She went two degrees cooler. “I put in the staircase.”
“Excuse me,” I said faintly, and got to my feet. The dumbwaiter housing felt just as good as it had before; there was just enough give to it to cause an energetic rebound, but not so much as to soften the impact.
Unexpectedly my ears hurt, and the rhythm of my head was halted. “Stop that,” she said, twisting me by both ears to face her. “Damn it, I had nO business getting chilly at you that way. I must be the first lady blacksmith you’ve ever run into, how the hell could you know? You did good:
you didn’t look disbelieving, just surprised.”
I shook my head. It stayed on. “You’re the second woman smith I’ve met. That’s why I’m mad at myself-I should have guessed.”
She stepped back a pace and put her hands on her hips. “Jake,” she said softly, “you’re trying too hard.”
“I know. Is it flattering at least?”
Her laugh was a good hearty bray. “Yes, by damn. And not entirely ineffective: I can’t wait to fmd out what you’re like when you’re normal.”
I felt my breathing begin to slow and my shoulders begin to relax. “I’ve always wondered myself. But at my worst I should have known that you put in that staircase.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like the person who did it. Everything it takes to do a job that good, you’ve got, I could see that before you knew I was here, so I should have figured it out.”
She dimpled. “There, you see? You finally got a compliment out straight-you’re getting better.”
“Where did it come from?”
“It spent its early years in the library of a wealthy bishop. For the last thirty years it was in the best whorehouse in Brooklyn, but the place closed down a few months back-“
I was stricken. “Lady Sally’s is closed?”
She nodded sadly. “Too much cutrate competition. Changing fashions. Nowadays they seem to want sleaze, and a place like Sally’s is out of style.”
“My God! I know that staircase! Do you mean to tell me that Lady Sally McGee’s staircase is here in Callahan’s bar?” I began to smile through my sorrow. “Ah, God, Sally,” I said to the weeping heavens, “I’m sorry they closed you down, the world is a darker place-but at least all your treasures haven’t fallen among heathens. Mary, where is the grand-old lady, do you know?’
“Enjoying her retirement. This is a good home for-the staircase, then?”
“Only the very best. This is Callahan’s Place, do you see? No, how could you see?’
“The way you could see that I was a good smith, maybe. There is something about the place. But I-“
“Be sure. If the staircase had legs, it would have walked here. Miracles happen here-a little like the ones that happened at Lady Sally’s, come to think. Is Mike planning to open tonight, do you know?”
“About half an hour from now, he said.”
“Then you’ll see. You’ll like the gang-they’re the best family lever had. Did Mike tell you about the house rules?”.
“House rules?”
“Every drink in the house costs half a buck. Mike accepts nothing but singles. On your way out you collect whatever change you have coming from the cigar-box full of quarters on the end of the bar-unless you’ve been visiting the fireplace-“
“Hold it. The drinks are half a buck?”
“Yeah, why?’
“These days a beer in most bars costs more than a dollar.”
“Really? I don’t go to any other bars.”
“And nobody rips off the quarters? He must watch the box like a hawk-“
“Nope. Nobody watches the box. That’s some of what I mean about Callahan’s Place.”
She shook her head gently. “Go on. Something about ‘visiting the fireplace’-“
“If you feel the urge to, or the need to, you step up to the chalk line and face the fireplace. You have to make a toast aloud, and everyone shuts up while you do. Then you deep-six your glass, into the fireplace. It costs you your change for that drink, but it can really take a load off your shoulders sometimes.”
“My,” she said softly.
“People tend to come here when they’re In need of help, not always but pretty often. They get it, most times. We help each other. These days, it’s getting hard to find a bar where the bartender will even pretend to listen to your troubles anymore; At Callahan’s Place everybody will listen to your problems. Respectfully. Carefully. You can’t imagine the stories that get told here, sometimes.”
“Sounds like a depressing place to get drunk.”
I grinned. “You’ll see. Everyone else must have come by earlier and seen that sign down on the front door before it got rained on, they~ll be here soon. A merry crew, one and all. I give you fair warning: we are all paronomasiacs.”
Her eyes widened-in horror. “God, no! Not punsters!” “But it’s all right-tonight isn’t Punday.”
“Punday.”
“The night on which the worst punster gets his or her tab refunded.”
She staggered. “Christ, that was close. Too close.”
