“Not my problem,” said Bobby. “Can you find your way out?”
“Of course,” the woman said. She reached into her shoulder bag. “Your wife asked me to give you this.” She handed Bobby a note.
He unfolded it and read: Gone to dinner w/Chaz. Sean’s eaten. He’s in his room. V.
Bobby looked up. The woman was watching him. He thought of the girlish handwriting on the scraps of paper in the glove compartment. This woman’s handwriting wouldn’t be anything like that. Without a word he turned and went upstairs.
Sean was at the space console, the crusts of a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich on a plate beside him. “You have thirty minutes, eighteen seconds,” came a deep voice from the computer. “Then your entire planet will be sprayed with the gas Sorgon B, and all oxygen-based life will be vaporized.” In an on-screen window, a video previewed the catastrophe.
Not looking up, Sean said, “What’s oxygen?”
“The stuff you breathe. Is the baby-sitter here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she coming?”
Sean, tapping at the keys, didn’t answer. He paused, waiting for a response from the computer.
“Negative,” said the deep voice.
Bobby returned to the kitchen. The woman was sitting on the bottom rung of a stepladder. She had known the whole time, of course, known he wasn’t going anywhere. He was forming a stinging remark when he saw that her face was even paler than before.
“I’d like some aspirin, please,” she said.
Bobby searched three or four of the seven bathrooms, without success. Then he remembered that the Moprin people had sent him a case. He found it in the basement, brought her a package. She was where he had left her, motionless on the bottom rung of the ladder.
He handed her the package. She removed the bottle, fumbled with the plastic seal around the top. She couldn’t get it off. He took it from her, ripped the seal, popped off the top, pierced the foil, drew out the cotton. Her gaze was on his hands the whole time; another one of those women who noticed hands. He waited for her to say something about them, but she did not. Instead, she took the bottle-her fingers felt cold-shook out two pills, and asked for a glass of water.
Bobby found a glass in a box in the pantry, turned on the tap. No water came out.
“Christ.”
“Never mind,” the reporter said. She put the pills in her mouth and swallowed them. A little color returned to her face almost at once. He could still get rid of her, invent some other excuse; but he was no longer pissed off.
She glanced around the room. “What sort of house did you have in California?”
“Nicer than this.”
The reporter looked surprised.
Bobby hadn’t considered his answer; it had just popped out. Was this part of the interview? He began to see ways it could be used to make him look like a spoiled asshole. “Not fancier,” he explained. “Nicer.”
“In what way?” She took a legal pad and a mini tape recorder from her bag. “Mind if this is on?” Bobby did mind-that was one of the things he hated about reporters-but before he could say anything, she added, “Just so I don’t misquote you,” and he said nothing. “Nicer in what way?” she asked.
“In every way,” he said, wondering for a moment what this had to do with baseball. But now that he was started on this subject, he found that he wanted to finish the thought. “See those tiles?” he said, pointing to the unfinished pink-and-green checkerboard. “They’re from Italy. You wouldn’t believe how much they cost.”
“How much?”
Bobby couldn’t remember. Perhaps he hadn’t been told. He just knew no one would believe their cost.
“Probably worth every penny,” the reporter said. “They look like something out of Tiepolo.”
“I don’t know what town in Italy.”
The reporter smiled. “I’m ready for that tour now,” she said.
Bobby had forgotten about the tour. He began to get pissed off again.
“You need me,” she said.
“Why is that?” Bobby asked, thinking of Wald’s four pillars.
“Because I did a lot of baby-sitting in high school.”
Bobby looked at her: an older woman, yes, but good-looking. And smart. He smiled too. “Where do you want to start?”
“Wherever you want,” she said. She rose. A nice body, but not very strong-looking. And was it his imagination, or did she sway just a little as she stood up?
“Are you all right?” he asked, surprising himself. He couldn’t remember ever expressing, or feeling, concern for a reporter.
“Never better,” she said.
What the hell was her name? Jewel? That couldn’t be right.
They started downstairs. Bobby led her from room to room.
She said: “What did you pay for this place?”
Bobby remembered standing by the pool, remembered Wald bullying the real-estate agent, but he couldn’t remember the price.
“Off the record,” the reporter said.
“You’ll have to ask Wald.”
She took out her pad, made a note. They were in one of the bathrooms. It had a black-marble floor, matching Jacuzzi, mirrored walls.
“Tell me about Wald,” she said.
“He’s smart,” Bobby replied, conscious of her many reflections on the walls. It was a big bathroom and she was small, but he felt surrounded by her. For a moment or two it was unpleasant. Then not.
“Can you give me an example?”
“He’s got it all worked out. Mentally.”
“How so?”
“The whole game. It’s like a house with four pillars. Knock one down and everything collapses.”
“What are the pillars?”
Bobby counted them off on his fingers. “Owners, agents, players, media.”
Her head tilted slightly, as though she were lining up a target; the movement was reflected simultaneously in mirrored distances. “Didn’t he forget something?”
“What?”
“Or maybe it’s not a pillar, but more the ground the others stand on.”
“What’s that?” asked Bobby.
“The fans,” she replied.
They went into Sean’s room. “This is Sean. Sean, say hi to…”
“Jewel Stern,” the reporter said immediately, not giving him time to squirm, or showing the slightest embarrassment. Not bad looking, smart, and tough as well.
“Hi,” said Sean, eyes on the screen, fingers on the mouse.
“Negative,” said the computer voice.
Jewel stepped up to the console, glanced at the screen. “Caught in the Arcturian Web?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“How long till they spray the Sorgon B?”
“Five minutes.”
“Did you try Alt F4?”
“No.”
“Try it.”
Sean pressed Alt F4. Bobby moved closer. A new menu flashed on the screen.
“Click on Trade Goods,” Jewel said.
