Read Online Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone by Jack Womack - Free Book Online Page A

of us and not because he needed to shout over the theremin. His wardrobe was of the irksome prepster sort. He wore khakis and penny loafters and a cashmere sweater that would have paid my rent for three months. Orange, but that was probably what Perry Como was wearing and therefore acceptable. »Anyway, before you got here I was telling Trish about something important, a great experience –«
    »Muchas regretas,« I said.
    Trish bounded into the conversation, filling up silence as quickly as she could. »Last night Walter tried on his Casanova suit with these two sweet potatoes down at Max’s,« she said. »Muffies, I figured but figured wrong. When I called over there last night he was busy playing host with the most –«
    »Fine, fine,« he said. »But I was telling you about the experience. There’s something this group can offer anyone –«
    »Burt, I told you I’ll check it out, but right now I just want to enjoy a cheerful beverage. Put a sock on the Dynamos and swill away.«
    Something in Bub’s eyes made me think his story had a few more twists and turns than I’d thought at first. I wouldn’t say they were as empty as my ghost’s, but there was a quality to them reminiscent of aggies and shooters that made me suspect he wasn’t sticking as close to the high road to glory as he tried to make it seem. »My apologies,« he said, giving me a highly suspicious onceover but baring his teeth nonetheless, as if thinking it a smile. »My inner got the better of my outer.«
    »Happens to me all the time,« I said. »What group are you talking about?«
    »The Personality Dynamos. My company sent several of us on their weekend programme. Fascinating. Confidence building. You learn yourself inside and out. I was telling Trish about it.«
    Trish smiled, and put away the rest of her green goodness. »Sounds too booga-booga to me.«
    »What’s your company?«
    »Goldman Sachs. I’m a junior manager. Only a matter of time, though.«
    »Till what?«
    »Senior,« he said. »Think, and it happens. What do you do?«
    »I’m in government work.« Trish shot the daggers at me like we were the main attraction under the big top but I managed to dodge the sharpest ones. The thereminists moved on to the Rodgers and Hart songbook. Bobo looked absolutely dumbfounded.
    »Seriously?« he asked. I nodded. »Doing what?«
    »Odd jobs,« I said. »In the national interest.«
     
    Had Booby said anything else of interest, I would pass it along, but he didn’t. All he did was take up valuable space until both Trish and I were ready to go home. I don’t drink more than one or two at a sitting; better to save the liver for more essential effort in my own professional field. »You going east?« she asked, recapturing her coat from the check girl.
    I nodded. »Catching the El.«
    »I’ll walk with you far as Lexington.«
    Trish lived uptown, on East 77th near York. Farther east than Newfoundland and almost as frosty and windswept come winter, but when anybody asked where she cooped her chickens she could put on the big light and say, Upper East Side. Among some in her sewing circles, that was de rigeured.
    »Sure you didn’t want to make the scene with Bart?«
    »Burt. Please.«
    »You know him from where?«
    She stared out at the statue in front of the Plaza for a second or two, pulling her coat tight around her. »I can’t remember. Poor pup. Sounds like he’s found a good home with those Dynamos, though.«
    »He said it was a weekend thing.«
    »Every weekend. He’s into it. Next thing you know he’ll be selling flowers at the airport, probably. Preps are such pigeons.«
    It was after midnight, and a weekday besides, so only a few taxis cruised along with the cops, and we were the only ones taking a stroll. All the used book stores along 59th had rolled their tables inside and pulled down the grates. Neither of us said much as we perambulated on our merry way; when you’re close as we were there’s not always a need to chitchat.