The house was immense -- and super-modern, like a pastry cook's nightmare. Great columns reared up, connected by sloping beams and buttresses. The rooms were set one on top of each other like shoe-boxes, each at its own angle. The whole building was finished in some kind of bright metal shingle, a frightening butter-yellow. In the morning sun the house blazed and sparkled.
"What are -- those?" Larry indicated some forlorn plants snaking up the irregular sides of the house. "Are those supposed to be there?"
Allison blinked, frowning a little. "What did you say, darling? You mean the bougainvillaea? That's a very exotic plant. It comes from the South Pacific."
"What's it do? Hold the house together?"
Allison's smile vanished. She raised her eyebrow. "Darling, are you feeling all right? Is there anything the matter?"
Larry moved back toward the car. "Let's go back to town. I'm getting hungry for lunch."
"All right," Allison said, watching him oddly. "All right, we'll go back."
That night, after dinner, Larry seemed moody and unresponsive. "Let's go to the Wind-Up," he said suddenly. "I feel like seeing something familiar, for a change."
"What do you mean?"
Larry nodded at the expensive restaurant they had just left. "All those fancy lights. And little people in uniforms whispering in your ear. In French."
"If you expect to order food you should know some French," Allison stated. Her face twisted into an angry pout. "Larry, I'm beginning to wonder about you. The way you acted out at the house. The strange things you said."
"If you expect to order food you should know some French," Allison stated. Her face twisted into an angry pout. "Larry, I'm beginning to wonder about you. The way you acted out at the house. The strange things you said."
"Well, I certainly hope you recover."
"I'm recovering each minute."
They came to the Wind-Up. Allison started to go inside. Larry stopped for a moment, lighting a cigarette. The good old Wind-Up; he felt better already, just standing in front of it. Warm, dark, noisy, the sound of the ragged dixieland combo in the background -
His spirits returned. The peace and contentment of a good run-down bar. He sighed, pushing the door open.
And stopped, stricken.
The Wind-Up had changed. It was well-lit. Instead of Max the waiter, there were waitresses in neat white uniforms bustling around. The place was full of well-dressed women, sipping cocktails and chatting. And in the rear was an imitation gypsy orchestra, with a long-haired churl in fake costume, torturing a violin.
Allison turned around. "Come on!" she snapped impatiently. "You're attracting attention, standing there in the door."
Larry gazed for a long time at the imitation gypsy orchestra; at the bustling waitresses; the chatting ladies; the recessed neon lighting. Numbness crept over him. He sagged.
"What's the matter?" Allison caught his arm crossly. "What's the matter with you?"
"What -- what happened?" Larry waved his hand feebly at the interior. "There been an accident?"
"Oh, this. I forgot to tell you. I spoke to Mr O'Mallery about it. Just before I met you last night."
"Mr O'Mallery?"
"He owns this building. He's an old friend of mine. I pointed out how -- how dirty and unattractive his little place was getting. I pointed out what a few improvements would do."
Larry made his way outside, onto the sidewalk. He ground his cigarette out with his heel and shoved his hands in his pockets.
Allison hurried after him, her cheeks red with indignation. "Larry! Where are you going?"
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight?" She stared at him in astonishment. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going."
"Going where?"
"Out. Home. To the park. Anywhere." Larry started off down the sidewalk, hunched over, hands in his pockets.
Allison caught up with him, stepping angrily in front of him. "Have you gone out of your mind? Do you know what you're saying?"
"Sure. I'm leaving you; we're splitting up. Well, it was nice. See you sometime."
The two spots in Allison's cheeks glowed like two red coals. "Just a minute, Mr Brewster. I think you've forgotten something." Her voice was hard and brittle.
"Forgotten something? Like what?"
"You can't leave; you can't walk out on me."
Larry raised an eyebrow. "I can't?"
"I think you better reconsider, while you still have time."
"I don't get your drift." Larry yawned. "I think I'll go home to my three room apartment and go to bed. I'm tired." He started past her.
"Have you forgotten?" Allison snapped. "Have you forgotten that you're not completely real! That you exist only as a part of my world?"
"Lord! Are you going to start that again?"
"Better think about it before you walk off. You exist for my benefit, Mr Brewster. This is my world; remember that. Maybe in your own world things are different, but this is my world. And in my world things do as I say."
"Better think about it before you walk off. You exist for my benefit, Mr Brewster. This is my world; remember that. Maybe in your own world things are different, but this is my world. And in my world things do as I say."
"You're -- you're still leaving?"
Slowly, Larry Brewster shook his head. "No," he said. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not; I've changed my mind. You're too much trouble. You're leaving."
And as he spoke a ball of radiant light gently settled over Allison Holmes, engulfing her in a glowing aura of splendor. The ball of light lifted, carrying Miss Holmes up into the air, raising her effortlessly above the level of the buildings, into the evening sky.
Larry Brewster watched calmly, as the ball of light carried Miss Holmes off. He was not surprised to see her gradually fade and grow indistinct -- until all at once there was nothing. Nothing but a faint shimmer in the sky. Allison Holmes was gone.
For a long time Larry Brewster stood, deep in thought, rubbing his jaw reflectively. He would miss Allison Holmes. In some ways he had liked her; for a while, she had been fun. Well, she was off now. In this world, Allison Holmes had not been completely real. What he had known, what Larry had called "Allison Holmes," wasn't any more than a partial appearance of her.
Then he paused, remembering: as the ball of radiant light had carried her away, he had seen a glimpse -- a glimpse past her into a different world, one which was obviously her world, her real world, the world she wanted. The buildings were uncomfortably familiar; he could still remember the house...
Then -- Allison had been real, after all -- existing in Larry's world, until the time came for her to be transported to hers. Would she find another Larry Brewster there -- one who saw eye-to-eye with her? He shuddered at the thought.
In fact, the whole experience had been somewhat unnerving.
"I wonder why," he murmured softly. He thought back to other unpleasant events, remembering how they had led him to greater satisfactions for their having happened -- richness of experience he could not have appreciated without them. "Ah well," he sighed, "it's all for the best."
He started to walk home slowly, hands in his pockets, glancing up at the sky every now and then, as if for confirmation...
A Surface Raid
Harl left the third level, catching a tube car going North. The tube car carried him swiftly through one of the big junction bubbles and down to the fifth level. Harl caught an exciting, fugitive glimpse of people and outlets, a complex tangle of mid-period business and milling confusion.
Then the bubble was behind him and he was nearing his destination, the vast industrial fifth level, sprawling below everything else like some gigantic, soot-encrusted octopus of the night's misrule.