Golem 100

10

“You’ll have to tackle her alone, Gretch. I won’t see her. I don’t dare.”

They were pacing the Guff’s “Strøget,” the long, exclusive shopping boulevard which was sternly protected by private police. All traffic except pedestrians was prohibited. Only shoppers with Class A identification were admitted.

Shima was deeply disturbed. Gretchen was trying to soothe him and satisfy her curiosity at the same time.

“Now what’s all this, baby? You had a thing with Ildefonsa Lafferty. Yes?”

“The Girl from Ipanema. Two years ago.”

“Does Ipanema signify anything?”

“That was a pop tune centuries ago about this girl on the beach who never looked at the guy who loved her. Lovely tune.”

“Was Ildefonsa lovely?”

“I thought so.”

“Then why the crise de nerfs? You’ve had go-rounds with loads of women.”

“Before I met you, and not all that many.”

“D’you feel the same about the others? Won’t. Don’t dare.”

“I can’t even remember their names.”

“Then what’s so special about Ms. Lafferty?”

“She murdered me.”

“Was it love?”

“For me, yes.”

“And still is?”

“I’m still dying, if that’s love.”

“Love shouldn’t kill.”

There was a long pause while they strolled, threading their way through the crowds of shoppers. Suddenly Shima began murmuring in a low voice with his head averted, as though making a shameful confession, “When I was a kid in Johnstown, P.A., back in the forties, I—”

“Johnstown! The forties? That was the time of their fifth flood.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m telling you. My Grandfather—I called him Grandy—decided he wouldn’t live long enough to see how I’d turn out, so he invented a fiendish forecast of my future.”

“What?”

“He gave me a fifty-franc gold piece.”

“Franc?”

“Uh-huh. Grandy was the French side of the family. Back then the fifty-franc gold piece was the equivalent of… oh… maybe a hundred of today’s computer credits. A fortune for a kid.”

“How was that fiendish?”

“The coin was a counterfeit.”

“My God! Did he know?”

“Sure. It was deliberate. That was the forecast; to see how I’d behave after I discovered it; try to pass it, sell it, exchange it, ask him for a genuine coin, squeal on him to the fuzz, whatever.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. When I found out the gift was a phony I was hurt and disappointed, but I never did anything. I put the fake away in a drawer and never mentioned it. Grandy was very sad. He said, ‘Ah, le pauvre petit. He will never be able to cope with the hard knocks.’”

Shima fell silent. At last Gretchen asked, “And that adds up to… ?”

“I thought, I wanted, I believed that Ildefonsa was making a genuine gold gift to me, and I gave whatever gifts I had in return.”

“Ah! Including a pet diamond?” Gretchen snapped jealously.

“I try to give you more than the diamond. I tried to give her more, but she was a false coin. A counterfeit. I’ve put her away in a drawer. I can’t take her out again.”

“So underneath that bright, brilliant, witty facade, you’re just a poor, romantic schnook.”

“I can’t take the knocks, which is why I’ve spent my life hiding in labs. If there’s one thing for sure, it’s Newton’s Third Law of Humor. For every joke, there’s an equal and opposite hurt.”

She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be extra gentle and kind to you, I promise, and I’ll tackle this Ildefonsa bitch alone.”

“She’s an Ipanema hard-case, Gretch. She won’t be easy to crack. She feels nothing. I know.”

“One way or another I’ll get what we want. You just keep her locked up in that drawer and throw the key away.”

* * *

Ildefonsa Lafferty was assault prone. Gretchen took her in with one lightning rake of the eye, as only women can, and itemized her coldly. Dyed red hair, but manifestly a natural redhead, as the milky skin, brows, lashes, and Mount of Venus proclaimed through the transparent white shift. (“Flaunty display. Trashy!”) Not tall. Juicily rounded. Thrusting plummy breasts. (“Should lose ten pounds.”) Assured. Defiant. Glowing with—What? (“Chutzpah!”) Hateful. (“How could Blaise ever have—?”)

“So? What d’you see?” Ildefonsa challenged.

Gretchen accepted the défi. “That you’re an open invitation to rape.”

“Thank you, but flattery will get you nowhere. Come in. Gretchen Bunn, is it?” (Gretchen had been carefully and accurately announced by Oasis Security downstairs.) “Come in, Gretchen Bunn.”

