Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume One, page 163
"Never," Linda said adamantly. "I don't care how much it costs. A piano is a lifetime investment, and it's worth it."
She was frantic with excitement as they drove uptown to the Steinway showroom, and helpful and underfoot by turns. After a long afternoon of muscle-cracking and critical engineering involving makeshift gantries and an agonizing dolly-haul up Fifth Avenue, they had the piano in place in Linda's living room. Mayo gave it one last shake to make sure it was firmly on its legs and then sank down, exhausted. "Je-zuz!" he groaned. "Hiking south would've been easier."
"Jim!" Linda ran to him and threw herself on him with a fervent hug. "Jim, you're an angel. Are you all right?"
"I'm okay." He grunted. "Get off me, Linda. I can't breathe."
"I just can't thank you enough. I've been dreaming about this for ages. I don't know what I can do to repay you. Anything you want, just name it."
"Aw," he said, "you already cut my hair."
"I'm serious."
"Ain't you teaching me how to drive?"
"Of course. As quickly as possible. That's the least I can do." Linda backed to a chair and sat down, her eyes fixed on the piano.
"Don't make such a fuss over nothing," he said, climbing to his feet. He sat down before the keyboard, shot an embarrassed grin at her over his shoulder, then reached out and began stumbling through the Minuet in G.
Linda gasped and sat bolt upright. "You play," she whispered.
"Naw. I took piano when I was a kid."
"Can you read music?"
"I used to."
"Could you teach me?"
"I guess so; it's kind of hard. Hey, here's another piece I had to take." He began mutilating "The Rustle of Spring." What with the piano out of tune and his mistakes, it was ghastly.
"Beautiful," Linda breathed. "Just beautiful!" She stared at his back while an expression of decision and determination stole across her face. She arose, slowly crossed to Mayo, and put her hands on his shoulders.
He glanced up. "Something?" he asked.
"Nothing," she answered. "You practice the piano. I'll get dinner."
But she was so preoccupied for the rest of the evening that she made Mayo nervous. He stole off to bed early.
· · · · ·
It wasn't until three o'clock the following afternoon that they finally got a car working, and it wasn't a Caddy, but a Chevy—a hardtop because Mayo didn't like the idea of being exposed to the weather in a convertible. They drove out of the Tenth Avenue garage and back to the East Side, where Linda felt more at home. She confessed that the boundaries of her world were from Fifth Avenue to Third, and from 42ndStreet to 86th. She was uncomfortable outside this pale.
She turned the wheel over to Mayo and let him creep up and down Fifth and Madison, practicing starts and stops. He sideswiped five wrecks, stalled eleven times, and reversed through a storefront which, fortunately, was devoid of glass. He was trembling with nervousness.
"It's real hard," he complained.
"It's just a question of practice," she reassured him. "Don't worry. I promise you'll be an expert if it takes us a month."
"A whole month!"
"You said you were a slow learner, didn't you? Don't blame me. Stop here a minute."
He jolted the Chevy to a halt. Linda got out.
"Wait for me."
"What's up?"
"A surprise."
She ran into a shop and was gone for half an hour. When she reappeared she was wearing a pencil-thin black sheath, pearls, and high-heeled opera pumps. She had twisted her hair into a coronet. Mayo regarded her with amazement as she got into the car.
"What's all this?" he asked.
"Part of the surprise. Turn east on Fifty-second Street."
He labored, started the car, and drove east. "Why'd you get all dressed up in an evening gown?"
"It's a cocktail dress."
"What for?"
"So I'll be dressed for where we're going. Watch out, Jim!" Linda wrenched the wheel and sheared off the stern of a shattered sanitation truck. "I'm taking you to a famous restaurant."
"To eat?"
"No, silly, for drinks. You're my visiting fireman, and I have to entertain you. That's it on the left. See if you can park somewhere."
He parked abominably. As they got out of the car, Mayo stopped and began to sniff curiously.
"Smell that?" he asked.
"Smell what?"
"That sort of sweet smell."
"It's my perfume."
