The Dreadful Lemon Sky by John D. MacDonald Page A

their concession to the necessities. Their off-work identities were contra-establishment. Perhaps this was the only effective answer to all the malaise and the restlessness and the disbelief in institutionalized life, to conform for the sake of earning the bread and then to step from the job into almost as much personal freedom as the commune person.
    I realized Meyer was no longer at my elbow. I looked around and did not see him. Jason nodded to me and said, "Was it okay?"
    "It was beautiful."
    "I figured if I just noodled around it would be better. If you play something, people start making the lyrics in their heads and they miss the other words. Robby did fine, I thought. He's an architect. Cindy wanted to make it to the service here, but she's still too shook."
    "She shouldn't have even thought about it."
    "Well, she thought a lot of Carrie. When Cindy was sick last year, Carrie came over and straightened out the books. It took her a whole weekend to do it, the way Cal had screwed things up. Look, I think I ought to talk to Susan. You think it would be okay?"
    "I think it would be fine."
    He moved off down the beach. Meyer came up to me and said, "There's a hex nut on the bottom of the gas tank. The undercoat is off it on one of the surfaces, and the metal is shiny where the undercoat flaked off."
    I stared at him in disbelief. "With all these people around, you were damn fool enough to-"
    "I was flipping my lucky silver dollar and catching it, like this. I dropped it and it hit the toe of my shoe and rolled under the Datsun. I didn't get a good look or a long look."
    "Don't try to be cute about these things."
    "Don't try to be McGee, you mean?"
    "Don't get huffy. If you want to travel with the team, learn the ground rules. I've told you before. Don't ever take a risk you don't have to take, just to save time or inflate your ego."
    "Now wait a minute-"
    "There are a lot of things you can tell me that I would never know or guess unless you told me. You have a lot of special information in your head. So have I in mine. My information can make you live longer. And better."
    "Better than what?" a girl asked. I turned. Joanna. Miss Freeler, recently of Superior Building Supplies. Dear friend of Harry Hascomb. Ex-friend. Slender girl with a delicate and lovely face, long fall of ginger-colored hair. Green eyes, slightly protruding and very challenging. The girl challenge, old as time.
    "Live better than Harry is going to live for a while."
    "That wouldn't be hard," she said. "Bet your ass. Harry is going to have to give up a lot of goodies. I know you from the office yesterday, when I quit. I remember you because you've got weird eyes. And for other reasons too, I might add. I bet you hear that from all the girls. You know, you got eyes the color of gin. What's your name?"
    "McGee. And this is Meyer. Joanna Freeler."
    "Hello, Meyer," she said. "Hello, McGee. What are you two dudes doing here at the memorial?"
    "Friends of the deceased," I said. "From Lauderdale."
    "Sure. That's where she married that muscle bum. Why didn't she marry you? Weren't you available, McGee?"
    "Weren't. Aren't. Won't be."
    "Now you're singing my song," she said.
    She was wearing a long orange dress. The color was not good with her coloring. She had thrown her flowers farther and spread them wider than any of the others.
    "You seem to be in good spirits," I said.
    She clenched her jaw and glared up at me. "That's a shitty thing to say, friend. I miss her like hell. And in one way or another, I'll always miss her. Okay?"
    "I didn't mean anything by what I said."
    "Then apologize for letting your mouth run with your head turned off, McGee."
    "I do so hereby apologize."
    She hugged my arm and smiled and said to Meyer, "You run along, dearie. I have to ask this man something."
    Meyer said, "I'll walk back to the boat."
    "You've got a boat here? At Westway? Hmm. A fast boat?"
    "If you really press her, she'll do seven or eight knots."
    "You a pilot? Like in