Wetware (26 page)

Freddy and the others went first, and Jack followed.

“Oh, Jack,” Kay said. “Please listen . . . ”

“Later,” he said. “I’ve got business.”

He turned and went back into the shadows under the bleachers. The dark clothes of the men were absorbed there, and their awkward locomotion as they walked on skates only added to the clutter of the space under the stands, where the cross supports made of black wood could barely be seen in the shadows. The men receded into this black, angular conglomeration, awkwardly to be sure, like men in black who walked on frozen feet. The music got louder. Kay went around to the front, so she could see under the seats, but the space there was impenetrable, nothing more than darkness on darkness. She heard a scuffle, and one short cry, and some other sounds, clunky, heavy ones, like sacks of wheat being dropped from a loading platform onto the ground. She sat down. How did she ever get to be so tired, and yet so alert to her own state of mind?

The woman in the white dress passed by, her legs pink in the tights, her hips moving under the short skirt, her eyes flashing in the lights over the ice. Kay wanted to be like that: just skating along, flirting with someone, without a care. The woman came around, close to the rail, her eyes searching Jack out. Then she stopped, skates scraping, coming up to Kay in a shower of ice.

“Where’s Jack?” said the woman, her curls bouncing.

“Jack?” said Kay. “Oh, he’ll be back in a minute. Can I see that?”

She reached out for the velvet strap and the bell.

“This?” said the woman. She reached up to her neck and undid it. “It’s just some old thing I found in an antique shop.”

“Really?” said Kay.

The woman dropped it into her hand. Kay closed her fingers around it.

“Do you like it?” said the woman. Her voice was just what Kay had imagined it to be, one that went along with the wave and the red lips, the blue skies and white clouds. Kay couldn’t believe her luck. The girl was going to give it to her.

“Yes,” said Kay.

“Keep it,” said the girl, with an air of frank generosity. Then she looked around. “I’ll catch up with him later.”

“Okay,” said Kay. “Good. I’ll tell him.”

The young woman skated into the sound of that old music. Kay watched her glide away, skates flashing, hips driving, and as the young woman went, Kay turned back to the darkness under the bleachers. It held a fascination for her, like some forbidden pleasure that she always tried to pretend held no attraction for her, but was actually something she lived for. Then she felt the cool air of the ice. It occurred to her that she didn’t have the pistol, and how was she going to take care of this if she didn’t have that? She guessed that she could borrow Jack’s, since he wouldn’t suspect anything. He didn’t know that she had a cue, too, did he? Kay started shaking. She put her hand to her hair, tried to think clearly, but instead what came to mind was the most profound irritation, as though she couldn’t restrain herself for a moment more and all she wanted to do was to slap Jack, but she knew it wasn’t just a slap she was thinking about.

Beyond her, in the black clutter of the bleachers, she saw some movement, slashes of dark on dark that seemed to be someone not only falling down, but to one side too, as though being thrown.

“Jack,” said Kay. She raised her voice. “Jack. Please . . . Ah, Jack, don’t do this . . . ”

The music seemed to get louder. Kay walked to the end of the bleachers where she could get inside, or underneath, and from the end she saw the regular supports, which from there looked like the latticework of an oil derrick. Up ahead she still saw that movement, downward and to the side, and as much as she hurried, it was difficult, since the beams and dark wood were close together and anchored to the floor by four-by-fours that had been fastened to the concrete. She guessed that men in the bleachers who had been here for hockey games had urinated into the dark space below, since here it had the smell of an overflowing toilet, and as she went through it, the stink seemed to make it harder to work her way around the gussets and beams. When she turned toward the rink she saw the ice between the seats, the surface of it impossibly white, and for an instant she was transfixed by the diamondlike spray of chips from the blade of a skate, and the sleek movement of women in pink and white tights. Then she came up to Jack.

