The Business

'But we aren't a religion, or a state.  Yet.  So it can't be either, can it?'

Dessous studied the end of his cigar. 'How proud are you to be part of the Business, Telman?'

'I'm proud.  I don't know of any internationally accepted scientific unit of measurement of pride.'

'You put our collective good above your own interests?'

I tried my coffee again.  Still too hot. ' Are you asking me to surrender some of my stock options, Jeb?'

He chuckled. 'Nope, I'm just trying to find out what the Business means to you.'

'It's a collection of people.  Some I like, some I don't.  As an institution, like I said, I'm proud to be a part of it.'

'Would you do anything for it?'

'Of course not.  Would you?'

'No.  So, I guess we're all in it for ourselves, aren't we?'

'Yes, but we rely on the support and co-operation of everybody else to help us achieve our individual goals.  That's what communities are all about.  Don't you think?'

'So what wouldn't you do for the Business?'

'Oh, you know, the usual stuff: murder, torture, maiming, that sort of thing.'

Dessous nodded. 'I guess that kind of goes without saying.  What about this idea of self-sacrifice?  What would you sacrifice something of your own for, if not for the Business?'

'I don't know.  Other people, maybe.  It all depends on the circumstances.'

Dessous grimaced and stared at the ceiling, looking suddenly bored with the whole conversation. 'Yeah, I guess it always does, doesn't it?'

I woke up.  Very dark.  Where the hell was I?  The air outside the bed was chilly.  The bed itself felt…unfamiliar.  I heard a chinking noise like something hitting a window.  I sniffed the air, suddenly afraid.  Not in my house, not in London, not in…Glasgow or Blysecrag…Dessous' place.  Big Bend.  I was in Nebraska.  The cabin on the ridge.  The noise came again.

I felt for the light switch and touched the little netsuke monkey.  The light was very bright.  I stared at the curtains over the windows.  I felt groggy and my head hurt; not badly, but enough to let me know I'd drunk too much.  The noise at the window came again.  I looked at the telephone on the other bedside table.

'Kate?' said a muffled voice.

I fastened the top button on my PJs top and went to the window and drew the drapes.  Dwight's pale face stared back at me.  I opened the window.  Cold air spilled in.

'Dwight, what are you doing?'

He was wearing a thick jacket but he looked cold. 'Can I come in?'

'No.'

'But it's cold out here.'

'So you shouldn't have left your cabin.'

'I wanted to talk to you.'

'Haven't you got a phone?'

'No.  That's why that cabin's so great.  No phone.  You can write.'

'What?  You mean a letter?' I asked, confused.

Now he looked bewildered. 'No, I mean write treatments and shit, without distraction.'

'Oh.  And what about your mobile?'

'I leave it switched off.'

'But…never mind.'

'Please let me in.'

'No.  What did you want to talk about?'

'I can't talk out here!  It's freezing!'

'I'm freezing too, so keep it brief.'

'Aw, Kate —'

'Dwight, I've had your uncle beating my ears all evening.  If you have anything to say I'd really appreciate you saying it as concisely as possible so I can get back to sleep.  I'm very tired.'

He looked pained. 'I was going to ask you…if you wanted to come to the première of my play on Broadway,' he said.  He scratched his head.

'Your play?'

'Yeah,' he said, gri

'When is it?'

'Next Monday.'

'I'll try.'

'You will?  You promise?'

'No, I can't promise, but I'll try.'

'Right.' He hesitated.

I shivered. 'Dwight, is that it?'

'Uh, yeah.  I guess.'

I shook my head. 'Right.  Good night.'

'Umm.  Okay,' he said.  He started to turn away.  I started to close the window.  He turned back. 'Hey, ah, Kate?'

'What?'

'Do you, ah…Do you, like, want we should maybe, like, you know, spend the night together?  Maybe?'

I stared at him.  I thought of lots of things to say, but eventually I just said, 'No, Dwight.'

'But, Kate, Jeez, we'd be great together!'

'No, we wouldn't.'

'We would!  I'm just so admirative of you.'

'Dwight, that's not a word, or if it is it shouldn't be.'

'But, Kate, I just find you so attractive, and I mean I never go for women your age!'

'Good night, Dwight.'

'Don't reject me, Kate!  Let me in.  I'm not going to be heavy, I'm not going to aggress on you or anything.'

'No.  Now go home.'

'But-!'

'No.'

His shoulders slumped within the big jacket.  His breath smoked down.  He raised his head again. 'You'll still come to the play?'

'If I can.'

'Aw, come on, promise.'

'I can't.  Now go home.  My feet are turning blue.'

'I could warm them up for you.'

'Thanks, but no.'

'But you will try and come?'

'Yes.'

'You're not just saying that to get rid of me?'

'No.'

'As my guest, as my date?'

'Only if you can't find somebody your own age.  Now, good night.'

'Excellent!' He turned to go, switching on a flashlight.  I started to close the window again.  He turned back again. 'You really think my idea about the escape pod inside the Kaaba is that bad?'

'Not bad, just potentially fatal.'

He shook his head as he turned away into the night. 'Shit.'

My feet really were cold; so were my hands.  I drew six inches of warm water in the bath and sat on the rim with my PJ cuffs rolled up, soaking my feet and hands to bring some blood back into them.  I dried them and returned to bed and slept like a very tired log.

CHAPTER SIX

It snowed later on during the night and when I opened the curtains the next morning it was still snowing, turning the countryside softer, brighter and silently beautiful.  I watched it snow for a while, then showered and dressed.  The cabin's phone rang while I was drying my hair.

'Telman?'

'Jeb.  Good morning.'

'You want breakfast?'

'Yes, please.'

'Okay, dishing up in twenty minutes.'

'This is at your place, yes?'

'Yup, the villa.'

'Right.  How will I get there?'

'Should be a truck in the garage.'

'Ah.'

There was: a big Chevy Blazer.  I climbed in, it fired first time and rolled out into the snow.  The garage door swung down automatically behind me.  There was sat. nav., CB radio and a phone but I vaguely remembered the way and only took a couple of wrong turnings.

We were still in a Mexican groove, food-wise.  I sat in the big, bustling kitchen of the villa with everybody else and tucked into my huevos rancheros while Dwight, sitting next to me, boasted loudly about all the famous people he'd met in Hollywood, enthused about his Broadway play and just generally acted like somebody shooting for most-favoured nephew status.

'You ski, Telman?' Dessous shouted, from the head of the table.

'A little,' I said.

'Heading for the slopes in about an hour if the weather clears like it's meant to.  Like you to come.'

'Happy to,' I said, feeling myself slipping into the way of Dessous' clipped syntax.

'Mind if I tag along?' Dwight asked, with a grin.

'Wouldn't want to cut into your Muse time there, nephew.'

'That's all right, I could use a break.'

'Actually, son, I was being polite.  There's only room for one more in the choppers, and Telman's just taken that seat.'

'Oh.' Dwight looked crestfallen.

'Still up for it, Telman?'

'Yup.

The weather cleared from the west.  Two dozen of us flew from the Big Bend airstrip in a British Aerospace 146 into a vast blue space divided perfectly into blue sky and white earth.  We landed at Sheridan, just east of the Big Horn mountains.  Two Bell 412s were waiting on the tarmac; we loaded our skis into pods attached to the legs and were lifted to pristine snowfields lying beneath the high peaks.  The Bells dropped us in the middle of their own little snow blizzard, their skis suspended just a foot above the surface while we jumped out and unloaded ours.  Then they lifted away again and clattered down the valley.