Dwarf Woman writhed, wriggled, straining to get loose.
‘Jesus, that feels good!’ he said. ‘Do it again… a little lower.’
‘Let me…!’
He muffled her words by pulling her head into his chest. ‘On the first date?’ he said, lifting his voice so all could hear. ‘Well, if you’re game, I’ll give ’er a try.’
Suddenly weary of this, he turned her loose and performed a mock bow. ‘Thanks for the struggle,’ he said.
She stood fuming, sputtering.
‘You motherfuckers oughta be in cages,’ he said by way of farewell.
He walked over to the nearest table, swilled down a cupful of punch. Farther along the table, Tully, Corazon, and Debora were talking with several Madradonas. The Madradonas, it appeared, were busy consolidating their role as Masters of Efficiency. Marina Estil, all dolled up in a white silk dress and jade beads, disengaged from another group and came toward him. She was flushed, excited, and in her eyes, her smile, was an intensity that seemed a product of more than natural well-being. He wondered if she had taken something.
‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to get back to you about our little problem.’
‘Everything’s fine,’ he said.
‘I knew it would be.’ She called a hello to a passing Sotomayor, then turned back to Mingolla. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘Marvelous,’ he said. ‘I’m in a transport of delight.’ He noticed Ruy sidling up to Debora.
‘Marina followed his gaze. ‘Don’t worry, David. He told me he was planning to apologize tonight. That’s all that’s happening. So’—she sipped punch, looking at him over the rim of the glass—have you been meeting people?’
‘Oh, yeah! Lots.’ He told her about the Madradona woman.
She giggled. ‘They’re so officious, aren’t they? Sweet in their own way, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re in a strange mood,’ she said.
‘I might say the same about you.’
‘Oh, I’m just exhilarated. You see, everything’s coming together tonight.’
Her words were oddly weighted, but he chalked that up to chemicals: he was now certain that she was stoned. ‘Everything?’ he said.
She stroked his arm, a seductive move. ‘Yes, and you’re responsible for a great deal of it.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I’ll tell you about it sometime,’ she said. ‘But not now.’ She pointed at the storytelling robot; it had rolled up to the table beside them a few feet away. ‘It’s time for the entertainment.’
‘Gather ’round, gather ’round!’ called the robot, and the crowd formed a semicircle about the table, chattering and laughing. From their ranks came one of the Sotomayor men leading a pale thin girl dressed in a white jumpsuit. She had a withdrawn, blank look, and Mingolla felt that this blankness was a sign of retardation. She stood half-hidden behind the robot’s skirts, nervous, twisting her fingers together.
‘Music, maestra!’ cried the robot, clapping its pink plastic hands.
The girl jumped, ducked her eyes.
‘Please, chiquita!’ The robot gave her a tickle, and she squirmed away. ‘Just a little music to make us all happy.’
The girl smiled wanly, and a moment later bell-like tones began to resound inside Mingolla’s head, tones of such purity that he was stunned by their beauty and failed to notice at first the simplicity and awkwardness of the tune they played. A nursery school tune. Played badly, the timing all wrong. Mingolla realized the girl was in essence a music box whose lid had been opened, a toy with faulty springs. The tune continued for far too long, and the crowd’s applause was polite but unenthusiastic. The girl was led off, and a young man with a similar blankness of expression was presented to the crowd. His eyes were deep-set, dark; he had a pinched, bony face, and his scalp showed through his crewcut. After being prodded by the robot, he stared at a point in midair, and a color materialized before Mingolla’s mind’s eye, a shade of blue so deep and rich that it seemed an emotion, embodying a sense of absolute tranquility. Other emotions were projected, each of them powerful in the extreme, and the crowd applauded each one wildly.
Marina stepped forward and addressed the crowd. ‘I believe we should show our appreciation to Carlito for this great work, for bringing forth flowers from these stones.’
The crowd applauded, and the applause evolved into a chant of ‘Carlito, Carlito, Carlito!’ that ended only when the dance music was struck up again. Mingolla stared into one of the punchbowls, thinking that he’d seen six-legged movement among the floating bits of rind and fruit pulp.
‘Hello, David,’ said a high-pitched female voice at his shoulder.
He spun about and looked up into the robot’s eyes. Behind occluded crystals, the cameras swiveled.
‘Don’t you recognize me?’ The robot clasped its hands over its ample belly.
For a moment Mingolla was at sea; but then, remembering the chopper and its divine pretense, he penetrated the disguise. Izaguirre,’ he said.
‘Good to see you again,’ said the robot. The pudgy pink face seemed to be regarding him with paternal favor.
‘Are you here in person?’ asked Mingolla, hoping this was the case, not knowing what he would do, but hoping all the same.
‘Oh, no. I’m in Costa Rica. But I’ve been keeping my eye on you.’ He essayed a daffy wink. ‘I’m most impressed with the work you’ve been doing.’
‘Are you now?’
‘Indeed! It’s remarkable. The results you’ve achieved put my poor efforts to shame.’
‘You’re just saying that.’ Mingolla offered the robot punch and spilled a cupful over its stiff yellow dress. Gee… lucky you didn’t short-circuit. By the way, what is your work? Entertaining at birthday parties?’
‘Still angry, I see. That’s good, David, that’s good. Anger can be a useful tool.’ The robot dabbed at the spill. To answer your question: No. No birthday parties. My work is much like yours, though I’ve been limited to producing singular effects as opposed to the overall rehabilitation you’ve been attempting.’
‘I haven’t been attempting shit. Just passing the time.’
‘Don’t belittle your efforts. No one would put in the hours you have without a strong commitment.’
‘Beats hanging out with your nieces and nephews.’
‘I won’t insist you agree,’ said the robot. ‘However, I do have a proposal for you. I’d like you to come work with me after all the loose ends are tied up down here.’
‘Naw,’ said Mingolla. ‘I’m going home, gonna sit on the beach.’
‘You can do both.’
‘You work in the States?’
The crystal eyes tracked back and forth across the dance floor. ‘I see no harm in admitting it at this juncture. Yes, I have a home there. I think you’d find it an amiable atmosphere.’
‘Where is it?’
The robot gave out with a fey titter. ‘I believe I’ll keep you in the dark about that for the time being.’
Not as much in the dark as you think, asshole, Mingolla said to himself. Some place with dry desert heat and a lot of horny people. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Scared of me or something?’
‘Not really, David. You’re quite formidable, I admit. But we’ve been around for a long time, and we know how to deal with strength.’ The robot trundled back a foot, then forward the same distance, as if gearing up for a leap. ‘Now about my proposal…’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘A talent like yours won’t lie dormant, David. What else is there for you to do?’