He stood so still that she recognized him by the whites of his eyes, which were filled with the luminescence of the ice. On the ground she saw the dead men, all of them lined up, side by side, like some display of desperadoes who had been killed and laid out for people to see. He glanced down to the men on the ground, and as he did, Kay shook her head, as though she had come to a point of such bleak comprehension as to give her the sensation, at once horrifying and claustrophobic, that the darkness here was simply absorbing her. It seemed to her that no one would ever be able to comfort her. The skin of the men seemed white, although there were some stains, like black silk, that ran out from their noses, hair, ears, mouths. Jack looked from them to her and said, “We better get out of here.”

“Yeah,” said Kay. “We should go. Someplace private.”

He nodded.

“I can tell you one thing,” he said. “They aren’t going to give anyone any trouble.”

“I guess not,” said Kay.

“They were asking for it,” said Jack. “That’s all there is to it.”

The two of them came out from under the bleachers, and as they emerged into the light, Kay had the sensation that she couldn’t quite shake the darkness there. They sat down in front of the rental counter and took off their skates. The music was “Buffalo girls won’t you come out tonight, and dance by the light of the moon . . .” Kay took her feet out of the skates and put on her shoes. She looked over at him.

“Hurry,” said Jack.

Then he picked up her skates and his, and put them on the counter. They turned and went through the entrance, out to the front, emerging from under the marquee into the light of the street, which was bright and left them blinking. On the sidewalk was a trash can, and into it Kay dropped the velvet ribbon and the bell; they fell into the darkness without a sound.

She knew what she was supposed to do, but as she stood there, she felt the deepest sense of dissonance, of wanting two things at the same time. She had responsibilities here, in this moment. She should get rid of him and she knew it. But she thought of those times when they had spent time together or used the language for the first time as though they were naming things; she thought of his dependability, his quiet trust, as he slept next to her each night. Could she just dismiss this as though it didn’t matter at all?

“Let me have it,” she said.

“What?” he said.

She reached over and touched his pocket.

“Oh,” he said. “That.”

He looked around. There was no one else on the street. Then Kay closed her eyes.

“Here,” he said. He took it out and offered it, the thing looking enormous on the street.

She shook her head.

“Don’t you want it?”

“No. You keep it,” she said.

“Hey, don’t look so worried,” he said. “You’d be surprised what people get away with.”

“Would I?” she said.

“Sure,” said Jack. “Who’s going to say boo?”

CHAPTER 4

April 21, 2029

WENDELL BLAINE’S chauffeur, Jimmy, woke up and looked at the cracked ceiling. Sometimes, when he was feeling bad, the cracks looked like a map of the Amazon, and through his feelings of discomfort, he would imagine black canoes paddled by men with bones in their noses, or with bright feathers on their arms, the whites of their eyes bloodshot with the effect of a drug they took when it was time for war. That was how the ceiling appeared this morning. The cracks forked off and curved around, going upstream into a realm that was all green and brown shadows, animated by creatures that the vegetation concealed perfectly. Then he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. What did he know about stock, or economics?

There was a pool of warmth next to him where his wife had been, and now he put his hand into it. He opened his fingers to feel it a little better. Outside, in the kitchen, he heard the lonely sounds as his wife put a cheap spoon, which rang like a tin bell, on the table along with a cup of coffee and a piece of toast that had been made out of stale bread. His wife didn’t know anything about stocks and bonds, either, and her one economic strategy was an ironclad thrift, which became more intense with each passing year.

In the bedroom he put on his blue suit and noticed that the seat and the elbows were a little shiny, although his cap was new, and the bill of the visor was shiny. He tied his blue tie, shoved up the knot until it was tight around his neck. His collar was a little looser than usual. He was losing weight.

He got the car out and drove to Blaine’s apartment building. Usually, Blaine would be right behind the door of the lobby, and as soon as Jimmy pulled up, he’d come out, under the awning, and then Jimmy would come around and open the door, saying, “Good morning, Mr. Blaine.”

Blaine didn’t always answer this greeting, but Jimmy could distinguish the varieties of silence. Sometimes it was amused, other times it was preoccupied, as though he couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes Jimmy would say it was the reticence of a hangover. Now, though, he pulled up in the car and waited. Blaine was late.

