Boggs thought about it. Then
he shook his head, held out the glass at arm's length and poured the champagne
onto the pavement. It occurred to him to shatter the glass on the ground, but
he rejected that as a foolishly theatrical gesture. He replaced the glass
gently on the tray. The man still stared at him without expression. Not a
flicker.
"You're good, no doubt
about it," Boggs told him. "I hope the Hump's paying you damn
well."
Then he turned away and
walked into the house by the back door. From distant rooms came the drone of
voices and the sound of subdued and vaguely churchy music. Candle flames
flickered even in this back corridor.
He walked quietly along to
the foyer, found it deserted, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Here
he passed a series of mirrors set in gilded panels, and several bizarrely
erotic pictures, which he automatically sneered at as he passed them on his way
to the door of Humphrey's study. He pushed open the door and closed it behind
him. The lock snapped to with a steely sound. He forced himself to go on, not
to turn and grasp at the handle.
It was a large room,
furnished chaotically. Humphrey Hastey sat perched on a blue satin
mid-eighteenth-century divan, looking comically egg-like in his tuxedo. The
latest model of air-supported business desk hovered close to his right hand.
The controls to the speakers, lighting, atmosphere, security and other
functions of the house, including a row of video screens, filled most of the
wall next to the fireplace.
A generous and unnecessary
fire burned in the grate. Above the marble mantlepiece stood a hologram of
Humphrey himself taken thirty years before and about fifty pounds lighter. It
was starting to blur with age, but you could still see cocky
self-congratulation in every trim line.
He was sipping from a glass
when Boggs came in. "Champagne?" He smiled and lifted the glass.
"Hump, you must have
gone crazy. You can't think you can get away with this!" But looking at
his old friend, Boggs felt nothing but baffled affection.
"Why not?"
"D'you really think I'll
take it quietly? I'll raise a rumpus, I'll howl the house down, I'll -- "
"They won't hear you
downstairs, you know. This room is soundproof. But why would you want to howl
at all? You could have howled when you were among all those people downstairs,
and you didn't."
"I was going to simply
leave. I found the gates locked."
"Well, did you ask the
guard to unlock them?"
"The guard took out a
gun. Do you think I'm a fool?"
Hastey chuckled, and waved at
him to sit down. Boggs shook his head. "Get this straight. I can't prove a
thing, since you filed no papers. But when I go down there and tell those
people I never meant to suicide, it'll be all over for you. They'll know."
"Champagne?" said
Hastey again, and raised his hand. From behind a tall Chinese screen stepped
the servitor: if not the same man Boggs had left in the parking lot, then his
twin brother. He glided forward and held out the tray.
"Don't be
ridiculous!" Boggs tried to laugh, but it came out as a croak.
Hastey shrugged and took the
glass himself. Boggs watched him in confusion. The servitor stepped back to the
control wall and looked on serenely.
"Now, wait a
minute," Boggs said.
"For God's sake, sit
down! I'm tired of craning my neck to look at you."
Boggs hitched forward a
gilded chair and sat down facing his friend of four decades. "I went
through the records for the past year. There was nothing there for me. Or
you."
"No, I didn't
file."
"There'll be a whopping
fine."
"They'll take it from my
estate: I won't notice."
"Hump, why did the guard
pull his gun? You saw it all, didn't you?" He nodded at the wall full of
monitors.
"Yes, and very stealthy
and sinister you looked, too! What a laugh you gave me! He showed his gun
because I told him to. Of course he wouldn't have fired it."
"And the glass of
champagne?"
"You poured away an
excellent drink."
"All in good fun, was
it?" Boggs showed his teeth.
"That's right."
Hastey laughed again, then sighed. "It was to be my last, best joke. My
last valiant effort to get a little fun out of life. But it wasn't as much fun
as I'd hoped, except for a few moments when you were obviously rattled."
"The black borders on
your notes were what got me going at first."
"Wasn't that a good
idea? Subtle, I thought."
"But wasn't it somewhat
over-elaborate? And didn't you tell too many people? It could have fallen
through at any time."
"But it didn't, did it?
As you told Sharp (and he innocently repeated to me), there is a convention
that we don't discuss the approach of death, especially not with the candidate
and his family. But people feel they must be extra nice to you. A lot nicer
than they'll ever be again, let me tell you, after they find out their niceness
was all for nothing!"
"And... Sheila? She
never knew, did she? No, I thought not." He hesitated, then forced himself
on. "The worst thing you did was make me doubt her. I'll never be able to
forgive you for that."
Hastey shot him an odd,
sideways look. "My dear friend, I had nothing to do with that. Nothing at
all." He reached for a control on his floating desk. "Sorry, just a
last bit of business to be tidied up. Morris!" He addressed the desk.
"Tell Gosse he's fired, will you? Tell him I don't harbor serpents. Yes,
just that." He switched off and sat back, tilting the glass between his
fingers. Boggs watched him forebodingly.
"You're not really going
through with it, are you?"
"Sure I am. That's what
this party is all about. This party, this whole joke, is my gift to me. Because
this is my birthday, Billy."
"Your birthday?"
"Yes: you'd forgotten
that, as you always do. I'm 61 today. My life is over."
"Oh -- twenty kinds of
bull! You've got another forty years ahead of you. We both have."
"But not years of good
health. Not years of enjoyment. I've been told I'll have to discipline myself
from now on." His shoulders twitched distastefully. "Heart damage,
liver damage, you name it. No more champagne. Bill, I couldn't face that. No
more champagne!"
"You wouldn't kill
yourself just for that! Life has plenty of other pleasures to offer."