"No, it's something in the air, kind of sweet and choky. I know that smell from somewhere, but I can't remember."
"Never mind. Come inside." She led him into the restaurant. "You ought to be wearing a tie," she whispered, "but maybe we can get away with it."
Mayo was not impressed by the restaurant decor, but was fascinated by the portraits of celebrities hung in the bar. He spent rapt minutes burning his fingers with matches, gazing at Mel Allen, Red Barber, Casey Stengel, Frank Gifford, and Rocky Marciano. When Linda finally came back from the kitchen with a lighted candle, he turned to her eagerly.
"You ever see any of them TV stars in here?" he asked.
"I suppose so. How about a drink?"
"Sure. Sure. But I want to talk more about them TV stars."
He escorted her to a bar stool, blew the dust off, and helped her up most gallantly. Then he vaulted over the bar, whipped out his handkerchief, and polished the mahogany professionally. "This is my specialty," he grinned. He assumed the impersonally friendly attitude of the bartender. "Evening, ma'am. Nice night. What's your pleasure?"
"God, I had a rough day in the shop! Dry martini on the rocks. Better make it a double."
"Certainly, ma'am. Twist or olive?"
"Onion."
"Double-dry Gibson on the rocks. Right." Mayo searched behind the bar and finally produced whiskey, gin, and several bottles of soda, as yet only partially evaporated through their sealed caps. "Afraid we're fresh out of martinis, ma'am. What's you second pleasure?"
"Oh, I like that. Scotch, please."
"This soda'll be flat," he warned, "and there's no ice."
"Never mind."
He rinsed a glass with soda and poured her a drink.
"Thank you. Have one on me, bartender. What's your name?"
"They call me Jim, ma'am. No thanks. Never drink on duty."
"Then come off duty and join me."
"Never drink off duty, ma'am."
"You can call me Linda."
"Thank you, Miss Linda."
"Are you serious about never drinking, Jim?"
"Yeah."
"Well, happy days."
"And long nights."
"I like that, too. Is it your own?"
"Gee, I don't know. It's sort of the usual bartender's routine, a specially with guys. You know? Suggestive. No offense."
"None taken."
"Bees!" Mayo burst out.
Linda was startled. "Bees what?"
"That smell. Like inside beehives."
"Oh? I wouldn't know," she said indifferently. "I'll have another, please."
"Coming right up. Now listen, about them TV celebrities, you actually saw them here? In person?"
"Why, of course. Happy days, Jim."
"May they all be Saturdays."
Linda pondered. "Why Saturdays?"
"Day off."
"Oh."
"Which TV stars did you see?"
"You name 'em, I saw 'em." She laughed. "You remind me of the kid next door. I always had to tell him the celebrities I'd seen. One day I told him I saw Jean Arthur in here, and he said, 'With his horse?' "
Mayo couldn't see the point, but was wounded nevertheless. Just as Linda was about to soothe his feelings, the bar began a gentle quivering, and at the same time a faint subterranean rumbling commenced. It came from a distance, seemed to approach slowly, and then faded away. The vibration stopped. Mayo stared at Linda.
"Je-zuz! You think maybe this building's going to go?"
She shook her head. "No. When they go, it's always with that boom. You know what that sounded like? The Lexington Avenue subway."
"The subway?"
"Uh-huh. The local train."
"That's crazy. How could the subway be running?"
"I didn't say it was. I said it sounded like. I'll have another, please."
"We need more soda." Mayo explored and reappeared with bottles and a large menu. He was pale. "You better take it easy, Linda," he said. "You know what they're charging per drink? A dollar seventy-five. Look."
"To hell with the expense. Let's live a little. Make it a double, bartender. You know something, Jim? If you stayed in town, I could show you where all your heroes lived. Thank you. Happy days. I could take you up to BBDO and show you their tapes and films. How about that? Stars like … like Red … Who?"
"Barber."
"Red Barber, and Rocky Gifford, and Rocky Casey, and Rocky the Flying Squirrel."
"You're putting me on," Mayo said, offended again.