It was raining, and Jimmy watched the windshield wipers swinging back and forth, obliterating the small, crown-shaped splashes where the drops hit. The wipers made a little sound, a
flip, flip, flip,
that he had always found reassuring, but this morning all he heard was the sound, nothing more. It wasn’t reassuring so much as hypnotically gloomy. Before Jimmy had a chance to get out and open the door, Blaine had stepped away from the awning, in the rain, and had jerked on the handle and gotten into the backseat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blaine,” said Jimmy. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Just sitting here.”

“It’s all right,” said Blaine.

“Did you get wet?” said Jimmy.

“No,” said Blaine.

Jimmy pulled away from the curb. Through the gray rain, the lights of the other cars looked bright and serious. In the rearview mirror Jimmy saw that Blaine hadn’t shaved very well, and his shirt didn’t look clean. At a signal, a boy came along with a morning paper, under plastic, the headline right there for everyone to see. The plastic was covered with drops that looked like wax from a candle that was as clear as water. They both looked at the headline: PANIC SPREADS.

“Push on through,” said Blaine.

“The light’s against us,” said Jimmy.

“Push on,” said Blaine.

“The light,” said Jimmy. He pointed upward, through the hypnotic movement of the windshield wiper.

“Oh?” said Blaine. “Well. All right.”

“Some traffic this morning,” said Jimmy.

“What? Oh yes,” said Blaine. “Terrible.”

Jimmy gripped the wheel and looked in the rearview mirror. The rain fell with that quick and irritating tempo. He thought about his hand in the warm spot that his wife had left in the bed; he had put his hand in the warmth for many years. He had always been able to depend on it, like sunlight, or her kiss on his cheek. This kiss had never been perfunctory, and as the years had gone by, he realized that she had always meant it. Warm, slightly damp, constant. He thought about the heat under the sheets, like a hen’s warmth around an egg. Blaine was watching him through the mirror.

“My wife says I should talk to you,” said Jimmy.

“Your wife?” said Blaine. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“Twenty-five years,” said Jimmy.

“Twenty-five years,” said Blaine. He nodded. It was as though he was weighing regret parceled out in years. Or decades. It all added up.

“Yes,” said Jimmy. “She says the papers say you aren’t doing anything, and it’s going to cause trouble.”

“And did she say anything else?” said Blaine.

“Just that,” he said.

“And what about you?” said Blaine. “What do you think?”

“Me? I don’t know. My wife is pretty upset. That’s all.”

Blaine looked out the window. The rain came along in lines, like pieces of silver wire, all lined up in the same direction.

“I know I should do something, but I don’t know what.”

“You’ve lost your nerve?” said Jimmy.

“You could call it that. That’s as good a way of putting it as another,” said Blaine.

“Oh,” said Jimmy. “Well.”

The black windshield wipers thumped back and forth, looking as though they were made of licorice. The water on the windows ran down in rivulets that had a little texture to them and in which the colors of the street, the reds and yellows, seemed to run, too. Blaine looked through them.

“Twenty-five years,” said Blaine. “That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

“It goes by pretty fast,” said Jimmy.

They worked their way through traffic, going over the film of light on the moist pavement. The rain had pushed some gulls in from the ocean, and their wings tottered from side to side as they landed on the sidewalk and started pecking at crumbs of something there. White birds with orange beaks. Jimmy looked at their feet as they landed: splayed out, like tines on a garden tool.

Blaine sat back, not looking one way or another.

“Right in front?” said Jimmy.

“Yes,” said Blaine. “Right in front. Just as always.”

CHAPTER 5

April 22, 2029

“HI, REMEMBER me?” said Jack as she came out of the skating rink. Her cheeks were bright with the exercise, and she had her workout clothes in a bag, her skates tied together with their laces and slung over her shoulder. She emerged from the lobby into the lines of rain. It was right there, when she hesitated, that Jack came up to her.

“Yes,” she said. “How could I forget someone who skates like you, Jack? Hi.”

She looked one way and then another. Good, no one to meet her.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” said Jack.

“And what have you been thinking?” she said. She smiled now, and looked around again to make sure.

“Oh, this and that,” said Jack. “What’s your name?”

