Bedlam and Other Stories Read Online Free Page B

the more satisfied part of his mind dropped away as mysteriously as it had arrived. He couldn’t even decide whether or not to pull up his pants. Garbeau meantime went through a lot of gimmicks, ignoring him. She touched the stems and petals on the flowers he’d bought her last night. She wrapped the phone wire round her index finger. Somehow she found time for a cigarette too. Hartley understood the lines of battle had been drawn, that much he could trust, but he couldn’t be sure if a man in love was supposed to cross those lines or back away.
    â€œHey?” he said finally.
    Another surprise: Garbeau smiled at him. She untangled her finger and lay the phone on her shoulder again.
    â€œOkay, Hartley, okay.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “I guess I— okay , I apologize.”
    â€œNo,” Hartley began. “No, don’t.”
    â€œLet’s just say I brought a lot of stuff down on you that other people put on me.”
    He wouldn’t nod, wouldn’t give any sign. He didn’t want those clear lines of force dissolving.
    â€œBut look, now, we’ve had a lot of fun these last couple days but, I do have work here—”
    â€œ Ronnie .” He actually waved a fist at her. “What I want to know is, what do you think of this? What do you think of how you and I can do this?”
    The question, lumpy and badly put as it was, exhausted him. He watched as Garbeau changed the way she was sitting. And she took time for another cigarette. Between slow drags, plainly trying to feel for what he was after, she told Hartley that during these past couple days she’d come while he was inside her. “I mean, that’s pretty rare, you should know.”
    Hartley shook his head. That was just something he’d learned over in Nam. He pressed his knuckles against his stomach muscles, felt the coffee down there bubble against his diaphragm. The only things that came to mind were more wisecracks.
    â€œYou’ve done this before,” Garbeau said. “I mean, God, with this war-hero business, what else do you need? The AP put what you did number six on the list of the ten greatest stories of American bravery since World War II.”
    Again Hartley was waving his fist, as if to ward this stuff off.
    â€œHey, Hartley. You’re the one who goes around giving speeches. You’re—”
    â€œI don’t give speeches,” he said quickly. It was such a relief to put in something simple and certain. “I hate speeches. I feel like the world’s biggest fake up there. The Army stopped making me give speeches a long time ago. They know I’m at my best working one-on-one.”
    Garbeau bought some more time with her cigarette. Then she smiled.
    â€œWell, so, that just proves what I’m saying. You’re a natural, Hartley. I mean, if you’re telling me these last couple days have stirred up some doubts,”—she snorted at the idea—“forget it. You’re what every man wishes he was. You’re lady bait.”
    She laughed. The flowers changed color behind her scattered smoke. And when Hartley tried to chuckle in response, to help her blow away this silly idea of doubts, he discovered something that left him ruined. He was almost in tears again. His throat clenched round his breathing. Everything beneath the neck was straining, revving with the pedal to the floor. Hartley must have gone three years without crying and now he was breaking up two days in a row. He thought: What have these guys done to me ? He flexed his feet in his boots, locked his fingers together tight, tight. What had they done, now that Hartley couldn’t ask a simple question? Garbeau’s laugh now was nothing special, only the same trick she’d been using on him since he came off the plane in Fort Lauderdale. She was only trying to keep the customer satisfied. But how was Hartley ever to get round that act, here with his dinosaur