The Four Johns Read Online Free PDF Page B

John Lloyd unlikely,” said Oleg Malinski hastily.
    â€œYou can consider him impossible,” snapped Mrs. John Lloyd. “In more ways than one.”
    â€œI take my oath,” said John Lloyd. “I’ve never met the young lady.”
    â€œVery well. John Lloyd: impossible. Have we a John without a wife?” Oleg searched his guests. “I see John Thompson, library stack superintendent. Persuasive, hedonistic, enterprising, with the whip and carrot of special privilege.”
    Thompson, a compact, sunburned man of thirty-five, heard the accusation with a sleepy grin. He had an air of easy competence. “My budget barely runs to paper clips, let alone whips and carrots.”
    â€œI employ a figure of speech,” said Malinski. “In this society the manager is king. You could easily make Mary’s work a dream of Elysian pleasure: a cushion for her chair, purple ribbon in her typewriter, an extra five minutes for coffee breaks, and so forth.”
    â€œIt’s a fact that I wield considerable power,” said Librarian Thompson, “but if I were that sort of cad, why am I here now, instead of reaping the fruits of Mary’s gratitude?”
    Oleg basted the lamb. “Some men are quickly sated.”
    â€œNot that quickly.”
    â€œPerhaps not. But meanwhile, and tentatively of course, shall we place you in the Quickly Sated category?”
    â€œAs you like.”
    Susie turned away. “Disgusting men,” she muttered, not altogether under her breath. She stalked into the living room, perched on a chair, glared out the window. Mervyn went to sit beside her. She flicked a glance of reptilian chill at him, but said nothing. Mervyn sipped his red wine and held his tongue.
    More guests arrived: members of the faculty, a writer or two, a contingent from the Radiation Lab. A tall man with a gaunt and quite ferocious profile and glittering black eyes came to bend over Susie. “My dear young lady!”
    Susie looked up indifferently. “Hello.”
    â€œSo seldom do I see you without your sister.”
    â€œI usually tag along.” Susie performed a perfunctory introduction: “Mervyn Gray, John Viviano,” which Viviano acknowledged impatiently.
    Mervyn made no effort to join their conversation. John Viviano’s voice was alternately harsh and melodious; he used it with the control of an operatic virtuoso. He spoke of color film and skin tones; apparently his work was fashion photography. Oleg Malinski, passing by, pointed at John Viviano. “Beyond doubt this is the ‘John’ you seek. He is a well-known gallant.”
    John Viviano bowed to Susie. “I am at your service.”
    Susie smiled tiredly. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
    â€œWe are not offering you new exploits,” Oleg told Viviano. “We are inquiring about an old one. What have you done with Mary?”
    â€œAh. You must mean, what would I like to do?”
    â€œI leave the question as it stands.”
    â€œI have done nothing. I have never done anything of which I am ashamed. Shame, unknown to children and to animals, is equally unknown to me.”
    â€œThen you are not the correct ‘John.’”
    â€œCorrect for what, Oleg?”
    â€œMary has eloped with a ‘John’ whose identity we are eager to learn.”
    Viviano glanced briefly about. “If this is true, I congratulate the man. If it is not true, I congratulate Mary.”
    Susie laughed; the fashion photographer looked at her with eyebrows raised. He had said nothing funny; why had she laughed? Puzzles displeased him.
    Olga Malinski came from the kitchenette bearing a great trencher mounded with pilaf. Oleg’s wife was no larger than her husband, and half of her seemed flamboyant coiffure, almost hiding her wild, wise gypsy face. She carried the pilaf out to the deck and set it on a table.
    Oleg cried, “The lamb is ready! You must all be