“Gloria,” she said. “Will you just look at this rain? How am I going to get home in it?”

Then she glanced back at Jack.

“Where’s your friend?” she said.

“Friend?” said Jack.

“You know, the woman. The one you were with at the skating rink?” she said.

“Kay?” said Jack. “Well, she had something to do.”

Gloria kept looking up at him, her eyes moving back and forth across his face, from one of his eyes to the other.

“You know all I do is practice,” she said.

“I know,” said Jack. “No one ever lets you do anything.”

“Yeah. That’s the way it is,” she said.

“But you can work a little fun in. You know what I mean?” said Jack.

She looked around, then reached under her coat to scratch.

“I’ve never just gone off this way, with a stranger,” said Gloria.

“Who are you kidding?” said Jack. “Anyway, I’m not a stranger. We went skating together just the other day.”

“My mother would kill me,” she said. “If she knew.”

“You’ll be a little late,” said Jack. “So what?”

The rain fell around them all, the puddles looking like insects were hatching from them. From the street came the sounds of horns and engines, and a man rolled down his window and yelled at the car ahead of him, “Why don’t you hire a hall, you idiot.”

“Maybe they’ll get out and have a fight,” she said.

“Maybe,” said Jack. He took a look at the man who had yelled. Then he said, “But I don’t think so.”

“What makes you such an expert?” she said.

“You can tell,” he said. Jack went on looking at the driver, and when he turned back to Gloria, his lips brushed her hair, her ear under it. She looked up, her eyes on his. She blushed and then reached out and took his arm. “You don’t think badly of me for going off like this, do you?”

“Me?” said Jack.

“Well, I’d just like to know,” she said.

“I like a girl with spunk,” said Jack. “Why, everyone around here is like some kind of gloomy bird . . . ”

“It’s a goony bird,” she said. She laughed. “You don’t even know that it’s a goony bird . . . ” She stepped away from him and put out her arms, and waddled like a penguin. “See, that’s a goony bird.”

She took his arm and he felt the slight bounce and tug of her as she laughed against his side.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “So long as it isn’t gloomy. I get so sick of hanging around and never living or anything.”

“I know,” she said. “What do they think we’re made out of, anyway?”

He stopped and leaned down and kissed her, the heat of their mouths touching in the slippery instant. She leaned forward, and when he turned back, up the street, she said, “You shouldn’t do that out here, where everyone can see.”

“Let them look,” said Jack.

She giggled, but then said, “Let’s be a little more private next time.”

They stepped into a retro pinball parlor, and in the damp heat of the place the machines made that bing, bang, bing. Jack started to play, making the flippers work, and then he got her to play, putting his hand over hers, guiding her fingers and pushing them at the right moment. She put her lips against his ear and said, “You’ve got good reflexes.”

“Well, I guess,” he said. He paused for a moment. Then he went back to the game. She moved impatiently from one hip to another.

“Jack,” she said.

“What?” he said.

“Where are we going to go from here?” she said.

“A hotel,” he said.

“I’ve never been to a hotel,” she said.

She looked at him in the heat of the room.

“Boy, am I going to get in trouble.”

She giggled.

“I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t such a good skater.”

They went out into the street, into the rain, and as they hurried along, her skates thumped against her shoulder like the beating of an anxious heart. When she looked up, she had to turn her face into the rain, and her wet hair, which was plastered to the sides of her face, made her skin seem pale.

They came to the steps of the hotel. The street was more deserted here, nothing but gray light and reflections off the windows. The lobby had a marble floor and a couple of sofas, which were empty. The elevator was in the back, and they walked toward it, Gloria taking his arm and putting her damp face against his shoulder.

They got into the elevator.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she said. “I’m shaking in my knees.”

“Me too,” he said.

He put his arm around her.

“Oh darling,” he said. “I wanted you to come up here with me the minute I saw you, you know that?”

“Did you?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“And you don’t think badly of me for coming with you?” she said.

“No,” he said.

They stepped out into the hall and up to the door, which Jack opened. Inside she put down her skates and took off her shoes and her coat. Then she looked around the room. A double bed, a mirror at the dressing table, some of Kay’s things hung up on the door. Gloria went over to them and ran her finger over them.

