“Which one did he leave out?” Ziggy demanded. “He didn’t leave out anything!”
“Oh yes he did,” Verbeena said softly. “Nobody’s ever been able to program love, Ziggy.”
It was a good exit line, and Verbeena took it, leaving the office and shutting the door behind herself with an emphatic, soft click.
“There was another emotion he left out,” the computer said to the empty room. “He left out hate.”
After a moment the computer answered itself. “That’s because he’s never understood that one.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sam polished the bar with a rag, occupying himself with busywork. There wasn’t anyone in the bar yet. Except AL
“Don’t they have waitresses here?” the Observer asked. A strange expression crossed his face, as if he couldn’t believe he’d said such a thing. Sam looked at him quizzically. What was so unusual, after all, in Al wondering where the women were?
“I think so,” Sam said. This Leap was strange in more ways than one: First he couldn’t get Al to show up; now, it seemed, he couldn’t get rid of him. Not that he wanted to get rid of him, he chastised himself. But it was still strange. “The place doesn’t serve food, so it doesn’t attract much of a lunch crowd.” The dusty bowls of pretzels on the counter certainly couldn’t count as food.
Still, on the off chance someone might come in the door and be attracted to petrified pretzels, he collected the bowls and emptied them into the trash. Surely there were fresh supplies somewhere in the back room. At least digging them out would give him something to do besides polish the bar.
“So what are you going to do?” Al asked, walking through the bar to inspect the bottles lined up against the mirror. “What kind of place is this, anyhow? Never heard of some of these brands.”
Sam’s answer, reverberating in the cupboard in which he’d stuck his head, echoed oddly. “I guess I’ll figure out something.”
“Like what?”
The answer echoed too, and Sam pulled his head out and looked around to see Bethica pulling herself up on a barstool, with Al standing next to her, eyeing her judiciously.
“I thought I heard you talking to somebody, but there’s nobody here,” Bethica said.
“There’s me,” Sam and Al chorused.
“So were you talking to yourself?”
“Not exactly.” Observer and Leaper exchanged glances and half-smiles over the girl’s head.
She twisted around to look over her shoulder to see what Sam was looking at. To her eyes, there was no one there; from Sam’s perspective, she was looking Al straight in the eye. Al was disconcerted.
Sam was amused.
But there was business to get to, and this was a good opportunity. “Hi,” he said cheerfully. “What’ll it be? Although I don’t think I can serve you anything except—” he glanced around—“maybe ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale would be great,” she answered, turning back around again. “Where are the pretzels?”
Sam, caught in the act of removing the cap from a green glass bottle, raised an eyebrow.
“Well.” Filling a glass with ice, he poured the amber liquid over it, added a straw and pushed the glass over to her.
Bethica sucked noisily on her straw.
Sam poured a ginger ale for himself and rested his elbows on the bar across from her. “Have you thought about what I said about the party tonight?”
Bethica nodded nervously.
“You don’t have to go, you know.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Al watching the handlink, shaking his head. That meant his arguments weren’t going to have the red effect. He wasn’t sure which effect Al was looking for—prevention of Bethica’s accident or Wickie’s death. Either one was something he’d rather not see happen.
He decided to try another tack. “Bethica, have you ever driven a car while you were drunk?”
The girl gave him an exasperated look. “Is this going to be another lecture? ’Cause I really don’t want one.”
"No, it’s not a lecture. I just asked you a question.”
She shrugged and concentrated on her drink, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah. But so have you!”
Wickie drove drank. Terrific.
"I never said I was smart.”
"Genius, yes. Smart, no,” the Observer sniped.
Sam couldn’t tell if Al was joking or not. “I never said it either,” he protested to them both. Neither one seemed to believe him.
"Well, gee, you don’t have to sound so mad,” Bethica observed.
"Yeah, Sam. Don’t get so thin-skinned. It’s not your fault you’re a genius.” Al could never resist a free shot, knowing Sam was limited in his responses. Bethica didn’t know Al was there; if Sam started answering Al, she’d think Sam had lost his mind. Sam was beginning to feel he had, anyway.
Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled through his nostrils, trying to bring things back into focus. "All I’m saying is that you could get hurt that way, and I’d hate to see that happen.” He sneaked a glare at Al. You could get hurt one of these days too if you keep it up, his unspoken message said. Al only smirked.
Bethica, for her part, glanced up quickly. “Really?”
“Really.” Encouraged by her sudden lightening of attitude, Sam smiled. “You know, you probably shouldn’t drink at all. Even if you weren’t—” He paused.
Bethica’s face went very still. “You still think I’m a little girl.”
“Not so little,” Al remarked.
“No, I don’t think you’re a little girl.”
“And stupid,” she muttered, poking at the ice in her glass with the straw. “At least, that’s what you thought—”
“Well, yes, if you want to put it that way,” Sam said, interrupting. “When a person gets drunk they sometimes don’t know what they’re doing. They get involved in things they never meant to—”
“Stop it! Just stop it!”
He was startled to see tears glistening in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll bet!”
Sam drew breath to answer and let it go again. He’d done it again. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what had been going on when Bethica got pregnant.
