The Starshine Connection Read Online Free Page B

attempting, at the last second, to put
     his entire body into the punch. Slayton did not move, flinch, or blink.
    Like a striking snake, Slayton’s right arm flew up and caught the boy’s arm by the wrist, stopping the punch dead in the air
     two inches from his nose. Reflexively, some of the observers had already turned their heads away, and one of the girls had
     cried out at the splat of flesh that never came.
    The boy’s eyes widened even further. He tried to pull his fist back, and Slayton held it totally immobile. It was like being
     caught in the grip of a statue.
    “
Voila!”
said Slayton, releasing the boy’s arm.
    The puppy he had whipped massaged his wrist, gritting his teeth and reddening under the realization that he now looked, to
     his buddies, like the biggest jerk in the world.
    Sometimes, though, Slayton thought, with humiliation comes maturity. The boy had apparently gained some small portion of the
     latter, since he withdrew from the group, retreating as expected—but without a parting epithet or cheap shot to use as a last-minute
     grab at saving face.
    Like a carny emcee, Slayton held his hands up, open-palmed. “And now, children, Uncle Ben is headed for the bar. Please feel
     free to do anything I wouldn’t do.”
    Slayton milled his way wordlessly toward the wet bar. The gathering was just beginning to cook at one in the morning. He cadged
     for himself a raw scotch, sipped tentatively, and ordered another. He dumped the contents of the second glass into the first
     before the barman’s eyes. The man shrugged.
    “Tell me, Uncle Ben,” came a voice from behind him. “Is flexing your muscles the only way you have to impress little girls?”
    Without turning, Slayton knew it was the girl who had, up until his display, been Sylvia’s replacement for the night. She
     had shucked her knight-errant and come gunning for him. Cleaved away from the homogeneous group, she was much more interesting.
    “Little girls, yes. That’s about all they go for—it comes from watching too much television, you know. Now women, that’s a
     different matter altogether. Women usually have brains. Little girls are victims of their own raging adrenals, wouldn’t you
     say?”
    She pursed her lips in mock thought. “Well, which would you say I qualify as?”
    Slayton stepped back theatrically and looked once up, once down, like inspecting a used car. “Not sure,” he said. “Could be
     the consciousness of a girl inside that voluptuous shell. Tell me, do you think the excesses of. Renaissance sculptors were
     mere compensations for latent homosexuality? What is the absolute artistic worth of what Eno called ‘ambient music’ versus
     mechnical tonalities? Is either true music at all? How about politics? Why do you think the government has been holding back
     on hydro-genization to meet our fuel needs now that it’s cost-effective? Is the timing of the essence of feminine orgasm really
     only 3.5 seconds? You’re laughing and trying to cover up your mouth—does this indicate that you’re actually attempting to
     pick me up?” He took two steps back and leaned on the wet bar. “Correction: pick me up at a
bar?”
    She was totally caught up in it, having a hell of a time. Slayton sipped and watched her as she laughed herself out. Then
     he said, “What happened to your boyfriend Jake?”
    “Jake?” she said, wiping her eyes.
    “Right, Jake LaMotta.”
    “Huh?” Slayton watched it blow right past her.
    “Never mind. Poor joke.”
    “Rodney was a drag anyway,” she said. “To hell with him. Look, my name’s Roxanne. Roxy.”
    “Very stylish,” said Slayton, eyes drifting past her to the far walls of the room. “And what drugs are you into?”
    “Come on,” she said, her smile fading. Her wide and perfect mouth somehow did not look normal without a smile on it. “Not
     all of us are as stupid as you seem to think we are. And not all of us are collegiate dunderheads, either.”
    Roxy