Bedlam and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

hanging in his way again, falling out over the edge of the bed, trolling across the hotel floor? Ladybait ? Hartley had to get out of there. These users, with their codes and contracts—he had to escape.
    Garbeau had stopped laughing. No doubt she’d seen he wasn’t going along with it. She sat back and waited for him to explain.
    â€œYou people,” he began. His tone was just barely under control, but the lie took clear shape as he spoke. “You TV people.”
    The fight that followed didn’t take much imagination. She’d already given Hartley all the weapons. The first time he said that Garbeau didn’t have any feelings, he could see he’d scored. The surfaces of her eyes flattened. When he asked if she ever planned to have some kids of her own, she threw the clipboard at him. It caught him on the ribs and sent paper flying everywhere. After that Hartley no longer had to work to keep his voice from cracking. He began to shout like a born officer. Garbeau made the mistake of going for him with her fingernails, and he put a quick hand-to-hand move on her. Then she simply lay on the rug awhile, screaming insults. Hartley could swear that at one point he heard a maid giggling outside the door. In no time the two were reaching back for high-school slurs: tramp, white trash, stupid grease monkey .
    â€œWhy don’t you go back to, to camp or wherever it is they keep you apes?” Garbeau was standing up. “We sure don’t need you here. You can come back with your wife .”
    She shook her hair angrily. Hartley was still lying in bed, playing the cool dude. From this angle he was stung by the unexpected revelation, her fine legs against the numb synthetics of the hotel curtain. He felt the old tug. Amazing, he still wanted her. Could that—could that have been the reason he’d gotten so jerked around? For now at least it was obvious that he’d never been in love with Garbeau. No never; love had been only a game for switchboard operators.
    â€œYou’ll still get your checks ,” Garbeau said.
    They sat and made the necessary phone calls. She in her chair and he on the edge of the bed, they sat with knees touching, with even a few inches of their naked thighs touching. They faced each other. He called Fort Devens and then Fort Pope, Louisiana, where he’d done his basic training. He had no idea how far Fort Pope was or how he’d get there. Meantime she called Los Angeles and New York.
    â€œPut a stop on F.L.A.,” Garbeau said into the phone. She spoke pointedly, loudly, her eyes fixed on Hartley. “No, this is just paper. We’ll promote the same S.A. Just reroute the signatures through Ayer, Mass.”
    â€œLet’s get this exercise locked in as of thirteen-hundred,” Hartley said to the man at Fort Pope, glaring back at Garbeau word for word. He felt the sea-salt inside her knee. “The C.O. and the gate should understand it’s strictly S.O.P.”
    Hartley was back behind the plexiglass divider, back with the driver whose face he found so reliable, so soggy. He’d finished sneezing at the limo’s air-conditioning. He lit a joint. He’d bought about a half-dozen before leaving Garbeau’s room. She’d asked a high price and he’d insisted on paying what he called “recreation tax.” Now, outside the big car’s tinted windows, he saw the foliage closing together to make jungle, the Everglades.
    â€œYou know,” the driver said, “Louisiana’s a long way.”
    Hartley hadn’t noticed the divider coming down.
    â€œYou’re getting paid,” he said.
    â€œGettin’ paid is just bidnis as usual.” The driver gestured for the joint and Hartley saw no reason not to pass it. “But I think you and me can work out a better ‘rangement.”
    Toke. Hartley wondered if he’d missed something said earlier. Also, for no reason, he realized he