Firefly. Part 31

They had been somewhat out of sorts since Geode's return from the rounds. He had taken a shower, and she had hesitated to join him, because he really needed to ask her to do it, and he didn't think of it, or couldn't develop the initiative. She had to encourage him to be more aggressive, establishing the principle, so that he would be able to apply it to s.e.x.

But now, fearful that things were not going right, she risked an initiative. "There is something I should tell you, that perhaps will help."

"That you fear I'll die?"

"That too. I-none must die. That is why I didn't want you to love me, because it would only hurt you. But I am not just none. I am all of them. I can be another. I can be Jade, the way others think of me, but this time truly. Jade doesn't have to die."

"I don't want any of you to die!" he exclaimed. "You are all I ever had!"

"I am me, no matter what my name. If you can accept Jade-"

"Yes!"

"But Jade is mousy, not a child, not lovely, just a thirty-five-year-old housewife n.o.body notices."

"I don't need a child or a lovely woman. Just one who cares for me."

"Are you sure? Jade has no artifice."

"I saw Nymph by the pole barn. She told me to lie down and take off my clothes, but I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't?"

"She wasn't you. You're here."

"She's here too."

"She said I'd be sorry when she was dead."

"Yes, she betrayed Mad, and she has to die."

"But Jade doesn't. I'll take Jade."

"Then you will have Jade-until you tire of her." She left him, going up to her room. There she changed into the drabbest of the available dresses, tied up her hair somewhat messily, and relaxed her tummy. She had thought she never wanted to a.s.sume this role again, but if Geode could accept it, and it allowed her to live- She went back down. Geode looked at her, and looked again, surprised.

"Are you sure you want this?" she asked.

"I-I don't know you," he said, confused.

"Nor should you want to. I'll change back."

"No! Give me time! I'm not used to this."

"Time we have, this way. The problem is, the time is no fun. Mundane things never are."

"Can you still tell stories?"

"That I can do, yes."

He smiled. "Tonight, in the dark."

"Tonight, in the dark," she agreed. Could it actually work? She hardly dared hope. Jade, after all, was the least of her, of interest to none. How could Jade accomplish what Nymph or none could not?

Then she had another notion. "Maybe I should tell you about Chloe."

"Chloe?"

"Tonight."

Chloe was a rather ordinary woman. She was not beautiful, and she had no wealth, and her talents were mediocre. No man worth his salt had ever given her a second glance. But a circ.u.mstance caused her to become the recipient of a single remarkable gift, and that gift changed not only her life but the world.

Acme Korn Pops, a new breakfast cereal by Emptie Calorie Inc., staged a publicity stunt. They selected a woman with a secret, and three leading male artisans of the day. Each would be allowed one date with her, during which he would try to fathom her secret, which she was pledged not to reveal to any. Each would present her with a token of their a.s.sociation. The one who succeeded in learning her secret would win a prize of one million dollars, tax-free. The winner would be announced at a great televised presentation.

Emptie Calorie put on a ma.s.sive promotional campaign. Any consumer could partic.i.p.ate by sending in a Korn Pop star from a package. With the star went a guess: what was the woman's secret? Whoever guessed it correctly would receive a share in a second million-dollar prize, divided evenly among all those who had it right.

There were three key hints for the avid public: televised synopses of the three dates. For concealed cameras recorded each date, especially the dialogue, so that whatever was said could be a.n.a.lyzed for clues. The dates themselves were conducted privately, but both parties knew that they would in due course become public, so they were decorous. It was agreed that nothing would be said off-camera; the two were bound to silence in those moments when recording was not feasible. Thus the full context of the secret was available to all.

The woman was Chloe, and she had agreed to do this in exchange for the realization of her impossible dream: to date the three men she admired most. Each was outstanding in his field, and single: an eligible bachelor. This made for excellent press, which was why the sponsor had agreed to do it. Every ordinary woman could fancy herself on one of the dates with a wonderful man, and every man could think of himself winning a million dollars by truly understanding the woman he dated.

If this stunt succeeded in making Acme Korn Pops a top-selling brand, there could be a sequel contest: an ordinary man with three fantastic dates with starlets, each of whom would exert her utmost wiles in her effort to fathom his secret. That was a notion to conjure with!

But first this more subdued edition, because the primary grocery shoppers were women. Emptie Calorie wanted to attract their specific attention, knowing full well that while males might get excited about potential dates with starlets, they seldom bought cereal on their own, and women were unlikely to buy Korn Pops merely to facilitate their men's interest in other women. Only when the product's ident.i.ty was established could male-related publicity a.s.sist it significantly.

So Chloe went on her date with the first great man. He was Baird, a popular singer whose voice was reckoned by specialty magazines as the most evocative of the day. He could make young girls faint with ecstasy by sustaining a single note. He was not really handsome, but he was young and vibrant and possessed of a compelling personal magnetism. It was not surprising that Chloe had chosen him as one of her great dates; there were tens of thousands of young women who would have done the same.

