Evelyn and the others had come over and were listening. “Another philosopher,” she said to Corrigan. “You know, Joe, this is the kind of place that Eric should be in.”
“Who’s Eric?” Maguire asked.
“A scientist that we know back at CLC,” Corrigan said.
“He’d fit in here,” Evelyn said. “You’re his kind of people. You talk his values. Corporate politics isn’t his scene.”
Maguire nodded and pulled a face. “Well, if he ever decides he’s had enough, tell him to get in touch. We’ll talk to him, sure enough. We’ve got some good people here, including some from Europe, but we could always use more. . . . And that applies to you, too, Joe, don’t forget. If you get tired of being among those neurotics over there, we’ll find room for you.”
Corrigan laughed and raised his pint. “I think I can handle whatever comes up, Brendan. But thanks anyway.”
* * *
The next day, Dermot drove Corrigan and Evelyn south to Shannon, where they boarded an Aer Lingus jet for New York. It had been fun, and it had been interesting—the kind of break they had intended. And in another way, a lot that they had not intended. But now it was time to get back to the real world. They had a big surprise to tell everybody.
Chapter Twenty-three
Jonathan Wilbur was in the Galahad Lounge again, sitting at the bar. It was early yet, with a few people at the other barstools and a group from a company marketing conference that was being held at the Camelot that week occupying some tables on the far side.
“How are things working out with Oliver?” Corrigan inquired casually.
“Oh, okay,” Wilbur replied neutrally, and returned to playing with his portable electronic office. Corrigan sauntered back to the other end of the bar and checked the pressure in the dispenser. Wilbur looked up at him oddly from time to time but said nothing. Corrigan got the feeling that his behavior of late had been puzzling the system.
In the commercial showing on the TV, the couple who had arrived for dinner were healthily image-conscious, he in a satin-edged cloak and wearing a wig of constantly color-changing optical fibers, she in a Psi-Woman meditation jumpsuit, complete with requisite combination shoulder-purse and music/mantra player.
“Wasn’t she the clairvoyant in that movie about the surgeon who put his wife’s lover’s brain inside the gorilla after they had the car crash?” a fat woman in a pink sombrero, sitting on another stool, asked the man with her while she stared absently at the screen and pushed pretzels into her mouth.
“Yeah. She showed the detective where the body was.” The man was wearing a short, embroidered cloak and matador’s black hat. It was South of the Border week. Anyone in Mexican garb got a ten-percent discount in most places.
On the screen, the two guests were sipping before-dinner cocktails. Suddenly the woman nudged her husband and pointed to a faint finger-smudge on her glass. “Body grease!” she whispered behind her hand. The husband hurriedly put down his own glass, at the same time glancing apprehensively from side to side at the cutlery and the china. Moments later, the scene ended with a shot of the couple departing on a pretext, and then the embarrassed host consoling his distraught wife.
“She can really do it,” the woman in the sombrero said.
“Huh?” her companion said.
“In real life—she’s really psychic.”
“Oh.”
“The police use her. A documentary last week had her in it, so it must be true.” The woman looked at Corrigan for support. “She can find missing stuff by looking at pictures that they take from choppers over the city.”
“That’s nice,” Corrigan said.
While on the TV, the hostess’s wise and worldly mother was educating her daughter in the use of “Bodysafe.” After spraying fingertips and palms, they embarked on a tour of the house together, rapturously drenching drawer handles, doorknobs, light switches, phone buttons, toilet seats, and anything else carrying the risk of indirect contact with another human being. The ad ended with the husband and wife again, this time waving goodbye to their guests after a brilliantly successful dinner party, and then flinging their arms around each other ecstatically—presumably after taking appropriate precautions with Bodysafe.