The Mirror Maze

by James P. Hogan

  “What group is that?” Mel repeated, stifling a guffaw.

  “That’s the point. Eva was so incensed—not because she thought it ought to be rammed down every kid’s throat, but because in twelve years Nancy had never been exposed to it. We talk about the information explosion, with all the satellites, computer nets, and so on, but Eva used to say it’s a misinformation explosion. Here was a kid with a natural appreciation of classical music, yet she’d never known it existed. After that she used to come around and spend hours just playing record albums with Eva. Eva took her to live concerts in the city. See what I mean—she’d help anyone develop their abilities if they showed a desire to develop them themselves.”

  “She used to say that Chinese foot binding was nothing compared to Western mind binding,” Mel said, raising his glass again. He was aware at the back of his mind that his voice had thickened.

  “It’s long past dark,” Stephanie said. “I’ll close the drapes.” She pulled her cardigan closer around her shoulders and stood up to reach across the table. From the depths of the torpor that was creeping over him, Mel felt a surge of excitement at the sight of the long sweep of fair hair tossed back from the shoulder, and the way her back curved as she stooped to feel for the cord. The ember that had been glowing alternately dark and bright somewhere inside him all evening flamed suddenly… He was only half-aware of himself getting to his feet and reaching out to touch her.

  Stephanie turned abruptly as she felt his hand on her waist. For a moment he stared into her eyes, searching. Something there started to respond, just for an instant… then it was swept away by confusion.

  The delusion burst abruptly, and Mel faltered. He withdrew his hand and stepped back, flustered and embarrassed. Unable to find words, he retreated to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, reviling his stupidity. But he would have to face her.

  When he came back, Stephanie had put on some music, and was making coffee. “How about playing Scrabble?” she said. “Let’s see if I can still beat you.”

  It was as if nothing had happened. His heart went out to her, and he forced a grin. “What do you mean? When could you ever? Okay, sure, if you want to try.”

  “But no legal terms that aren’t English.”

  “Okay. No nuclear physics, then, either.”

  The incident was forgotten for the rest of what turned into a nice evening.

  But Mel was quiet and moody over breakfast. At last he began, “Steph, look, about last night, I—” But she shushed him with a motion of her hand.

  “You don’t have to say anything. It’s been a tough time for both of us. Now why don’t we just leave it and concentrate on enjoying Christmas?”

  Mel had bought things the day before for a Christmas dinner. They exchanged gifts they had bought, too. Stephanie gave him a set of gold cufflinks and tie clip—it didn’t do for a lawyer to look impecunious, she said. Mel gave her a new purse. It was white, ornamented with a distinctive pattern of inlaid silver braid. “At last,” he said, grinning. “It took me four years, but there you are… It wouldn’t do for a lawyer not to keep his word, either.”

  CHAPTER 46

  There had been a monster loose in Mel’s stomach all night, churning and gnawing. Since getting up, he had sat in his room or paced restlessly about, brooding and hatching one impractical scheme in his mind after another for resolving the situation. He had avoided Brett before Brett went out about an hour previously. The day before, Mel had opted out of going to the beach and gone off on his own later and gotten drunk again. But at least the cops hadn’t brought him home this time. Small mercies.

  Finally he went out into the lounge, stared uncertainly for a while out at the yachts on the bay to steel his resolve, then went back into his room and called the number of the apartment that Stephanie shared with two other girls. A female voice answered.

  “Steph?”

  “Mel! I’ve been worried about you, but I didn’t want to be a pest. How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m okay. Sorry to let down the party yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Mel became more serious. “Look, I want you to do a favor for me. About what happened… I need to talk to Dave. And I was wondering if you’d call there and see if you can fix something with him… See, I don’t really feel comfortable about Eva answering. It’s just that—”

  “You don’t have to explain, Mel. Where are you, at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks a lot. You know…” There was a pause.

  “Yes?”

  Mel hesitated. “It’s just that… you’re terrific. What did Brett do right that I did wrong? I found you first, remember?”

