Formica-topped counter, pulled off her mittens, slipped out of the coat. Stoner went to the range, where the glass coffeepot sat, half empty.
“No coffee for me, thanks.” She took the stool across the counter from his and watched him pour himself a cup. “Are they treating you all right here? Is there anything I can bring you?”
“My car and the keys to it.”
“They won’t let me.”
He carried the steaming mug back to the counter and sat down facing her. “That old car’s the only thing I’ve got to show for sixteen years of marriage.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve become kind of attached to it.”
“But they’re treating you okay? They’re not giving you any hassles?”
“Sure. Everything’s fine—once I signed the security agreement. Now I’ve got the run of the house. Eight rooms. Or is it nine? I’ve lost count. Plenty of food. I have to cook it for myself, though. I’m a lousy cook.”
“I could cook for you, sometimes.”
He ignored it. Reaching for the manila folder, Stoner pulled out the latest stack of photographs. They showed the fat, flattened, gaudily striped beach ball that was the planet Jupiter. He could see exquisite details of the streaming bands of clouds that flowed across the planet: eddies and whirlpools the size of Earth, in burnt orange, brick red, dazzling white.
“Where are the background field pictures I asked for?”
“In the next batch,” Jo replied. “They’re still being processed.”
“I need them,” he said. “And a computer terminal.”
She nodded. “Anything else?”
“Books. Every book on extraterrestrial life you can find. Empty the libraries. I want everything on the subject.”
Another nod. “Anything else?”
He looked into her deep, lustrous eyes. “Why did you come here tonight, Jo?”
“Professor McDermott told me to. I’m a courier now.”
“Why did you accept the job? You didn’t have to.”
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then, “I wanted to see you. To tell you I’m sorry. If I’d stood up to Big Mac…maybe…” She looked away from him. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. Truly I am.”
He reached across the table and grasped her wrist. “Prove it.”
Without another word he led her out of the kitchen, through the tiny, close rooms of the old part of the house, up the narrow stairway to his bedroom.
He closed the door firmly. No need to turn on a lamp: cold moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the window.
For a moment Jo stood in front of the bed. Then she turned toward him. Stoner leaned his back against the heavy wooden panels of the door. Neither of them spoke.
He could see her face etched by the moonlight. She wasn’t smiling. Her expression was strangely placid, tranquil. She began unbuttoning her blouse. Stoner watched. She unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Reaching down, she pulled off her shoes, then slithered the jeans down her long legs. And finally the skimpy flowered bikini panties.
“Is this what you want?” she whispered.
His throat was dry. “Yes,” he said, with an effort.
She stepped to him and started to unbutton his shirt. He stood there and let her do the work. Finally she was on her knees in front of him and he was naked. She kissed his erect penis.
“Is this what you want?” she asked again. But she didn’t wait for an answer.
Just before he thought he would explode, Stoner dug his fingers into her thick black hair and pulled her away from him. Bending down, he scooped her into his arms and carried her the four strides to the bed. He put her on the coverlet and tented his body over hers.
Jo twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto her. He kissed her as he entered her and she was warm and ready and moving in rhythm with him.
It was like being in space again, floating weightlessly, drifting, drifting through the dark eternities while the stars solemnly, silently gazed down.
She clung to him as they convulsed together and then gasped out a single
“No coffee for me, thanks.” She took the stool across the counter from his and watched him pour himself a cup. “Are they treating you all right here? Is there anything I can bring you?”
“My car and the keys to it.”
“They won’t let me.”
He carried the steaming mug back to the counter and sat down facing her. “That old car’s the only thing I’ve got to show for sixteen years of marriage.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve become kind of attached to it.”
“But they’re treating you okay? They’re not giving you any hassles?”
“Sure. Everything’s fine—once I signed the security agreement. Now I’ve got the run of the house. Eight rooms. Or is it nine? I’ve lost count. Plenty of food. I have to cook it for myself, though. I’m a lousy cook.”
“I could cook for you, sometimes.”
He ignored it. Reaching for the manila folder, Stoner pulled out the latest stack of photographs. They showed the fat, flattened, gaudily striped beach ball that was the planet Jupiter. He could see exquisite details of the streaming bands of clouds that flowed across the planet: eddies and whirlpools the size of Earth, in burnt orange, brick red, dazzling white.
“Where are the background field pictures I asked for?”
“In the next batch,” Jo replied. “They’re still being processed.”
“I need them,” he said. “And a computer terminal.”
She nodded. “Anything else?”
“Books. Every book on extraterrestrial life you can find. Empty the libraries. I want everything on the subject.”
Another nod. “Anything else?”
He looked into her deep, lustrous eyes. “Why did you come here tonight, Jo?”
“Professor McDermott told me to. I’m a courier now.”
“Why did you accept the job? You didn’t have to.”
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then, “I wanted to see you. To tell you I’m sorry. If I’d stood up to Big Mac…maybe…” She looked away from him. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. Truly I am.”
He reached across the table and grasped her wrist. “Prove it.”
Without another word he led her out of the kitchen, through the tiny, close rooms of the old part of the house, up the narrow stairway to his bedroom.
He closed the door firmly. No need to turn on a lamp: cold moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the window.
For a moment Jo stood in front of the bed. Then she turned toward him. Stoner leaned his back against the heavy wooden panels of the door. Neither of them spoke.
He could see her face etched by the moonlight. She wasn’t smiling. Her expression was strangely placid, tranquil. She began unbuttoning her blouse. Stoner watched. She unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Reaching down, she pulled off her shoes, then slithered the jeans down her long legs. And finally the skimpy flowered bikini panties.
“Is this what you want?” she whispered.
His throat was dry. “Yes,” he said, with an effort.
She stepped to him and started to unbutton his shirt. He stood there and let her do the work. Finally she was on her knees in front of him and he was naked. She kissed his erect penis.
“Is this what you want?” she asked again. But she didn’t wait for an answer.
Just before he thought he would explode, Stoner dug his fingers into her thick black hair and pulled her away from him. Bending down, he scooped her into his arms and carried her the four strides to the bed. He put her on the coverlet and tented his body over hers.
Jo twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto her. He kissed her as he entered her and she was warm and ready and moving in rhythm with him.
It was like being in space again, floating weightlessly, drifting, drifting through the dark eternities while the stars solemnly, silently gazed down.
She clung to him as they convulsed together and then gasped out a single
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