(“Blaise was right; this one won’t be easy.”)

Ildefonsa led Gretchen out of the mirrored foyer into the enormous living room. It looked odd and interesting. There were illuminated vitrines filled with curious collections; sundials, ear trumpets, walking sticks, matchbook porn, French letters, death masks, dog collars. But there was no noting details in the presence of this volupt. Her crimson glory outshone everything, and she was only too aware of it. Gretchen was pleased to see that despite her overpowering assets this fata Morgana moved awkwardly. (“Badly coordinated—except in bed, most likely.”)

Answering Gretchen’s opening rape reply, Ildefonsa said, “I chase them into the horizontal first and accuse later, but only if the performance is below standard.”

“I can believe that.”

“You better believe it.”

“And I’m sure your standards are exalted.”

“Why not? I’ve earned them.” Ildefonsa contemplated Gretchen indifferently. “I’d say you’re an open invitation to a climbing plant.”

“Yes, I would enjoy being wrapped around.”

“By what? Men? Women? Beans? Grapes?”

“I never could dig a gig with chlorophyll, Miz Lafferty. Men only.”

“At least that’s the plural. There’s hope for you, Miz Funn.”

“It’s Nunn. Gretchen Nunn. Hope for me? You think my horizons should be enlarged?”

“Let’s say enhanced and enyanced.”

“So you know Guff Blurt.”

“I’ve heard enough to know the score.”

(“This sex contest will get me nowhere; she’s too old a hand at it. Try the humble approach.”)

“You’re right, Miz Lafferty, I—”

“Call me Ildefonsa, child.”

“Thank you, Ildefonsa. I’ve intruded because my horizons should be enyanced.”

“By me? Sorry, child, I don’t dig the dyke gig.”

“No, not that way. I’ve come to the Venus Mantrap for advice.”

“Venus Mantrap? Don’t be insolent. There is a brain inside this beautiful red bod.”

(“Oops! She has a redheaded temper. Careful!”)

Gretchen smiled. “Red is beautiful. I have to back the black numbers.”

“That figures.” Ildefonsa gave her a token smile, then broke into song in a peanut-whistle voice: “It take a long, tall, brownskin gal to make a preacher put the Bible down…”

Gretchen applauded enthusiastically. “Heavensville! Wherever did you learn that bijou?”

“From a long, tall, brownskin stud.”

“It’s a perfect line for me. Thank you. You know, this is my lucky day. I knew it would be when I hit six on the black three times running this morning.”

“Three sixes. Adding up to eighteen. Quite a score.”

“Or six hundred sixty-six?”

Ildefonsa shook her head. “You’re a dreamer. No stud in this world can score that.”

“If any stud could score six sixty-six, you’d be the one to make him.”

“Don’t be jealous of your betters, child.”

(“Safe. She doesn’t connect me with 666 Hell Gate. I’ve kept my promise to protect Burne. Now let’s get what we need from her.”)

“Not jealous, Ildefonsa. Envious.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t have your kind of luck with men.”

Ildefonsa snorted. “Luck!”

“So that’s why I followed my lucky number to 18 Canker Alley and the Rubor Tumor Pharm.”

“The Rubor Tumor Pharm? I don’t know it. Rubor Tumor. What a yummy name.”

“But you must know it, Ildefonsa.”

“Are you calling me a liar, child?”

“No. Wait. I asked them for a prescription that would turn men on.”

“You can’t mean it.”

“But I do. Rubor Tumor told me that they’d put together that kind of prescription for you.”

“That is a lie. I don’t need that sort of thing.” Ildefonsa wrinkled her milky brow. “It’s a crazy mistake. Or else they were guffing you. I’ve never been there. I didn’t even know about the Pharm until you told me just now. It has to be a guff.”

“Rubor Tumor claims they compounded some sort of sexy incense for you that turns men on.”

“What? Incense? Sexy incense?”

“So they said, and that’s why I’m here… to ask you what it is and how you use it… if you’ll be kind enough to tell me. I need all the help I can get.”

“But I never—” She stopped in mid-sentence, thought, then burst out laughing. “Of course. That must be it. He must have told them the incense was for me.” She gave Gretchen a genuinely friendly look. “Thank you, Gretchen. I haven’t had a good laugh in ages.”