  Stephanie laughed. “Strange, isn’t it, how things work out. Talk to you soon.” She hung up.

  The next five minutes seemed like five years. Mel wandered back out into the lounge and stood there, looking around. His graduation diploma, with Brett’s, was on the table—still in their fancy cardboard cylinders and not immediately framed and put up on the wall like most people’s. What did that mean? In Brett’s case, simply that as always he was immersed in whatever new thing he was into and hadn’t had time. He was proud of his achievement, but not intoxicated by it. It was a private, inner satisfaction, not something to be flaunted for the admiration and envy of others. It meant that Brett was aware of how little he knew. His mind was still open, and he would continue learning. He would do well.

  And in Mel’s own case? He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps he was becoming cynical. The application papers for going on to the postgraduate course were still there, uncompleted, on the shelf above the table. Above it, the shelves with the computer monitor and the eternal ensemble of partly dismantled gadgets. Outside, the yachts. Another year of it? Was that what he really wanted? And then what? Another lab somewhere, another terminal, schematic diagrams, computer listings, more of the same. And Eva? He realized to his own surprise that he wasn’t sure. Perhaps, deep down, he was hankering toward a new scene, new environment, something different all-round. Maybe that was what he needed to solve the whole problem.

  The phone rang, and all such thoughts fled from his mind. He went through into the kitchen and took it there. “Hello?”

  “Mel?” A man’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Dave Fenner.” Mel’s brain seized up. Seconds of befuddled silence. “I was told you wanted to talk to me.”

  Mel found a remnant of his voice. “Well, yes… privately. I didn’t actually mean like this.”

  “I understand.” The voice was firm and even, yet somehow reassuring. Mel realized with relief that he wasn’t going to have to blurt out a clumsy explanation. “I have a flight out of Pensacola at seven-twenty tonight,” Dave went on. “Why don’t I show up an hour ahead of schedule, and we could have a drink there.” He made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.

  “That would be okay, I guess,” Mel said.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you in the bar there at, let’s say, six?”

  “Six,” Mel repeated. “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “See you there.”

  • • •

  The place was busy with Sunday-night travelers returning to and from wherever after the weekend. It was tired-looking compared to what it once had been, with the black-leather-padded booths worn, and the glass-topped tables in need of replacement. Cincinnati was playing St. Louis on the TV monitor above the bar.

  “You’ve got her all wrong, pal,” Dave said, staring fixedly at Mel across the booth and shaking his head. “Look, I think you’re a nice guy, and I wouldn’t want to spoil your outlook on life. But what you’re seeing is a creation from someplace inside your own head. Sure, she’s as beautiful as they come, sexy, perceptive, independent, knows how to handle herself, and probably has one of the smartest heads on her shoulders that either you or I are likely to meet—all the things that every guy
thinks he’s been waiting to find wrapped up in one package, and it can only happen once in a lifetime.”

  Which came pretty close to summing up how Mel felt. He thrust his chin out obstinately. “So, what’s wrong with that?… I mean, if you don’t think that’s particularly special, what are you doing? Just playing a game?” It wasn’t coming out the way Mel wanted. He gestured awkwardly. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s kind of insulting to her, isn’t it? I mean, I appreciate her for what she is… for herself. I…”

  “Care for her,” Dave completed.

  “Yes.”

  Dave hesitated for a second, then smiled in a reluctant, I-didn’t-really-want-to-say-this kind of way. “But that’s the whole point—what I’m trying to tell you. That’s how you see her. But what does she see back?”

  Mel shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I follow. Are you saying she doesn’t like me or something?”

  “Hell no. She thinks you’re great… as guys go. But that’s it.”

  “What do you mean, that’s it?”

  “Let’s face it, man, she’s a ball-buster. She’s a great friend and good to know. But she’s not what you’re seeing.” Mel stared down at his glass. He didn’t want to start an argument he couldn’t win, but was just as reluctant to concede it. Dave went on, “If you want to know, she likes your body, she likes your mind, and she likes you as a person. But that’s all you’re going to get. That’s all any guy is ever going to get from Eva. I guess the reason she gets along with me is that I can handle it. It makes her feel in charge of her life, totally. To her that’s important.”

