Frank Herbert

by Frank Herbert

  Pete ran a finger under his collar.

  “The dress came off,” Kerrigan said. “And the slip. They were easy. And then you ran into it.”

  Pete stared at him, pale faced. “I didn’t know girls wore those things anymore,” he said. He didn’t ask himself how Hal knew about it.

  “It’s the modern chastity belt, son,” Kerrigan said. “It’s called a foundation garment. You should come up into the store sometime and look around.”

  Pete tried to swallow with a dry throat. He felt like a fool.

  “It slowed everything down to a fumbling walk,” Kerrigan said. “She had time to think, and she changed her mind. That is what happened.”

  “I dunno what to do about her,” Pete said.

  “Drop her,” Kerrigan said. “That’s my free advice for tonight. Find yourself another doll.”

  “I don’t know any other girls.”

  “Pete, the world’s full of …” Kerrigan stopped, stared at Pete. “Hey, fella, what about all those stories you fed us in the bull sessions? The babe in Passaio, the little wench in Amegate?”

  “Hal, you know I was the youngest guy in the outfit. I lied about my age to get in. You know that.”

  “A terrifying thought occurs to me,” Kerrigan said. “Answer me, friend: are you a virgin?”

  Pete blushed.

  Kerrigan slapped his forehead with his palm. “Holy Colonel Magee!”

  “Okay, laugh!”

  “Pete, I’m not laughing, believe me. I’m sad.”

  “What am I gonna do?”

  Kerrigan sighed. “In a thing like this, one cannot hold one’s friend by the hand through the entire operation. You know that. However …” He shook his head. “Does it have to be Virgie?”

  “Yes!” Pete looked away. He knew he had spoken too loudly, betrayed himself, but he wasn’t quite sure what he had betrayed.

  Kerrigan stubbed out his cigarette, said: “Better …” He paused. “… let us say more experienced men than you have tried and failed.”

  “I still …”

  “Okay, okay.” Kerrigan held up a hand, bent his head. “Say no more. A friend comes for advice; I give advice.” He shook another cigarette from the package, lit it, stared through the smoke. “Have you tried night swimming?”

  “Hell, I thought of that. She’s afraid of what might be in the water, she says.”

  “In the water?”

  “Frogs and stuff. You know.”

  “Well, have you tried just right out asking her—yes or no?”

  “Aw, come off it, Hal!”

  “Yeah.” Kerrigan stared at his cigarette. “There’s gotta be some way to get her out of that armor.” Presently, he asked: “Did I ever tell you the camera ploy?”

  “Camera ploy?”

  “Somewhere in all this stuff’s a 35-millimeter camera. You take that camera … lots of dolls are exhibitionists, see. Tell ’er you’re the arty type and you …”

  “Nude pictures? For Chrissakes, Hal! I couldn’t.”

  “Did you come here for my advice?”

  “Well … yes.”

  “Okay. Here’s what you do. You take her to dinner—some quiet place with atmosphere, candles, wine, that sort of thing. Take your time over …”

  “Hal, I couldn’t ask her to …”

  “Just listen, son. You introduce her to the idea very slowly. It’s almost as though it’s her idea. Tell her how much you admire her beauty. Everything inspirational.”

  Pete nodded. There was something hypnotic about the flow of Kerrigan’s words.

  “Tell her her hair is like brilliant sunshine,” Kerrigan said.

  “Yeahhhh … brilliant sunshine.”

  “Photogenic, you understand? Say there’s something French about her. Aiyah! The French have a way with them, understand?”

  “Her grandfather’s French Canadian. She told me.”

  “All the better. Now, for dinner, I know just the place—that Gypsy Cellar over on 64th. Violins, the works. Arrangements, lad, arrangements—it’s all in your arrangements. Tell her you admire the gypsy in her.”

  “Yeahhh.”

  “You’re at dinner, soft music, soft cushions—tell her she’s a lovely, natural thing. Natural, got that?”

  “Yeah, natural.”

  “Explain that only the natural things of the world are worth having.”

  “When do I spring the camera?”

