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darkness and half in the synthetic light, a film of excitation giving
off an unnatural redolence. Her breath was hot, passionate at last. A
rising pulse raced through the vein at her throat.
It was, he decided, a face he no longer knew.
"I- I can't do it myself. I'm not strong enough. But you! You can.
You know you can. And then-"
He lurched past her and plunged into total darkness.
As Martin stepped out of the cab, an enclosed boarding ramp pointed the
way up to the Queen Mary Hilton's foredecks and tiered rooms like a
tunnel leading him back into the heart of a sleeping juggernaut.
Despite the hour, the parking lot contained the cars of several hundred
late visitors, scattered in irregular rows beneath the mercury vapor
security lamps. Surely at least some of the cars belonged to diehard
members of the reunion party.
He mounted the ramp and headed for the escalators.
The Windsor Room was deserted, the celebration's tattered paper
decorations fluttering in the updraft of an unseen air conditioner. The
foyer was still furnished with a makeshift horseshoe of card tables
draped in white linen and marked by hand-drawn arrows and directions for
registration. On the table labeled "J thru N," a stack of unclaimed
name badges reclined among pencils and straight pins, already gathering
dust.
A reflection of the bay outside rippled across the ornate ceiling,
creating an impression that the entire deck lay submerged beneath the
waters of the harbor. At the end of one of the connecting corridors an
electric floor polisher whirred on through the night; the sound seemed
to be coming from more than one direction at once.
Martin walked through the hall to the damp Promenade Deck, but there was
no one in sight.
He turned up his collar and left the area.
He searched long passageways of locked staterooms from which no sound
could be heard. An occasional room service tray blocked his path,
littered with half-eaten snacks or the remains of party set-ups .
Once he saw a cart loaded with dirty glasses and buckets of drained
champagne bottles. He hesitated by the door. There was a DO NOT
DISTURB warning hung on the knob and no light or movement was detectable
within, only the low drone of a fitful snoring.
He moved on.
As he approached the lounge at the end of the ship, he heard the
cacophony of cheap disco music overlaid with raucous voices and the
chiming of glasses raised in desperate celebration.
He rounded the last corner and stood watching. Inside, men in
wrinkle-proof suits and women in stiff gowns and uncomfortable shoes
lifted a last round under the patient eyes of a half-dozen weary
cocktail waitresses.
He came to the carpeted entrance.
"I'm sorry, sir," said a young woman, "but we've already had last call.
The coffee shop is still open if you'd care to "Hey, Macklin!"
"That's fine," said Martin ." It's all right. I'm looking for someone."
"Jim Macklin!" A man with a loose tie tipped his glass from a table by
the window.
"Excuse me," Martin told the waitress ." I think I see him now."
He dodged barstools. As he neared the window, a hand from an adjoining
table clamped over his wrist.
"Where you going', Jer?" It was Crabbe, the baseball star ." Take a load
off and pull up a chair."
"Thanks, I
"Bill, I think you've had one too many," said a woman with a beehive
hairdo ." This here's Dave McClay. I'd know him anywhere."
The man at the window table leaned close ." Aren't you Jim Macklin? I
could've sworn
"What are you talking about?" said a man with thinning hair ." I'd know
my old friend Marston anywhere! Remember how we used to go toolin'
around at night, up by the graveyard where-"
"Hello," said Martin ." I don't mean to intrude on your party."
A waitress appeared carrying the bar tab on a platter.
"What you drinkin'?" asked Crabbe.
"Sorry, folks, the bar's closed."
"Boo!"
" What time is it? It can't be that-"
"Come up to my room," said the man at the window table ." I got a suite
for the weekend. Had to fly all the way from Salt Lake City and-"
"And boy are your arms tired!" said the woman with the beehive hairdo.
They all had a good laugh over that.
On the way out, Martin said to the baseball player, "Do you remember a
guy in our class named Sherman?"
"Sherman," said Crabbe. He navigated the barstools uncertainly .
"Oh, sure! That ja k-off.? Everybody on the team hated his guts. Aw,
is he here tonight?"
"Not exactly," said Martin.
They arrived at the elevator.
"Let's have a real party," said one of ted to punch the call button and
missed.
"Old Sherman," said Crabbe thoughtfully ." Christ, the only party he
ever got invited to was on April Fool's Day." He shobk his head .
")"at a dork!"
"Where?" said the woman.
"He couldn't make it tonight," said Martin.
The elevator opened and the others maneuvered to find places inside.
Martin took Crabbe's arm and held him aside.
"He wanted to come," said Martin, "but he's got a bit of a problem. At
home. You know? I was thinking. You might be able to do something for
him. Kind of lend him a hand, so to speak."
"That creep." Crabbe spat on the floor ." I always wanted to kick that
son of a bitch's ass around the corner."
"Believe me," said Martin, "I know what you mean."
The elevator door was closing.
"Are you guys coming with us or not?" asked the drunken woman.
"We'll be up later," said Martin, "to celebrate."
"Don't start without me!" yelled Crabbe.
He was too far gone to resist. Martin toward the lobby, measuring his
words.
"It's not far," he said ." I stopped by myself a little while ago."
They were coming up on the main exit, the ramp to the parking lot and
the profound darkness outside.
"He's just the same as he used to be," Martin was saying, "only worse.
If you know what I mean."
They stood together on the doormat and the panels slid away before them
onto the waiting night.
"Say, listen, Bill. I really think you might be able to do him a big
favor. Not to mention me. And yoursell If you've got a few minutes. I
can show you the way."
A line of cabs hovered at the curb.
"I was wondering. Do you feel like driving? Or," suggested Martin,
"would it be quicker to take a cab?"
Crabbe regained his footing and weaved forward, allowing Martin to let
him continue.
A moment later they were speeding away, red taillights disappearing in
the mist, and the fog settled like rain all around where they had been,
closing over the lot and the ship and the rest of the world.
The Typewriter
There have been lots of stories about the machine, and there will
probably be lots more as writers try to figure out why and how they do
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