The dimensions and the construction of the room were all it had in common with the one I had been allocated, or the two next door where Rick and Andy slept. The floor was thickly carpeted, there was a window with curtains, the air was warm and dry, the lighting bright yet muted. But what stood out above all was the quantity and quality of consumer durables on view. There was a Bose home-theater stereo system right next to a fifty-inch Mitsubishi slimline television. A desk to one side supported an Amerigo multimedia computer with CD-ROM and assorted peripherals, including what looked like a laser printer. A vintage Stratocaster guitar lay on the sofa. The cellular phone Sam had mentioned, an expensive Motorola flip-down model, was on the matching chair opposite. There were shelves and shelves of CDs and videocassettes, and the small amount of vacant wall space was covered in framed color reproductions of illustrations from the Blake canon.
I stood staring at all this in amazement. I had figured that Sam must be doing all right from whatever scam he had going, but I’d had no idea just how sweet it was. How the hell did he manage to justify this kind of lifestyle when his followers were living in boot-camp conditions all around him?
Although the room was empty, I could hear noises from next door, the kind I associated with someone taking a shower. I wandered over to the shelves and perused Sam’s CD collection. This provided another surprise. There was some jazz, and a few reissues of the rock albums we had used to listen to back in Minneapolis, but the bulk of the collection was classical. Wagner was largely represented-there were three complete Ring cycles alone-but also Bruckner, Mahler and Shostakovich. I moved on to the videos, but most of them were blank tapes whose labeling-Andy (Russell): Kansas City-made no sense to me. I was examining one of these more closely when I happened to glance to my right.
I had been so preoccupied by all the things that were in the room that I had totally overlooked the one thing that wasn’t: a bed. I’d also forgotten that Sam couldn’t be taking a shower, because the water shortage on the island meant that such an amenity was unavailable even to him. The solution to both these puzzles now became clear. While Mark, Rick and Andy had to make do with a single room each, Sam had commandeered an entire wing for his own quarters. The room I had entered was just the first of three in line. In the next I noticed yet more incongruous luxuries, including a pool table and what looked like a cue case mounted on the wall. But my attention was drawn by the third room, at the end of the suite, where Sam stood groaning before a woman on her knees who was enthusiastically blowing him.
Jostling somewhere at the back of my mind was the conviction that the woman was Andrea. That explained why she had not attended the reading. She was Sam’s personal sex slave and had to remain in his quarters in order to service him as soon as his performance was concluded. I left quickly, closing the door quietly behind me. A group of about half a dozen people were sitting in front of the TV. They all stared at me as I emerged, and I realized that I was still holding the videocassette I had taken from the shelf.
“Hi, guys,” I said as casually as I could, and headed off across the hall to my room. The contrast with the sybaritic conditions I had just left made it seem even more squalid than before. Setting the cassette down on the chest of drawers, which was still full of Mark’s clothing, I lay down on the bed and tried to rest. But it was impossible. The more I tried to relax, the more agitated I became. After a few minutes I gave up and returned to the hall.
It was another fifteen minutes before Sam finally emerged. The transformation from his previous appearance could not have been more marked. It was like glimpsing an actor leaving the stage door of a theater. His charismatic aura had totally vanished. He was one of us again, a mere human, with human needs and frailties.
He saw me sitting by the fireplace and came over.
“How’s it going?” he asked dully.
I couldn’t make out if his subdued mood was the result of his thespian or sexual exertions.
“Good,” I said. “Great talk you gave there. Kind of amazed me, though. I never expected to hear you lecturing on William Blake. Back when we took that class together, I recall you saying-”
Sam held a finger to his lips.
“Hey, don’t scare the horses!”
I smiled back. For the first time, Sam had made a clear distinction between me and the suckers he was doing such a successful number on. Emboldened by this, I decided to relieve my hurt about the sex scene I had witnessed with a little gentle joshing.
“The only thing I don’t get is why Andrea didn’t show. How come she gets to play hooky?”
I paused significantly.
“Or is she on some special duty roster?”
I was prepared for Sam to look sheepish. Instead, he shot me a glance I found unnervingly penetrating.
“Andrea? You interested in her?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s already spoken for.”
Sam just shrugged.
“Help yourself. She’s no one’s squeeze, far as I know. I used to give her a turn once in a while, but now I’ve got Ellie to take care of that. You met Ellie? Cute little thing. Just turned sixteen, but she’s got tits out to here, firm as avocados. Loves to fuck, too. They all do, but the young ones even more. Validates them, see? They’re still unsure about this adult stuff, how they fit in, all that shit. They see that look on your face as you cream into them, they know they’ve just joined the club. Turns them on like crazy.”
He slapped my shoulder.
“Good thinking, Phil! Get yourself a woman. I’d go for Melissa if I were you. Tall blond number? Used to be a junkie, but she’s straight now. Kinda flat-chested, but man, that pussy! Hasn’t seen much action, either, since Dale left. That’s where I would head first, tell you the truth. But if you got the hots for Andrea, I can fix that up, no prob.”
“Whoa, hold on there!” I cried, trying unsuccessfully to regain the safe ground of masculine bonding. “All I asked was why she wasn’t around for your little pep talk. I didn’t say anything about wanting to put any moves on her.”
Sam stood looking down at me. His smile had disappeared. I suddenly realized how dumb it was to think that I could ever find a niche for myself in something as dippy as what was going on here. I had to go, and the sooner the better, before anyone’s feelings were hurt.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I told him, getting to my feet, “I think maybe I’d better be moving on. It’s been great to see you again, and this place is certainly interesting, but, you know, it’s not really my thing.”
He looked at me in that set, level way he had when he felt challenged.
“You want to go?”
I nodded. He stared at me some more.
“When?”
“Any time tomorrow would be good.”
I had expected protests, but he merely nodded slowly, as though he regretted my decision but understood. Then he turned away.
“I’ll see what we can do about that,” he said.
Sam didn’t appear at dinner that evening, but Andrea did. She sat opposite me at the table, and kept looking pointedly in my direction. I didn’t know how to respond. My main feeling was one of guilt for having shown an interest in her in the first place. If she was as desperate as Sam had suggested, this might loom a lot larger for her than it did for me. But the fact remained that I was leaving the next day, and that I would never see her again. I eventually decided that the only responsible course of action was to ignore her. I finished my meal as quickly as possible and then retired to my room, where I went to bed with a copy of Lewis and Clark’s journal of their expedition to the coast in 1804. The account of their harrowing experiences put my little problems in perspective. It also put me to sleep.