“But he, Ildefonsa? Who? I don’t understand.”

The redhead was so delighted that she did a complete volte-face and was almost affectionate. “Never you mind who, lovey. That’s a secret. But I can tell you that the incense wasn’t intended to grab men, it was meant to grab the—No, I won’t tell you; you’d never believe it. I’ll show you. We’re meeting in the hive this afternoon, and I’ll bring you along. A new face will be entertaining and, who knows, you may even join up. I have the feeling that you’re just our type.”

“Wait a minute; you’re going too fast. What’s all this? Meeting? Hive? Entertaining? To who?”

“All will be known shortly, Gretchen, including the quote sexy unquote incense,” Ildefonsa giggled. “No questions now. I’ll give you lunch, and then you’ll come along with me to the hive.”

* * *

It was an avant-garde apartment in the chic, nostalgic style of the Communist era of Old New York City in the 1930s. A fortune had been spent transforming it into a converted brownstone flat with naked linoleum-covered floors, fruit and vegetable crates and barrels for furniture—designed and built by Antique Plastique, Inc.—monk’s-cloth drapes over the windows, oil lamps constructed of piled books, a battered player-piano, old wooden kitchen tables covered with front pages of The Daily Worker, posters of Marx, Lenin, the Kremlin, and Moscow University tacked to the walls. This simulation of left-wing poverty was an extravagant luxury; hardly a hive.

The bee-ladies were already assembled when Ildefonsa Lafferty ushered Gretchen into the lounge. They looked up with surprise and delight.

“Nellie, dear, you’ve brought a new face. How wonderful! Will she join our commune?”

“That’s up to her, Regina. This is Gretchen Nunn. Gretchen, our Queen Bee, Regina.” (The name on the registry board of the Oasis had read; Winifred Ashley.)

“Good afternoon and welcome, BB,” Regina said in a lovely, mellifluous voice. She was a large lady in a flowing gown, gracious and aristocratic.

“BB?” Gretchen asked.

“My dear, do forgive me, but you’re such a ravishing Black Beauty that the nickname just tripped off my lips. Let me introduce your new friends. You’ve met Nell Gwyn of course. This lady is Mary Mixup.” Regina indicated a slender fair girl with her hair cut like a helmet and the body and legs of a dancer.

“Hello, BB,” she said. “So nice meeting you. I would have thought that Regina would give you more a name like Trojan.”

“How do you figure that, Mary?” Nell asked.

“They were both horses, weren’t they? Not that BB’s a horse.”

Nell nodded. “Makes sense. To her.”

A small, compact woman, dark, with vivid blue eyes and an emphatic manner, stepped forward. “I can’t WAIT to be introduced, BB. I MUST clasp your hands and welcome you. ALAS! Alas! alas! Too, TOO im-PET-uous.”

“Sarah Heartburn,” Regina smiled. “Our favorite diva. And this lady is our conscience, Miss Priss.”

Miss Priss looked like “Alice in Wonderland” to Gretchen. Her girlie-girlie lisp seemed to be half a stammer and was most winning.

“Nice to be properly introduced, BB. I hope you’ll join us. A new person will put them on their best behavior. Their manners are shocking. And their language!”

“I’ve been known to use Guff Blurt myself,” Gretchen smiled.

“Where did you get that marvy tuta, BB?” a tall butch-type demanded. “I’ve got one not half so good. I paid a fortune, and it doesn’t fit the crotch worth a damn.”

“Please, Yenta,” Miss Priss said. “We shouldn’t use five-letter words here.”

“Six in ‘crotch,’ Priss,” Nell Gwyn said.

But Mary Mixup was doubtful. “Six?” She counted on her fingers. “C-R-O-U-C-H. You’re absolutely right, Nell.”

Regina laughed. “The tuta misfit is Yenta Calienta, BB. She’ll probably try to set you up for a swindle. And these are our twins, Oodgedye and Udgedye.”

Two identical women; jet-black hair, white, white skin, dead ringers for the beautiful Greek slave in Monte Cristo, smiled and nodded to Gretchen.

“Hi, BB. I’m Oodgedye.”

“No you’re not. You’re Udgedye. It’s my turn to be Oodgedye this week. Hi, BB.”

