• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 4699 0

those bitches what they wanted—but what they literally wanted, without the pretense that they expected, the pretense that hides from them the nature of their wish. Do you think they wanted to sleep with me or with any man? They wouldn’t be capable of so real and honest a desire. They wanted food for their vanity—and I gave it to them. I gave them the chance to boast to their friends and to see themselves in the scandal sheets in the roles of great seductresses. But do you know that it works in exactly the same way as what you did at your trial? If you want to defeat any kind of vicious fraud—comply with it literally, adding nothing of your own to disguise its nature. Those women understood. They saw whether there’s any satisfaction in being envied by others for a feat one has not achieved. Instead of self-esteem, their publicized romances with me have given them a deeper sense of inferiority: each one of them knows that she’s tried and failed. If dragging me into bed is supposed to be her public standard of value, she knows that she couldn’t live up to it. I think those women hate me more than any other man on earth. But my secret is safe—because each one of them thinks that she was the only one who failed, while all the others succeeded, so she’ll be the more vehement in swearing to our romance and will never admit the truth to anybody.”

“But what have you done to your own reputation?”

Francisco shrugged. “Those whom I respect, will know the truth about me, sooner or later. The others”—his face hardened—“the others consider that which I really am as evil. Let them have what they prefer—what I appear to be on the front pages.”

“But what for? Why did you do it? Just to teach them a lesson?”

“Hell, no! I wanted to be known as a playboy.”

“Why?”

“A playboy is a man who just can’t help letting money run through his fingers.”

“Why did you want to assume such an ugly sort of role?”

“Camouflage.”

“For what?”

“For a purpose of my own.”

“What purpose?”

Francisco shook his head. “Don’t ask me to tell you that. I’ve told you more than I should. You’ll come to know the rest of it soon, anyway.”

“If it’s more than you should, why did you tell me?”

“Because ... you’ve made me become impatient for the first time in years.” The note of a suppressed emotion came back into his voice. “Because I’ve never wanted anyone to know the truth about me as I wanted you to know it. Because I knew that you’d despise a playboy more than any other sort of man—as I would, too. Playboy? I’ve never loved but one woman in my life and still do and always will!” It was an involuntary break, and he added, his voice low, “I’ve never confessed that to anyone ... not even to her.”

“Have you lost her?”

Francisco sat looking off into space; in a moment, he answered tonelessly, “I hope not.”

The light of the lamp hit his face from below, and Rearden could not see his eyes, only his mouth drawn in lines of endurance and oddly solemn resignation. Rearden knew that this was a wound not to be probed any further.

With one of his swift changes of mood, Francisco said, “Oh well, it’s just a little longer!” and rose to his feet, smiling.

“Since you trust me,” said Rearden, “I want to tell you a secret of mine in exchange. I want you to know how much I trusted you before I came here. And I might need your help later.”

“You’re the only man left whom I’d like to help.”

“There’s a great deal that I don’t understand about you, but I’m certain of one thing: that you’re not a friend of the looters.”

“I’m not.” There was a hint of amusement in Francisco’s face, as at an understatement.

“So I know that you won’t betray me if I tell you that I’m going to continue selling Rearden Metal to customers of my own choice in any amount I wish, whenever I see a chance to do it. Right now, I’m getting ready to pour an order twenty times the size of the one they tried me for.”

Sitting on the arm of a chair, a few feet away, Francisco leaned forward to look at him silently, frowning, for a long moment. “Do you think that you’re fighting them by doing it?” he asked.

“Well,