Awakening, 2nd edition (45 page)

“Alex wanted to talk to me tête-à-tête , ” Michael explained.

He turned to Alex.

“He has some interesting ideas about the identity of our Mr. X.”

Stella was bewildered.

“Are you serious? A broken cue on the floor?”

Robert nodded.

“Half on the floor, the other half in Alex ’s hand. And there ’s no way someone could have broken a stick like that by accident.”

“So you’re not buying this?”

“Not for a moment. Had he leaned on it like he said, worst case there would ’ve been a crack. And even that would ’ve been a stretch. But this wasn ’t anything like that . Someone had taken that stick and smashed it hard against something.”

“But why would Michael lie to you and Brandon ? Sup pose Alex did indeed smash that cue —t his is insane —b ut suppose he did, why would Michael lie? You were practically witnesses.”

“So the boat was fine, right?” Robert asked, with no obvious connection to her question.

Stella waved him away.

“Get out of here. We have a good reason to keep silent. We don ’t know who ’s behind it and we have to look for him. But I ’d imagine Michael had a better idea about who had been chasing him around the room with a cue , don ’t you think? And why? Why would anyone do that? It ’s just so weird, so stupid. Alex trying to hit Michael with a cue . . . This is absurd.”

“And a damaged gas meter isn ’t?” Robert was obviously in the mood for philosophical questions. “Mike has his reasons, I ’m sure of that. Don ’t know exactly what these reasons are, but , trust me, he knows what he ’s doing. He may be as interested in exposing that guy as we are. Everyone is now.”

“Maybe. Still . . . w ell, at least he doesn ’t know our plans.”

“He knows.”

Stella’s face darkened abruptly.

“You told him? Wasn ’t the whole point to keep it to ourselves with no exceptions?”

Robert gave her a look an adult might give to a child.

“Of course I didn ’t. He told me.”

“What? How could he possibly know? Wait! I didn ’t tell him anything!”

“I know you didn ’t. Don ’t worry, he doesn ’t know exactly what we ’re plan ning to do.”

“Okay, now I ’m completely lost. Is that what you wanted?”

“No, but this is a nice bonus. No , seriously, he doesn ’t know about our plan. But he offered his own version.”

“You mean he guessed everything ?”

“Not everything, but close. Mike told me, of course, that he fully buys our story and has no doubt that the boat was fine. No odd breakages, no odd coincidences. But . . . had there been a breakage , and had he been the one to suffer because of it , and had he wanted to find out who was behind all that, then he would ’ve . . . That was the spin, more or less.”

Robert picked up a flat pebble.

“His idea is very similar to what we ’ve been doing.”

“No way! Exactly the same?”

“In fact, better.”

He threw the pebble and it went on a bouncing journey across the calm water.

“Eight. Not so bad.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Not at all. It ’s just been a while. Anyway, his idea is better because we came up with ours before Chris had his epiphany about that vote transfer. Now , if we take advantage of that little thing , everything becomes even more beautiful. More reliable. But still, it ’s the same approach.”

“So he told you all this in front of Alex?”

“No. Not even in front of Brandon. Later.”

“And when you talked man-to-man , did he bother to change his story about the cue and the railings?”

“No, he didn ’t. Although I don’t think he would have mind ed .”

“How’s that?”

“He asked me again if everything on the boat was fully functional. And when I told him that , yes, everything was fine, he looked at me, you know, the way he sometimes looks, and said that a whole lot of things were so unreliable around here : t he power boat, the cue . . . But I didn ’t say anything, so he started talking about all the would haves and could haves .”

“I don’t like this, ” Stella said , watching the second pebble heading away. “What if he is the one we ’ve been looking for? Now he knows what we ’re about to do.”

“No, he doesn ’t, ” said Robert. “I didn ’t say a word about our plans or about the boat. He knows nothing. Well, I did tell him about your friend Kevin. Do you mind?”

“It’s a little late to ask me now, isn ’t it? No worries, I ’m just getting even. No, I don ’t mind, of course. So how did he take it? Was he surprised?”

“You can’t surprise him with anything. He smiled, he said thanks —and within five second s he’d changed the subject.”

“Still, it just doesn ’t sound right that he ’s off the hook now. He isn ’t above suspicion.”

“Yeah, he’s sort of off the hook now. Listen, Mike didn ’t do it. He gained nothing from this whole deal and he didn ’t even try to . And now he ’s out of the game anyway.”

“I see,” said Stella, still sounding doubtful. “Oh!” she brightened up, “What did Alex say about that Mr. X? Supposedly, that was why they were meeting.”

“Ah, nothing useful, ” Robert looked around in search for the next pebble. “Just another proof that they were meeting for something else. Some random bits and pieces. He heard the sound of the boat in the middle of the night, the note he found in the room had been for some reason planted with a bottle of red wine. . . And he doesn ’t drink and he ’s clueless . . . And he ’s very concerned about the whole situation . . . And he ’s looking forward to us working together . . . I ’m sure he improvised. It was too clumsy. For whatever reason they met , it wasn ’t that one.”

“And why did he have to meet with Michael alone?”

“That remained a secret, ” Robert finally found the object he had been looking for and tossed a dark—gray pebble in his palm. “The thing is, none of this matters now. Nothing is going to happen until tomorrow. You and I know it better than the rest. Hey, did you know they have official tournaments for this? There was this guy who made it bounce forty times. That ’s what I call persistence. Now , look, I ’m going to break my ten -skips record.”