  “Easy, lad. You have to go slow, but slow on these things.”

  “Okay, but …”

  “After dinner, you adjourn to one of those jazz joints across town, Ferreti’s or Johnson’s Tub or one of those pizza cellars out by the university. There’s one called the Sweet Spot has a good combo. Nothing like hot jazz to get a woman in the mood.”

  “Jazz, okay. Then what?”

  “You bring her back here.”

  “Here? You mean here in your …”

  “You’ve got your key. I’ll be gone next weekend. The place’ll be all straightened up by then.”

  “I spring the camera then, huh?”

  “Didn’t I tell you slow? You gotta be cautious as a cat, son. I’ll have the cleaning woman lay a fire in the fireplace. Good music—you know how to work the stereo over there. You get the fire going and stand her over by the fireplace while you …”

  “Stand?”

  “I said stand. Don’t interrupt. Then you sit down on the floor and admire her. You just admire. From a distance.”

  “How far?”

  “Far enough that you don’t look too eager. While you’re admiring, you use your hands like a frame—make a little square with ’em and stare at her through it. All the time you’re telling her how much you’d like a picture to treasure.”

  “I got a picture; the one she gave me.”

  “But not a natural picture, something to express the real Virgie, got that?”

  “I think so.”

  “She’s standing here against the fireplace, and you tell her the setting fits her perfectly except for one thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “The clothes, lad. And if she gets out of that armor, you’re on your own.”

  Pete shook his head. “Hal, I dunno. You really think this’ll work?”

  “It never fails.”

  “But what if she …”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” He glanced at his bedside clock. “I don’t know about you, but I need shut-eye. Let’s sleep on it. You can sack out here with me.”

  Pete heaved a deep sigh. “Okay. I guess you oughta know about these things.”

  Presently, darkness again enfolded Hal Kerrigan’s apartment. The Chinese brocade draperies rustled faintly to the breeze.

  Pete cleared his throat. “Hal?”

  “Mmmmph.”

  “Hal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “When you’re with a girl … I mean, what’s it really like?”

  “Oh, for … go to sleep, son. Trust your Uncle Hal and go to sleep.”

  O O O

  The sun came up. The sun went down. Up, down—seven times, and once again it was Sunday with sunshine touching the grey-and-gold rug at 8:18 AM.

  The telephone rang. Pete answered it. He felt dopey with lack of sleep … and angry. “Hullo? Oh, hullo, Hal. No, I’m alone. Okay, see you in a few minutes.”

  Pete dressed and flopped down on the grey semicircle of the davenport in front of the black marble fireplace. He stared moodily at the dead ashes in the fireplace, shifted his attention to two empty wine glasses on an oval coffee table at his left. A sneer curled his lips.

  The outer door opened. Hal breezed in, throwing his hat across the room. “Hiya, Petey boy! Whatta weekend! How’d you make out?”

  Silence.

  Kerrigan threw his coat over a chair, sat down across the davenport’s curve from Pete. “You all worn out, friend?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wanta tell your old Uncle Hal?”

  “No.” />
  “Gentlemen don’t tell; that’s the boy.”

  “Hah!”

  “Whatta you mean, hah?”

  “Just hah!”

  “Didn’t you follow the program?”

  “Program!”

  “You know, dinner at …”

  “Dinner at her place with her family: brussel sprouts, tuna and noodles.”

  “Oh?”

  “Great dinner. They wanted to know how well I knew you, the boss’s son and everything. And Virgie told them about the rice paddy thing. How’d she find out about that?”

  Kerrigan shrugged. “My old man, probably. The whole store knows it. Don’t think anything about that. He likes you.”

  “She even knew about the .45s over your mantle, said a girlfriend told her.” He glared at Kerrigan. “Is that right?”

  Kerrigan raised his right hand. “So help me. It must’ve been the jewelry buyer, Miss Franchot.”

  “Yeah, okay. So I told them it wasn’t really sentimental, only a sort of joke. And I told them how much dough you won betting on me.”

