Bugs (25 page)

The camera tracked another baby-in-trolley, then another.

‘Today, one woman went home with her shopping, but forgot her one-year-old daughter in the cart! No one at the store noticed the child, either. When the cart rammed into a nested set of similar carts, the child was killed.’

Cut to a nested row of trolleys, then yellow tape tied about a single trolley, where a policeman was making ominous measurements.

‘The tragedy was not discovered until hours later, when another customer tried to use the same cart. Police chief Neill Cream had this message for viewers.’

A police chief said: ‘Please, when you go shopping, be sure you take your children home. Thank you.’

‘This is Aramis Whiteflow, IBS News, Manson, Missouri.’

Someone rapped at Fred’s basement window. He parted the rat-brown curtains to see it was KK. He went to the door to let her in, and said: ‘We need to talk.’

‘Americans always say “Ve need to talk” vein they mean “I vant to talk”. But never mind, darlink. After I got your urgent message, I came by earlier, vhen you vere not at home. Vat is on your mind?’

‘Money. I can steal a working prototype of the robot,’ he said.

She was examining a small bruise on her arm, but she appeared to be listening.

‘For only two hundred thousand, cash. Never mind the dachas and chachas. But I must have the money in cash.’

‘But I told you, Soviet government does not like to export money. Besides –’

‘I don’t accept that. If you can pay the Walkers, you can pay me.’

‘Besides is too late for any deal.’ She hesitated, looking
down and then turning the full power of her green eyes upon him. ‘I am defectink.’

‘Defecting?’

‘I must follow my heart, darlink. I heart this country of yours. Is everythink in this crazy vonderful place, everythink. Is inexpensive pornography video, is game shows, licence-plates with cute sayings, futbol on big TV in bars. And basketball. (Of course ye have basketball in Soviet Union, but not spread of points.) But there is everythink, fishing lessons in shopping-malls, stickers for kiddies to put into albums, special phone numbers for big teenage party conversation. Here is Prince, Pac-Man, Disney World, harmonic convergence with Shirley MacLaine, bumper stickers saying Government can have my gun from cold dead hand.’

‘Yes, I – you’ve already made it very clear that you like this country.’

‘T-shirts with pictures of Marilyn Monroe, or Harley-Davidson, or else I heart NY. And personal computering, hacker kids breaking into vor machine. Is so much to look at and do and buy: dinner plates with pictures of President, banana daiquiris, crystals, calendars showing men’s butts, “Dallas”, signing your name vith a little smiling face, microvave popcorn, diet caffeine-free soda, Italian shoes, lava lamps, pick-up trucks,
People
magazine,
National Enquirer
, UFOs, ET, Cabbage Patch, Care Bears …

‘And I am not naïve optimist. I realize is some things not so nice: AIDS, rapist athletes, street-gangs working for Qaddafi, other scombaks. In fact I had to deal with two scombaks earlier today, ones who give me this.’

She turned over her arm, and now he saw that it was a set of fingermark bruises.

‘What happened?’

‘They try to force me into van. Mistake. Now van is in river with them in it.’

He thought he’d misheard.
‘With them in it?’

She shrugged. ‘I have not time to argue with scombaks. I
need all time to enjoy beautiful America, to go vith flow, to spiritually grow, in touch vith my feelings. I need time to be. Is such a place to be in, America. Is so much here to feel and do and get …’

‘It’s a special evening,’ Rain promised on the phone. ‘I’ve checked the calendar. Sturge will be going straight from work to the airport; he’s flying to Houston. So we have all night.’

‘You want me to wear the Ringo costume, I suppose,’ he said.

She seemed to notice the flatness of his tone. ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘Should I do?’

‘Be here at six.’

He put on the Beatle wig, the floral shirt, ridiculous tight suit and multiple rings. The total effect was nothing like Ringo Starr or any other living creature. What did she mean by ‘special evening’?

The taxi-driver said: ‘Is that a Beatle wig? I like the Beatles.’

‘You look young for a Beatles’ fan.’