“If my friends could see me now,” she said.

He stood next to her, in the slight odor of her skin from skating. She said, “Well, I guess we better sit down, don’t you think?”

THEY LAY under the sheet with their legs drawn up, so that their knees made four white peaks. She kept the cloth around her waist, beneath her belly button, and a slight golden curl showed around the edge of the sheet. Her arm was behind her head. Outside, in the street, occasionally they heard the sound of a horn.

“I like it when you . . . ” she said. “When you put your tongue . . . ” She turned toward him.

“I thought so,” he said. “I like it too. That was my first time.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You say that to all the girls.”

“No,” he said.

“Well, you might get some of them to believe it, but not me.”

“Okay,” he said.

“How can you say such a thing?” she said.

He shrugged.

“You’ve got to realize that I don’t lie,” he said.

“Oh, sure,” she said. She rustled around in the sheets. “When are we going to see each other again?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What does that mean?” she said. “You aren’t going to disappear on me?”

“No,” he said. “I’ll try not to do that. I’ll come by the place where you skate.”

“When?” she said.

“Soon,” he said.

She turned toward him.

“Can I depend on that?”

“Yes,” he said.

She turned on her side and put one arm under her chin so she could see him. Then she glanced around the room. It was cluttered, but it seemed to her to be a place where only transients stayed.

“What are you doing here, Jack?” she said.

“Just visiting,” he said. “You know, looking around, seeing the sights . . . ”

He slid his hand along her thigh under the sheets.

“And how are the sights so far?” she said.

“So pretty,” he said.

She blushed.

“And do you have any friends, Jack?” she said.

“Sure,” said Jack.

“Like who?” she said.

“Well, I’ve got friends. You know, people I could go to for help,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” she said.

“Sure,” said Jack.

“Oh, Jack,” she said. “Just don’t tell me any lies, okay? When can I see you again?”

“In a couple of days,” said Jack.

She looked at him, from one eye to the other, trying to decide if she could trust him, and as she was doing this, Kay came into the room. She stood there with the door open, just looking for a moment, her raincoat open and her hand lingering on the doorknob. Then she came in and closed the door.

“Hi, Jack,” she said.

“Hi,” said Jack, “This is Gloria.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” said Kay.

Kay sat down at the dressing table, although she could see in the mirror that Gloria had gotten up out of bed and slowly and deliberately started getting dressed, bending down and pulling on her underwear, putting on a brassiere, fastening it beneath her breasts and then turning it around so that the clasp was at her back. Gloria went into the bathroom and then they heard the sound of the toilet flushing. Kay sat without moving, eyes down. Gloria came out, although she didn’t say anything until she had gotten her shoes on, and then she picked up her skates and stood by the door.

“Well, I better be going,” she said.

“I’ll come to see you,” said Jack.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you later. ’Bye.” She turned to Kay and said, “ ’Bye.”

Then she went out the door.

Jack didn’t have any clothes on and he came around and sat behind Kay on the edge of the bed. His image was in the mirror in front of her, and she leaned forward, and with a quick, damp exhalation, she made the cool surface of the mirror cloud over. Jack disappeared into it.

“How come everyone except me has someone?” she said.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” she said.

“You aren’t upset, are you?” he said.

“What’s it to you?” she said.

She put her head down on the mirrored surface of the dressing table.

“Oh, Jack,” she said. “What was it like?”

“It was real nice,” he said.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“Like how?” she said.

“Oh,” said Jack. “It’s hard to say. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

She sat there, looking down.

“I’ve got to warn you, though,” said Jack. “It isn’t something you just want to do once. It’s not like you get your curiosity satisfied and that’s it. It’s more like you want to keep at it. And there’s something else.”

“What’s that?” she said.

“It might change you,” he said.

She looked up at the mirror, and into her eyes.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” she said. “I’m tired of being this way.”

“What way is that?” said Jack.

“So alone,” she said.

He reached out and touched her. She was sweating and laboring as she breathed. She put a hand to her head.

“It’s just the flu,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess.”