Twilight Zone The Movie by Robert Bloch Read Free Book Online Page B

mouth was so tightly closed as he stared in stoic skepticism at the screen.
    The one seated on the settee beside Mrs. Weinstein must be her husband, so the gentleman in the chair next to Mrs. Dempsey had to be Mr. Agee. At first glance he appeared to be quite handsome and well-preserved for his age; evidently he must have taken a good share of every vitamin in alphabetical order.
    But Mr. Weinstein seemed to have neglected his ABCs. He was a bald-headed little man in his early eighties, his face shriveled, thin lips pursed in permanent disapproval of everything his long nose sniffed or his melancholy eyes surveyed.
    Now those eyes glanced up at the newcomer, and the lips parted as Mr. Weinstein rose, nodding. “You must be Mr. Bloom, right?”
    Bloom nodded. “And you are—?”
    “Weinstein.” The bald-headed man gestured toward his seated companion. “This is my wife, Mrs. Winston.”
    “Winston?” Bloom cast a puzzled glance as the plump woman in the dark wig rose and extended her hand in greeting.
    “Weinstein,” she said. “Sadie Weinstein.” She smiled. “Don’t pay any attention to that husband of mine, Mr. Bloom. Our son Murray, he changed his name to Winston and my husband doesn’t approve.”
    “What’s to approve?” Mr. Weinstein shook his head. “Just because he goes into politics he thinks he has to change his name to get ahead.”
    “And why not?” his wife challenged. “You think maybe people in England would vote for somebody named Weinstein Churchill?”
    “Don’t pay any attention to her.” Mr. Weinstein reached out and patted the plump arm of his spouse. “My wife is a closet goy.”
    The other members of the group had risen; stepping forward, they introduced themselves in turn.
    “Welcome aboard,” Mr. Agee said, his handclasp firm.
    “So nice to have you with us.” Mrs. Dempsey fanned his face with a flutter of false eyelashes. “I hope you’ll like it here.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bloom.” A look of inquiry flashed from behind Mr. Mute’s horn-rims. “Your first name doesn’t happen to be Leopold, by any chance?”
    Bloom smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t lay claim to such distinction,” he said. “I never had the privilege of meeting James Joyce, and I’m not a native of Dublin.”
    “You’re from Minneapolis, aren’t you?” Mrs. Weinstein said. “I heard Miss Cox talking with you on the phone the other day—”
    “You got big ears.” Her husband frowned his disapproval. “And Miss Cox has a big mouth.” He turned to Bloom and nodded. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.”
    “Thank you.” Bloom smiled, glancing toward the picture windows. “I’ll join you in a moment. If you don’t mind, right now I’d rather watch the sunset instead of television.”
    “Feel free,” Mr. Mute told him. “Personally, I’d prefer to curl up with a good book—or a bad woman. Unfortunately, both seem to be in short supply around here.”
    As he settled back down into his seat, the others followed suit, their eyes automatically returning to focus on the tube. The man with the cotton-candy hair was offering more words of wisdom to the world.
    “And let’s not forget E, the miracle vitamin. If you’ve enjoyed a healthy sex life, there’s no reason why you can’t keep on well into your golden years, thanks to a daily intake of Vitamin E . . .”
    Golden years. Bloom moved to the nearest window, staring out into the sunset. It too was golden, but now its luster faded into gray gloom.
    In the street beyond, a group of children were playing a game of kick-the-can, laughing and shouting in the gathering twilight. Bloom smiled appreciatively at the sight. The childhood years—these were truly golden.
    Now his attention shifted to the driveway before the rest home’s entrance. Here another group stood before a parked car—a stout, bearded man in his middle thirties, a blond woman around the same age, and an elderly gentleman who clutched a cardboard