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He tried running, but all the movement was inside his skin; none of it got to the outside.
I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU PREFER THE COMPANY OF THESE DISGUSTING
PERVERTS. LOOK, I LOVE YOU, THAT’S THE LONG, THE SHORT AND THE COLOR OF
IT, ROGER. WHAT SA Y?
His metal little finger was singing the bell song from Lakmé and he hated it. His chest spiral
was bubbling and he had the immediate fear his shirt would catch fire. All the women in the room
were frozen in place, their hair vibrating like cilia, each strand standing up and away individually,
emitting purple sparks like St. Elmo’s fire. The men looked like X-rays of rickets cases.
“Who are you?” Roger said in a choked voice.
I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK. I’M THE RIGHT WOMAN FOR YOU. GOD
KNOWS YOU’VE HAD A CRUMMY TIME OF IT, AND I’M SENT TO MAKE IT EASIER
FOR YOU. IT’S THE REAL LOVE YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR, ROGER.
“Where are you?”
RIGHT HERE. IN THE LIGHTS.
“I’m going to be sick.”
RIGHT HERE, COME ON, ROGER, JUST FIRM UP NOW!
“Haven’t I suffered enough already?”
ROGER, SELF-PITY JUST WON’T GET IT. IT’S TRUE YOU’VE SUFFERED, AND
THAT’S WHY YOU WIN THE LOTTERY OF LOVE WITH ME, BUT YOU’VE GOT TO STOP
BEING MAUDLIN ABOUT IT.
“Not only am I a put-together thing, a righteous freak, but now I’m going completely insane.
“
ROGER, WILL YOU HAVE A LITTLE TRUST, FOR GOD’S SAKE? I’M PART OF THE
REPAYMENT FOR WHAT’S HAPPENED TO YOU. ALL IT TAKES IS BELIEF AND A
COUPLE OF STEPS.
He felt his right hand groping in the empty air around his right side--while his left hand sang
“Pace, Pace, Mio Dio,” from La Forza del Destino--and he came up with an aquamarine Italian
marble egg.
“Listen, I think you’re terrific,” Roger said, playing for time.
YOU’RE PLAYING FOR TIME.
She’s on to me, Roger thought desperately. He flung the Italian marble egg at the neon wall
sculptures, it struck, geysers of sparks erupted, a curtain caught fire, a woman’s dress went up in a
puff of Gucci, people began shrieking, the ultraviolet dissipated in an instant, everything returned to
normal, Roger was scared out of his mind...and he ran out of there as fast as he could.
His finger had grown hoarse, and finally shut up.
Roger called in sick and begged off work for a few days. They were understanding, but the
big Labor Day weekend was coming up, they’d laid in a large stock of Sicilian switchblades and
copies of the steamier works of Akbar del Piombo and Anonymous in the Travelers’ Companion
series, and they expected him--neon coil, weird eye and metal finger included--on the ready line
when the marks, kadodies and reubens fresh from Michigan’s Ionia State Fair descended on sinful
Times Square. Roger mumbled various okays and went for extended walks along the night-hot
Hudson River Drive.
The big Spry sign blinking across the Hudson from Jersey caught his eye.
YOU ARE THE DAMNEDEST, MOST OBSTINATE HUMAN BEING I HAVE EVER
ENCOUNTERED, said the Spry sign, forming words it was clearly incapable of forming.
Roger began running...blindly along the breakwater. The sign gave him no peace. It
continued jabbering at him. ROGER! FOR CRINE OUT LOUD, ROGER, WILL YOU STOP JUST
A MOMENT AND LISTEN TO ME!
