school.
She got out a tonic she kept for difficult occasions. She took one dose quickly, poured another, and thought about what Simon would have done. Presently she could hear his steady tones: «Confidence, kiddo! Have confidence and the yokels will have confidence in you. You owe to them.»
She felt much better and started writing the horoscopes for the Douglas's. It then turned out to be easy to write one for Smith; she found, as always, that words on paper proved themselves — they were so beautifully
«Just completed,» Madame Vesant answered briskly. «You realize that young Smith's horoscope presented an unusual and difficult problem in the Science. Born, as he was, on another planet, every aspect had to be recalculated. The influence of the Sun is lessened; that of Diana is almost missing. Jupiter is thrown into a novel, I should say “unique,” aspect, as I am sure you see. This required computation of — »
«Allie! Never mind that. Do you know the answers?»
«Naturally.»
«Oh, thanks goodness! I thought you were telling me that it was too much for you.»
Madame Vesant showed injured dignity. «My dear, the Science never alters; only configurations alter. The means that predicted the instant and place of the birth of Christ, that told Julius Caesar the moment and method of his death … how could it fail? Truth is Truth, unchanging.»
«Yes, of course.»
«Are you ready?»
«Let me switch on “recording” — go ahead.»
«Very well. Agnes, this is a most critical period in your life; never have the heavens gathered in such strong configuration. Above all, you must be calm, not hasty, and think things through. On the whole the portents are in your favor … provided you avoid ill-considered action. Do not let your mind be distressed by surface appearances — » She went on giving advice. Becky Vesey always gave good advice and gave it with conviction because she believed it. She had learned from Simon that, even when the stars seemed darkest, there was always a way to soften the blow, some aspect the client could use toward happiness …
The tense face opposite her in the screen calmed and began nodding agreement as she made her points. «So you see,» she concluded, «the absence of young Smith is a necessity, under the joint influences of three horoscopes. Do not worry; he will return — or you will hear from him — very shortly. The important thing is to take no drastic action. Be calm.»
«Yes, I see.»
«One more point. The aspect of Venus is most favorable and potentially dominant over that of Mars. Venus symbolizes yourself, of course, but Mars is both your husband and young Smith — as a result of the unique circumstances of his birth. This throws a double burden on you and you must rise to the challenge; you must demonstrate those qualities calm wisdom and restraint which are peculiarly those of woman. You must sustain your husband, guide him through this crisis, and soothe him. You must supply the earth-mother's calm wells of wisdom. That is your special genius … you must use it.»
Mrs. Douglas sighed. «Allie, you are simply wonderful! I don't know how to thank you.»
«Thank the Ancient Masters whose humble student I am.»
«I can't thank them so I'll thank you. This isn't covered by retainer, Allie. There will be a present.»
«No, Agnes. It is a privilege to serve.»
«And it is my privilege to appreciate service. Allie, not another word!»
Madame Vesant let herself be coaxed, then switched off, feeling warmly content from having given a reading that she just knew was right. Poor Agnes! It was a privilege to smooth her path, make her burdens a little lighter. It made her feel good to help Agnes.
It made Madame Vesant feel good to be treated as almost-equal by the wife of the Secretary General, although she did not think of it that way, not being snobbish. But young Becky Vesey had been so insignificant that the precinct committeeman could never remember her name even though he noticed her bust. Becky Vesey had not resented it; Becky liked people. She liked Agnes Douglas.
Becky Vesey liked everybody.
She sat a while, enjoying the warm glow and just a nip more tonic, while her shrewd brain shuffled the bits she had picked up. Presently she called her stockbroker and instructed him to sell Lunar Enterprises short.
He snorted. «Allie, that reducing diet is weakening your mind.»
«Listen, Ed. When it's down ten points, cover me, even if it is still slipping. Then when it rallies three points, buy again … then sell when it gets back to today's closing.»
There was long silence. «Allie, you know something. Tell Uncle Ed.»
«The stars tell me, Ed.»
Ed made a suggestion astronomically impossible. «All right, if you won't, you won't. Mmm … I never did have sense enough to stay out of a crooked game. Mind if I ride along?»
«Not at all, Ed. Just don't go heavy enough to let it show. This is a delicate situation, with Saturn balanced between Virgo and Leo.»
«As you say, Allie.»
Mrs. Douglas got busy at once, happy that Allie had confirmed all her judgments. She gave orders about the campaign to destroy the reputation of the missing Berquist, after sending for his dossier; she summoned Commandant Twitchell-of the Special Service Squadrons — he left looking unhappy and made life unbearable for his executive officer. She instructed Sanforth to release another «Man from Mars» stereocast with a rumor «from a source close to the administration» that Smith was about to go, or possibly had gone, to a sanitarium high in the Andes, to provide him with climate as much like Mars as possible. Then she thought about how to nail down Pakistan's votes.
Presently she called her husband and urged him to support Pakistan's claim to a lion's share of the Kashmir thorium. Since he had been wanting to, he was not hard to persuade, although nettled by her assumption that he had been opposing it. With that settled, she left to address the Daughters of the Second Revolution on
X
WHILE MRS. DOUGLAS was speaking freely on a subject she knew little about, Jubal E. Harshaw, LL.B, M.D., Sc.D., bon vivant, gourmet, sybarite, popular author extraordinary, and neo-pessimist philosopher, was sitting by his pool at his home in the Poconos, scratching the grey thatch on his chest, and watching his three secretaries splash in the pool. They were all amazingly beautiful; they were also amazingly good secretaries. In Harshaw's opinion the principle of least action required that utility and beauty be combined.
Anne was blonde, Mirian red-headed, and Dorcas dark; they ranged, respectively, from pleasantly plump to deliciously slender. Their ages spread over fifteen years but it was hard to tell which was the eldest.
Harshaw was working hard. Most of him was watching pretty girls do pretty things with sun and water; one small, shuttered, soundproofed compartment was composing. He claimed that his method of writing was to hook his gonads in parallel with his thalamus and disconnect his cerebrum; his habits lent credibility to the theory.
A microphone on a table was hooked to a voicewriter but he used it only for notes. When he was ready to write he used a stenographer and watched her reactions. He was ready now. «Front!» he shouted.
«Anne is “front”,» answered Dorcas. «I'll take it. That splash was Anne.»
«Dive in and get her.» The brunette cut the water; moments later Anne climbed out, put on a robe and sat down at the table. She said nothing and made no preparations; Anne had total recall.
Harshaw picked up a bucket of ice over which brandy had been poured, took a swig. «Anne, I've got a sick-making one. It's about a little kitten that wanders into a church on Christmas Eve to get warm. Besides being starved and frozen and lost, the kitten has — God knows why — an injured paw. All right; start: “Snow had been falling since — ”»
«What pen name?»