“They swap identities,” Nell explained to Gretchen. “I’ve got a bet on with Yenta. I say their husbands will spot the switch. Those two are look-alikes but they couldn’t be identical in bed, could they?”

“Of course not, Nell. No two women are.”

“Then I lose the bet?”

“No, it’s a standoff.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The psychodynamics of human behavior. Their men have probably spotted the swap but they’re enjoying it, too, so they keep their mouths shut. The cute question is whether the husbands have told each other, and I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Nell Gwyn looked at Gretchen with awe. “Help, Regina! I’ve gone and brung an intellect-type bee into the hive.”

“How lovely for us. Do make yourself comfortable, BB. Let’s get acquainted, Pi-girl! Coffee!” Back to Gretchen. “We’re all grateful for the introduction of someone clever. We’re running out of entertainment ideas.”

“That’s what brought her, Regina. She wants to know about one of our games.”

“Does she, Nell? Which?”

“She doesn’t know yet. I brought her along to show her.”

“This is getting complicated,” Regina laughed. “You’d best tell us yourself, BB.”

Gretchen was perplexed; whether to go along with the lie she’d told the redhead or tell the truth. She opted for the lie.

“There’s a pharm in Canker Alley called Rubor Tumor.”

“Is that dirty?” Miss Priss wanted to know.

“Why should it be dirty, Priss?” Nell inquired.

“They’re five-letter words.”

“They are suggestive, Priss,” Gretchen smiled. “Rubor and tumor are characteristics of tumescence.”

“What a brain! She’s staggering.”

“Can anyone understand the words BB’s using?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gretchen smiled. “Many times the words just pop out—I don’t know where from—and I don’t understand them either. Maybe I’ve got an unknown twin who’s switching identities when my back is turned.”

“Oh, I like her. I LIKE her. She has the soul of the true creative artiste.”

“Do you use words like that on him when my back is turned?” Oodgedye (or Udgedye) shot at Udgedye (or Oodgedye).

“Here’s our coffee,” Regina interrupted tactfully as the Pi-faced slavey wheeled in a trolley. “Serve our guest first, Pi.”

The trolley was wheeled before Gretchen who was overwhelmed by the centerpiece: a block of clear ice with a single rose frozen in it. After she had received her coffee, the trolley went to the Queen Bee, who first passed her hands gracefully over the face of the ice and then dried them with a napkin. Only then did she receive her coffee.

“A fingerbowl!” Gretchen exclaimed to herself. “This is luxury on a fantastic scale. I’m glad Blaise isn’t here. He’d be perfectly furious.”

“And now, BB dear, what’s all this mysterious, complicated business of pharmacies and games?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Regina. Rubor Tumor told me that they’d concocted an exotic incense for your Nell Gwyn. I jumped to the conclusion that by exotic was meant erotic. I went to see her this morning to ask her about it.”

“But why, BB?”

“She thinks she has problems, Regina.”

“Erotic problems, Nell?”

“That’s what she thinks.”

“A Black Beauty like you, BB?” Yenta broke in. “I’d trade—”

“Not now, Yenta dear,” Regina interrupted. “We all have our private problems and we mustn’t intrude. What happened, BB?”

“Nell laughed and said no, the incense wasn’t intended to attract men, it was for something else but she wouldn’t say what. Then she gave me a lovely lunch and brought me here to find out for myself.”

Regina chuckled. “Raising the Devil, of course.”

“What? The Devil?”

“I told you you’d never believe me,” Nell said.

“One of the entertainments we’ve been playing, BB. Trying to raise the Devil with diabolical incantations and ceremonies. We’ve read all the wicked books and memorized the sinister spells. Nell got us all the evil smells—that incense is one of them—and we’ve tried over and over again…”

Miss Priss made a face. “The worst part was that disgusting ‘Hand of Glory,’ BB. Filthy! Obscene! The hand of an executed criminal holding a candle made from the fat of a vee-eye-are-gee-eye-en. Ugh!

“And that’s all it was, Regina? Just a game of trying to raise the Devil?”

“That’s all, BB.”

“The incense was only intended to magick him?”

“That along with all the other stage-effects.” Regina gave an amused sigh. “All the work we put in!”

“Just the eight of you?”

“That’s all, unless you count Pi, but she refused to play with us. Too frightened, I think.” Regina smiled tolerantly. “Her class still believes in the old superstitions.”