Baird was extraordinarily attentive. He took her to an extremely "in" restaurant and treated her to a remarkable and expensive meal. He could afford it: Emptie Calorie was picking up the tab. Chloe had little notion of what she was eating; the names were in French, and the dishes were so fancy she was hardly sure where the food began and the accoutrements left off. She fumbled it in places, as when she tasted the vichyssoise and exclaimed "Cold potato soup!" The waiter seemed about to sn.i.g.g.e.r, but Baird cast a steely glance at him. "You have a problem with that, hash-slinger?" The waiter hastily backed away. When that episode was broadcast, there was a rash of orders for "Cold Potato Soup, Hash-Slinger!" with which the waiters had to bear.

They went to a concert by Baird's group, performing without him. Then he stepped out from the audience, took the stage, and sang the most evocative number directly to his date. Chloe flushed, and four hundred attractive young women in the audience turned their envious gaze on her. Who was this seemingly ordinary woman their heartthrob was dating? None of them knew that this was for a publicity stunt, but they were even more jealous when they learned it later.

He danced with her, and young women thronged to cut in, but he shook his head. "She is mine alone, and I am hers alone, tonight," he explained. She did not know the modern dances, but he obliged her with the garden-variety waltz while his group swung into The Blue Danube and he held her close but gently. It was an aspect of her dream, come all too true.

He took her to his suite at the local hotel, and here he barred the cameras. "No talking in here, I promise," he promised with a suggestive smile that made Chloe flush again.

Inside he offered her a drink, but she declined. "I want to remember this perfectly," she explained.

"I promised not to talk," he said. "I lied. Chloe, I don't expect you to believe this, but I have fallen in love with you."

She had to smile. "Yes, I don't believe you, but thanks for saying it."

"I am required to give you a token of this occasion," he said. "I will do so, but I would like something in exchange."

"I can't tell you my secret!" she protested, hurt.

"To h.e.l.l with that!" he exclaimed. "I'm not after your secret. I haven't guessed it, and won't try. One of the others is welcome to the million dollars; I don't need it anyway. I will make you the greatest love song my group can devise: that's my token for you. But in exchange I want your love."

She stared at him, afraid this was some cruel joke.

"Chloe, I want your hand," he insisted, taking it. "You are like no other woman I have met. I'll be frank: I've had a hundred groupies. I'm not pure. But you are. I love you, and I want to marry you. Will you do it?"

"But this-one evening-I am nothing!" she protested.

"Give me leave to do what I want with you, tonight, and I will prove it. Then give me your answer."

Bemused, flattered, barely believing, she could only say, "I give you leave."

He embraced her and kissed her so deeply that her head reeled. He ran his hands over her body. "Tell me no, when," he said. "Otherwise I won't stop."

Dazed, she was silent, for this was the larger part of her dream: to have this heartthrob of millions so taken with her that he could not hold back.

He took her to the bedroom then, and undressed her and himself with an almost unseemly haste, and kissed her on face and neck and shoulder and breast, and then the mouth again, and held it while he penetrated her, and he exploded inside her while holding that kiss, and she was so moved she climaxed with him. He held her, after, and stroked her hair. "That is my true feeling for you," he said. "I never want another woman after you. I beg you, give me your answer."

Now she wept. "Oh, Baird, I wish I could, but I can't."

"Maybe not right now," he said. "You have two other dates. I accept that; it was always part of the deal. But when they are done, and one of them has the money, then I will ask you again. Then will you agree?"

She only wept harder, not answering him.

"Believe me," he said. "I wouldn't lie to any girl about a thing like this, and I'm not lying to you. If you thought I only wanted your body, well, I've had that now, and it is only the beginning. You are special, and you are for me. I know it!"

"I believe you," she said, but her tears continued.

Finally she regained her composure, and dressed and cleaned up, and he took her home. They paused at the door. He embraced her again, and kissed her for the camera. "Remember," he told her.

When the edited episode was broadcast, not only did thousands of women envy her, thousands of men envied him. Each had seen how taken with her he was, and each guessed at what he had done with her off-camera, and each was close to the mark. They knew that she had something special, and that Baird had found it. Each man wanted to explore for it himself.

Her second date was with Nahshon, a leading young writer and poet. It was said to be only a matter of time-a short time-before he won an award for excellence in his craft. Like Baird, he was not physically prepossessing, but he had a presence that electrified. When he took her hand, she felt the sensitivity of him, and the insight, and the understanding and the sheer caring, and she melted.

He took her to a subdued, secluded restaurant known only to the elite, where the lights were dim and privacy was rampant. While they ate he quoted bits of his work to her, and it was so feeling and beautiful that it transported her. Then he took her to a play, where color and action and the awareness of the living nature of the players lent heightened effect; television could not match the immediacy of this. He took her for a walk in a safe section of the park, and the night breeze caressed her, fluffing out her hair, making her feel lovely and wanton. Then they sat on a park bench, and instead of having her sit beside him, he asked her to sit on his lap. He kissed her, and she became warm all over.

