CHAPTER FIVE
The redhead kept staring at Cord Bannister. Normally, he would've welcomed this attention because she was a stunner, with soft, gleaming hair, a beautiful face and a nicely curved figure. She knew she was special too. She wore a black dress that bespoke elegance. She was no more than twenty-five. It was a restaurant in Oregon – she wasn't alone.
Cord, however, was in no mood to deal with females, beautiful or otherwise. He'd been in Oregon for two weeks now, testing his Smart Suit. First he'd gone to the University of Oregon at Eugene where he had a contact with the Psychology Department. Young coeds tested a half dozen of the Smart Suits. They thought they were great. The professors were quite interested in their reactions, so they reported they were great – left the lab and promptly forgot about them.
Cord had also done some testing in downtown Portland, with Andy Lang, the West Coast A-C man setting up some tests with a local marketing bureau. They selected both housewives and working wives. The wives thought they were great. Of the dozen or so suits put out, Cord was fairly certain that nine people took them home, shook them out, put them back in the box and returned them next day saying they were great without even wearing them. Two others seemed vaguely embarrassed. He guessed they'd actually tried the suits with their husbands. One woman was enthusiastic.
Cord had selected Oregon instead of the large cities of L.A., San Francisco or Seattle because he feared the city people were novelty oriented. There'd be a fad rush – then nothing. Also robots had just begun to reach the West Coast. That didn't help his SS suit tests. It sickened him to think that Nancy Lyons and her robots might win the day.
The redhead was part of a party of four. She was obviously married to a big-shouldered, dark-haired young man, and there was another couple with them. They sat at a table next to Cord, who dined alone in a booth. They bantered in the easy fashion of young married couples out for a nice dinner and evening, but the redhead who sat at an angle to Cord, kept staring at him. She was certainly no one he knew, but of course he wore nothing but the Smart Suit which might've caught her eye. Tight to his skin, but opaqued to a nice blue color it did make him stand out in any crowd.
He had left Portland to come to this small coast town to ponder what to do next. If people loved a product, or hated it, you had no problem. You sold it, or junked it. What did you do when they merely liked it?
The redhead raised her glass of wine and toasted him. Cord nodded and smiled briefly, while her husband glared and said something to her. Cord's mind was off and spinning again.
Nancy with her robots would have her problems, plenty of them. But she rode the crest of robot popularity – everybody was going to get rich on robots as they had once on stocks and later on real estate. Maybe he should go the opposite. Instead of going for the mass market, he should sell to the select few and make the SS a Rolls Royce type of item that the upward mobile people would seek because their social betters all owned one. Interesting idea.
The redhead was doing something very strange. She sat in her chair swaying slightly, her eyes sparkling, her lips wet and her face flushed. Cord thought she looked like someone in the middle of a sex experience, which was startling to see in the middle of a public restaurant. She looked right at him and smiled.
"Marsha, are you crazy?" her husband snapped.
The woman looked at him with glazed eyes, a superficial smile on her face. There was no question about what happened to her. She was having an orgasm. There were beads of moisture on her forehead, a sublime look on her face, a flushing and soft gasps.
"Marsha, are you sick?" asked her husband.
"N-no, Roy, I'm not sick," she gasped. Her eyes hung on Cord's face.
The husband swung around to glare at Cord. Cord, wanting to go inside of himself deeply and wrestle with his problem, gave a polite, impersonal nod and smile and looked elsewhere. The redhead finished her seizure, whatever it was, and the incident was over.
Cord had enormous powers of concentration. Outside it was raining, inside the crowded restaurant people talked in a happy, warm babble as people do when warm and cozy against the elements. Cord ate absently, his mind a thousand miles away, turning his problem this way and that.
He felt a disturbance at his elbow. He looked around – the redhead had joined him in the booth, gleaming hair, black dress and all.
"I'm Marsha Collins," she said in a tremulous voice. She sipped at her wine glass and peered at him shyly.
"Marsha," he said startled and annoyed. "I'm pleased to meet you. But I think you're disturbing your husband."
"That's a nice suit you're wearing."
It was clearly time to escape. For some reason this local beauty had fixed upon him, but he had no desire to achieve a pickup.
"It's a Smart Suit, Marsha," he said. "Someday you'll read all about it, but tonight I can't take the time to discuss it."
He reached for his check. A tall, angry and broad-shouldered young man stood menacingly in front of his table.
"What are you doing to my wife?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Cord standing up. "I don't know her. I don't want to know her."
"Marsha, why are you sitting with this man?" said young Collins.
"I-I-I don't know," she said, blushing.
"Youre doing something to my wife!" cried Collins.
Cord didn't deign to answer. He took his check and started to leave. Heads turned in their direction, the chatter of the crowd diminished as they had become the center of attention.
The young man took a swing at Cord. The other woman in his party screamed and the nearby waiter froze.
Naturally the blow never landed because Cord wore his Smart Suit. The fist angled off harmlessly into the air. Cord started to brush by him.
"You… you…!" cried the angered young man. He swung again and again, but each blow failed to land and he spun away from Cord from the exertions of his swing. Cord moved away. Collins sprawled on the floor.
"Did you see that?" someone gasped. "The guy swung – he couldn't hit the guy in the funny suit."
"Blows never touched him," said another. "Wow!"
Cord couldn't help a grim smile. It was advertising for the Smart Suit – but not tonight. He left the confusion behind him, loud voices, feet trampling and the friend helping the young husband to his feet.
The headwaiter took Cord's money card and bill. "Somebody said you knocked down young Collins."
"Somebody's wrong," said Cord. "He swung at me and missed. I did nothing, not to him, not to his wife."
"I ought to call the police," said the headwaiter. He was angry with Cord but aware of his big size. "Collins is a good customer."
"On a rainy night like this they wouldn't show up very soon," said Cord lightly.
He grabbed the check, signed it, retrieved his money card and escaped before things could get worse. He welcomed the emptiness of the parking lot, the heavy rain, the sense of isolation. He had to go back to his motel and work out this problem.
He had barely gotten into his rented Skimmer when there was a rush of a figure approaching in the heavy rain. A body hit the side of his car. A door jerked open. It was Marsha Collins.
"I have to… to go with you," she gasped.
She was soaked to the skin in the elegant black dress which was now a mess. Her attractive hairdo had melted in the rain. She must've slipped away in the confusion inside.
"Are you crazy, woman?" he said. "What do you want with me?"
"I have to… have to… go with you."
She got inside the Skimmer and closed the door.
Cord looked around desperately. There was no sign of anybody else, not yet. The woman was soaked. He was puzzled. He was pretty sure now that her strange actions had something to do with the SS and he wanted to know. He lifted the Skimmer off the ground. Young Collins would just have to surrender his wife for a couple of hours while Cord probed this mystery.