“How exciting to know you’re in town.” she said when he identified himself. “Can you come over now? I have some people here but they’re just leaving. This decision about my equipment, this is something I want to do slowly and carefully. What time is it now? I just got here from California.”
“It’s 7 P.M. New York time,” he said.
“Have you had dinner?”
“No,” he said. It was like a fantasy; he felt as if he was in a dream world, a kingdom of the divine. He felt-like a child, he thought. Reading my Silver Pennies book of poems. Apparently I found a silver penny, and made my way there. Where I have always yearned to be. Home is the sailor home from the sea, he thought. And the hunter… He could not remember how the verse went. Well, in any case it was appropriate; he was home at last.
And there is no one here to tell me she looks like a pizza waitress, he informed himself. So I can forget that.
“I’ve got some food here in my apartment; I’m into health foods. If you want some … I have actual orange juice, soybean curd, organic foods. I don’t believe in slaughtering animals.”
“Fine,” he said. “Sure; anything. You name it.”
When he reached her apartment-in an outstandingly lovely building-he found her wearing a cap, a turtleneck sweater and white duck shorts; barefoot, she welcomed him into the living room. No furniture at all; she hadn’t moved in yet. In the bed- room a sleeping bag and an open suitcase. The rooms were large and the picture window gave her a view of Central Park.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Linda.” She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Asher.”
“Call me Herb,” he said.
“On the Coast, the West Coast, everyone introduces people by their first names only; I’m trying to train myself away from that, but I can’t. I was raised in Southern California, in River- side.” She shut the door after him. “It’s ghastly without any furniture, isn’t it? My manager is picking it out; it’ll be here the day after tomorrow. Well, he’s not picking it out alone; I’m help- ing him. Let’s see your brochures.” She had noticed his briefcase and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
184 Philip K. Dick The Divine Invasion 185
She does look a little like a pizza waitress, he thought. But that’s okay. Her complexion, up close, in the glare of the over- head lighting, was not as clear as he had thought; in fact, he noticed, she had a little acne.
“We can sit on the floor,” she said; she threw herself down, bare knees raised, her back against the wall. “Let’s see. I’m relying on you entirely.”
He began, “I assume you want studio quality items. What we call professional components. Not what the ordinary person has in his home.”
“What’s that?” She pointed to a picture of huge speakers. “They look like refrigerators.”
“That’s an old design,” he said, turning to the next page. “Those work by means of a plasma. Derived from helium. You have to keep buying tanks of helium. They look good, though, because the helium plasma glows. It’s produced by extremely high voltage. Here, let me show you something more recent; helium plasma transduction is obsolete or soon will be.”
Why do I have the feeling I’m imagining all this? he asked himself. Maybe because it’s so wonderful. But still .
For a couple of hours the two of them sat together leaning against the wall going through his literature. Her enthusiasm was enormous, but, eventually, she began to tire.
“I am hungry,” she said. “I don’t really have the right clothes with me to go to a restaurant; you have to dress up back here- it’s not like Southern California where you can wear anything. Where are you staying?”
“The Essex House.”
Standing, stretching, Linda Fox said, “Let’s go back to your suite and order room service. Okay?”
“Outstanding,” he said, getting up.
After they had eaten dinner together in his room at the hotel Linda Fox paced about, her arms folded. “You know some- thing?” she said. “I keep having this recurring dream that I’m the most famous singer in the galaxy. It’s exactly like what you said on the fone. My fantasy life in my subconscious, I guess. But I keep dreaming these production scenes where I’m record- ing tape after tape and giving concerts, and I have all this money. Do you believe in astrology?”
“I guess I do,” he said.
“And places I’ve never been to; I dream about that. And people I’ve never seen before, important people. People big in the entertainment field. And we’re always rushing around from place to place. Order some wine, would you? I don’t know anything about French wine; you decide. But don’t make it too dry.”
He knew nothing about French wine either, but he got the wine list from the hotel’s main restaurant and, with the help of the wine steward, ordered a bottle of expensive burgundy.
“This tastes great,” Linda Fox said, curled up on the couch, her bare legs tucked under her. “Tell me about yourself. How long have you been in retail audio components?”
“A number of years,” he said.
“How did you beat the draft?”
That puzzled him. He had the idea that the draft had been abolished years ago.
“It has?” Linda said when he told her. Puzzled, the trace of a frown on her face, she said, “That’s funny. I was sure there was a draft, and a lot of men have migrated out to colony worlds to escape it. Have you ever been off Earth?”
“No,” he said. “But I’d like to try interplanetary travel just for the experience of it.” Seating himself on the couch beside her he casually put his arm behind her; she did not pull away. “And to touch down on another planet. That must be some sensa- tion.”
“I’m perfectly happy here.” She leaned her head back against his arm and shut her eyes. “Rub my back,” she said. “I’m stiff from leaning against the wall; it hurts here.” She touched a mid- point in her spine, leaning forward. He began to massage her neck. “That feels good,” she murmured.
“Lie down on the bed,” he said. “So I can get more pressure; I can’t do it very well this way.
186 Philip K. Dick The Divine Invasion 187
“Okay.” Linda Fox hopped from the couch and padded bare- foot across the room. “What a nice bedroom. I’ve never stayed at the Essex House. Are you married?”
“No,” he said. No point telling her about Rybys. “I was once but I got divorced.”
“Isn’t divorce awful?” She lay on the bed, prone, her arms stretched out.
Bending over her he kissed the back of her head.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he said.
“Make love. I’m having my period.”
Period? Linda Fox has periods? He was incredulous. He drew back from her, sitting bolt upright.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She seemed relaxed. “Start up around my shoulders,” she said. “It’s stiff there. I’m sleepy. The wine, I guess. Such…” She yawned.’ ‘Good wine.”
“Yes,” he said, still sitting away from her.
All at once she burped; her hand, then, flew to her mouth. “Pardon me,” she said.
He flew back to Washington, D.C. the next morning. She had returned to her barren apartment that night, but the matter was moot anyhow because of her period. A couple of times she men- tioned-he thought unnecessarily-that she always had severe cramps during her period and had them now. On the return trip he felt weary, but he had closed a deal for a rather large sum: Linda Fox had signed the papers ordering a top-of-the-line stereo system, and, later, he would return and supervise the installation of video recording and playback components. All in all it had been a profitable trip.
And yet-his ultimate move had fallen through because Linda Fox . . . it had been the wrong time. Her menstrual cycle, he thought. Linda Fox has periods and cramps? he asked himself. I don’t believe it. But I guess it’s true. Could it have been a pre- text? No, it was not a pretext. It was real.
When he arrived back home his wife greeted him with a single question. “Did you two fool around?”
“No,” he said. Worse luck.
“You look tired,” Rybys said.
“Tired but happy.” It had been a satisfying and rewarding experience; he and the Fox had sat together talking for hours. An easy person to get to know, he thought. Relaxed, enthusiastic; a good person. Substantial. Not at all affected. I like her, he said to himself. It’ll be good to see her again.
And, he thought, I know she’ll go far.
It was odd how strong that intuition was inside him, his sense about the Fox’s future success. Well, the explanation was that Linda Fox was just plain good.