Then he gazed into her face in the dim light from a distant street lantern, and his eyes asked a question, and she felt his urgency beneath her thighs. She knew they were in the public view of the camera, but it couldn't see under their clothing. "Yes, yes, I will, yes!" she whispered, quoting from James Joyce, and of course he recognized and understood the reference instantly. She adjusted herself and managed to slide her panties down, and he adjusted himself and got his fly open, and there under the cover of her spreading skirt they established a connection. He entered her, not deeply, for that was impossible while she sat sidewise on him, but enough. Then he repeated a love poem of such subtlety and significance and relevance to their situation that her whole body shivered and warmed to it, and her internal muscles clenched, and she felt him spurt into her, the camera all-unknowing. The thought of getting away with this, so near to discovery, heightened her feeling, and in a moment she shuddered into her own finale. They kissed again, letting it linger as they cooled. She had made it with another of the men she most admired, and that was the true fulfillment of her dream. Kisses were for the camera; the hidden connection was for herself, because she knew a man could not make a pretense of that desire; it had to be real.

In due course she worked a tissue into place to take up the remnant, and they stood. They walked slowly out of the park. "You are like no woman I have encountered," Nahshon said. "I would like you to be with me always."

Stricken, she had to deny him. "There is only tonight," she said. "I wish it could be forever, but that is impossible."

"I will write you a love poem," he said. "That will be my token for you. It will express my feeling as closely as is possible. Then, perhaps, you will reconsider."

She felt the tears coming. How she wished it were possible!

Her third date was with Standish, one of the brightest of sculptors. He was older than the others, and handsome, and remarkably suave. Everything in his vicinity seemed to be appropriately molded, even in its occasional dishevelment.

He took her directly to his studio, where his sculptures finished and in progress abounded. "I will sculpt you," he said, "and that sculpture will be my token for you. Will you pose for me au naturel?"

"But we are on camera!" she protested, not really affronted.

He fetched a screen and set it around her so that she could pose on a stool without being seen by other than himself. "The camera can see only what I do, not what you do," he said. "But it will be mirrored in my art."

"But I have no body!" she said. "I mean, you can get spectacular models. You don't have to settle for-"

"Your body is only the beginning. Just as I see the potential in the stone or clay, I see the potential in you. I will sculpt you as I see you, and you shall not be ashamed."

So she stripped away her clothing and perched somewhat nervously on a high stool, and he made a shape in clay. It was tiny, but exquisite; she wished she really looked like that!

Meanwhile, posing nude did something to her. She felt both prim and wanton, as if in a cold pool where the water immediately adjacent to her skin was warmed by her body to a tolerable level; if she moved even a fraction the cold would strike through. So she was frozen in place, and therefore warm. She was also unreal, to a degree; it was as if her body were not hers, but merely an affectation, something she was using for the moment, like a pencil, and therefore no source of embarra.s.sment.

Despite this seeming detachment, she found herself becoming aroused. This man she so much admired was looking at her, transcribing her every physical nuance to his living clay. It was as though he were stroking her body instead of the clay; she felt the moving touch. Her genital region was open to his view; she wanted it similarly open to his body.

"Is it finished?" she asked, wanting him to come and mold her body instead, as if he could shape it to the impossible ideal of the clay form.

"This is only my interim model," he said. "The art itself will be in stone, and life-size."

"But I can't return for other sessions!" she exclaimed.

"Once I have my model, I have you. This is the only sitting you need do."

"Oh." She was perversely disappointed.

"But if you care to stay after-"

"I can't. I must go home."

He left his clay and came to her in the enclosure. He put his arms about her, and the touch of them was phenomenal. "I must have you," he whispered in her ear.

Those were the words she had longed for. She didn't speak; she only spread her knees a bit farther, in a silent invitation.

Shielded by the screen, he loosened his belt and let down his trousers and shorts. Above the screen only her head and his head showed, and the top of his shoulders, which remained clothed. Below he was as bare as she, and his s.e.xual interest in her was manifest. With greater daring than she had ever thought possible, she took his divine member in her hand and brought it to her.

"But of course I would like for you to pose for me again," he said, as his tip touched her cleft.

"I wish I could," she said, urging that tip on in. She was hot and moist, eager to make the connection. "But it is in the rules: one date per man, no more."

"I am aware of that," he said, letting his torso move forward, in the process penetrating her. He was not a tall man, and his crotch was just the elevation of hers as she sat on the high stool. "But after this contest is done, then, perhaps."

Her tears came again. "I wish so! But I cannot." She put her hands on his hips, hauling him in, and as he came in all the way, she circled his torso and caught hold of his hard little b.u.t.tocks. She found that she needed no other stimulation; her s.e.xual being was proceeding on its own course to fulfillment. She was in control, and it was as if she were penetrating him and working toward her completion. Their heads and shoulders remained apart, but their centers were now tightly connected. She had never done anything like this before, except perhaps when she had sat on the poet's lap, and it was exciting as much because of its naughtiness as because of its nature.

"But can you not tell me why?" he asked with evident disappointment as their member swelled and jetted deep within them, pumping its exquisite elixir into their being.

"I cannot," she said tearfully, as their body shuddered in the climax.

"Then I can only kiss you and hope that you will change your mind another day," he said. For the first time their two heads came together, as their bodies ebbed, in a pa.s.sionate kiss. The thrill was electric, as the genital contact had been.

"I wish I could," she repeated, as he withdrew.