“No, tonight is Tall Tales Night-and I’ll tell you, it takes a lot to qualify as a tall tale in Callahan’s. We’ve had a real-talking dog, for instance. And a whole slew of time travelers. Two aliens… Say, there’s one of them now.” I waved. “Hi, Finn!”
She turned and saw him, and stood very still.
Well, how could I have prepared her? Callahan’s Place is like that, you have to sink or swim. It was her turn.
Mickey Finn had been decelerating sharply when I first caught sight of him; he came in the last hundred yards like a seagull and landed with much more grace. Rain declined to fall on him-one reason I’d spotted him in the darkness-and when he was standing beside us the rain ignored us too.
“Hello, Jake my friend.” He politely began to undress.
“Not necessary, Mickey. Real good to see you, man-it’s been too long! Allow me to present Mary. Mary, this is my friend Mickey Finn;”
Mary was transfixed. That surprised me. This woman had not been visibly fazed by encountering a naked stranger of the opposite sex, while herself naked, in a remote place; I had expected her to take Finn more or less in stride. I will admit that, considered dispassionately, a naked man is less startling than a flying man, particularly a flying man who stands six-eleven-and-a-half, has a magnificent craggy face and eyes like oxyacetylene blowtorches, and repels moisture. But I was the naked man in question. I found myself mildly irritated.
Still, if Mary was having difficulty rising to this social challenge, the gallant thing to do was to help. Finn was visibly wondering if he should offer his hand, so I offered him mine. After a genuinely warm handshake-I like the big cyborg-I gently tugged his hand in the direction of the new stairwell. “Mary put in the staircase over there. You ought to check it out, it’s special.” I winked with the eye Mary couldn’t see. “Why don’t you see if you can find Callahan while you’re down there, see about getting this joint opened up for the night?”
Finn surprised me, too, a little-by taking his cue smoothly and without hesitation. He gets more sophisticated in human ways (excuse me, in Terran ways) every time I see him. “Certainly, Jake. We’ll talk when you come down. It was very nice meeting you, Mary.” He left quickly on those long legs, and even after the stairwell door had closed behind him, the rain kept failing to land on us. I would have loved to spend an hour trying to figure out how Finn d~d that-before asking him-but I was busy.
Mary was still standing exactly as she had been when Finn first landed, pivoted slightly to her left, looking even further left, smack through the spot where Finn had been. She hadn’t moved a muscle.
I cleared my throat.
“Aliens, okay,” she said in a clear, calm voice, still not moving, “but I don’t believe you’ve had a talking dog.”
I took it as a sign of recovery. “We didn’t either, at first.. Fella came in trying to cadge drinks with the old talking dog routine. Of course, we figured it was a ventriloquism scam-and so it was. The guy was a mute, and the dog was a mutant-he was the ventriloquist. They partnered up
because they were lonely-nobody would talk to either of them, alone. They hang out here a lot, now.”
She straightened from her pivot, worked her shoulders slightly, then relaxed. “He certainly is.”
“Who certainly is what?”
“He certainly is a Mickey Finn.”
She still wasn’t entirely back in the world. But the part that was, was out of this world. Now that she was rainproof, droplets hung all over her body like facets on a precious stone, some standing still, some, like my gaze, trying to migrate downward. I wrestled my gaze up as high as I could manage, and thought of something that might reach her. “Those certainly are a very nice night.”
It worked. It took her a second to get it, and then she laughed, about Force Six. “Jake,” she said, “you’ve got a nice-looking evening yourself. I think I’m going to like this bar. Do you suppose this no-rain gimmick would work on our clothes if we took them out and put them on? Or is it necessary to dress before going downstairs?”
“Not necessary, no, but clothes are customarily worn. But don’t ask me how Finn’s technology works-the only way to find out is to try.”
Sure enough, the rain avoided our clothing, too. “Of course,” I said, “they’ll get wet when we put them-” and then stopped. I wasn’t wet any more. Neither was she. Our hair was dry, and I hadn’t felt a breeze. My own clothes, which had been damp when! left them, were thy, and stayed that way.
“Fascinating,” she murmured, for all the world like Mr. Spock.
