He waited two days and went to see her. She was at her exercises, floating like a cloud through a dazzling arrangement of metal rings and loops that dangled at constantly varying heights from the ceiling of her solarium. He stood below her, craning his neck. “It isn’t any good,” he said. “I want us both to withdraw from Group, Kay.”
“That was predictable.”
“It’s killing me. I love you so much I can’t bear to share you.”
“So loving me means owning me?”
“Let’s just drop out for a while. Let’s explore the ramifications of one-on-one. A month, two months, six months, Kay. Just until I get this craziness out of my system. Then we can go back in.”
“So you admit it’s craziness.”
“I never denied it.” His neck was getting stiff. “Won’t you please come down from those rings while we’re talking?”
“I can hear you perfectly well from here, Murray.”
“Will you drop out of Group and go away with me for a while?”
“No.”
“Will you even consider it?”
“No.”
“Do you realize that you’re addicted to Group?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s an accurate evaluation of the situation. But do you realize that you’re dangerously fixated on me?”
“I realize it.”
“What do you propose to do about it?”
“What I’m doing. now,” he said. “Coming to you, asking you to do a one-on-one with me.”
“Stop it.”
“One-on-one was good enough for the human race for thousands of years.”
“It was a prison,” she said. “It was a trap. We’re out of the trap at last. You won’t get me back in.”
He wanted to pull her down from her rings and shake her. “I love you, Kay!”
“You take a funny way of showing it. Trying to limit the range of my experience. Trying to hide me away in a vault somewhere. It won’t work.”
“Definitely no?”
“Definitely no.”
She accelerated her pace, flinging herself recklessly from loop to loop. Her glistening nude form tantalized and infuriated him. He shrugged and turned away, shoulders slumping, head drooping. This was precisely how he had expected her to respond. No surprises. Very well. Very well. He crossed from the solarium into the bedroom and lifted her Group rig from its container. Slowly, methodically, he ripped it apart, bending the frame until it split, cracking the fragile leads, uprooting handfuls of connectors, crumpling the control panel. The instrument was already a ruin by the time Kay came in. “What are you doing?” she cried. He splintered the lovely gleaming calibration dials under his heel and kicked the wreckage of the rig toward her. It would take months before a replacement rig could be properly attuned and synchronized. “I had no choice,” he told her sadly.
They would have to punish him. That was inevitable. But how? He waited at home, and before long they came to him, all of them, Nate, Van, Dirk, Conrad, Finn, Bruce, Klaus, Kay, Serena, Maria, JoJo, Lanelle, Nikki, Mindy, Lois, popping in from many quarters of the world, some of them dressed in evening clothes, some of them naked or nearly so, some of them unkempt and sleepy, all of them angry in a cold, tight way. He tried to stare them down. Dirk said, “You must be terribly sick, Murray. We feel sorry for you.”
“We really want to help you,” said Lanelle.
“We’re here to give you therapy,” Finn told him.
Murray laughed. “Therapy. I bet. What kind of therapy?”
“To rid you of your exclusivism,” Dirk said. “To burn all the trash out of your mind.”
“Shock treatment,” Finn said.
“Keep away from me!”
“Hold him,” Dirk said.
Quickly they surrounded him. Bruce clamped an arm across his chest like an iron bar. Conrad seized his hands and brought his wrists together behind his back. Finn and Dirk pressed up against his sides. He was helpless.
Kay began to remove her clothing. Naked, she lay down on Murray’s bed, flexed her knees, opened her thighs. Klaus got on top of her.
“What the hell is this?” Murray asked.
Efficiently but without passion Kay aroused Klaus, and efficiently but without passion he penetrated her. Murray writhed impotently as their bodies moved together. Klaus made no attempt at bringing Kay off. He reached his climax in four or five minutes, grunting once, and rolled away from her, red-faced, sweating. Van took his place between Kay’s legs.
“No,” Murray said. “Please, no.”
Inexorably Van had his turn, quick, impersonal. Nate was next. Murray tried not to watch, but his eyes would not remain closed. A strange smile glittered on Kay’s lips as she gave herself to Nate. Nate arose. Finn approached the bed.
“No!” Murray cried, and lashed out in a backward kick that sent Conrad screaming across the room. Murray’s hands were free. He twisted and wrenched himself away from Bruce. Dirk and Nate intercepted him as he rushed toward Kay. They seized him and flung him to the floor.
“The therapy isn’t working,” Nate said.
“Let’s skip the rest,” said Dirk. “It’s no use trying to heal him. He’s beyond hope. Let him stand up.”
Murray got cautiously to his feet. Dirk said, “By unanimous vote, Murray, we expel you from Group for unGrouplike attitudes and especially for your unGrouplike destruction of Kay’s rig. All your Group privileges are canceled.” At a signal from Dirk, Nate removed Murray’s rig from the container and reduced it to unsalvageable rubble. Dirk said, “Speaking as your friend, Murray, I suggest you think seriously about undergoing a total personality reconstruct. You’re in trouble, do you know that? You need a lot of help. You’re a mess.”
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Murray asked.
“Nothing else. Goodbye, Murray.”
They started to go out. Dirk, Finn, Nate, Bruce, Conrad, Klaus. Van. JoJo. Nikki. Serena, Maria, Lanelle, Mindy. Lois. Kay was the last to leave. She stood by the door, clutching her clothes in a small crumpled bundle. She seemed entirely unafraid of him. There was a peculiar look of—was it tenderness? pity?—on her face. Softly she said, “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Murray. I feel so unhappy for you. I know that what you did wasn’t a hostile act. You did it out of love. You were all wrong, but you were doing it out of love.” She walked toward him and kissed him lightly, on the cheek, on the tip of the nose, on the lips. He didn’t move. She smiled. She touched his arm. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “Goodbye, Murray.” As she went through the door she looked back and said, “Such a damned shame. I could have loved you, you know? I could really have loved you.”