Alongside Night(32)
Alongside Night
then decided against both. Instead, taking the elevator back down to the second floor, he picked a book almost entirely at random out of the library’s science-fiction section and returned to his room. After washing out his clothes, hanging them in the bathroom to dry, he began reading in bed. Somehow, he had trouble keeping his mind on the book. Alongside Night
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Chapter 12
The Picturephone was ringing.
Elliot reached over to answer it, knocking over Illuminatus! , the book he had been reading the night before. About the fourth or fifth ring, he managed to find the answer button; Mr. Harper appeared on the screen. “Good morning, Joseph,” he said.
“Huh? Oh, right. G’morning.” Elliot picked his watch up from the night table. It was just after eight. “I thought our breakfast appointment wasn’t until nine thirty?”
“Change of plans,” Harper said seriously. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make our breakfast date. Something important’s come up.”
“Bad news?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m afraid I’ll have to abandon you here awhile. I apologize but it can’t be helped.”
Elliot stifled a yawn. “Anything in particular I ought to know?”
“Check with the security desk sometime this afternoon. The commandant will tell you if I’ve left any messages for you.”
“Okay. And thanks a lot.”
Elliot successfully remained awake by swinging his legs off the bed as soon as the screen cleared. He sat motionless for a full minute, then found enough energy to walk into the bathroom. Somewhat more awake after splashing water on his face, Elliot got back into his still slightly damp clothes. It was then he realized that he had forgotten to ask Harper whether he could afford to buy breakfast.
Though crowded, the commissary did not present any particular problems. Elliot selected grapefruit juice, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and coffee, handing his photo badge to the bursar, who said, “That comes to seventeen cents four mils,” and 110
Alongside Night
charged the breakfast without further comment. After carrying his tray to a small table on the far side, Elliot took his juice and resumed reading the library book. Two eggs, a pancake, and a chapter later, a pleasant voice interrupted him: “Can I join you?”
Elliot looked up to find his mermaid of the pool, now clothed in a summery dress he found even more enticing than nudity. The same glance noted peripherally that his table was not the only one still partly unoccupied. “Go right ahead,” he said, then, summoning every last watt of willpower, he turned back to the book.
His intentions were shattered about a minute later when he risked peering over the book and caught both her eyes again.
“Any good?” she asked.
“I haven’t gotten very far yet. I seem to be having trouble concentrating lately.”
“Eye trouble?”
“Not from this side.
Elliot tucked the jacket in as a place mark and closed the book.
“Honestly,” he said. “I didn’t intend spying on you last night.”
“Forget it,” she replied. “An acute case of culture shock. We’re both victims of it, you know.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Elliot. “What are you talking about?”
“Each of us thought the other was representative of the culture here, when actually both of us arrived yesterday for the first time.”
Elliot went on guard. “How do you know that?”
“Because both of us reacted defensively to a situation that anyone who’d been here even one extra day would’ve accepted as normal.”
Elliot bit into a strip of bacon, then, chewing, said, “If you got here yesterday, how do you know what’s normal?”
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“Because after I left you at the pool I walked back to the sauna and found an orgy in progress …What’s the matter?”
Elliot reached for his coffee, a few sips managing to stop the chokes caused by remembering what Mr. Harper had told him about the sauna last night. “A piece of bacon went down the wrong pipe,” he lied.
“So anyway,” she continued, “if that sort of thing goes on, no one who’s been here any time at all is going to get upset over a little midnight skinny-dipping. Are you just going to leave that other bacon strip?”
The price of a lie, he thought. “Help yourself.” She took it.
“By the way, I’m Joseph Rabinowitz.”
She looked Elliot over carefully. “Highly unlikely.”
“All right, I’m not Joseph Rabinowitz. Who aren’t you?”
She lit a cigarette, nervously. “I’m not Lorimer.”