Dominick Potyevsky was returning from the other room, looking considerably more cheerful.
Talmadge turned to him and said, “And we’re Dominick and Howard, to any friend of Spider’s, right?”
“If you would,” said Potyevsky. Dominick. “Would you like some cookies, Keylinn? We always prepare when we know Spider’s coming.” And he patted his belly with a wicked look in his eye.
Spider sat up straight. “That’s not fair! Who played Falstaff yesterday?”
“I used padding,” said Howard Talmadge. “It would be superfluous in your case.”
“See what happens when I bring a lady with me?” Spider turned to me and shook some crumbs off his palms. ‘This is the story of my life: Constant abuse at the hands of my friends.”
“… oh, I don’t know. I guess the greatest disappointment—second only to the fact that we’ve run out of cookies—is that I never got to play in Othello. I made a nuisance of myself for years over it—you see, Keylinn, we do one quarter year Shakespeare, and one quarter Ayscough, and one Gleisner, so I hoped eventually—”
“You’ve left out a quarter,” said Spider.
“That’s the quarter for new plays. Whatever we can get past the Censor. —Dominick does those, did you know that, Keylinn? We put on one of his four years ago. … Where was I?”
He would probably be clearer on where he was, I thought, if whiskey had not begun to replace the tea about an hour ago.
“You know,” said Dominick, “you always say that. In Othello. I’ve always meant to ask you, do you want to play Othello or Iago?”
Howard Talmadge blinked at him. “How can you ask that?”
“Well, I know you love a title role, Howard, but Othello’s really a very silly fellow at bottom, and—”
“There’s a writer for you.” He gestured toward Dominick with the whiskey bottle. ‘They’re all got a soft spot for the villain. Go miles out of their way to pay you back a quarter—well, some of them—but the more corpses pile up around a character, the better they like him.”
“I agree with him,” I said. Howard put on a look of betrayal, while Dominick lifted a teacup in acknowledgement. “Othello was an awful man. Iago only tried to hurt what he thought were his enemies; Othello killed his wife, and on die basis of—what was it, a handkerchief? Next to him, the bad guy can’t help but look good.” From his place on the sofa Spider said archly, “Maybe he thought she violated a contract. The marriage contract.”
Oh, you’re treading close to the tide, Spider-my-boy. “He should have ascertained that as a fact,” I replied cooly. “No, no mercy for Othello in my book. He deserved what happened to him.”
“The lady’s harsh,” said Howard. “But at least Spider agrees with me.”
“Not really,” said Spider.
“I’m alone!” He tilted back the bottle and emptied the last sip.
“A husband has duties to his wife,” said Spider. “Call me old-fashioned, but not killing her comes somewhere near the top of the list.”
“Well, you’re statistical anomalies, the three of you, and I’m glad all audiences aren’t like you.”
I knelt beside the sofa to retrieve a glass, and whispered to Spider, “I go on-shift in twenty minutes.”
He sat up. “Howard, Dom, we’d better start moving. I’ll be back in two weeks with whatever I can get.” They exchanged good-byes for another five minutes, and I promised to return with Spider.
On the other side of the door Spider asked, “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes, I did. I like them.” And I’d fallen hard for the handkissing, which in Howard’s case had an impressive engine behind it for someone I didn’t believe was primarily hetero.
“You didn’t say much.”
“I’m shy around strangers. I get over it.” Partway down the steel steps, I thought to ask, “What’s wrong with Dominick?”
“Basically, he’s dying.”
“Oh.” I wondered if that kind of statement would always be so hard to reply to.
“It’s taking a long time, and meanwhile he’s in a lot of pain. Particularly his back—sitting in that chair all the time really puts a strain on it. Howard and I do what we can for him—although I can’t really compare with Howard. He does everything, every day.” Spider’s shirt came untucked as he hit the last few steps; he lifted his jacket, stuffed it back in unself-consciously, and offered a hand to me for the final step. As though I hadn’t made it perfectly well down the rest of the stairs; this was charming. I liked Spider more and more.
We walked to the Boulevard. The dimmers were coming on, and the store signs with them. I considered the state of medicine on the Diamond, and what I might or might not do as a Graykey to assist Dominick Potyevsky. There was nothing I could think of that did not violate Diamond policy and either endanger my contract-holder or invalidate the contract. Spider, I had noticed, generally found silence awkward after a time. Now he said, “You’ll have to take a train if you want to reach Transport by your shift. Sorry.”
“That’s all right, it was a pleasant afternoon. I wonder what Tal’s doing now?”
He snorted. “It’s pointless to even speculate, believe me…. Does he really not have your contract?”
“I give you my word, Spider, I’m not under contract to anyone on the Diamond.” Tal was at that moment quite some distance off the Diamond.
“Well, do you know this thing of his about Belleraphon?” We reached the track steps, and stood there for a moment facing each other.
“I’ve heard the name.”
“Do you know why he’s looking for him?”
I said carefully, “I just came on board, Spider, you’re supposed to be the expert. What do you think?”
“Not a clue. I don’t get paid to think.” The vibration of the railing announced that a train was coming, and he said, “Best go up or you’ll be late.”
“Thank you for a lovely time,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek.
He touched his cheek,
