'm King of the—" He cut himself off and stared down behind the statue.
"Jim, what's the matter?"
Without a word, Mayo climbed down and strode to a pile of debris half-hidden inside overgrown forsythia bushes. He knelt and began turning over the wreckage with gentle hands. Linda ran to him.
"Jim, what's wrong?"
"These used to be model boats," he muttered.
"That's right. My God, is that all? I thought you were sick or something."
"How come they're here?"
/>
"Why, I dumped them, of course."
"You?"
"Yes. I told you. I had to clear out the boathouse when I moved in. That was ages ago."
"You did this?"
"Yes. I—"
"You're a murderer," he growled. He stood up and glared at her. "You're a killer. You're like all women, you got no heart and soul. To do a thing like this!"
He turned and stalked toward the boat pond. Linda followed him, completely bewildered.
"Jim, I don't understand. Why are you so mad?"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"But I had to have house room. You wouldn't expect me to live with a lot of model boats."
"Just forget everything I said. I'm going to pack and go south. I wouldn't stay with you if you was the last person on earth."
Linda gathered herself and suddenly darted ahead of Mayo. When he tramped into the boathouse, she was standing before the door of the guest room. She held up a heavy iron key.
"I found it," she panted. "Your door's locked."
"Gimme that key, Linda."
"No."
He stepped toward her, but she faced him defiantly and stood her ground.
"Go ahead," she challenged. "Hit me."
He stopped. "Aw, I wouldn't pick on anybody that wasn't my own size."
They continued to face each other, at a complete impasse.
"I don't need my gear," Mayo muttered at last. "I can get more stuff somewheres."
"Oh, go ahead and pack," Linda answered. She tossed him the key and stood aside. Then Mayo discovered there was no lock in the bedroom door. He opened the door, looked inside, closed it, and looked at Linda. She kept her face straight but began to sputter. He grinned. Then they both burst out laughing.
"Gee," Mayo said, "you sure made a monkey out of me. I'd hate to play poker against you."
"You're a pretty good bluffer yourself, Jim. I was scared to death you were going to knock me down."
"You ought to know I wouldn't hurt nobody."
"I guess I do. Now, let's sit down and talk this over sensibly."
"Aw, forget it, Linda. I kind of lost my head over them boats, and I—"
"I don't mean the boats; I mean going south. Every time you get mad you start south again. Why?"
Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4 Page 27
