Читать книгу Orion You Came and You Took All My Marbles - Kira Henehan - Страница 9

3

I went back into the bar and cast my eyes about the men. I tried not to swoon. There was a man in the back right corner, alone at a table. Alone, that is, but for a decanter of what one might reasonably assume to be beer, if one were the assuming type.

—What are you drinking, I said, sliding in beside him.

He looked me up and down. I took the opportunity to glance casually about the area for Puppets. I saw none but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Who knows how these Puppet men operate. I maintained an aura of alertness. He was of such pleasing aspect.

—Look, I’m not really—

I put a finger to my lips.—No need to explain. I’m only here to work out some details.

I sniffed at the decanter. It was indeed beer. I signaled the barman for an extra glass. Beer tends to smooth out those initial awkwardnesses.

—First, I told him, as I waited for my glass to arrive,—I have to ask that you not suddenly pull out your Puppets. I was Assigned to this job, and I am prepared to carry it out with all appropriate aplomb and enthusiasm, but I have to admit to a certain distaste, I said in a polite way of putting it mildly,—for the fundamental tools of your profession.

He’d been hitting the pitcher hard, evidently, awaiting my arrival; the confusion on his face could not be masked. Or perhaps it wasn’t confusion. Perhaps there was a confidence scheme at work and he didn’t want it widely known that he was the man behind Up All Puppets! Perhaps there were enemies or competitors close at hand. An elderly Indian gentleman a bit farther back in the corner was looking upon us with what seemed an excess of interest. I glared for a moment and then turned back to the Puppet Man.

I nodded sagely at his blank stare.

—I understand, I assured him.—You maybe have a code name you’d prefer? Something we could use to make the conversation subtle yet smooth, insofar as we’d know to what each of us was referring, while keeping our neighbors (a dark glare again at the not yet chastened neighbor) in the dark?

He shrugged his acquiescence, but offered no alternative.

I thought long and hard.—How about ‘firewood?’ I said.

The Puppet Man was a cagey one; he neither argued nor assented. It occurred to me that Binelli might have offered up a bit more information before throwing me into the Assignment, but Binelli would only have said that it was my job to gather the pertinent information. My job to suck, as it were, the details from the tight-lipped party. Like snake-poison from a big toe. I used the necessary imaginative tools at my disposal. I leaned in.

The glass I’d requested was smacked down on the table by the thin-hipped barman at that very moment, averting any possibility of sucking for the time being. Informational or otherwise. I poured a generous helping of the beer and offered to refill the Puppet Man’s glass.

—Look, he said, holding a hand up.

I stopped pouring. I looked up. He shook his head impatiently and motioned for the pouring to continue.

I wondered if the Puppet Man was in some way impaired.

He took a long drink from his glass of beer and set it back on the table.—Look, he said again.—I just got out of something and I don’t really—

—Whoa! I told him, holding up my own hands.—I have to ask that you maintain some sort of professionalism here. You are, I admit, a man of very pleasing countenance, and under different circumstances I might allow temptation to overtake my duties. And I can certainly, I said,—understand your own attraction, but let me please assure you that it is based solely on illusion; I am not at all desirable. I am only confused and therefore appear slightly insane, which I understand is quite attractive to the average male. Not to imply that you are at all average, per se, but only that I understand your willingness to throw caution to the wind and attempt to entice me into drunken foreplay. My first priority however, I said,—is the Assignment, as I’m sure beneath your animal impulses your priority rests as well. Therefore, I will ask that we hold off the flirting, kissing, fondling, et cetera, until we’ve come to some sort of agreement regarding the Puppets.

He looked slightly mortified.

—I’ve embarrassed you, I said apologetically, without really apologizing. I’d meant every word and knew that as soon as he was out from under my sway he too would realize the wisdom of my lecture.—Please understand, this is not a direct rebuke of your affections, only a holding off until such a time as they would be more appropriate. Perhaps after another decanter or two of beer, when the business is completed to our mutual satisfaction. Agreed?

I held up my glass to cheer his, but Binelli roared up to the table before the chastened Puppet Man could even toast.

—Finley.

—Binelli.

—What the hell do you think you’re doing, he wondered.

—My Assignment. Or did you forget you put me on Puppets?

—This, he pointed a shaking finger at my recalcitrant drinking companion,—is not Mr. Uppal.

—Mr. Who.

—Mr. Uppal. Of Uppal Puppets. The elderly Indian gentleman who has been waiting with all patience for your arrival at his table. The hors d’oeuvres he’s ordered have gotten cold. The fine artisinal champagne has become warm. His spirits are low and his ire is raised. So what, I again wonder, the hell do you think you’re doing flirting with this lacrosse-team remnant here.

The target of this last comment bristled a bit at the implied slight but we paid him no mind. I took a second look at the Indian gentleman who had earlier been on the receiving end of my finest, frostiest glare. He gave me a slight nod and raised a dangerously overfilled champagne flute in our direction.

A little bit became clear.

Then, as I considered further, a little bit more.

—I see, I told Binelli.—Mr. Uppal. Of Uppal Puppets. Indian gentleman. Yes.

—Would you please now wait for me outside. I recognized the quality of barely controlled rage in his voice, particularly when bumped up against the polite tone he used to next address the Puppet Man-turned-Lacrosse-Team Remnant.—Please excuse this Finley. She knows not what she does.

Now barely controlled rage welled up in me. I knew what I did. I knew and did it well. I used all the tricks, the full arsenal of wiles bestowed upon members of my species and sex. I had been, simply, misinformed. I drank half my mug of beer in one long swallow before flouncing out into the daylight.