"Me, sir? Putting you on?" Linda said with dignity. "Why would I do a thing like that? Just trying to be pleasant. Just trying to give you a good time. My mother told me, 'Linda,' she told me, 'just remember this, about a man. Wear what he wants and say what he likes,' is what she told me. You want this dress?" she demanded.
"I like it, if that's what you mean."
"Know what I paid for it? Ninety-nine fifty."
"What? A hundred dollars for a skinny black thing like that?"
"It is not a skinny black thing like that. It is a basic black cocktail frock. And I paid twenty dollars for the pearls. Simulated," she explained. "And sixty for the opera pumps. And forty for the perfume. Two hundred and twenty dollars to give you a good time. You having a good time?"
"Sure."
"Want to smell me?"
"I already have."
"Bartender, give me another."
"Afraid I can't serve you, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"You've had enough already."
"I have not had enough already," Linda said indignantly. "Where's your manners?" She grabbed the whiskey bottle. "Come on, let's have a few drinks and talk up a storm about TV stars. Happy days. I could take you up to BBDO and show you their tapes and films. How about that?"
"You just asked me."
"You didn't answer. I could show you movies, too. You like movies? I hate 'em, but I can't knock 'em anymore. Movies saved my life when the big bang came."
"How was that?"
"This is a secret, understand? Just between you and me. If any other agency ever found out …" Linda looked around and then lowered her voice. "BBDO located this big cache of silent films. Lost films, see? Nobody knew the prints were around. Make a great TV series. So they sent me to this abandoned mine in Jersey to take inventory."
"In a mine?"
"That's right. Happy days."
"Why were they in a mine?"
"Old prints. Nitrate. Catch fire. Also rot. Have to be stored like wine. That's why. So took two of my assistants with me to spend weekend down there, checking."
"You stayed in the mine a whole weekend?"
"Uh-huh. Three girls. Friday to Monday. That was the plan. Thought it would be a fun deal. Happy days. So … where was I? Oh. So, took lights, blankets, linen, plenty of picnic, the whole schmeer, and went to work. I remember exact moment when blast came. Was looking for third reel of a UFA film, Gekronter Blumenorden an der Pegnitz. Had reel one, two, four, five, six. No three. Bang! Happy days."
"Jesus. Then what?"
"My girls panicked. Couldn't keep 'em down there. Never saw them again. But I knew. I knew. Stretched that picnic forever. Then starved even longer. Finally came up, and for what? For who? Whom?" She began to weep. "For nobody. Nobody left. Nothing." She took Mayo's hands. "Why won't you stay?"
"Stay? Where?"
"Here."
"I am staying."
"I mean for a long time. Why not? Haven't I got lovely home? And there's all New York for supplies. And farm for flowers and vegetables. We could keep cows and chickens. Go fishing. Drive cars. Go to museums. Art galleries. Entertain …"
"You're doing all that right now. You don't need me."
"But I do. I do."
"For what?"
"For piano lessons."
After a long pause he said, "You're drunk."
"Not wounded, sire, but dead."
She laid her head on the bar, beamed up at him roguishly, and then closed her eyes. An instant later, Mayo knew she had passed out. He compressed his lips. Then he climbed out of the bar, computed the tab, and left fifteen dollars under the whiskey bottle.
He took Linda's shoulder and shook her gently. She collapsed into his arms, and her hair came tumbling down. He blew out the candle, picked Linda up, and carried her to the Chevy. Then, with anguished concentration, he drove through the dark to the boat pond. It took him forty minutes.
He carried Linda into her bedroom and sat her down on the bed, which was decorated with an elaborate arrangement of dolls. Immediately she rolled over and curled up with a doll in her arms, crooning to it. Mayo lit a lamp and tried to prop her upright. She went over again, giggling.
"Linda," he said, "you got to get that dress off."
"Mf."
"You can't sleep in it. It cost a hundred dollars."
"Nine'nine-fif'y."
"Now come on, honey."
"Fm."
