one completely with the darkness, not even the slap of her slippers or the scent of her perfume left as tangible evidence of her existence.
He stayed there, as if just banished from Eden, not knowing what to do with himself or the quick doom of his feelings for Susan Richards.
Finally he went back to his cabin and fell into uneasy sleep.
20
10:43 A.M.
In the morning three episodes of "Celebrity Circle" were shot and of the three only the middle one had any sort of spontaneity. Even when the Applause sign ignited there was only a faint slapping together of hands-too many people thinking about the curious couple found dead on the fourth deck. During the second episode, however, a certain bitchy brilliance overtook Cassie McDowell (so much for her "McKinley High, USA" image) and she proceeded to cut sharp and close at the bone of fame, ragging the somewhat pompous Todd Ames about his new hosting job and even skewing some of the "civilian" guests. ("God, is that your real laugh or do you get an extra piece of luggage for cackling that way?") Jere Farris was up on a small tier with the crew. He paced and wrung his hands and then flung helpless looks down at Joanna Howard, who flung them right back up like faded roses at a departing lover. Tobin got to see all this because the civilians who stood to win everything from washers to cars rarely called on him, Tobin being a terrible player. He always panicked and blanked and as Todd was wishing them adieu they always glowered at him, vague threats in their gaze, as if they held him accountable for the fact that their children would never again have enough to eat. So the morning bloody went.
"I don't suppose you'd tell me what was in that notebook you and Iris Graves were wrestling over yesterday, would you?"
"Oh, God, you really are playing detective, aren't you?"
As he seated himself at Alicia Farris's table in one of the smaller lounges, Tobin had of course expected not only resistance but resentment from Alicia. He hadn't expected her wry, even amused glance.
"Nice place, isn't it?" She smiled. "Makes you want to go get a pan and look for some gold."
The motif here was the gold rush, and all the expected cliches of interior decoration had been brought to bear-blowups of forlorn gold mining camps, waitresses got up to resemble saloon hostesses, wagon wheels mounted on the wall, and drinks served in tin pans with fool's gold written on the side. Fortunately, it was pretty dark, so nobody could see Tobin blush. Stuff like this really embarrassed him.
"It's wonderful," he said.
"Now do you want me to tell you what you're wondering?"
"What am I wondering?"
"You're wondering why an otherwise respectable woman such as myself would be sitting alone in a kitschy little lounge having a drink at three in the afternoon."
"Actually, I wasn't wondering that at all."
"Well, in case you hadn't heard, my husband is having an affair."
"I'm sorry." He said it as if she'd just told him her biopsy had been horrible. In a way, he thought, it was sort of the same thing. He had to pretend innocence, of course. If he seemed knowing, she would feel paranoid-as if he were somehow part of a vast conspiracy from which she'd been kept. You got that way when your mate's infidelities became public.
"Oh, he's done it before, Tobin. It's nothing new."
"Still, it can't be much fun."
"You sound as if you know what I'm going through."
"I've been on both ends of that particular gun."
"Well put," she said. Then, "I wish I had. Been on both sides, I mean. To get back at him, I once tried to sleep with a parking lot attendant. He was very beautiful, very brown-he might have been part Negro- and we got so far as his shabby little apartment and I felt ashamed and excited at the same time and then his girlfriend came
He stayed there, as if just banished from Eden, not knowing what to do with himself or the quick doom of his feelings for Susan Richards.
Finally he went back to his cabin and fell into uneasy sleep.
20
10:43 A.M.
In the morning three episodes of "Celebrity Circle" were shot and of the three only the middle one had any sort of spontaneity. Even when the Applause sign ignited there was only a faint slapping together of hands-too many people thinking about the curious couple found dead on the fourth deck. During the second episode, however, a certain bitchy brilliance overtook Cassie McDowell (so much for her "McKinley High, USA" image) and she proceeded to cut sharp and close at the bone of fame, ragging the somewhat pompous Todd Ames about his new hosting job and even skewing some of the "civilian" guests. ("God, is that your real laugh or do you get an extra piece of luggage for cackling that way?") Jere Farris was up on a small tier with the crew. He paced and wrung his hands and then flung helpless looks down at Joanna Howard, who flung them right back up like faded roses at a departing lover. Tobin got to see all this because the civilians who stood to win everything from washers to cars rarely called on him, Tobin being a terrible player. He always panicked and blanked and as Todd was wishing them adieu they always glowered at him, vague threats in their gaze, as if they held him accountable for the fact that their children would never again have enough to eat. So the morning bloody went.
"I don't suppose you'd tell me what was in that notebook you and Iris Graves were wrestling over yesterday, would you?"
"Oh, God, you really are playing detective, aren't you?"
As he seated himself at Alicia Farris's table in one of the smaller lounges, Tobin had of course expected not only resistance but resentment from Alicia. He hadn't expected her wry, even amused glance.
"Nice place, isn't it?" She smiled. "Makes you want to go get a pan and look for some gold."
The motif here was the gold rush, and all the expected cliches of interior decoration had been brought to bear-blowups of forlorn gold mining camps, waitresses got up to resemble saloon hostesses, wagon wheels mounted on the wall, and drinks served in tin pans with fool's gold written on the side. Fortunately, it was pretty dark, so nobody could see Tobin blush. Stuff like this really embarrassed him.
"It's wonderful," he said.
"Now do you want me to tell you what you're wondering?"
"What am I wondering?"
"You're wondering why an otherwise respectable woman such as myself would be sitting alone in a kitschy little lounge having a drink at three in the afternoon."
"Actually, I wasn't wondering that at all."
"Well, in case you hadn't heard, my husband is having an affair."
"I'm sorry." He said it as if she'd just told him her biopsy had been horrible. In a way, he thought, it was sort of the same thing. He had to pretend innocence, of course. If he seemed knowing, she would feel paranoid-as if he were somehow part of a vast conspiracy from which she'd been kept. You got that way when your mate's infidelities became public.
"Oh, he's done it before, Tobin. It's nothing new."
"Still, it can't be much fun."
"You sound as if you know what I'm going through."
"I've been on both ends of that particular gun."
"Well put," she said. Then, "I wish I had. Been on both sides, I mean. To get back at him, I once tried to sleep with a parking lot attendant. He was very beautiful, very brown-he might have been part Negro- and we got so far as his shabby little apartment and I felt ashamed and excited at the same time and then his girlfriend came
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