Lore plucked a large splinter from the rug, examined it. “It’s not wood,” she said. “I mean, it is, but it’s that pressed stuff. It’s not going to burn.”
“Fuck it!” Spanner threw the sledgehammer into the fire. Burning scraps of paper went everywhere. “Let’s go get a drink.”
They went out and drank too much and came back to hard, sweaty sex and fitful sleep. At least Lore slept. When she woke up, Spanner was pacing around the bed, talking about the projects she wanted to start on: relaying the floor, decorating, maybe rewiring the place. She had obviously been up all night, working herself up to this pitch. Lore let the talk flow over her as she got dressed.
“… and here, I went out and got you some presents.” Spanner dragged three bags into the bedroom. “Open them.”
They were clothes. Some of them the kind she would wear, others not. They were all expensive.
“Pick out something nice for now and then we’ll go out. We’ll go shopping, buy you some other stuff if you don’t like this-”
“This is just fine.”
“-or we could just look around. I want to get out. I need to have some fun.”
She would not stop talking. Could not. Her eyes glittered and she seemed jerky and tense. Lore chose something at random; then, seeing Spanner’s eyes, she remembered her promise and chose a moss-green chenille tunic and matching leggings. “I’ll wear these. They’re lovely.”
“And the black dress? You like the black dress?”
“I don’t wear dresses much but, yes, if I wear a dress soon, this is exactly the kind of thing I would choose.”
“You’re not lying? You like it?”
“I’m not lying. I really like it. It’s too cold to wear it today, though. I’ll wear this.” She lifted her original choices.
“Where are we going?”
At Hedon Road, the mood in the locker room was mixed: face masks had arrived, but the systems were back up.
I pulled on my mask: neoprene and plastex with knobby filters on each side of the mouth gasket. I fit-tested the mask with negative and positive pressure, tightened the strap at the back of my head. It felt strange and primitive to wear a breathing mask again. I was used to either nose filters and automatic, trained nasal breathing, or the full-face mask and air tank of an SCBA. These masks were no good if something splashed on your face, but enough to keep out most vapors and particulates—if the filters were changed every week or so.
I showed Paolo how to pull the seals tight across cheekbones and jaw. It was hard, helping him fit it without touching his hands.
As we walked into the primary sector to relieve the day shift, Kinnis clowned around in his mask, making bug-eyed-monster noises. Lots of people laughed. We were all relieved that the systems were back up. If someone or something slipped now, it was up to the machines to catch it, not us. Not me. And the system was good enough to stop most things, except the unk-unks: the unknown unknowns for which it was impossible to plan.
But Magyar did not give me time to worry about unk-unks.
We’d been on-shift about twenty minutes and one of the rakes had already jammed. Paolo and I had freed it and were just climbing out of the trough when Magyar, mask loose around her neck, walked over.
“It’s against regs to free those by hand, Bird. Could be dangerous. Paolo doesn’t know any better, of course, but consider yourself under verbal warning. Further infractions of Health and Safety regulations will result in a formal written warning. A third infraction will mean dismissal.” Her eyes were hard and pleased.
A few troughs down, Meisener and Kinnis were wrestling with a stalled rake. I didn’t need to be afraid. My records were airtight, now. I looked over at them deliberately, back to Magyar.
“Do you understand, Bird?”
Behind me I could hear the damn rake whining as it caught on something again. I pulled my mask off, jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “What do you want me to do about that?”
“Follow the regs, Bird. And don’t let your productivity drop.”
I think I surprised us both by laughing. “I’m good, Magyar, but not that good. Make up your mind: the regs, or productivity. Your choice. Doesn’t matter much to me.” I looked sideways at Paolo. “Why don’t you go check on that rake while the shift supervisor and I have a little talk.”
He retreated obediently.
Magyar was furious. “I could have you fired!”
“Then why don’t you?” She couldn’t, we both knew that. I was the best worker she had. She looked as though she was going to say more but I was tired of this, and my PIDA was safe. “Go harass someone else. Let me do my job.” I pulled my mask back up and waded out to help Paolo. I just hoped Spanner had not lost any of her skill, or I would be out of a job by midnight.
The rest of the shift was hard, but I felt curiously light. Whatever I had started on the roof last night and continued at Tom Wilson’s was still going on.
At the shift break I left Paolo with Kinnis and Cel, and took my egg rolls into a corner. I wanted to think.
I felt good. I was beginning to stand up for myself. I felt a little nervous, maybe. This was, after all, uncharted territory. Before, I could do or say anything I wanted: I was a van de Oest, with name, power, money, and education behind me. Now, though, it was just me speaking as me. The name didn’t matter.
I listened to the rain that was now pounding down on the glass roof, and smiled. I was finding I was maybe more than who I had thought. It pleased me.
I still felt good as I left the plant, even when a truck pulling into the yard drove right through a puddle and drenched me with cold, muddy water.
The truck pulled up, the window wound down. “Sorry about that!” the driver shouted. We both looked at my dripping coat. I was wet through.
“I thought I’d missed the rain,” I said, and smiled to show I knew it wasn’t his fault. He waved and the truck moved another twenty yards to the unloading bay. The logo read BIOSYSTEMS. I didn’t think anything more of it.
When Spanner opened the door and motioned me in, I was grateful for the stifling heat. My wet clothes began to steam gently.
“I thought it had stopped raining.”
“Careless driver.” I was glad she was still in a good mood.
“Ah. Well, give me your coat. My robe’s in the bathroom if you want to get the rest off.” She saw me hesitate. “Unless you want to freeze to death it’s that or watch me try light a fire.”
“Once was enough.” I headed for the bathroom.
“Hand me your wet things. I’ll dry them while you shower,”
The bathroom hadn’t changed. I stripped, turned on the shower, and climbed into the tub. The hot water was wonderful.
I had forgotten how fine thick, old silk felt on warm, freshly scrubbed skin. I tied the belt, and wiped my hand across the mirror to look at myself.
Spanner’s reflection stared back at me from behind my shoulder. I was proud of myself for not jumping.
“That brown does suit you.” She nodded at my hair, then walked back into the living room. “Lotion and everything is still in the cabinet,” she called.
I stared at the cabinet for nearly two minutes before I had the courage to open it. When I did, the breath hissed between my teeth in a combination of relief and disappointment: no small glass bottle, half full of oily liquid. I closed the door, turned away, and realized the muscles across my belly were tight, my breathing hoarse. Even now, after months, I wanted to feel that oil under my chin, be kissed with its musky scent in my nostrils, surrender to it hungrily. I went into the living room. From the kitchen came the lazy thump and tumble of my clothes in the dryer.
“I’ve made tea.” Spanner was sitting on the rug, near the tin-topped table.