“I’m still an astronaut, you know,” Bell said.
“Sure,” Oldfield said, “and I’m still a space agent. Well, I can book you into a night space circus right here at the Cape. By the lake on the edge of town.”
Bell looked at the agent. “I hate circuses. You know that.”
“It’s all I’ve got. Still got your G-suit?”
“Yeah. What about the real blasts here at the Cape? I hear they’re trying for a soft Mars landing.”
“They are. It’s all Air Force stuff.”
“How much for the circus?”
“Two hundred bucks.”
Bell sighed hard, then looked at Oldfield. “What time do they blast off?”
“Tomorrow night. Seven-thirty,” Oldfield said. “Countdown begins at six-thirty. Be there, and sober. It’s a little circus. They’ve only got one missile.”
Bell looked at Oldfield. “How about fifty on account?”
“Sure,” Oldfield said, and handed him a twenty-dollar bill.
“This is only twenty.”
“If you’re really on the wagon, that’s all the dough you’ll need till tomorrow night.”
“Yeah,” Bell said. “I guess you’re right.” He took the twenty-dollar bill and, getting up, started to leave. “He shook my hand, you know,” Bell said.
“Who?”
“The President.”
Oldfield looked at the astronaut, and a touch of compassion brushed his eyes. “Sure, Jack. Those were good days. Good for everybody.”
Bell picked up his duffelbag, which held his G-suit, his helmet, his boots, and a few toilet articles, and left the office.
“Oh, Bell!” Oldfield yelled.
“Yeah?”
“You got a dresser?”
“I think so. I think Barney’s still in town. He’s the best.”
“Well, that’s out of your cut.”
“I know,” Bell said. “I know.”
He left the building and walked along the broad boulevard. The warm breezes of the Cape ruffled his shirt slightly. He walked into the Hangar, a favorite bar of the astronauts, and put down his duffelbag in an empty booth.
A waiter came over. “What’ll you have?”
“Rye-on-the-rocks. Have you seen Barney?” Bell asked.
“Sure. You know Barney?”
“Yeah.”
“You a space jockey?”
Bell nodded.
“You on the Mars shot?”
“No.”
“Circus?”
“Just bring me the drink.”
“Yes, sir.”
The waiter returned with the drink. Bell drank it, and sat there and waited, and ordered another drink, and then another, and then Barney came in.
The two men had not seen each other for five years, maybe six, yet Barney walked right over, shook hands, and seemed not at all surprised to see Bell. He took a seat opposite Bell and ordered a drink.
“Well, kid, how’s things?” Barney asked.
“Up and down.”
“Very funny,” Barney said. “You guys always had a crummy sense of humor.”
“I guess we did. I got a favor to ask you, Barney.”
“Yeah? What’s the favor?”
“I need a dresser — the circus tomorrow night. You’re the best in the business.”
“I was,” Barney said. “I was. But no more. No more dressing for me.”
“I just thought I’d ask.”
“Yeah,” Barney continued. “I guess you haven’t heard.”
“What?”
“I bought me a little bait shop. Right on the coast. Four days I sell bait. Three days I fish. What a life!” He patted his stomach.
“Sounds good. Don’t need a partner?”
“No. We’re overstaffed now. That was the smartest thing I ever did. You know, Jack, I’m right near the Cape. I see ‘em go off every day and I say to myself, ‘Thank God.’ ‘Yeah. That’s what I say. ‘Thank God it ain’t my worry if that damned suit leaks, or if the valves are stuck, or there’s spit caught in the poor slob’s throat.’ “ Barney drank deeply and looked accusingly at Bell. “You think you guys had all the sweat? Do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, you didn’t. All you did was lie there. All the rest was up to the guys on the ground.”
“I know,” Bell said. “I know. I just thought I’d ask.”
“You’re not still blasting, are you, Jack?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“You’re too old.”
“I did real good out on the Coast in the Orbit-O-Rama.”
“A milk run,” Barney said.
“Yeah.”
“What was the apogee?”
“Three hundred and forty miles,” Bell said.
“Yeah, kid stuff.” Barney nodded his head. “How many moon landings have you had, kid?”
“Two.”
Barney shook his head. “You’re too old, Jack. Why don’t you throw away the G-suit?”
“I just want to get up and out, Barney. I just want one more try. Up and out. I know a way.”
“A way what?”
“A way to beat ‘em to Mars.”
“Sure, Jack. The thing you’ll be riding won’t get you past five hundred…”
“You haven’t seen me lately, Barney.”
“I’ve seen you, Jack, I’ve seen you plenty. I seen you one night, Jack, I’d rather forget it.”
Bell stared at Barney. “All right, I was stewed. Jesus Christ. Haven’t you ever gotten stewed? You were with me. You dressed me. You checked me out. We rode over together in the van. Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about that night plenty.”
“Well, why didn’t you stop me?”
“I didn’t know you was loaded. What the hell were you drinking? Vodka?”
Bell nodded.
“I couldn’t smell a thing on you. I thought you was tense, that’s all. How the hell can you tell about a guy? You’re lying on that chair in the van. We took the elevator up the gantry. I strapped you in. You were still lying there.”
“Well, I walked away from it, didn’t I?”
“Sure.” Barney nodded. “But the senator riding with you never saw home again.”
“I know,” Bell said. “I already got punished for it. I just asked you a question. Forget it.”
“How much they paying you for the blast tomorrow?”
“Two hundred.”
“Well, I get more than that for dressing.”
“That settles it then, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. I guess it does.”
The two men sat silently and alone.
“What time’s countdown?” Barney asked.
“Six-thirty.”
“Get a tank of oxygen, and I’ll meet you. Let me feel your suit.”
Bell reached for his duffelbag, loosened the strings, and pulled out an arm of his space suit. Barney picked up the empty sleeve and expertly kneaded the rubberlike material in his big sea-scarred hands. “Getting pretty stiff.”
“She’ll hold,” Bell said eagerly.
“Yeah,” Barney said. “She’ll hold.” He got up and left two dollars for his whiskey. “Old G-suit. Old space jockey, old missile. It’ll hold. Yeah.” He left the bar.
Bell arrived in the dressing shack of the circus grounds at five o’clock the next afternoon. A few minutes later, a boy knocked on the door. ‘This your oxygen?” he asked, lowering a tank to the floor.
“Yes.”
“Four-forty.”
Bell paid him, and the boy started to leave.
“Hey, kid,” Bell said.
“Yeah?”
“What kind of bird they got here?”
“A surplus Redstone.”
“Recovered?”
The kid laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Bell asked.
“Recovered? That thing’s been recovered twenty times.”
Bell remembered dimly the lectures on metal fatigue at the Cape. ‘Thanks, kid. Will you be watching the blastoff?”
“Nah. I gotta date. Gung-ho.”
The boy left, and Bell, sitting down on the wooden bench, unpacked his G-suit and his boots and his helmet. He laid out the tubing nice and straight, and unlaced the boots; then he unpacked the long woolen underwear and stripped naked to put it on. He scratched the tattoo mark where they used to tape on the first sensor. He felt his heart beat below it. Well, nobody cares how my ticker’s working now, he thought, laughing to himself. Up and out, he thought. One more try. He slipped on the woolen underwear, then zipped it shut and sat there on the bench waiting for Barney.