  “Stripping the .45, you mean. Sure. Remember the time we took the five hundred iron men from Sergeant Keeler? Man! The look on his face!”

  “Yeah, I told them.”

  “Keeler had a good boy going up against you, too—old Krouty. But man, you took him by eight seconds.” Kerrigan took a deep breath. “So it was a great dinner with her folks. Well …”

  “Just great. Family staring at me all through dinner. How much do I make a year? What with the boss’s son being my best friend, my prospects must look pretty good, huh? Taxes are getting worse, though, aren’t they?” Pete leaned forward. “Hal, did you know that a set of good living room furniture costs upwards of six hundred dollars?”

  “It was pretty bad, eh?”

  “It was awful.”

  “Did you go out afterward?”

  “To the Sweet Spot, sure.”

  Hal grinned. “They’re great, aren’t they? Man! That sax sound. They’re laced with it—a real coal-colored noon beat.”

  A touch of animation replaced the stony glare on Pete’s face. “They’re pretty good. I’ll give you that.”

  “She liked it, huh?”

  “She liked it.”

  “So you stayed awhile and then came up here.”

  Silence.

  “You did come back here?”

  “Sure, we came up here—the fire, the stereo, the hands, the whole bit.”

  “So?”

  “She told me I shouldn’t get dirty ideas from you.” He glared at Kerrigan. “How’d she know about that?”

  Kerrigan gulped. “Pete, I swear to you, I never …”

  The glare continued.

  “I swear,” Kerrigan said. “So help me, you saved my life. I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I never.”

  “Then you must have some dame who’s doing a lot of talking.”

  “That’s always possible.”

  Pete sank back, stared at the black fireplace. He hated his own feelings of inadequacy, his suspicions, this apartment, Hal, life, the store—everything except Virgie.

  “Now that you’ve given up on Virgie,” Kerrigan said, “maybe I could fix you up with a cute little …”

  “Who said I’ve given up?”

  “Well, you just as much as implied …”

  “I didn’t imply anything. She was absolutely right about you. I shouldn’t have tried that camera trick. It’s cheap.”

  “That’s one of its big advantages.” Kerrigan shrugged. “But you did strike out!”

  “And how I struck out!”

  “But you didn’t give up?”

  “Sic semper et cetera,” Pete said. “I’ll tell you—the lights in here were still down pretty low, the stereo was going, and I was sitting here feeling like a fool. So she came over and put her arms around me and said it was all right, she understood—men have these animal urges and everything.”

  “Animal urges. That’s very good.”

  “It was kind of sooty in here, those dark walls. I kissed her. Her lips were moist and …” He broke off, stared moodily at the fireplace.

  “Well?”

  “A funny thing: she shaped her mouth up funny, almost like a poodle and she made this little noise.”

  “Noise? What noise?”

  “It sounded like nusssss or ‘nice.’ So I kissed her again.”

  “Yeahhhhh.”

  “Pretty soon she’s saying, ‘Please, Please, Please.’”

  “Yeahhhhh.”

  Pete cleared his throat.

  “So?” Kerrigan demanded.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Whatta you mean nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Let me guess,” Kerrigan said. “Off came the dress and the slip and you ran into that armor again.”

  Pete swallowed.

  “Right?” Kerrigan asked.

  Pete nodded disconsolately. “She’s saying, ‘Wait. No. Lemme think.’ And I’m trying to get that thing unfastened and it’s like it was put together with steel girders. I was all thumbs. I kept thinking if it was a .45 I could strip it, but this was too much.”

  “What’d you say?” Kerrigan asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Just then, what’d you say?”

  “What’d I say what?”

  “About stripping a .45.”

  “It was just a crazy thought. I was half nuts.”

  “No, wait. You had an inspiration.”

  “I did?”

  Kerrigan leaped to his feet, grabbed one of the .45s from its holster over the mantle. He whirled, faced Pete. “You know what you’re gonna do?”

  “At gun point?” Pete asked. “Are you crazy?”

