The Silver Metal Lover(24)

Clovis walked back across the main living area and dialed a number on the videoless phone, turning up the sound reception as he did so.

I stood where he had in the servicery doorway, and presently I heard Egyptia’s sultry, seductive, sleepy voice.

“Good morning, Egyptia.”

“Oh God. Do you know what time it is. Oh, I can’t bear it. Only an idiot would call at this hour.”

“An idiot would be unable to use the telephone. I take it you were asleep.”

“I never sleep.” She yawned voluptuously. “I can’t sleep. Oh Clovis, I’m terrified. Too terrified ever to sleep. I have a part. Theatra Concordacis are doing Ask the Peacock For My Brother’s Dust. They said only one person could play Antektra. Only I could play her. Only I had the resonance, the scope—But, Clovis, I’m not ready for it. I can’t. Clovis, what shall I—”

“I’m going to buy you a lovely, lovely present,” said Clovis.

“What?” she demanded.

“Jane tells me you’re hooked on a robot.”

“Oh! Oh, Clovis, would you? But, no. I can’t. I have to concentrate on this part. I have to be celibate. Antektra was a virgin.”

“I’m happy to reveal I don’t know the play.”


“And Silver—he’s called Silver—he is the most wonderful lover. He can—”

“Please don’t tell me,” said Clovis. “I shall feel inadequate.”

“You’d love him.”

“Everybody, apparently, loves him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran for Mayor next year. Meantime, they’re dismantling him at E.M. Ltd. in a hellish basement that also produces a sideline of meat pies.”

“Clovis, I can’t follow you.”

“It seems you did something to the metal-man. His clockwork has ganged agley. He’s for the chop. Or the pie.”

“I didn’t do anything. Do they expect me to pay for it?”

“I’m paying. For possession. In your eighteen-year-old name. At a reduction, if I play my cards right. Faulty goods.”

“Clovis you are wonderful, but I really can’t let myself accept.”

“Then you can loan him to Jane until you’re free. Just to keep his hand in, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

“Jane wouldn’t know one end of a man—”

“I think she might. Might you not, Jane?”

Egyptia fell silent. I had turned to glass, immovable, easily broken.

“One hour,” said Clovis. “The Arbor side of the bridge.”

“I’m not going to the Arbors. I’ll be mugged and raped.”

“Of course you will, Egyptia. Wish on a star.”

Clovis killed the line. He dialed.

“Electronic Metals? No, I don’t want the contact department. I want somebody by the avian name of Swohnson.”

He waited. I said, “Clovis, they won’t,” and stopped because Swohnson’s voice came on the line and my whole body withered like an autumn leaf. I sat on the floor and put my head on the wall, and the Serenol swam over me.

Out of the haze I heard Swohnson start to wither too.

“How do you know one of the Silver Formats is faulty?”

“My spies,” said Clovis, “are everywhere.”

“What? Er. Look here—”

“I don’t happen to use a video.”

“It’s that—ah—that darn girl. Isn’t it? And you’re another rich kid—”

“I am another very rich kid. And I advise you to calm down, my feathered friend.”

“What? Who the—”

“Swan,” said Clovis clearly, “son.”

“It’s spelled S.W.O.H.,” exclaimed Swohnson.

“I don’t care if it’s spelled S.H.I.T.,” said Clovis. “I’m calling on behalf of the lady who hired your ballsed-up, badly-made substandard rubbish the night before last.”

I got up and went into the green bathroom, and ran a tub. I couldn’t bear to listen anymore.

About fifteen minutes after, as I lay there in the water, Clovis knocked on the door and said, “You’re a rotten audience, Jane. Are you all right? If you’ve slashed your wrists, could you hold them down in the bath and try not to mark the wall covering? Blood is very difficult to clean off.”

“I’m all right. Thank you for trying.”

“Trying? Son of the Swohn is pure cast-iron jello. I’m assuming, by the way, you’ll pay me back in hard cash as soon as you can wring Demeta’s blessing from her. Then we can edge Egyptia out of the picture, too.”

“They won’t let you,” I said. Tears ran in the water. I was a bath tap, which nobody could turn off.

“Why am I doing this?” Clovis asked someone. “Moving heaven and Earth to get her some run-down heap of nuts and bolts that will probably permanently seize up as it walks through the door? Or at some other, more poignant, crucial moment. Oh, more! More! Sorry, honey, my spring’s bust.”

He went away and I heard the shower sizzle alive in the mahogany bathroom.

A timeless gap later, I heard him go out of the apartment, whistling. It isn’t true what they say about male M-Bs. At least, Clovis can certainly whistle.