Dead Babies Read Online Free PDF Page A

I really got the horrors for a moment. Thought you were going mad again."
"But I've used that voice before?"
    "I know that," said Andy, "but don't ever use it again. Or any other of your funny voices. Okay? Now." He took a handful of pills from his pocket and sprinkled them onto the coffee table. "We'd really like you to take two, but they're semi-barbits so you won't be able to lush much, so one's okay, : though I'd prefer it if you could handle two. I'll give you some for a present, but you—"
    "Hey!" cried Quentin, muffling the telephone. One blue-jeaned leg emerged from the folds of Quentin's satin housecoat to rest on the arm of a nearby chair. "It's Lucy herself. Hello Lucy! And whose bed might you be in?" he asked, and started chuckling grandly at her reply.
Keith looked wildly around.
"Well, Lucy, if you will bathchair-snatch . . . Yes, once— for a dare. One moment, Andy should like a word. And when are you coming?" he added in an aggrieved voice. "Very well, see you then. No, I'm a one-girl guy now. The same to you."
As Quentin whisperingly handed the telephone to Andy, Keith took a pill from the small mound and rolled it thoughtfully in his palm.
"Luce? Andy! Incredible. How many? Yeah? Mythical. And"—he turned and winked at Keith—"we've got a little surprise for you, too. Someone very anxious to make your acquaintance. You wait and see. Keith Whitehead. Well, he's tall, dark—ooh, about six-one, six-two?—chiseled features—"
Whitehead gave a groan of protest.
"-—thick black hair, absolute dynamite in the cot, I hear, rich as Croesus—"
"Andy, please."
"—thin as a blade, but, what with his height, you know, really built —'
"Andy."
" —take him in yourself tonight. Okay, kid. Bye!"
The telephone chirruped faintly as Andy replaced the receiver and turned grinning to Quentin. "That's what they call a soft sell," Quentin remarked.
"You appreciate," said Keith hoarsely, "you appreciate what you've just done, don't you?" The shape of Keith's mouth was such that his upper front teeth were always partly exposed; now the semicircular stripe of chapped red rubber virtually obscured his nostrils.
Andy hurried across the room and crouched blinking in front of him. "What?"
"You've just, you've..."
"What? Now you take your pills like a good little boy. What have I done?”
Keith waved a hand impotently.
"C'mon, Mac, fill me in."
Keith rested his head against the back of the sofa and swallowed something deep in his throat. His voice was speedy and distant. "If you hadn't said those things to Lucy I might have had a slim chance—"
"Slim chance? Slim chance? Fat chance, boy, fat chance."
"I might have had a ... Oh, Christ, I might have had a chance to make . . . Ah, how could you conceive—"
    "To make a good impression?" interjected Quentin, who had been watching the squat pair with twinkly disinterest. "What Keith is trying to say, Andrew, is that he harbors doubts about living up to the rather stylized picture of himself with which you have just furnished Miss Littlejohn. That lady now expects to be welcomed by a tall, slender, dark, handsome stranger and—"
"—And all she'll get is fat, fair, rough, little Keith. Yeah, of course, but I was only fucking about—she knows that. Christ, where's your sense of humor?"
"Well, Keith. Satisfied?"
Whitehead wasn't. "I was hoping you'd sort of talk to her, Andy, use your influence." He gestured at the pills. "I do you all these favors, couldn't you ask her to do me one?"
Andy seemed genuinely puzzled. "Why not just try her, like anyone else?"
"Look at me." Keith spread out his arms. He appeared to be about to cry. "I'm not like anyone else."
"I can't . . ." Andy clicked his tongue and stood up. "Okay. I'll, you know, I'll— Christ I hate all this pervert talk. Now fuckin' take those pills, Keith, and let's have no more of this shit."
    When Andy had left the room Quentin walked over to the sofa and sat down on its arm. "Try not to be hurt by what Andy says," he