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He was the puffy-faced hustler throwing a good-buddy arm over vaguely familiar, vaguely repulsive Vegas show-biz types.... Here he was toadying up to some snake-eyed goof- ball in a long white dress-with a start, Laura realized it was the Pope.
David loaded a tape. He sat on the couch-an overstuffed monster in purple velour-and fired up the TV with a clunky remote. Laura joined him. "Find something?"
"Home movies, I think. He's got lots-I picked out the most recent."
A party at the mansion. Big ugly cake in the dining room, smorgasbord groaning with food. "I shouldn't have eaten so much," Laura said.
"Look at that jerk in the party hat," David said. "That's a mad doctor, for sure. Can you see that, Atlanta?"
Faint squeaking came from Laura's earpiece; she was wear- ing it loose, and it dangled. She felt a little fu
"Well... " David froze the tape and got up. He punched an intercom button by the door. "Hello. Urn, Jimmy? Yeah, I want you to bring us that plug-in clock by the bedside. Right away. Thanks." He returned to the couch.
"You shouldn't do that," Laura said.
"You mean order them around like they were servants?
Yeah, I know. Very non-R. I got some ideas though-I want to talk to Perso
["You might as well point one set at the TV,"] the clock told him loudly. ["Watching that door's pretty boring."]
Laura didn't recognize the guy's voice; some Rizomian on the night shift, she'd given up caring at this point.
The tape spooled on; David had muted the sound. "Lotta
Anglos at this gig," David commented. "I miss the Rastas."
Laura sipped her brandy. It wrapped her mouth in molten gold. "Yeah," she said, inhaling over the glass. "There's a lot of different factions on this island, and I don't think they get along too well. There's the Movement revolutionaries
... and the Voodoo mystics... and the high-techies... and the low-techies ... "
"And the street poor, just looking for food and a roof ..."
Knock knock knock; the brandy had arrived. David brought it to the couch. "You realize this could be poisoning us."
He refilled their snifters.
"Yeah, but I felt worse when I left Loretta behind with
Carlotta, she's been so good since then, I was afraid Carlotta'd slipped her some kind of happy-pill...." She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her.. "David, these people know what they're doing. If they want to poison us they could do it with some speck of something we would never even see."
"Yeah, I kept telling myself that, while I ate the ratatouille. "
Some rich drunk had collared the cameraman and was shout- ing gleefully into the lens. "Look at this clown! I forgot to mention the local faction of pure criminal sleazebags.... Takes all kinds to make a data haven, I guess."
"It doesn't add up," Laura said, sinking easily into brandy- fueled meditation. "It's like beachcombing after a storm, all kinds of Net flotsam thrown up on the golden Grenadian shore.... So if you push on these people, maybe they go neatly to pieces, if you hit the right flaw. But too much pressure, and it all welds together and you got a monster on your hands. I was thinking today-the old Nazis, they used to believe in the Hollow Earth and all kinds of mystical crap.... But their trains ran on time and their state cops were efficient as hell David took her hand, looking at her curiously. "You're really into this, aren't you?"
"It's important, David. The most important thing we've ever done. You bet I'm involved. All the way."
He nodded. "I noticed you seemed a little tense when I grabbed your ass in the elevator. "
She laughed, briefly. "I was nervous... it's good to relax here, just us." Some moron in a bow tie was singing on a makeshift stage, some slick-haired creep pausing to make wisecracks and snappy in-joke banter... . Camera kept mov- ing to men in the audience, Big Operators laughing at them- selves with the bogus joviality of Big Operators laughing at themselves... .
David put his arm around her. She leaned her head onto his shoulder. He wasn't taking this as seriously as she did, she thought. Maybe because he hadn't been standing there with
Winston Stubbs...
She cut off that ugly thought and had more brandy. "You should have picked an earlier tape," she told him. "Maybe we could get a look at the place before old Gelli brought his decorators in."
"Yeah, I haven't seen our pal Gelli in any of this. Must be his nephew's party, or something.... Whoa!"
The tape had switched scenes. It was later now, outside, by the pool. A late-night swim party, lots of torches, towels
... and opulent young women in bikini bottoms. "Holy cow,"
David said in his comedian's voice. "Naked broads! Man, this guy really knows how to live!"
A crowd of young .women, next to nude. Sipping drinks, combing wet hair with long, sensuous strokes and their el- bows out. Lying full length, drowsy or stoned, as if expecting a tan by torchlight. A full-color assortment of them, too.
"Good to see some black people have finally shown up,"
Laura said sourly.
"Those girls must have crashed the gig," David said. "No room in that gear for invites."
"Are they hookers?"
"Gotta be. "
Laura paused. "I hope this isn't going to turn into an orgy or anything."
"No," David said callously, "look at the way the camera follows their tits. He wouldn't be getting this excited if there was anything hot and heavy coming up." He set his empty glass down. "Hey, you can see part of the old back garden in that shot-" He froze the image.
["Hey,"] the clock protested.
"Sorry," David said. The tape kept rolling. Men enjoyed seeing women this way-rolling hips, jiggle, that soft acreage of tinted female skin. Laura thought about it, the brandy hitting her. It didn't do much for her. But despite David's pretended nonchalance she could feel him reacting a little.
And in some odd, vicarious way that itself was a little exciting.
For once there was no one looking at them, she thought wickedly. Maybe if they curled up on the couch and were very, very, quiet...
A slim brown girl with ankle bracelets mounted the diving board. She sauntered to the end, bent gracefully, and went into a hand-stand. She held it for five long seconds, then plunged head-fist Jesus Christ!" David said. He froze it in mid-splash.
Laura blinked. "What's so special about-"
"Not her, babe. Look." He ran it backward; the girl flew up feet-first, then grabbed the board. She bent at the waist, strolled backward... She froze again. "There," David said.
"There to the far right, by the water. It's Gelli. Lying in that lawn chair."
Laura stared. "It sure is... he looks thi
"Look at him move...." The girl walked the board
... and Gelli's head was wobbling. A spastic movement, compulsive, with his chin rolling in a ragged figure eight, and his eyes fixed on nothing at all. And then he stopped the wobbling, caught it somehow, leering with the pain of effort.
And his hand came up, a wizened hand like a bundle of sticks, bent down acutely at the wrist.
In the foreground, the girl balanced gracefully, slim legs held straight, toes pointed like a gymnast. And behind her
Gelli went touch-touch-touch, three little dabs of movement to his face-fast, jerky, totally ritualized. Then the girl plunged, and the camera slid away. And Gelli vanished.