The Followed Man by Thomas Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

stood
next to the bathroom door, in his shorts, shaking his head in wonder.
"But, still, here we were, man, as close as you can get without
coming out on the other side. I mean, she's a woman and I'm a man,
and all the glands and mem­branes and ducts are working like
crazy out of their minds except she hates me. Figure that one
out sometime. I mean, don't use my name, but write that all out
sometime."
    "I'll put it in my
article," Luke said.
    "Well, maybe you better
not," Robin said, laughing. Then he turned pensive again. "I
mean, I know fucking is not love, but the two are not fucking incompatible, right?"
    "I wouldn't think so,"
Luke said.
    "But do you really know? I
mean everybody says so, but do you really know? I mean out of your own goddam experience, Luke, can you truly-bluely say, so help
you God, that you know?"
    "I'm beginning to forget
the question."
    "No, you're not."
    "Okay. While you take take
your shower I'll think about it. Meanwhile, can I order you anything?
I'm waiting on a phone call."
    "Yeah. Order me a hot
pastrami on light rye, yellow mustard, and a Coke."
    When Robin came out of the
shower, Marjorie Rutherford still hadn't called. Room service came
with the hot pastrami Robin said was medium cold, the Coke, and
another bottle of Heineken.
    "I never drink alcohol,"
Robin said. "Who needs it? Not that I've got anything against
it, but I'd rather fuck."
    "Are the two incompatible?"
Luke said.
    "Alcohol dulls the senses,
right?"
    "I suppose so."
    "Then who needs it?"
    "Those who need their
senses dulled," Luke said.
    "Profound, man. Profound! And is that kind of the answer to the first question?"
    "Robin," Luke said,
feeling affection for this little satyr, "I'm sure we'd be able
to answer any question if the question were properly posed; but I
feel that we haven't really posed the ques­tion you want
answered."
    "Pro-fucking-found, man,"
Robin said admiringly, and took another bite of his pastrami.
    Then the phone rang. "Mr.
Cah?"
    "Yes," he said. "Mrs.
Rutherford?"
    "Yes," she said, and
he felt that she wouldn't ordinarily have said "yes"—that
she was imitating something high-class she thought she had detected
in his voice.
    They arranged to meet at her
"home" the next afternoon at three. There seemed to be some
hesitation, or even embarrass­ment on her part, and then she said
that her friend would be there, too, if he didn't mind. He assured
her that it was all right if she wanted to have a friend present,
that he just wanted to ask some questions and if she didn't want to
answer any of the ques­tions that was fine; he didn't want to
invade her privacy.
    Robin was chewing and grinning
at him from across the room.
    Luke's assurances seemed to
cheer her up, and she said, "Good­bye now," with a
light, pleased, anticipatory lilt.
    "You didn't tell her about
your friend with the cameras," Robin said.
    "I thought I ought to go
first and then, if she begins to trust me, suggest the need for the
pictures." But he knew she would have agreed, probably, to the
pictures. He hadn't wanted to add that to his demands, that was all.
    "Yeah, maybe you're right,"
Robin said. "But they really go for the photos, man. I mean
unless they're really gross freaks, and happen to know it, they
really cream off having their picture in the papers."
    "Well, I wonder what she
does look like," Luke said.
    "She's a vision of
loveliness," Robin said. "What kind d'you like, anyway,
Luke?"
    "What kind do I like?"
For a moment he didn't know what Robin was asking. The kind of person
to interview? Then he said, "My God, what an idea."
    "You mean you never thought
of it?"
    "You mean trying to put the
make on this poor widow?"
    "Why not? What is she, some
kind of a Martian or something? Some kind of an it? Maybe
she's a good-looking chick, man, horny as a snake. You mean you
wouldn't even consider it?"
    "Now you sound moral about
the whole thing," Luke said, then suddenly gave out a horrified
little laugh that he felt to be de­meaning