Angry Lead Skies
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71
I tried not to cry when I thought about how much this evening
was costing me. I tried to forget the fact that, if it didn’t
work out, I might end up spending several years working
fourteen-hour days just to get back to the point where I could
afford to save money buying beer by the keg.
As a business convocation the sequestered evening at
Morley’s place had to be some sort of precedent. The gang of
us came out of there having created a company dedicated to the
creation, production, and marketing of the fruits of the
imagination of Cypres Prose, ingenious boy inventor. The Weider
brewing empire would provide financing. The Tate family would
handle the actual production. Kayne Prose and all her offspring
would move into the Tate compound, where they would live much
better than ever they had before, with no requirement that they do
anything but be Kip’s support and inspiration. I myself would
be the genius who held it all together. Having been the genius who
had gotten it all together.
I had a feeling Kayne Prose wouldn’t have much attention
to spare for industry. Not for a few months, at least.
When Kayne Prose met Manvil Gilbey it was lust at first sight
both ways. All the rest of us had to be grateful that they
didn’t jump on one another right there in the banquet
room.
Kayne’s behavior wasn’t exactly a surprise. I had a
feeling she seldom met a man she didn’t like. But Manvil
Gilbey is as reserved as a wine butt normally.
The absolute absurdity of the universe is declared, in a bellow,
once again, by the fact that Max Weider, age sixty, became
infatuated with Cassie Doap, a completely ridiculous eventuation
not unilateral in nature. Nor did either of those two seem
conscious of the fact that Cassie was three years younger than Alyx
Weider. And Alyx was the baby of Max’s five children.
Max told me, “Of course it’s stupid. But she’s
a dead ringer for Hannah when I first met her.” And he was
willing to play delusional games with himself in order to defy his
pain.
More or less. Nobody cons Max Weider for long. Not even Max
himself.
Cassie’s positive response, wholly genuine, was a good
deal more puzzling. We knew already that neither Cassie nor her
mother were out for the easy ride, bought with their looks and
bodies.
There’re times when people do, honestly, connect on
something besides the physical level.
That became one of the fine evenings of my life. One of those
times when everything works out even better than you’d dared
hope.
Sometime during the socializing, following the creation of the
Articles of Agreement encompassing the founders of the new company,
my good pal Morley Dotes and the silver elf Evas disappeared.
I suspect that couples who do that tell one another no one will
notice but, secretly, don’t give a rat’s ass if anybody
does because their minds are fogged by anticipation.
The capper came when Lister Tate proved he wasn’t a
complete waste of flesh by, belatedly, providing a device for
getting around the legal age problem, as well as the potential
problem of a fatherly return. “Willard Tate can adopt the
boy. The device goes all the way back to imperial times, when the
emperors wanted to handpick their successors. It’s not much
used anymore, except on the Hill, but the tool is there. Mrs. Prose
can allow it. If nobody challenges right away only a Royal
proclamation can reverse it. And we could argue against that that
only an imperial edict is valid since the adoption went forward
under a pre-Karantine law. I believe there are
precedents.”
I told Tinnie, “Promise me you’ll keep Kip away from
Rose.”
“I plan to keep him for myself. He has good
prospects.”
“He’ll be your cousin.”
“Spice is nice but incest is best. Ouch! You meanie.
I’ll bet he’s got stamina, too.”
“My prospects are looking up, too. I won’t need a
business excuse to get my foot in the door at the Weider place
anymore. Ouch! Alyx. She’s hurting me.”
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