Cybernation

“We aren’t the only two people on the boat.”

“Leave Roberto to me. I have ways of calming him down.”

“That I believe.”

“Come, I’ll show you something new.”

“I can’t. The beast is in a coma, sorry.”

“Want to bet your next month’s pay against a dollar on that? Have you ever heard of the Viennese Oyster?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“Watch.”

She rolled over onto her back and did something with her legs he wouldn’t have thought she was nearly flexible enough to do. Both feet behind her head. Damn.

A good thing he didn’t take the bet.

7

Washington, D.C.

Another day had passed without any major assaults on his domain, and Michaels was careful not to allow himself to feel too good about that. He didn’t want to incur the wrath of a bored angel. He had finished his workout, and was looking forward to a beer and a quiet evening, maybe turn on the TV to watch some mindless sitcom, no heavy lifting.

He had just gotten dry from his shower and was reaching for his bathrobe when Toni told him to hold it — then told him why.

“Excuse me? You want me to try on a dress?”

“Not a dress, Alex—”

“Okay, fine, a skirt.”

“A sarong. Some places they call it a wrap. Half the men in the tropical Third World wear them every day of life.”

“Not this man. That’s why God made short pants.”

“Think of it as a kilt.”

“A kilt, a sarong, a sixty-three Chevy Impala, it doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s a skirt!”

Toni laughed.

“I won’t wear it.”

“Oh, yes, you will. You volunteered us for this demo, remember? And when we do formal demonstrations of Pukulan Pentjak Silat Serak, we wear formal clothes. You saw that Plinck videotape. You bought it for me.”

“They were wearing sweatpants underneath,” he said.

“Fine, you can wear sweatpants under yours if it makes you happy.”

“It will make me less unhappy.”

“Come on, Alex! You can’t have any doubts about your masculinity. The baby looks just like you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He looks like you.” He tried to keep a straight face, but finally gave it up and laughed.

“That’s what I thought,” she said.

“Admit it, I had you going for a minute there,” he said.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

He followed her into the bedroom. She opened her closet and came out holding two hangers. “Okay, which do you want, the celestial or the bamboo?” She held up two squares of brightly colored cloth. “Genuine handmade Indonesian batik from Bali, the finest one hundred percent rayon.”

“You don’t think I’m gonna wear a girl’s sarong?”

“Give it up, Alex. They’re unisex and one size fits all.” She pulled the garments off the hangers and unfolded them in a cascade of patterned azure. One, with what looked like stars drawn by somebody tanked up on psychedelic drugs, was dark, mostly indigo; the other was also blue, but lighter, with bamboo plants done in blues and whites.

“Maybe the bamboo. Jeez, it’s as big as a tablecloth!”

“Come here, I’ll show you how to put it on.”

“Hey, I can wrap a towel around my waist, thank you.”

“And it would fall off the first time I threw you.”

“You’d do it on purpose.”

“Damned straight.”

He smiled. She handed him the bamboo-patterned cloth, which was as big as a tablecloth, had to be seven or eight feet long by maybe four feet wide.

“Watch me.”

She demonstrated the way to put it on. “Okay, you wrap it around, like so, then fold it on your left side, and back upon itself, this way. Traditionally, it’ll stay in place with just folding it, but since we are going to be more active, we’ll use a safety pin for the demo, one here, then fold it back to the right, another pin there, then fan-fold it back and forth narrowing it each time, like this, then roll it down in folds to make a waistline, and shorten it at the bottom, see? It should hang to your knees.”

“You wish.”

“Not as much as you do,” she said.

He watched, tried to duplicate her moves. When he was done it looked pretty good — until he let go and it fell down in a pool around his bare ankles.

“Great. Won’t that look good in front of the FBI students. The Hawaiian will laugh himself silly. Two pins, you said?”

“Yes. In your case, I think diaper pins would be best.”

“Ha, ha. You are so funny.”

“Yes, I am, aren’t I? Try again. Keep tension on it with your elbow, here, then here, until you get the waist rolled down to lock it into place.”

He did what she said, and this time when he let go, the sarong stayed in position.

“Well?”

“Have to admit, it’s comfortable.”

“No worse than wearing a towel wrapped around you when you get out of the shower.”

“Except I wouldn’t wear a towel in front of a bunch of people in public.”

“You do it at the gym, don’t you?”

“That’s different. It’s just the guys.”

“Ah, now we get to it. You’re worried that some strange woman might see your wee-wee?”

“No.”

“Well, you should be. I don’t want you showing that to other women. Small as it is.”

He laughed. “I just don’t want to feel like some kind of weird pervert is all. Men don’t wear skirts in this country.”

“As opposed to a nonweird pervert?”

“You know what I mean.”

“So the half-billion men who wear these are perverted?”

“I didn’t say that. Speaking of which.”

“Of which?”

“Perverts. I had an interesting visit with Jay today.”

“Nice segue there. I’m sure Jay will love the transition. What about?”

“You aren’t gonna believe it. But given the direction of the conversational road you’re dragging me