The Welfare man saw his next free beer wriggling off the hook. "Let me tell you what it's like, up in the high- rent district, he said. "You know they've got swimming pools bigger than this whole restaurant, water so clean you'd think it was perfume? Dances, with live orchestras?
"I heard.
"It isn't the same, just hearing it or seeing it on the tube; you have to be there. Friend, the happiest days of my life were when I was up there. The women wore clothes that lit up, and turned peekaboo, and just hugged their little butts like skin. Just to look at them was enough! Almost enough. And half of them were just begging to get balled by the hired help, beds you wouldn't believe, all the grass and fine wine you could handle-
"You talked me into it, Stan said cruelly. "I think I'll head up there for a visit now.
It wasn't exactly a lie, he told himself. He really could go up there, at least long enough to spend the rest of his thousand dollars in one of the restaurants looking out into the clouds over the ocean; and maybe he would.
Plenty of money in the balance, nothing to do Stan wandered through the midlevel streets of the city, reminding himself that anything he saw he could buy if he wanted to. This was all Welfare country; not a soul in sight that had had a dime in capital or a dollar's pay in ten years. He wasted a few dollars in a game parlor. bought himself a new wristlet because it looked like something Evanie would appreciate. stopped to buy some popsoy to give to a couple of nice-looking, hungry-looking kids but decided against it-you never knew when they might threaten to call the fuzz for molesting them if you didn't pay off. That wasn't his style; all he wanted to molest was a pretty lady. There was plenty of that around. too, and he cased the available material carefully without seeing anything that took his fancy.
What took his fancy was Evanie.
But what was the use of that, when she let him spend two and a half big bills in Harry's Place and then took off without even saying she'd see him again? Most girls appreciated that kind of thing a little more. That was half the best part of it, not just the fucking but taking her to a place your average working man couldn't afford more than twice a year and your Welfare stiff couldn't get inside the door of.
He found he was near an observation gallery, and pushed his card into the admissions turnstile-five dollars to look out the window!-and strolled out. Even there it was crowded, mostly couples and cops, the couples to make out in some place other than their dormitories and the cops to keep them from it.
He stood looking over Lower New York Bay through the smoggy clouds, without seeing much that interested him. The high walls of Jersey City were lighting up as it got dark, and far out past Sandy Hook he could see the lights of the offshore oil condominiums, It was the third time he had been there in three days. and it wasn't worth it. It was only worth it when you couldn't afford it; the reality was a waste of time.
All the things they used to talk about in the dorms, they were true enough. Having a job wasn't just getting a paycheck. Having a job was a thing to organize your life around. It was something to do. Having a job was thirty-two hours a week when you felt it mattered, some way or another, whether you were in one place or some different place.
Having ajob was a lot better than being in parts, even though the pay there was all you could want.
Shortly before the end of the shift he went up to the Blue Balls office. The sign didn't say that, the sign said:
Associated Medical Services of Greater New York
TransParts Division
but everyone knew it by the other name. Usually he didn't like to hang around there, but apart from being where he got his money, it was also where Evanie worked. The trouble with that was that he hadn't caught her last name.
Stan walked in through the door as though he had never been there before, and a receptionist smiled and said, "Good evening, sir. One of our account executives will be with you right away.
"I just wanted to ask you-
"Yes, sir. It's company policy that our account executives give out all information. Here you are, Mr. Medway is ready to see you.
Pale, slim Mr. Medwav in a sober scarlet jacket, smiling at the door, was waving him in. "Welcome to TransParts, sir. Please sit down. Would you care for a drink? Coffee? A Coke?
"I just wanted to ask you something.
"Certainly, sir! But before that, let me congratulate you on your civic spirit. Whatever you decide-and remember, TransParts will not attempt to influence your decision in any way-just the fact that you came here shows that you are an extraordinary person. Well. Let me tell you a little about us. TransParts supplies all of the surgical facilities in the Greater New York area with organs for transplant. Under Title Seven, Federal Statute 683, we are authorized to accept and process whole-body donations from any competent adult, and to reward the donor to the extent of fifty thousand dollars-assuming, of course, that the donor meets our rather rigid physical standards. But looking at you, sir, you seem the picture of health!
"That wasn't what-
"No outright sale, eh? twinkled Mr. Medway, stroking his lightly graying sideburns. "I don't blame you for that! Well, I think I know what you would like. We can offer you one thousand dollars for what is, essentially, a fifty-to-one chance that you will walk out of this office with everything you had when you came in, plus our cheek for a thousand deposited direct to your credit account. The procedure? Simplicity itself. We bring you to a very comfortable room and present you with a tray containing fifty sealed bottles of a very fine liqueur. Each of them has something added. Forty-nine of them contain a mild sleeping potion; you fall asleep; eight hours later you wake up, you walk out. The fiftieth-well, sir, that's the gamble, eh? And you can come back and repeat this process every week if you like. Think of that! A guaranteed income, a thousand dollars a week for life! Why, we have clients who have been living off the fat of the land for years! if you'll let me have your credit card, for identification purposes- It was easier to do it than to argue. Stan handed it over, while Mr. Medway babbled on. "I'm sure you know, sir, that TransParts is officially licensed by the Federal government. We operate under the most rigid inspection possible. If you fear that there might be some-what shall I say? tinkering'?-with the odds, let me tell you that our license would be pulled in a minute. We wouldn't dare! No, it's a fair draw and- He stopped, staring at the card reader.
He looked up at Stan, his expression ugly. "What the fuck, man? You're already on our books!
"I know that.
"Then what the hell are you doing here?
"I just wanted to ask you a question.
"Ask!
"There's a girl, said Stan. "Her name's Evanie. I.. . wanted to get in touch with her. She works here.
Mr. Medway stared at him for a minute, then laughed. He tossed Stan's credit card back and punched a combination on his desk top. "Yeah, he said, reading. "She's in Post-Session Care, right? She's just about to go off duty. You can probably catch her at the employees' entrance.
The most astonishing thing about Evanie was, she still looked good. A little depressed, but good. When she caught sight of Stan her face flickered into a smile, then became sadder than ever.