person."
"Three of us get the checks, every month," Josh told him. "For seven years. A thousand dollars a month. You, and Robert Van Bark, and me. I never knew why. You never knew why either, did you?"
"I still don't know what you're talking about," Robbie said. "What checks?"
"We don't have time for this," Josh told him. "Ten days ago, they activated me, and I was just lucky, I didn't say the wrong thing. Then they went to Van Bark, and I guess he
did
say the wrong thing. And pretty soon Andrei Levrin is gonna come here, and from the way you're acting, you're gonna say so many wrong things you'll be dead in ten minutes. Which would be very bad for me."
A false nervous smile played over Robbie's mobile features. "I see what it is," he said, "it's an audition. You have a play, and of course you want to star in it, and this is how to attract—"
"Van Bark is dead," Josh said.
Robbie shook his head, drawing his shoulders up like a matron in a comedy. "I have never heard of the man."
"He cashed the checks. Every month."
Robbie cast around, this way, that way, for some other reaction to offer, something to make this scene go away. At last, he merely sighed, and looked Josh head-on, and said, "What do you
want
?"
"Let me in there," Josh said. "I'll explain the whole thing. Maybe we can help each other."
Robbie thought it over. Then sudden suspicion hardened his face again, and he said, "Are you
wired
?"
"What? Oh, you mean carrying a recorder? Of course not."
"Or a transmitter," Robbie told him. "Any little
gadget
."
"I'm not carrying anything," Josh told him.
Robbie nodded. 'Strip," he said.
"Strip?" Josh couldn't believe it. "Here? In the lobby?"
"No one will come in. If you're clean, I'll let you in and you can tell me your story, whatever it is. Up to you."
He was this far into this situation, Josh told himself, he might as well go through with it. "Oh, all right," he said, and peeled off his shirt. "Okay?"
"Everything," Robbie said.
Josh frowned at him. "What do you mean, everything?"
"I mean everything," Robbie insisted.
"Oh, the hell with you!"
"Goodbye," Robbie said, and turned away.
"All right! All right!"
The next part of the experience was grim enough. Pirouetting starkers in front of Robbie's intense gaze, Josh said, "I suppose you've played a doctor on TV."
"Not yet," Robbie said. "I'll unlock. Come in when you're decent."
20
INSIDE, THE THEATER WAS narrow but deep, like a shoe-box, with the stage at the far end. Facing it were two stepped wooden platforms with an aisle between them from the entrance, and on the platforms were rows of black metal folding chairs.
No curtain covered the stage, where the set was as minimal as possible. To the left were a bed covered with scratchy-looking throws and a battered dresser with a candle on it, unlit. To the right, a green settee and a mirrored dressing table, fronted by a round piano stool. On the dressing table stood a large framed photograph of Robbie, in a doorman's uniform. Centered, upstage, was a doorframe connected to nothing, with a door open back toward a tall narrow painting of a snowy mountain. Beyond that, the rear wall seemed to be sheets of plywood painted flat black.
Robbie, also in flat black unlike his photo, led the way to the stage, saying, "Take the settee, it's more comfortable than it looks."
It would have to be; and it was. Josh sat on it, facing all the empty chairs, and Robbie sat on the piano stool, leaning his back against the dressing table. "Those checks have meant a lot to me," he said, "over the years."
Josh said, "Did you ever try to find out where they were coming from?"
"Called the phone number on the checks a few times, never got an answer." Robbie shrugged. "I don't know about you, but for me, an extra thou a month is a godsend."
"Not from God, though."
"All right," Robbie said. "So now I'm gonna find out about the money. Does this mean it stops?"
"Let me tell you the story." Casting around for a
"Three of us get the checks, every month," Josh told him. "For seven years. A thousand dollars a month. You, and Robert Van Bark, and me. I never knew why. You never knew why either, did you?"
"I still don't know what you're talking about," Robbie said. "What checks?"
"We don't have time for this," Josh told him. "Ten days ago, they activated me, and I was just lucky, I didn't say the wrong thing. Then they went to Van Bark, and I guess he
did
say the wrong thing. And pretty soon Andrei Levrin is gonna come here, and from the way you're acting, you're gonna say so many wrong things you'll be dead in ten minutes. Which would be very bad for me."
A false nervous smile played over Robbie's mobile features. "I see what it is," he said, "it's an audition. You have a play, and of course you want to star in it, and this is how to attract—"
"Van Bark is dead," Josh said.
Robbie shook his head, drawing his shoulders up like a matron in a comedy. "I have never heard of the man."
"He cashed the checks. Every month."
Robbie cast around, this way, that way, for some other reaction to offer, something to make this scene go away. At last, he merely sighed, and looked Josh head-on, and said, "What do you
want
?"
"Let me in there," Josh said. "I'll explain the whole thing. Maybe we can help each other."
Robbie thought it over. Then sudden suspicion hardened his face again, and he said, "Are you
wired
?"
"What? Oh, you mean carrying a recorder? Of course not."
"Or a transmitter," Robbie told him. "Any little
gadget
."
"I'm not carrying anything," Josh told him.
Robbie nodded. 'Strip," he said.
"Strip?" Josh couldn't believe it. "Here? In the lobby?"
"No one will come in. If you're clean, I'll let you in and you can tell me your story, whatever it is. Up to you."
He was this far into this situation, Josh told himself, he might as well go through with it. "Oh, all right," he said, and peeled off his shirt. "Okay?"
"Everything," Robbie said.
Josh frowned at him. "What do you mean, everything?"
"I mean everything," Robbie insisted.
"Oh, the hell with you!"
"Goodbye," Robbie said, and turned away.
"All right! All right!"
The next part of the experience was grim enough. Pirouetting starkers in front of Robbie's intense gaze, Josh said, "I suppose you've played a doctor on TV."
"Not yet," Robbie said. "I'll unlock. Come in when you're decent."
20
INSIDE, THE THEATER WAS narrow but deep, like a shoe-box, with the stage at the far end. Facing it were two stepped wooden platforms with an aisle between them from the entrance, and on the platforms were rows of black metal folding chairs.
No curtain covered the stage, where the set was as minimal as possible. To the left were a bed covered with scratchy-looking throws and a battered dresser with a candle on it, unlit. To the right, a green settee and a mirrored dressing table, fronted by a round piano stool. On the dressing table stood a large framed photograph of Robbie, in a doorman's uniform. Centered, upstage, was a doorframe connected to nothing, with a door open back toward a tall narrow painting of a snowy mountain. Beyond that, the rear wall seemed to be sheets of plywood painted flat black.
Robbie, also in flat black unlike his photo, led the way to the stage, saying, "Take the settee, it's more comfortable than it looks."
It would have to be; and it was. Josh sat on it, facing all the empty chairs, and Robbie sat on the piano stool, leaning his back against the dressing table. "Those checks have meant a lot to me," he said, "over the years."
Josh said, "Did you ever try to find out where they were coming from?"
"Called the phone number on the checks a few times, never got an answer." Robbie shrugged. "I don't know about you, but for me, an extra thou a month is a godsend."
"Not from God, though."
"All right," Robbie said. "So now I'm gonna find out about the money. Does this mean it stops?"
"Let me tell you the story." Casting around for a
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