“Perhaps other guests to assist?”

“None, dear. We play our games in private.”

Gretchen grinned. “Any luck? Any sort of diabolical epiphany?”

Nellie Gwyn was awed again. “The words she uses! Will you listen to her!”

“Nothing, BB. Not a sign of Satan, although Sarah claims she felt a twinge when she was rehearsing the Invocation.”

“ ‘Twas NOT a twinge. It was a THRRRILL! A huge cloudy symbol of a high romance. John Keats.”

Gretchen hesitated, then decided to gamble. These bee-ladies were all so openly friendly toward her. She pursed her lips and shook her head judgmatically. “You know,” she said slowly, “I really can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what, dear?” Regina asked.

“That the ceremony had no results, exotic or erotic. The incense is elaborate and expensive enough to raise something, even if not the Devil.”

“If she means what I think she means,” Nell Gwyn began, “we can strip a man naked and—”

“And that will do, Nell,” Regina said firmly. To Gretchen, “I wish you were right. BB, but nothing happened. Nothing.”

“ALAS! Alack! Wellaway!”

“Are you sure, Regina?”

“Quite sure.”

“And so say we all.”

“Oodgedye and Udgedye not dissenting.”

Inchoate designs and constructs began to prickle Gretchen—the architechtonic instinct intruding—These eight ladies were all so adorable and amusing and friendly, but what realities lay underneath? “Newton’s Third Law, courtesy of Blaise Shima,” she thought. “For every charm there is an equal and opposite—What?”

Aloud, she said, “D’you know, Regina, I’d like to see for myself.”

“Our wicked ritual?”

“Yes, as an observer.”

“But it’s just a fun game, BB.”

Gretchen’s tone transposed to the serious. “It may be more than just a fun game, you know.”

“Nonsense!”

“No, listen, all of you. Perhaps something is happening, but you don’t notice because you’re all too close to the ceremony. You know the old saw about not being able to see the forest for the trees? Why not let me watch?”

Miss Priss became so uncomfortable that her stammer was pronounced. “B-but we c-couldn’t let a stranger watch us, c-could we, Regina?”

“BB isn’t really a stranger, Priss. She’s our new friend… most simpatico… We all feel that and welcome her.”

“W-Well, that’s true. All r-right. But sh-she is new and she’d m-make us self-conscious.”

“ME, madame? S*A*R*A*H self-conscious? !NEVER!”

“Perhaps Priss is right, Sarah,” Regina said graciously. “All the same, BB may be right, too. We may have been too busy with the ritual to notice any results.”

Nellie Gwyn was skeptical. “But I thought the Devil wouldn’t just sneak in like a kid after-hours; I thought he’d prance in like a Regency Buck with black fire and diabolical laughter.”

Gretchen smiled. “Maybe the Devil makes an entrance in his own style, Nell.”

“BB is right, right, RIGHT. A quiet entrance is grrreat T+H+E+A+T+E+R!”

“That backwards Hebrew is enough to make anyone blind and deaf to anything,” Yenta growled.

Again, the twins joined the majority. “BB’s making sense, Regina. We’ve been too busy to notice any action. We vote to let her observe.”

“We can’t do it that way, Oodgedye.”

“I’m UD-gedye.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry dear. We must make BB a part of the ceremony so that we’ll all feel comfortable. But how? All the parts are taken.”

There was an intense pause while all the gears tried to mesh. Then Sarah Heartburn arose majestically and stood like a statue of Justice, but without the blindfold and scales. Gretchen choked back a burst of laughter and Regina winked at her.

“Ladies, mark me! Aye, MARK ME, I say…”

“Watch out for that lamp, Sarah.”

“I have the so-lieu-see-on of the D?I?L?E?M?M?A.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“And what, pray, is T+H+E+A+T+E+R without S!U!S!P!E!N!S!E? ‘Tis the divine torture. No matter. Here is my solution. Let BB hold ‘The (Ych!) Hand of Glory’ (Pfui!) Now, mesdames, what have you to say to THAT?”

There was a round of applause.

“Bravo, Sarah,” Regina laughed. “You’ve found the answer. Now come, we must all be serious and sincerely dedicated to evil. Pi-girl! Clear away the coffee things. Bring out the pentacle and the lights and smells. We’re going to raise the Devil again.”