  Mel picked up his cocktail and sipped at it. It was the bar’s special creation, called a Tortoise. His thoughts were mixed and confused. He’d thought he had found what he wanted and had tried to challenge Dave in the only way he knew how. Dave was telling him there was nothing to fight over. What Mel thought he stood to lose was an illusion. Nobody ever would have it. It didn’t exist.

  All of a sudden he felt weary of it all. He didn’t want to discuss the subject further. He just needed time on his own to think it all through. He looked back at Dave, seeking a way to change the subject. Finally he said, “It’s not just a friendship with you and her, though, is it? You have a professional relationship with her too.”

  “That’s the biggest part of it, if you really want to know,” Dave said.

  “So what do you actually do up in D.C.? Are you with the Constitutional thing that seems to take up most of her time?”

  “I thought you knew, I’m a purchasing consultant.”

  Mel looked at him dubiously in a way which said he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Dave stared back impassively in a way that said he didn’t care what Mel believed. Then a voice from a public address speaker in the ceiling announced, “Passengers for Eastern flight one-one-two for Washington should now proceed through security to gate nine. Flight one-one-two for Washington D.C. is now boarding at gate nine.”

  “Well, that’s me,” Dave said, finishing his drink. He stood up. “Don’t take what I said too rough. It wasn’t meant that way.”

  “No… I’m glad we could talk. I appreciate it,” Mel said.

  “So, no hard feelings, eh?”

  “I guess not.” On impulse, Mel extended his hand. Dave stopped and shook it firmly. Then he left.

  Mel sat awhile longer finishing his own drink, his mind a confusion of conflicting emotions. Over at the bar, two men roared approvingly as Cincinnati scored. Mel got up and went back to the parking area where he had left his car.

  He drove to the university and around the campus, he wasn’t sure why. The clusters of buildings that had once seemed protective in their familiarity were now cold and unappealing. He knew what was inside all of them: every room, every corridor. Nothing new, nothing unexpected, nothing to discover. He thought of Dave, at that moment airborne, bound for a distant place, a different scene, a fresh environment. And he envied him just for that.

  Hometown, where he’d grown up. Every street and block a book that he knew by heart. He crossed over to Palafox and forced himself to drive past The Viennese, just to prove to himself that he could keep on going; and when he did, he felt a pulse of exhilaration at scoring a small victory over himself. He remembered Eva’s words about the prisons that people create for themselves, and the weapons they use to turn others into mutual captives to share them with. Was that what he had been doing?

  West and past Obee’s, closed on a Sunday. Mac’s the convenience store next door was open as always. Mel pulled in for a candy bar. He suddenly had his appetite back for the first time all day.

  “Hi, Mac, how’s things? Mars bar, please.”

  “Why, hello there, young feller… Mel, that’s right. Oh, not so bad, y’know. And y’self?”

  “Good… Oh, and how about one of those fruit pies? Better add a can of 7-Up, too.”

  “So, where’s that tall friend o’ yours with the beard today?”

  “Don’t know. He went out someplace this morning.”

  “Probably with that girlfriend o’ his—the one with the sister. Never can tell one from another of ’em meself.”

  “Did you grow up in this town, Mac?”

  “Born and raised. Lived here all m’life.”

  “Never lived anywhere else at all, then, eh?”

  “Nope. Never wanted to, neither. Places is places to me. Same sun shines here as it does anywhere else, don’t it? People moving from here to there all the time, but all they’re tryin’ to get away from is th’selves. Don’t work, though, hee-hee. When they get there, they’re just as stuck with the same selves they had afore they left. Cain’t change a leopard’s spots, they say. Well, cain’t change ’em any better by movin’ it from here to there, neither.”

  “Do you know much about this new Constitutional movement that people are talking about, Mac?”

