«You’re trying to tell me I don’t know what I want?»
«Not consciously, you don’t. Now with a team of psychiatrists and possibly hypnosis therapy—»
«No!» Henry slammed a hand on the desktop. «Too risky! Remember our need for absolute security.»
«But your conscious mind has only a very hazy idea of what your dream woman should be. The very term ‘dream woman’ indicates—»
«Never mind,» Henry said firmly. «Just add a few points to the computer program. I want someone just like Jill, but tougher, more intelligent. Better able to stand on her own feet.»
Dr. Young nodded. Another week of computer programming ahead.
«This is my Pad, Hank. What do you think of it?» Henry surveyed the crumbling plaster, the dirt-caked floor, the stacks of books strewn across the room covering the sink and the range, the desk, the drawing board, the sofa, the coffee table. The only piece of furniture in the filthy place that wasn’t covered with books or papers of one sort or another was the bed. And that looked like something out of a Hong Kong brothel—a slimy, grimy, wrinkled mess that seemed to be writhing by itself even as he stared at it.
«It’s efficient looking,» he said. Actually, it looked like the storage room in the cellar of a Village tenement. Which it had been, until recently.
«Efficient, huh?» Gloria tossed her head slightly, a motion that spilled her long sun-bleached hair over one T-shirted shoulder.
«It’s efficient, all right,» she said. «This is where I do my writing, my illustrating, my editing, and my fucking.»
Henry blinked. His glasses seemed to be getting steamed up. Or maybe it was dirt.
«You like to fuck, Hank?» she asked, grinning at him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and heard his voice utter a choked, «Yes.»
«Good. Me too. But no sexual chauvinism. I get on top the same number of times you do,» she said, starting toward the bed and pulling off the T-shirt. «No oral stuff unless we go together, and,» she stepped out of her ragged jeans, «say, how many times can you pop off in one—» She turned and saw that she was talking to the empty air. Henry had fled, and left the door open behind him.
«She was a monster!» Henry babbled to Dr. Young. «That computer is trying to destroy me. I’m going to have it investigated! And you too!»
«Now, now,» Dr. Young said as soothingly as he could. «No one’s tampered with anything. I’ve done all the programming myself, taken the printouts myself, done it all by myself. I haven’t slept a full night since our first meeting. I’m losing business because of you.»
«She was a monster,» Henry repeated.
«If you’d only let the psychiatrists probe your subconscious—»
«No! I went through all that months ago. All they ever said was that it’s all my mother’s fault. I know that!»
Dr. Young made a helpless shrug. «But if you can’t verbalize your real desires—can’t tell me what you’re really looking for—how can I help you?»
Clenching his hands into fists and frowning mightily Henry said, «Just find me the girl I’m looking for. Someone who’s beautiful, intelligent, patient, patriotic—but not aggressive!»
Back to the computer, Dr. Young thought wearily. But something in the back of his mind made him smile inwardly. There might be—yes, that might work.
The Baroness’s yacht rode easily at anchor in the soft swells of the sheltered cove. The coast of Maine was dark, just a jagged blackness against the softer star-scattered darkness of the sky.
«I’ve never seen the stars look so beautiful,» Henry said. Then, sneaking a peek at the notes on his shirt cuff, he added, «They’re almost as beautiful as you.»
The Baroness smiled. And she was truly beautiful as she stood by the rail of the yacht, almost close enough to touch her warm and thrilling body to his. Her long midnight hair, always severely combed back and pinned up during the day, was now sweeping free and loose to her lovely bare shoulders.
«I would offer you another drink, Henri, but the servants have gone ashore.»
«Oh?» He gripped the rail a bit tighter. «All of them?»
«Yes, I sent them away. I wanted to be alone with you.»
Henry took a deep breath. All through the evening—the ballet recital, the dinner, the dizzying private jet ride to this cove, the dancing on the deck—he had been steeling himself for the supreme moment. He had no intention of muffing it this night.
«Maybe,» he suggested slyly, «we can go back inside and find something for ourselves.»
She put a hand to his close-shaven, lime-scented cheek. «What an admirable idea, Henri. No wonder your President depends on you so heavily.»
Half an hour later they were sitting in the salon on a leather couch, discussing international relations. Gradually, Henry began to realize that the subject had drifted into the super-romantic areas of spies and espionage.
She was leaning against him, as closely as her extensive bosom would allow. «You must have known many spies— clever, dangerous men and deceptive, beautiful women.»
«Uh, well, yes,» he lied. His hands were starting to tremble.
Suddenly she slid off the couch and kneeled at his feet. «Pretend I’m a spy! Pretend you’ve caught me and have me at your mercy. Tie me up! Beat me! Torture me! Rape me!»
With a strangled scream, Henry leaped to his feet, dropped his glasses, bolted for the hatch, pounded up the ladder to the deck, and leaped into the water. For the first time since his last full summer at camp, he swam for his life. And his sanity.
«It’s useless, it’ll never work. It’s just no good.» Henry was muttering as Dr. Young led him down a long antiseptically white corridor.
«It might work. It could work.»
For a moment the doctor thought he would have to take Henry by the hand and march him through the corridor like a stern schoolteacher with a recalcitrant child. Studying his «customer,» Dr. Young realized that Henry was going down the drain. His physical condition was obviously deteriorating: his hands trembled, there were bags under his eyes, he had lost weight, and his face was starting to break out in acne. And his mental state! Poor Henry kept muttering things like, «Peeking—must get the Ping-Pong people to Peeking—»
Dr. Young felt desperate. And he knew that if he felt desperate, Henry must be on the verge of collapse.
Henry said, «You’re sure nobody else knows—»
«It’s two in the morning. This is my own building, my company owns it and occupies it exclusively. The guard couldn’t possibly have recognized you with that false beard and the sunglasses. I laid off every known or suspected Democrat in my company weeks ago. Stop worrying.» They came at last to Room X. Dr. Young opened the door and motioned Henry to follow him inside.
The room was well lit, neat, and orderly. There was a comfortable couch along one wall, a modest desk of warm mahogany with a deep leather chair behind it, and a panel of lights and grill work on the farthest wall. The panel was set into the wall so that someone reclining on the couch couldn’t see it.
Henry balked at the doorway. «I’m not sure—»
«Come on,» Dr. Young coaxed. «It won’t hurt you. The President himself authorized nearly a million dollars to allow me to build this system. You wouldn’t want him to feel that the money was wasted, would you?»
As he said that, Dr. Young almost laughed out loud. This system was going to make him the king of the computer selection business. And all built at government expense.
Henry took a hesitant step into the room. «What do I have to do?» he asked suspiciously.