  “No, not this,” Kerrigan said. He put the gun back in its holster, returned his attention to Pete. “You’re gonna get one of these foundation garments. You’re gonna strap it onto a couple of pillows. And you, pal, you are going to practice field stripping that armor until you can get it off those pillows in nothing flat!”

  O O O

  Pete stared at the contraption on the floor of Kerrigan’s apartment. The thing was pink in a shade that clashed with the grey and gold of the rug beneath it. Pillows protruded from each end. Two straps stretched over a pillow at the top. Garter snaps dangled limply from the bottom. A zipper reached up the right side with hooks over it. Part of a similar hook-and-eye arrangement lay unfastened on the left with a flap turned back. This revealed a second layer underneath, which suggested with its crossing bands of elastic an illustrated anatomical section of muscle tissue.

  The whole thing possessed an obscene hint of fibrous flesh, Pete decided. It looked dead in a horrible, decapitated way.

  Kerrigan stood over it in a maroon robe, a martini in his left hand. He sipped the martini, reached out a foot, and rolled the contraption over. This revealed tight lacings all the way up the back. “Almost takes the heart out of a man,” he said. “You sure this is the same kind?”

  Pete nodded.

  He stood at the corner of the davenport, cracking his knuckles, knowing this betrayed his nervousness but unable to stop.

  Kerrigan glanced at the moving hands, frowned. “What’s eating you? This is just something to disassemble. Think of the .45 and how you beat Krouty. Practice, that’s all. Speed.”

  “That lady on the phone when we ordered it,” Pete said.

  “She bother you?”

  “I didn’t like the way she laughed. All those questions about size and color and price range and …”

  “Why didn’t you just make up a size?”

  “All I knew was to describe it,” Pete said. He blushed and hated himself for it.

  “Take it easy, pal,” Kerrigan said. “We’ll just start in easy. Just get down there beside it and …”

  “Maybe I should come back tonight and practice. I really shouldn’t take the day off this time of …”

  “I ordered you to take the day off,” Kerr
igan said. He downed the martini, put the glass aside. “You’re helping me on a very challenging problem.” He squatted beside the pillow-stuffed garment. “Come down here now, and let’s analyze this thing.” He touched one of the shoulder straps. “Y’know, these’d probably just pop right out if you yanked them. Give ’er a try.”

  Pete dropped to his knees beside Kerrigan, said: “I don’t want to … well, tear it.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re the rampaging male. She’ll love it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. Go ahead and try it.”

  Pete put out his right hand, withdrew it.

  “Close your eyes and imagine it’s Virgie inside it,” Kerrigan said. “Go ahead.”

  Pete wet his lips with his tongue, caught the strap in a desperate grip while Kerrigan held the pillow. Pete wrenched the strap. There came a small tearing sound, and it pulled out of its binding seam.

  “Strong hands, that’s what it takes,” Kerrigan said. “Now, how about those snaps?”

  Pete felt the challenge of the problem grip him. He took a deep breath, bent forward more intently. “Maybe if I roll them between my fingers they might just pop open.” He demonstrated. “Hey! It works!”

  Kerrigan got to his feet, said: “What the mind of man can do, the mind of man can undo. Fasten that thing back together best you can while I get my watch. We’ll run a few time trials.” Presently, he returned carrying a stop watch, said: “I borrowed this from the store. We may as well do this scientifically. Don’t try for speed the first time. Just get the feel of the thing.”

  Pete nodded, began popping snaps, working zippers. He crouched back on his heels when it was done. “How long?”

  “A minute and fifty-four seconds. Let’s put ’er back together and try again.”

  “I don’t like you calling it her,” Pete said.

  “What else would you call such a thing?” Kerrigan asked. “Here, I’ll help you reassemble … it.”

  “Okay!”

  He went at it again … and again … and again. Kerrigan called time after the twenty-fifth run with the time down to thirty-seven seconds. “That’s enough for today,” he said. “Take my car and go for a drive or something. Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow night after work.”

  “Thirty-seven seconds,” Pete said. “That’s not bad.”

  “Not bad, not good. It’s just a beginning. See you tomorrow.”