The Year of the Jackpot Read Online Free

But… well, it’s just that I don’t—”
    He came over and took both her hands. “I haven’t the slightest thought of making a pass at you. Nor need you feel grateful. I butted in because I was interested in your case.”
    “My
case?
Are you a doctor? A psychiatrist?”
    He shook his head. “I’m a mathematician. A statistician, to be precise.”
    “Huh? I don’t get it.”
    “Don’t worry about it. But I would like to ask some questions. May I?”
    “Oh, sure! Of course! I owe you that much—and then some.”
    “You owe me nothing. Want your drink sweetened?”
    She gulped the balance and handed him her glass, then followed him out into the kitchen. He did an exact job of measuring and gave it back.
    “Now tell me why you took your clothes off,” he said.
    S he frowned. “I don’t know. I
don’t
know. I don’t
know
. I guess I just went crazy.” She added, round-eyed, “But I don’t feel crazy. Could I go off my rocker and not know it?”
    “You’re not crazy… not more so than the rest of us,” he amended. “Tell me, where did you see someone else do this?”
    “Huh? I never have.”
    “Where did you read about it?”
    “But I haven’t. Wait a minute—those people up in Canada, Dooka-somethings.”
    “Doukhobors. That’s all? No bareskin swimming parties? No strip poker?”
    She shook her head. “No. You may not believe it, but I was the kind of a little girl who undressed under her nightie.” She colored and added, “I still do—unless I remember to tell myself it’s silly.”
    “I believe it. No news stories?”
    “No. Yes, there was! About two weeks ago, I think it was. Some girl in a theater—in the audience, I mean. But I thought it was just publicity. You know the stunts they pull here.”
    He shook his head. “It wasn’t. February 3rd, the Grand Theater, Mrs. Alvin Copley. Charges dismissed.”
    “How did
you
know?”
    “Excuse me.” He went to his desk, dialed the City News Bureau. “Alf? This is Pot Breen. They still sitting on that story?… Yes, the Gypsy Rose file. Any new ones today?”
    He waited. Meade thought that she could make out swearing.
    “Take it easy, Alf—this hot weather can’t last forever. Nine, eh? Well, add another—Santa Monica Boulevard, late this afternoon. No arrest.” He added, “Nope, nobody got her name. A middle-aged woman with a cast in one eye. I happened to see it… who, me? Why would I want to get mixed up? But it’s rounding into a very, very interesting picture.”
    He put the phone down.
    Meade said, “Cast in one eye, indeed!”
    “Shall I call him back and give him your name?”
    “Oh, no!”
    “Very well. Now, Meade, we seemed to have located the point of contagion in your case—Mrs. Copley. What I’d like to know next is how you felt, what you were thinking about, when you did it.”
    She was frowning intently. “Wait a minute, Potiphar. Do I understand that
nine other girls
have pulled the stunt I pulled?”
    “Oh, no. Nine others
today
. You are—” he paused briefly—“the three hundred and nineteenth case in Los Angeles County since the first of the year. I don’t have figures on the rest of the country, but the suggestion to clamp down on the stories came from the eastern news services when the papers here put our first cases on the wire. That proves that it’s a problem elsewhere, too.”
    “You mean that women all over the country are peeling off their clothes in public? Why, how shocking!”
    H e said nothing. She blushed again and insisted, “Well, it
is
shocking, even if it was me, this time.”
    “No, Meade. One case is shocking; over three hundred makes it scientifically interesting. That’s why I want to know how it felt. Tell me about it.”
    “But—all right, I’ll try. I told you I don’t know why I did it; I still don’t. I—”
    “You remember it?”
    “Oh, yes! I remember getting up off the bench and pulling up my sweater. I remember unzipping my skirt. I remember thinking