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.“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 moving to men in the audience, Big Operators laughing at themselves 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 elbows 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 handstand.She held it for five long seconds, then plunged head-first.… “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 thinner.”“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.“What’s wrong with him?” Laura whispered.David was pale, his mouth tight-set.“I don’t know.Some nerve disorder, obviously.”“Parkinson’s disease?”“Maybe.Or maybe something we don’t even have a name for.”David killed the television.He stood up and unplugged the clock.He put on his glasses, carefully.“I’m gonna go answer some mail, Laura.”“I’ll come with you.” She didn’t sleep for a long time.And there were nightmares, too.Next morning, they inspected the foundations for settling and dry rot.They opened every window, making note of cracked glass and warped lintels.They checked the attic for drooping joists and moldy insulation, checked the stairs for springy boards, measured the slopes of the floor, cataloged the multitude of cracks and bulges in the walls.The servants watched them with growing anxiety.At lunch they had a little discussion.Jimmy, it transpired, considered himself a “butler,” while Rajiv was a “majordomo” and Rita a “cook” and “nanny.” They weren’t a construction crew.To David this sounded ludicrously old-fashioned; things needed doing, so why not do them? What was the problem?They responded with wounded pride.They were skilled house staff, not no-account rudies from the government yards.They had certain places to fill and certain work that came with the places.Everybody knew this.It had always been so.David laughed.They were acting like nineteenth-century colonials, he said; what about Grenada’s high-tech, anti-imperialist revolution? Surprisingly, this argument failed to move them.Fine, David said at last [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]