So where is he? Joan looked at the clock once again. It ’s almost eleven. He ’s not at the bar, he ’s not by the fireplace, he ’s not in the games room (well, he ’s never there) and no one answers in his room upstairs. What a perfect ending to such a dull evening.

First Alan. Then Kevin. Then—imagine that!—Chris. Alex has disappeared into thin air. And now, the final chord, Ed is gone. All the men have gone crazy in this place. Really, all of them. Paul was the only one who turned out to be normal and showed an adequate reaction to heavy hints about future work together. His palms even got sweaty. His reaction was so adequate, that he was clearly eager to start efficient collaboration tonight. But who ’d let him? There ’s a lot of work ahead in the future—why rush? Now he ’s in the perfect state . The only problem is that after a whole week of hard work , there ’re no other votes to count on. Everyone else is completely unpredictable.

At least Ed’s notebook showed up opportunely . That was the best thing to happen since the beginning of this workshop. Now at least it ’s possible to make some serious meaningful advances and promise serious payoffs. Much better than it ’s been until now. But , then again, up until now the men here had at least been sane!

Take Chris, for example. He really wanted it. Oh, yeah, he did. He was just dying to get some action. Whether because of the vote or because he ’s human —but he wanted it. And now? He ’s become Alan ’s clone. Both are acting like zombies. “You are ri-i-ight . . . We ne-e-ed to be in touch and wo-o-ork closely together . . .” Yuk! What happened to that man? He ’s still the same in public, but try dragging him out for a private chat and suddenly you ’re facing some robot —and not the brightest one , either .

Or Alan . . . a w alking —or rather wandering —mystery. Another case of , “Who knows what happened to him ?” This one doesn ’t even try to play to the audience. He ’s rude, he ’s impatient, and he doesn ’t care about public opinion. Openly! Poor Ross was shocked to his bones when he heard that friendly statement of support. You ’re such a schmuck ; I ’m not going to vote for you no matter what you do. Way to go, Alan. And all these comments he ’s been dropping constantly .

And just when you think there could be nothing weirder, Kevin proves you wrong. On the one hand he listens to you, and he looks at you, and he gives you the right sort of responses, and he becomes all warm and fuzzy . . . But then on the other hand, the word voting makes him look like a rabbit who’s just ran into a hound. And when he hear s about Michael—the guy he supposedly hates and despises—he all of a sudden straightens up and delivers a little speech about Michael being smart, caring, insightful, shrewd and by and large a talented individual. Now , when that happened, there was no choice left but to put aside all ethical-political considerations and remind him about his own conversation with Stella just two days ago. Back then, according to his own words, the talented individual Michael was “A wife-beater and a scumbag.”

At that point, Kevin seemed to have gone into a silent nervous breakdown. For about half a minute it wasn ’t even clear whether he was abo ut to yell, burst into tears , or flee the scene. Finally, he proclaimed that he had never said anything of that nature to Stella, and that if such weird storytelling had take n place (which, knowing Michael, he really doubt ed ) , it did not happen in his presence.

After delivering that statement, he began fishing for details about what Stella had said, combining his attempts with a thick mixture of puzzlement, irritation, sadness , and to some extent completely unjustified frustration. Upon learning more details, he expressed his shock in a more articulated fashion and remarked that it was really inappropriate for Stella to smear two innocent people so treacherously. Next, he was up on his feet and rapidly walking away.

And now Ed is missing in action . . . Now
this is a new low—calling a man repeatedly, like some lousy attention -
hungry chick. And as if that were not enough, the man is a pathetic worm . . . And even he— Wait! Could it be that . . . No, it cannot! Still, could it be that they all fled for a reason?
That dreaded reason? She crossed the room and walked to the desk above which a monumental mirror hung in a golden -
plated frame.

But as it turned out (and to little surprise) everything was all r ight. She conducted a thorough inspection of all her ammunition, leaving no part immune to the scrutiny , only to arrive once again at the same conclusion : a ny man in his right mind and with the appropriate orientation shoul d find her irresistible. Or at the very least (some men are so weird) at tractive. So it ’s not about her. Then what the hell is it all about?

All right, let’s swallow the pride, she thought, it won ’t be the first time today, so it should be relatively easy—and call that number again. Eight—six—nine—one . . . No need to look it up anymore. And the result will be just the same —“Yes?”

The response was so unexpected that she even flinched. Gotcha! Now you ’re not going anywhere.

“Ed! Ed, tell me, where—”

Short scornful beeps.

What?! That . . . that jerk hung up on her? Is this why it was impossible to get a hold of him? Maybe he wasn ’t picking up on purpose? I ’ll teach you to hang up on me! You— Eight! Six! Nine! One!

“First of all, don ’t you ever think about hanging up on me! Second—”

“Joan—”

“Second, you can forget about—”

“Don’t call me again .”

“What?”

“Don’t call me again. And don ’t talk to me in public. Just forget that anything ever happened. Please.”

And short beeps again . . .

For a second Joan struggled with an overwhelming , infuriating desire to hurl the phone against the wall. All right, take a deep breath . . . Inhale . . . Exhale . . . Inhale . . . Exhale . . . Now put the handset back to the cradle. It ’s not its fault. Good girl. Besides, a loud bang would reach too many ears. Not to mention, it ’ll make a sizable dent in the wall. The last thing I need now is a bill for a mutilated phone set sent to Randall. The way things are looking, he ’s going to get enough pleasant news to digest without this. It could ’ve been a nice touch , though. Now breathe . . . breathe . . .