‘Hey, my mom and dad met at a Beatles concert. You could say I owe the Beatles everything.’

Fred did not say this.

‘Buddy, I forgot something at the office. Sorry, but I’d better make a phone call, get somebody to bring it out.’

‘Sure. I found this great bar. Why don’t we stop off and have a couple while you phone? Anyway, give the little woman time to work on her dinner. Just take this next exit and I’ll direct you.’

Sturges Fellini steered his Porsche down the exit. ‘I just hope she remembered it was today. We switched some things around on the calendar.’

‘You worry too much.’ General Buddy Lutz said it again as they entered the bar. ‘You worry too much, Sturge. Take life as it comes. Go with the flow.’

Spotting his glittering uniform, a waitress hurried over. ‘Hello again, General! What’ll it be?’

‘The flow the turbulence –’

‘I’ll order the vodka Martinis, you make your phone call.’

Hallicrafter Porch was about to leave the office when his phone rang. Though he was under no obligation to answer it, his natural rat-like curiosity got the better of him. It was Fellini.

‘Hal, can you do me a favour? I need a report called “Lead Time Estimates”. Should be on the secretary’s desk. Could you bring it to my home?’

‘No sweat, Sturge. Give me your address.’

After he’d hung up, he said: ‘Of course he has to live out there with the Senators and bigwigs. So I gotta drive for an extra hour, just because he forgot something.’

Moira, in the next cube, said: ‘What’s the problem, Hal?’

He told her. Moira tried to think of some way of making it better. She liked Hallicrafter Porch. Oh, all right, she didn’t like him, but she tried to understand him. Everyone else misunderstood him. They called him Ratface and pushed him around. Now here was Sturge Fellini doing it.

‘I was going to ask you for a ride home,’ she lied. ‘My car won’t start.’ She pretended to have a bright idea. ‘I know – why don’t I ride along with you? Then you’ll have company, and I’ll have a ride.’

‘Great.’ His smile of rat-like gratitude was pathetic. But he quickly suppressed it. ‘You pay for the gas.’

The Fellinis lived in a new, large, tree-shrouded house with what seemed to Fred an excessive number of architectural talking-points. From the street, he could see a cantilevered deck, balconies, round windows, arched windows, clerestory windows and a round tower. No doubt the flying buttresses
were out of sight on the other side. He adjusted his velvet lapels and assumed his scouse accent before ringing the doorbell. The front door had a fanlight. It was a wide double door, just in case any seventeenth-century ladies wearing wide panniers came to call.

‘Oh, aren’t you cute?’ said Rain.

‘Ta, loov.’

‘But never mind – we’re changing things. I’ve got a new personality for you. Come and see.’

She led him through the living-room (with its high-vaulted ceiling and minstrels’ gallery), through the dining-room (clerestory windows), upstairs to a small tower-room.

‘My daughter Erica’s room.’

‘Your daughter.’ He looked around at the walls, sprayed with violent graffiti and overlaid with posters of Sid Vicious, Fuck O’Rourke, and other wholesome heroes.

‘Don’t worry, Erica seldom comes home these days. We respect each other’s privacy.’

On the bed lay an odd assortment of clothes: a school hat, white stockings, suspender-belt, long wig … Wig?

‘Oh, no. No. Rain, there are limits.’

‘I’ve always liked Boy George,’ she said, grinning.

‘No, no, no.’

‘Come on, be a sport. The English are famous for their good sportsmanship.’

‘Not this time.’

‘Come on, humour me this one last time, OK? Then I’ll never ask again, I promise.’

‘But not the make-up.’

‘Yes, the make-up. What the hell kind of Boy George would you be without the make-up? Do the eyelashes and everything.’

‘Not the suspender-belt. Does Boy George wear one of those?’

‘You mean the garter-belt? Well, Boy George may not wear one, but you will. Do it right, and we’re quits. OK? OK?’

He reached for the wig. ‘Don’t watch, then.’

‘Don’t mind me, I’m going to take a shower. Oops, there’s the door.’

