Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [45]
“[How do you know that?]” the dog prompted. “[A woman knows, that’s all.… I suppose it was the most profound erotic experience of my whole life! I did things that I never would have done as a younger woman. When you are young, sex means so much to you. You get so serious and formal about it.… ]”
“[Do tell us,]” the dog suggested. “[You might as well tell us now, while you’re still in the mood.]”
“[Well, certain things like—well, we liked to play dress-up. Bed dress-up.]” She smiled radiantly. “[He enjoyed it, too, it was very delightful for both of us. A kind of drunkenness really. A hormonal bender. You can look at my medical records if you don’t believe what I’m telling you.]”
“[Dress-up?]” said the dog skeptically. “[That’s all? That seems very innocent.]”
“[Aquinas, listen. Christian and I are both professionals. You have no idea what professionals can do when we put our minds to dress-up.]”
The audience laughed, apparently on cue. “[Then what happened?]” asked the dog. “[Well,]” said the actress, “[after about eighteen months—I wouldn’t say that we’d tired of it exactly, but we’d certainly settled down. Christian came back from a routine checkup, and he had these bladder cysts. The hormones were responsible. Christian decided that he had to back off. So of course, I did the same. And the moment that happened, all the energy went out of our relationship. We became … well … slightly embarrassed with one another. We no longer tried to live and sleep together.]”
“[That’s a shame,]” the dog said, conventionally.
“[If you’re thirty, maybe it is.]” The actress shrugged. “[Once you’re sixty, you become accustomed to the facts of life.]” There was scattered applause.
The actress sat up briskly, excited. “[I’m still on very good terms with him! Truly! I would work together with Christian Mancuso at any time. Any project. He’s a fine actor! A real professional! I feel no shame or embarrassment about our sordid little carnal tryst. It was helpful to both of us. Artistically.]”
“[Would you do it again?]”
“[Well … Yes! Maybe … Probably not. No, Aquinas. Let me be very frank with you here. No, I’ll never do that again.]”
The door shrieked open. Ulrich appeared, and called out something in Deutsch. The translation earpiece was caught between the jabber of television and Ulrich’s remark. The little machine could not decide where to direct the user’s attention, so it fell into silence.
Maya turned the television off. The translator perked up again with a telltale little squeak.
“I hope you like Chinese food,” Ulrich said.
“I love Chinese.”
“[I thought you would. Little lumps of chopped-up dreck that don’t look like anything. Perfect for a Californian.]” He gave her a carton and chopsticks.
They sat together on the chilly floor, and ate. He gazed about the room. “[You’ve been moving things around.]”
“I’ve been cleaning up the place.”
“What a little treasure you are,” Ulrich said, munching solemnly.
“Why do you keep all this junk anyway? You should have sold all this stuff a long time ago.”
“[That’s not so easy. You can sell the batteries. There’s always a ready black market for batteries. The rest of this loot is all too dangerous. Better to wait for a good long while, to throw off the scent.]”
“You’ve been waiting a long time already. This junk’s all covered with dust and there’s mice living in it.”
Ulrich shrugged. “[We meant to keep a cat, but we don’t get up here often enough.]”
“Why do you rob people at all, if you’re not going to sell what you steal?”
“Oh, we sell it, we sell it!” he insisted. “We do! A little extra cash is always nice.” He poked at the air with his chopsticks. “[But that’s not our premier motivation, you see. We simply do our part to outrage the gerontocratic haute bourgeoisie.]”
“Sure,” she said skeptically.
“[Cash isn’t everything in life. We just had sex,]” Ulrich informed her, triumphantly. “[Why didn’t you ask me for money?]