Distraction - Bruce Sterling [229]
“Are you with me?” she whispered blindly.
“Yes, I’m here,” he said, struggling to speak through his body’s gasping. They had merged now, together, from areas of cognition so low and so blind to conscious awareness that they were barely able to manifest themselves. But they had chosen a good moment to take the mind’s central stage. Their sweating bodies began to slow, to melt together gently into deep relaxation. It was all very easy now, a vast moonlit Pacific of sexuality, washing some distant shore. They could breathe together.
When they woke, it was ten PM. Streetlights crept through the blinds to stripe the ceiling. Greta stirred and yawned, prodded his bare ankle with her foot. “It’s sweet to have these little naps, after.”
“We seem to be making a habit of passing out.”
“I think dreaming is good for us.” She pulled herself out of bed. “Shower …” Her voice faded as she padded off. “Oh, they have a bidet! That’s great.”
He followed her in. “We’ll wash now. We’ll get dressed,” he told her cheerfully. Lovemaking was behind them now, always tensely awaited but maybe just a little bit of a burden, in retrospect. Still, he felt good about it. They were all purged, the tension had sung out of them; they were having fun together. “We’ll put on our masks, we’ll go out and have some coffee. I’ll take your picture in the street, it’ll be fun.”
“Good plan.” She examined her smashed hairdo in the mirror, and grimaced. “One martini too many.…”
“You look great. I feel good, I feel so happy now.”
“Me too.” She stepped into the shower and set it to hiss.
“It’s a holiday,” he said absently. “We’ll just have our little holiday now, we’ll live for the moment, we’ll be just like real people.”
When they were dressed, they stepped onto the balcony. The balcony was crowded now, with many friendly strangers. As Greta appeared, she was instantly greeted from the streets below with howls of male demand.
Greta’s eyes grew wide with shock behind her feathered mask. “Good Lord,” she said. “I always knew that’s what men want from you, but to have them just standing there, publicly yelling it.… I can’t believe this.”
“You can show yourself off if you like. They’ll give you beads for it.”
She thought about it. “I might just do it if you went down into the street, and yelled up at me.”
“That’s a distinct possibility. Let me get my camera first.”
She smiled wickedly. “You’ll have to throw me my beads, though, mister. And they’ll have to be very nice ones.”
“I enjoy a challenge,” Oscar said.
A string of green-and-gold beads flew up to strike at Greta. She batted at the necklace, tried to catch it, missed. In the street below them, a tall middle-aged man with a mustache below his mask was jumping up and down, and bellowing at her. He was waving both arms frantically, as if trying to signal an airliner.
“Look at that clown,” Oscar said, grinning. “He’s really smitten.”
“He’s got a girlfriend already,” Greta said.
The man and his smiling girlfriend fought their way valiantly through the passing crowd, until they had wedged themselves directly below the balcony.
“Dr. Penninger!” the man shouted. “Hey, show us your brain!”
“Oh, hell, that’s torn it,” Oscar said angrily. “They’re paparazzi.”
“Hey, Oscar!” the man shouted lustily. He pulled off his mask. “Look, look!”
“Do you know that man?” Greta said.
“No …” Oscar stared suddenly. “Hey! I do! It’s Yosh! It’s Yosh Pelicanos.” He leaned over the balcony, doubling over to shout down. “Yosh! Hi!”
“Look here!” Yosh shouted giddily, pointing to the masked and costumed brunette at his side. “Look, it’s Sandra!”
“What is he talking about?” Greta said.
“That’s his wife,” Oscar marveled. “It’s his wife, Sandra.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Sandra! Hello! Good to meet you!”
“I’m all better!” Sandra shrilled. “I’m so much better now.”
“That’s great!” Oscar yelled. “That’s marvelous! Come on up, Yosh! Come up and have a drink with us!”
“No time!” Pelicanos shouted. His wife was being swept away by the pressure of passersby. Pelicanos caught her hand