‘Mrs Fellini?’ The rat-faced young man handed Rain a sheaf of papers. ‘I was supposed to bring this over. From the office.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s very kind of you. A very long drive. Heliport, is that your name?’

‘Hallicrafter, ma’am. Or just Hal.’

‘I’m afraid Sturge isn’t here. I’ve got to rush, but why don’t you help yourself to a drink before you go?’ She pointed out the bar.

‘Thanks.’ In a moment, Hal was sipping his favourite drink, a large crême de cacao, and sitting in the deep pillows of the couch. He gave hardly a thought to Moira, sitting out in the cold car. It always paid to make a bimbo wait and get anxious. Make her more co-operative on the way home.

He looked at the high vaulted ceiling, the minstrel gallery. What a place. Be fun to look around. After pouring himself a second creme de cacao, he crept upstairs. The sound of a shower told him where the lady was. Nice thing about these thick carpets: you could move around quietly. What a place, round windows and everything. You could work it out – Fellini was doing all right for himself.

Moving on the soft pile down a narrow corridor, Hal found one door slightly ajar. He peered in at a chilling sight.

A man was sitting at a dressing-table putting on lipstick. He already wore false eyelashes and white stockings.

The shower stopped. In quick rat panic, Hal fled back along the hall. But as he reached the head of the stairs there was the noise of the double front door closing. Hal opened a door at random – a hall cupboard – and slid in.

‘Next week I’m flying down to Houston to look at manufacturing facilities,’ Fellini explained. ‘Here, just sit down and I’ll make us a pitcher of vodka Martinis.’

‘Got to make a pit-stop,’ said the General. He threw his
hat on the coffee table and headed for the stairs. What he really wanted was to catch Rain alone upstairs, maybe half-dressed. A couple of drinks always made him think of Rain.

‘Of course a lot depends on our press campaign. You know, a newspaper is a knowledgeable nightmare, whose function is to keep us asleep.’

‘Uh-huh,’ called the General from the stairs.

‘But what we have to do is open the floodgates of unbalanced orthodoxy –’

‘Uh-huh.’ Now Buddy, who was in the upper hall, could hardly hear him droning on. A door opened and Rain came out, wrapped in a towel.

‘Oh! It’s you. You startled me.’

‘God, baby, I’ve been thinking about you night and day.’

‘Is that the radio on downstairs? That droning?’

‘Might as well be. Come here.’

‘No. Stop it. I don’t want you to get the idea you can just wander in any old time like this, just because I gave you a key. Suppose Sturge came home and found us like this?’

‘I guarantee Sturge will not come home.’

‘All the same …’ She allowed herself to be pulled into his strong embrace. The towel sagged, then dropped away.

‘Hee, hee. Those medals scratch.’

‘They’re supposed to.’

‘Is that a gun in your pocket,’ she said, quoting Mae West, ‘or are you just glad to see me?’

‘Both. Jeez, Rain, this is –’

A pale apparition appeared at the end of the hall. ‘Rain, I’m ready – Oh.’ Before Buddy could focus on it the apparition vanished. In the dim twilight from the clerestory window, he could not even make out which door it had slipped through.

‘What the hell was that? Was that your daughter? In a garter-belt?’

‘Um –’

At that moment, Sturge’s voice rang out from downstairs. ‘Are you listening, General?’

Rain became visibly pale beneath her excellent tan. ‘I didn’t know he was home,’ she whispered. ‘He’s not supposed –’

Buddy called out: ‘Uh-huh. Be right with you, Sturge.’ He gave Rain another squeeze. ‘Don’t worry. Once he gets talking, he don’t really notice much, does he? I mean, it’s almost like we’re alone.’

She pulled away. ‘Meet you in a few minutes. I’ve got to get dressed.’

The pitcher of Martinis was nearing the halfway mark when the General came back downstairs. Without pausing in his monologue, Fellini filled a glass and handed it to him.

‘I’m gonna get drunk if we don’t have dinner pretty soon,’ he said. ‘But, anyway, I was just saying this is the shattering of old values like the uncivilized needlework of detransformation, or a limestone bibliography of new metalife!’