He rolled his eyes in exasperation and then undressed her, carefully hanging up the basic black cocktail frock, and standing the sixty-dollar pumps in a corner. He could not manage the clasp of the pearls (simulated), so he put her to bed still wearing them. Lying on the pale blue sheets, nude except for the necklace, she looked like a Nordic odalisque.
"Did you muss my dolls?" she mumbled.
"No. They're all around you."
"Tha's right. Never sleep without 'em." She reached out and petted them lovingly. "Happy days. Long nights."
"Women!" Mayo snorted. He extinguished the lamp and tramped out, slamming the door behind him.
· · · · ·
Next morning Mayo was again awakened by the clatter of dispossessed ducks. The red balloon was sailing on the surface of the pond, bright in the warm June sunshine. Mayo wished it was a model boat instead of the kind of girl who got drunk in bars. He stalked out and jumped into the water as far from Linda as possible. He was sluicing his chest when something seized his ankle and nipped him. He let out a yell and was confronted by Linda's beaming face bursting out of the water before him.
"Good morning," she laughed.
"Very funny," he muttered.
"You look mad this morning."
He grunted.
"And I don't blame you. I did an awful thing last night. I didn't give you any dinner, and I want to apologize."
"I wasn't thinking about dinner," he said with baleful dignity.
"No? Then what on earth are you mad about?"
"I can't stand women who get drunk."
"Who was drunk?"
"You."
"I was not," she said indignantly.
"No? Who had to be undressed and put to bed like a kid?"
"Who was too dumb to take off my pearls?" she countered. "They broke and I slept on pebbles all night. I'm covered with black and blue marks. Look. Here and here and—"
"Linda," he interrupted sternly, "I'm just a plain guy from New Haven. I got no use for spoiled girls who run up charge accounts and all the time decorate theirselves and hang around society-type saloons getting loaded."
"If you don't like my company, why do you stay?"
"I'm going," he said. He climbed out and began drying himself. "I'm starting south this morning."
"Enjoy your hike."
"I'm driving."
"What? A kiddie-car?"
"The Chevy."
"Jim, you're not serious?" She climbed out of the pond, looking alarmed. "You really don't know how to drive yet."
"No? Didn't I drive you home falling-down drunk last night?"
"You'll get into awful trouble."
"Nothing I can't get out of. Anyway, I can't hang around here forever. You're a party girl; you just want to play. I got serious things on my mind. I got to go south and find guys who know about TV."
"Jim, you've got me wrong. I'm not like that at all. Why, look at the way I fixed up my house. Could I have done that if I'd been going to parties all the time?"
"You done a nice job," he admitted.
"Please don't leave today. You're not ready yet."
"Aw, you just want me to hang around and teach you music."
"Who said that?"
"You did. Last night."
She frowned, pulled off her cap, then picked up her towel and began drying herself. At last she said, "Jim, I'll be honest with you. Sure, I want you to stay a while. I won't deny it. But I wouldn't want you around permanently. After all, what have we got in common?"
"You're so damn uptown," he growled.
"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's simply that you're a guy and I'm a girl, and we've got nothing to offer each other. We're different. We've got different tastes and interests. Fact?"
"Absolutely."
"But you're not ready to leave yet. So I tell you what; we'll spend the whole morning practicing driving, and then we'll have some fun. What would you like to do? Go window-shopping? Buy more clothes? Visit the Modern Museum? Have a picnic?"
His face brightened. "Gee, you know something? I was never to a picnic in my whole life. Once I was bartender at a clambake, but that's not the same thing; not like when you're a kid."
She was delighted. "Then we'll have a real kid-type picnic."
And she brought her dolls. She carried them in her arms while Mayo toted the picnic basket to the Alice in Wonderland monument. The statue perplexed Mayo, who had never heard of Lewis Carroll. While Linda seated her pets and unpacked the picnic, she gave Mayo a summary of the story and described how the bronze heads of Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare had been polished bright by the swarms of kids playing King of the Mountain.
"Funny, I never heard of that story," he said.
"I don't think you had much of a childhood, Jim."
"Why would you say a—" He stopped, cocked his head, and listened intently.
"What's the matter?" Linda asked.
