Ran into three people who knew me but was no unusual comment. Nobody seemed excited, trade going on as usual; hard to believe that a riot had taken place minutes ago on level below and a few hundred meters north. I set it aside for later thought–excitement was not what I wanted.
I took stuff to Wye, buzzing door and passing in it; then stashed self in a taproom for half an hour and half a liter and watched video. Still no excitement, no “we interrupt for special bulletin.” I went back, buzzed, and waited.
Wyoming came out–and I didn’t recognize her. Then did and stopped to give full applause. Just had to–whistles and finger snaps and moans and a scan like mapping radar.
Wyoh was now darker than I am, and pigment had gone on beautifully. Must have been carrying items in pouch as eyes were dark now, with lashes to match, and mouth was dark red and bigger. She had used black hair tint, then fizzed hair up with grease as if to take kinks out, and her tight curls had defeated it enough to make convincingly imperfect. She didn’t look Afro–but not European, either. Seemed some mixed breed, and thereby more a Loonie.
Red dress was too small. Clung like sprayed enamel and flared out at mid-thigh with permanent static charge. She had taken shoulder strap off her pouch and had it under arm. Shoes she had discarded or pouched; bare feet made her shorter.
She looked good. Better yet, she looked not at all like agitatrix who had harangued crowd.
She waited, big smile on face and body undulating, while I applauded. Before I was done, two little boys flanked me and added shrill endorsements, along with clog steps. So I tipped them and told them to be missing; Wyoming flowed to me and took my arm. “Is it okay? Will I pass?”
“Wyoh, you look like slot-machine sheila waiting for action.”
“Why, you drecklich choom! Do I look like slot-machine prices? Tourist!”
“Don’t jump salty, beautiful. Name a gift. Then speak my name. If it’s bread-and-honey, I own a hive.”
“Uh–” She fisted me solidly in ribs, grinned. “I was flying, cobber. If I ever bundle with you–not likely–we won’t speak to the bee. Let’s find that hotel.”
So we did and I bought a key. Wyoming put on a show but needn’t have bothered. Night clerk never looked up from his knitting, didn’t offer to roll. Once inside, Wyoming threw bolts. “It’s nice!”
Should have been, at thirty-two Hong Kong dollars. I think she expected a booth but I would not put her in such, even to hide. Was comfortable lounge with own bath and no water limit. And phone and delivery lift, which I needed.
She started to open pouch. “I saw what you paid. Let’s settle it, so that–”
I reached over, closed her pouch. “Was to be no mention of bees.”
“What? Oh, merde, that was about bundling. You got this doss for me and it’s only right that–”
“Switch off.”
“Uh. . . half? No grievin’ with Steven.”
“Nyet. Wyoh, you’re a long way from home. What money you have, hang on to.”
“Manuel O’Kelly, if you don’t let me pay my share, I’ll walk out of here!”
I bowed. “Dosvedanyuh, Gospazha, ee sp’coynoynochi. I hope we shall meet again.” I moved to unbolt door.
She glared, then closed pouch savagely. “I’ll stay. M’goy!”
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it, I really do thank you, Just the same– Well, I’m not used to accepting favors. I’m a Free Woman.”
“Congratulations. I think.”
“Don’t you be salty, either. You’re a firm man and I respect that–I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“Not sure I am.”
“What?”
“Cool it. Am not on Warden’s side. Nor will I talk . . . wouldn’t want Shorty, Bog rest his generous soul, to haunt me. But your program isn’t practical.”
“But, Mannie, you don’t understand! If all of us–”
“Hold it, Wye; this no time for politics. I’m tired and hungry. When did you eat last?”
“Oh, goodness!” Suddenly she looked small, young, tired. “I don’t know. On the bus, I guess. Helmet rations.”
“What would you say to a Kansas City cut, rare, with baked potato, Tycho sauce, green salad, coffee . . and a drink first?”