Heinlein, Robert A – Friday

“That seems fair. Then if you don’t smile when I think you should, I’ll pick up the money and walk away. No?”

“I may call you back.”

“No. If you won’t offer me a fixed price, I won’t let you spar around about it after I’ve made a fair offer.”

“You’re a tough customer, sport. I-”

Speakers on all sides of us suddenly started blasting “Hail to the Chief,” followed by “The Golden Bear Forever.” The young woman shouted, “Wait! Over soon!” A crowd of people came in from outside, walked straight through the rotunda, and on down the main corridor. I spotted the eagle-feather headdress sticking up in the middle of the clump but this time the Chief Confederate was so tightly surrounded by his parasites that an assassin would have a hard time hitting him.

As it became possible to hear again the lottery saleswoman said, “That was a short one. Less than fifteen minutes ago he went through here heading out. If he was just going down to the corner for a pack of tokes, whyn’t he send somebody instead of going hisself? Bad for business, all that noise. Well, sport, have you figured out how much you’ll pay to get rich?”

“But yes.” Georges took out a three-dollar bill, laid it on the counter. He looked at the woman.

They locked gazes for about twenty seconds, then she said glumly, “I’m smiling. I guess I am.” She picked up the money with one hand, handed Georges the lottery ticket with the other. “I bet I could have sweated you out of another dollar.”

“We’ll never know, will we?” “Cut for double or nothing?”

“With your cards?” Georges asked gently.

“Sport, you’ll make an old woman out of me. Be elsewhere before I change my mind.”

“Rest room?”

“Down the corridor on my left.” She added, “Don’t miss the drawing.”

As we walked toward the rest room Georges told me quietly in French that gendarmes had passed behind us while we were dickering, had gone into the rest room, come out, back into the rotunda, and down the main corridor.

I cut him off, speaking also in French-telling him that I knew but this place must be filled with Eyes, Ears-talk later.

I was not snubbing him. Two uniformed guards-not the two with stomach problems-had come in almost on our heels, hurried past us, checked the rest room first-reasonable; an amateur often tries to hide in a public rest room-had come out and hurried past us, then deep into the Palace. Georges had quietly shopped for lottery tickets while guards looking for us had brushed past him, twice. Admirable. Quite professional.

But I had to wait to tell him so. There was a person of indeterminate sex selling tickets to the rest room. I asked her(him) where the powder room was. She (I decided on “she” when closer observation showed that her T-shirt covered either falsies or small milk glands)-she answered scornfully, “You some kind of a nut? Trying to discriminate, huh? I ought to send for a cop.” Then she looked at me more closely. “You’re a foreigner.”

I admitted it.

“Okay. Just don’t talk that way; people don’t like it. We’re democratic here, see?-setters and pointers use the same fireplug. So buy a ticket or quit blocking the turnstyle.”

Georges bought us two tickets. We went in.

On our right was a row of open stalls. Above them floated a holo:

THESE FACILITIES ARE PROVIDED FREE FOR YOUR HEALTH AND COMFORT BY THE CALIFORNIA CONFEDERACY-JOHN “WARWHOOP” TUMBRIL, CHIEF CONFEDERATE.

A life-size holo of the Chief floated above it.

Beyond the open stalls were pay stalls with doors; beyond these were doorways fully closed with drapes. On our left was a news-and-notions stand presided over by a person of very determined sex, bull dyke. Georges paused there and surprised me by buying several cosmetics and a flacon of cheap perfume. Then he asked for a ticket to one of the dressing rooms at the far end.

“One ticket?” She looked at him sharply. Georges nodded agreement. She pursed her lips. “Naughty, naughty. No hanky-panky, stud.”

Georges did not answer. A BnitCan dollar passed from his hand to hers, vanished. She said very softly, “Don’t take too long. If I buzz the buzzer, get decent fast. Number seven, far right.”