"Don't start naming
them, you'll simply bore me. And of course that's the real trouble. Boredom,
you know. People used to be so amusing. Now they're predictable. All the
surprises are gone." He raised the glass as if to drink. Boggs flung out a
hand to stop him and Hastey lowered the glass, grinning. For a moment he looked
like the mischievous boy who'd turned Billy's first college year from from
dismal to unforgettable and nearly got them both expelled in the process.
"I tried to cultivate
new interests. Tried a lot of of odd things -- things that would shock you,
Billy Boy -- but no go. I've run out of joie de vivre, and there's no sense
just hanging on, twiddling my thumbs. Hence this birthday party. This deathday
party."
In one swift movement he
drained the glass and set it down. Boggs stood up. The servitor stepped
forward, but Humphrey waved him aside.
"I'm not bored
now," he said in a surprised tone. Then he fell back against the satin
upholstery.
The servitor touched a
control on the desk, evoking the strains of "Crossing o'er Jordan."
In a voice as dark and smooth as his face, he began speaking the eulogy.
***
"Well, I'm rather glad
it wasn't you, Bill." Ken Sharp peered along the now brilliantly-lit
driveway. They were waiting for his car to drive around to the front steps from
the back of the house.
"Nice of you,"
Boggs said dryly.
"No, really. I was quite
sorry when the news started circulating. It just didn't seem like you, somehow.
And of course it wasn't. I should have guessed the Hump would go out on a
laugh. He always did have a great sense of humor, didn't he?"
"Mm."
"Remember our college
days? The tricks we pulled?" Sharp chuckled.
"Yes, we were a silly
bunch. We had a lot of fun in us, then. But we've changed. You, Ken, you're
still a decent sort, but the fun in you has all dried up."
"Oh, I don't know. What
about you? Talk about doom and gloom! Those columns of yours -- enough to drive
a cheerful man to suicide, I've often thought. Oh, here's my car."
"Yes, I know. And in the
Hump's case, the fun went bad: it turned cruel. Never mind nil nisi and all
that: it's true."
"Well, we're getting
old. I'll be next, Bill."
"No! Don't talk that
way. Read my next column. It'll be different, I promise. No more doom and
gloom! It'll change your mind."
Sharp smiled at him
doubtfully, waved and departed, his car pre-set for home.
Hearing his name called, Boggs
turned back to the house. Sheila, glimmering in the light that streamed out of
the door behind her, was hurrying down the walk as fast as she could on her
spindly silver heels. She clung to the arm of the man beside her. The young man
from the dance floor.
"Billy! Where have you
been? Did you hear? It was a death ceremony after all, and he never told
anybody. How could he?"
"He loved surprising
people. In sixty years, he never learned that most people don't like
surprises."
"Oh... " Even in
the dark he could sense her discomfort.
"Won't you introduce
your friend?" he asked quietly.
"This is George
Gosse." Her tone was dispirited. "I suppose there's no use trying to
hide it from you now, after what you saw. Anyway, I'm glad to stop sneaking
around, I felt so furtive. It was nervewracking, Bill!"
"Sneaking -- " He
cleared his throat. "Sneaking was never your style."
"You can see why I could
never have him in the house. With your odd working hours, I could never be sure
when you might pop in."
"Terribly sorry about
that phone call the other night." Gosse spoke in a pleasant deep voice,
his manner relaxed and friendly. "Your wife had warned me never to call
her at home, but I'd forgotten, and I had to ask a question about the menu.
When you answered I was so taken aback that I just hung up. It was rude, I
know."
"Quite all right.
Sheila, dear... " He put out a hand and drew her close. "What's this
about a menu? What menu?"
"The menu for our
party." He stared, and she laughed. "I thought you'd guessed! Our
tenth wedding anniversary, of course. I've hired George to handle the food and
entertainment and all. He works for Demeter."
"Worked," Gosse
said. "I just got fired. It was what I'd been trying to avoid. The reason
we had to meet in odd places, instead of my office, was that I was... well,
moonlighting. I was in the process of setting up my own business, using my
Demeter contacts to get the new company going, and... well... "
"Pirating," Boggs
said.
Sheila pulled him aside and
whispered in his ear. "I know it's not strictly kosher, Billy, but he's
really a nice kid -- just married -- and I felt sorry for him and now I feel
it's my fault he was fired."
"All right, we'll go
ahead."
She hugged him in delight,
and Gosse beamed.
"But on my terms. George,
you may proceed with the arrangements, with this change: the guest list will
have to be cut down."
"To what number?"
But he'd guessed, and looked hangdog.
"Two. Her and me."
***
They decided to walk. Boggs
set the car's route, switched it to automatic and watched it skim down the
drive and out through the gate, with the smooth ride of a driverless car. They
always looked like toy ducks on a pond, he thought. He was probing this notion
to see if there was a column in it when Sheila came out again wearing a
borrowed pair of slippers, silver shoes in hand.
As they passed out through
the front gate, Boggs drew in lungfuls of the scent of lilacs. He smiled at the
guard, who saluted them. Arm in arm they strolled down the street. When they
came to the promenade along the river they stopped to lean on the iron railing.
The city's lights made squiggles of diamond and ruby and topaz on the inky
water.
"What a lovely
night," Sheila said. "Life's good sometimes, isn't it? Billy, what
could have made the Hump do what he did?"
"Boredom."
"What a stupid reason!
It's no reason at all. Billy, you would never... Would you?"
"No, love."
"Promise?"
"Triple promise."
"Good. So do I."
They walked home, and there
was no more talk of death that night.
-end