Gypsy.”
Angelica sat on the edge of a suspended redwood chair. “Anyone I know?”
“He comes with the dinner,” said Conger. “You apparently ordered the Intimate Dinner For 2.”
“I’m not very hungry. The intimate dinner has small portions,” said the slim dark girl. “Or were you particularly starving?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t order it because of the intimate business, but because of the small portions. You understand?”
Nodding, Conger said, “You also get two candles.”
“In addition to the Gypsy?”
“Two candles and two Gypsies actually, but one of them is sick.”
“Where are the candles?”
“I have to push a button.” Conger rose, walked in the direction of the dining room.
The girl reached out a hand.
Conger slowed, stopped beside her.
She said, “We don’t really need candles.”
“They’re not essential, no.”
“As a matter of fact, I had two or three little sandwiches at the president’s doings. And you’re always swallowing some kind of food pill.”
“So?”
“So we could forget about dinner all together.”
“Yeah, we could.”
“Good.”
Conger took hold of her.
CHAPTER 9
Angelica was holding tightly to him. Conger opened his left eye, then his right. The large round bedroom was starting to fill with early morning sunlight. On the other side of the one-way drapes artificial birds were clicking on to twitter.
The room noticed Conger was awake, sent a fat silver coffee machine rolling over the blue floor to him. “ Bom dia, good morning,” whispered the coffee pot. “How do you like your fresh-ground real Brazilian coffee, senhor? With rich thick cream and a heaping spoon full of …”
“No coffee,” answered Conger out of the right side of his mouth.
The lovely dark Angelica murmured in her sleep, sliding her palm higher up his bare chest.
“What then, senhor? The Intellectual Ritz Hotel can offer you fresh-brewed China I tea, made . . .”
“Usually,” Conger told the machine, “I don’t drink anything until after I jog and do my exercises.”
Angelica woke. “Who are you talking to, Jake?”
“The coffee pot.”
“Oh.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
Another machine had popped out of the wall to come rolling, rattling, up to the bedside. “ Bom dia, senhor. Would you like a stack of American-style flapjacks made from enriched bleached flour and smothered in artificial …”
“No.” Conger sat up, carefully, and made a shooing motion at the tank-shape breakfast machine. “I don’t eat anything until after I jog and do my exercises.”
“I can take your order, senhor, and serve you on the completion of your activities,” suggested the machine. “Perhaps you’d rather have succulent pork links deep fried in …”
“No.” Swinging out of bed, Conger pushed at the mechanism.
“Ah,” said the breakfast machine, “I see it all now. You are in love, so your appetite is gone. You have been smitten with the arrow of what you Americans call Don Kewpie.”
“Dan Cupid,” said Angelica. She rolled onto her back, stretching her arms. “Why don’t you guys get back in the wall? I’ll call you when I need you.”
“But of course,” said the coffee pot. “We only appeared when we did because it is the policy of the Intellectual Ritz to …”
“Back,” said Conger.
When the servomechanisms were all away Angelica remarked, “Well.”
Walking round to her side of the bed, Conger sat.
“I hadn’t,” said Angelica, “really anticipated.” She waved one slender hand sideways.
“Neither had I,” he said, “exactly.”
She drew her knees up and the all-season sheet fell away. “When I suggested we co-operate, back in Portugal, I didn’t exactly …”
“Yeah, I know.”
From the living room of the hotel suite the door called, “There’s a suspicious character lurking out in the hall, senhorinha.”
“Oops.” Conger ran to his side of the bed to grab his kit off the night table. He
Angelica sat on the edge of a suspended redwood chair. “Anyone I know?”
“He comes with the dinner,” said Conger. “You apparently ordered the Intimate Dinner For 2.”
“I’m not very hungry. The intimate dinner has small portions,” said the slim dark girl. “Or were you particularly starving?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t order it because of the intimate business, but because of the small portions. You understand?”
Nodding, Conger said, “You also get two candles.”
“In addition to the Gypsy?”
“Two candles and two Gypsies actually, but one of them is sick.”
“Where are the candles?”
“I have to push a button.” Conger rose, walked in the direction of the dining room.
The girl reached out a hand.
Conger slowed, stopped beside her.
She said, “We don’t really need candles.”
“They’re not essential, no.”
“As a matter of fact, I had two or three little sandwiches at the president’s doings. And you’re always swallowing some kind of food pill.”
“So?”
“So we could forget about dinner all together.”
“Yeah, we could.”
“Good.”
Conger took hold of her.
CHAPTER 9
Angelica was holding tightly to him. Conger opened his left eye, then his right. The large round bedroom was starting to fill with early morning sunlight. On the other side of the one-way drapes artificial birds were clicking on to twitter.
The room noticed Conger was awake, sent a fat silver coffee machine rolling over the blue floor to him. “ Bom dia, good morning,” whispered the coffee pot. “How do you like your fresh-ground real Brazilian coffee, senhor? With rich thick cream and a heaping spoon full of …”
“No coffee,” answered Conger out of the right side of his mouth.
The lovely dark Angelica murmured in her sleep, sliding her palm higher up his bare chest.
“What then, senhor? The Intellectual Ritz Hotel can offer you fresh-brewed China I tea, made . . .”
“Usually,” Conger told the machine, “I don’t drink anything until after I jog and do my exercises.”
Angelica woke. “Who are you talking to, Jake?”
“The coffee pot.”
“Oh.” She rested her head against his shoulder.
Another machine had popped out of the wall to come rolling, rattling, up to the bedside. “ Bom dia, senhor. Would you like a stack of American-style flapjacks made from enriched bleached flour and smothered in artificial …”
“No.” Conger sat up, carefully, and made a shooing motion at the tank-shape breakfast machine. “I don’t eat anything until after I jog and do my exercises.”
“I can take your order, senhor, and serve you on the completion of your activities,” suggested the machine. “Perhaps you’d rather have succulent pork links deep fried in …”
“No.” Swinging out of bed, Conger pushed at the mechanism.
“Ah,” said the breakfast machine, “I see it all now. You are in love, so your appetite is gone. You have been smitten with the arrow of what you Americans call Don Kewpie.”
“Dan Cupid,” said Angelica. She rolled onto her back, stretching her arms. “Why don’t you guys get back in the wall? I’ll call you when I need you.”
“But of course,” said the coffee pot. “We only appeared when we did because it is the policy of the Intellectual Ritz to …”
“Back,” said Conger.
When the servomechanisms were all away Angelica remarked, “Well.”
Walking round to her side of the bed, Conger sat.
“I hadn’t,” said Angelica, “really anticipated.” She waved one slender hand sideways.
“Neither had I,” he said, “exactly.”
She drew her knees up and the all-season sheet fell away. “When I suggested we co-operate, back in Portugal, I didn’t exactly …”
“Yeah, I know.”
From the living room of the hotel suite the door called, “There’s a suspicious character lurking out in the hall, senhorinha.”
“Oops.” Conger ran to his side of the bed to grab his kit off the night table. He
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