  “Not much, ’ceptin’ it’s pol’ticians promisin’ all the things we’ve heard afore. No time for that kinda stuff at my age. Tell y the truth, never had much time for it any other age neither, hee-hee.”

  “Just take it easy, right?”

  “Yep, ’sright. Nice ’n easy. I just ’cept whatever they give I me, and make the best of it. All thieves together, anyhow, if y’ask me. Don’t make no difference.”

  Mel drove back to Pace and parked below the apartment. Brett’s car was in the middle of having its gearbox modified, but Stephanie’s was parked next to it, and the light upstairs was on. But Mel didn’t go in. Instead, he sat staring up at the window, imagining the same setting, the same talk, the same routine. He could almost script how the rest of the evening would go. And tomorrow, and the day after…

  At length, he pulled out again, crossed the bridge over the bay, and drove along the beach road until he found a remote spot far from lights and anywhere. He stopped there and sat for a long time, staring out at the waves rolling up onto the shore, out of the deepening darkness. Waves that had come from the far side of the world.

  CHAPTER 47

  The New Year’s Eve party at the house in Malibu was held as a masquerade. By eleven o’clock, at least two hundred people had arrived: harlequins, Pompadours, kings and queens, Nelsons, Napoleons, denizens of Wonderland, characters of Disney, gorillas, penguins, astronauts, clowns; there were figures in costumes of every description, milling through the rooms and hallways, eating barbecued steaks and chicken around the pool where the band was playing, cavorting on the beach, falling over the rocks, or shrieking in the surf. Four bars had been set up inside and outside; nets bulging with multicolored balloons hung poised for the magic hour; and strings of lanterns draped around the house and across the surrounding palms and shrubs formed a light-filled cocoon for the revelers to party the night away.

  After reflecting for a while on what Eva might have picked, Stephanie had arrived in a silky, body-hugging suit and mask as Catwoman of comic-book fame. The secrecy over the house’s location had been dropped, and she had driven there herself. Bertram
Slessor, the publishing magnate whose house it was—but Henry VIII for this evening—had returned for the occasion and taken it upon himself to escort her among the guests after Philip Challin, in Kaiser Wilhelm regalia, introduced her.

  “Say, who have you got there, Bertie?” the tall man in the leopard-skin called approvingly. “Does she purr? Hello! What should we call you?”

  “This is Eva. Eva, Bob.”

  “Happy to meet you, Bob.”

  “My pleasure. I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you from near here?”

  “I’m just visiting.”

  “How long for?”

  “Oh, a week, maybe.”

  “Say, look, I’ll be taking some friends out on the yacht the day after tomorrow. We could use a couple more girls to make up the numbers. Are you free? Do you like the ocean?”

  “I do, but I think I might be tied up. Better not to commit myself, I think. Can I catch you later?”

  “Sure. I’ll be around. You’ll let me know, eh?”

  “You’re not hard to spot.”

  “Not hard to spot! Did you hear that? Was it a pun? Say, not bad, ha ha!”

  She moved on. A redhead in a flimsy slave-girl costume was trying to divert the advances of an Abraham Lincoln who seemed to be taking her role literally. Cleopatra was dancing with King Kong, who had a lamp shade on his head. There were the inevitable drunks, clustered around the bar.

  “Okay, I got one. Why does an elephant have four feet?”

  “I dunno. Why does an el’phant… whatever?”

  “Because it’d look kinda stoopid with four inches! Ha-ha, ha-ha!”

  But it wasn’t exclusively merriment. She found an intellectual Count Dracula airing his views to a mixed circle in a small room, with bookshelves and a grand piano, that opened off the central hall. “You see, the whole problem is with the economic system. It’s corrupt. We’ve got too many machines at too low a price. And ordinary people aren’t any happier, because they’re incapable of absorbing the culture or the education. Look at the way they jam the roads up with their cars. No, I think that plain, simple, rural community life is what we have to get back to. Honest labor. It’s healthier for the majority, it keeps them out of trouble. And if the truth were known, they’re happier being busy than being idle.”