I nodded. “Finn’s great to have around in winter.” I tossed her clothes to her, and she caught the stack. I began dressing myself. Do you think it silly that after having spent consideralile time naked together, -we averted our eyes as we dressed? I’m sure we both thought so-but we did it. I liked her just as well, dressed. That is to say: dressed, she made me want to see her undressed again, as soon as possible. I wished the light wa~ better. I could faintly hear
sounds from below us, distant thuds and voices, one of them unmistakably Callahan’s. Doc V*~bster’s Studebaker pulled into the parking lot, followed by Long-Drink McGonnigle’struck, and way off down 25A I could hear Fast Eddie’s Hideousmobile approaching. Callahan’s Place was getting ready for a late opening.
She gestured vaguely at the weepy heavens above (and I couldn’t help wondering how the raindrops knew enough not to Yall in the path of her moving arm) and said, “Finn’s from… well, out there, isn’t he?’
“Yep. Way out.”
“How long has he been here?”
“A little over ten years now, I make it.”
“And he’s spent the whole time hanging out in bars? What the hell was his mission?”
“The -extermination of human life.”
“Damnit, Jake, that’s not funny.”
“Don’t panic-he defected. A long time ago, a couple of weeks after he arrived. His first night at Callahan’s Place.”
She visibly relaxed, but her face had a funny expression. “I see. Say no more, by all means. I think you’ve certainly covered all the high points of the story.”
So I told her all about Finn, about the night he came to Callahan’s and acquired his name-~just in the nick of time. I told her about the night he took on Adolph Hitler out in the parking lot, and how big the resulting crater was, until be fixed it. I told her about his successive careers as a farmer, a fisherman, a forest fire-watcher, and a lighthousekeeper, and by then I got the idea that I was talking entirely too much about Finn and decided to try for a smooth segue to some more rewarding topic.
“But enough about Finn. Let’s talk about me. I am, in no particular order, a singer, a songwriter, a guitar player, a nice person, and in no particular order. I play here some nights with Fast Eddie the piano player, and we’re very good. I have many of my original teeth and no ex-wives or children living and I find you the most devastatingly attractive woman I’ve met in at least a decade: I would very much like to know you better.”
“Aie your intentions honorable?’
“Certainly. I want to sleep with you. Repeatedly if possible.” My intentions went much further than that, actually-but some instinct told me to keep my mouth shut.
“Well, I’m not especially sleepy at the moment-but would you like to fuck?’
“Yes!” Sudden thought. “Uh, I’m fertile.”
“I’m covered.”
“You’re certainly about to be.”
When Mickey Finn reprograms reality, he does so with thoughtfulness and subtlety. The heap of clothes we made stayed dry, but now we could feel the warm rain on our bodies-except that nothing could make it run up our noses even when they were upturned. I didn’t notice until after; I was preoccupied. She was warm and soft and limber and skilled-and very enthusiastic; somewhere in there I started believing in God again just to have somebody to thank.
The distant sounds of my friends’ voices came drifting up through the roof, and that seemed correct. One of the greatest pleasures in my life is turning people I like on to Callahan’s Place; I get a big kick out of introducing a new friend to my old friends. I had never yet turned someone I loved on to Callahan’s, simply because in the last dozen years I hadn’t come to love anyone that I hadn’t met in Callahan’s, but I expected it to be at least twice as nice-and I already knew that I loved Mary. I was beginning to be in love with her (if you get the distinction), the first time I’d been in love since I killed my family, and the prospect of introducing a lover to Mike and the gang sounded heavenly. Just a sliver of a thought, this, that resonated every time the faint sound of a familiar laugh reached me, a warm certainty that there could have been no finer place to fall in love, and to make love for the first time, than where I was.
God, she was a sweet pillowy armful! I’ve had a few of the bony women everyone else claims to like: nothing to squeeze, nothing to admire, I had to be careful with my weight, I was afraid to let go for fear I might bruise something, and even so my pubic bone got sore. A woman like Mary, now: you can roll around on a woman like that. You can let yourself go, secure in the awareness that the system is roomy and cushioned, and you can explore forever without running out of things to see and appreciate, and you find, time after time, so often that I’m tempted to say always, that passion and compassion and sensuality each double for every pound above so-called “optimum weight.” Take your skinny women and stick them up the same receptacle with hard beds and cold showers and red-line exercise and “natural” food and all the other things everyone earnestly pursues in the belief that pleasure and pain are nature’s diabolical attempts to trick us, that the less you enjoy a thing the better it must be for you; take ‘em and stick ‘em, and give me something a man can enjoy!