Children of Light by Robert Stone

too, I guess.”
    “I told you it all, Gordo. The story of my life. You’re forgetting me, see?”
    He shook his head slowly. “No.” He was aware of her eyes on him.
    “Hey, you don’t look too good, old buddy. You looked O.K. in Seattle.”
    “I been on a drunk. This is what I look like now.”
    “You’re nuts, Gordon. You live like you were twenty-five. I’m supposed to be a hard-drivin’ player and I’m not in it with you.”
    “It’s a failure of inner resources. On my part, I mean.”
    “You better be taking your vitamins.”
    “Connie left me,” Walker said.
    He watched her pall-black eyes fix on his. She was always looking for the inside story, Shelley. Maybe there was more to it, he thought. Maybe she cares.
    She drew herself up and studied the smoke from her cigarette. Her mouth had a bitter curl to it; for a moment she was aged and somber.
    “Well,” she said, “wouldn’t I have liked to hear that eight years ago.”
    “I’m sorry you didn’t get to hear it eight years ago,” Walker said. “You get to hear it now.”
    She smiled, a thin sad smile.
    “Actually,” she said, “Al told me.”
    “Ah. So you knew.”
    “Yes,” she said. “I knew.”
    “Hard-ass, aren’t you?”
    “Come off it, Gordon. You can’t cry on my shoulder. It’s a fucking ritual. She’ll be back.”
    He turned away from her. The candlelight and the red and green lanterns were reflected in the seaward picture window, together with the faces of the customers. In the glass, everything looked warm and glad, a snug harbor.
    “I hope you’re right.”
    She only nodded, holding her faint smile.
    “Maybe I shouldn’t take it seriously,” Walker said. “But I think I do.”
    A ripple of anger passed across Shelley’s face, shattering her comedy smile. Her brow furrowed.
    “Do you, Gordon? Then why the hell are you …” Her voice was trembling. She stopped in the middle of a word.
    “What, Shell?”
    “Nothing. I’m not getting into it.” She was facing the bar and her gaze had fastened once more on the crooning seducer and his fair intended. Her eyes were troubled. “Look at him, Gordon. He eats shit, that guy. He’s a hyena. Let’s take him out.” She turned to Walker and seized his sleeve. “Come on, man. You can do it. You would have once. Punch the son of a bitch.”
    “I’m on his side,” Walker said. “He’s a
bon viveur.
He’s a sport like me.” He picked up the drink beside his hand and finished it.
    Shelley Pearce shook her head sadly and leaned her head against her palm.
    “Oh wow,” she said.
    “I suppose we could effect a rescue,” Walker said. “We could hide her out in our room.”
    “Our room?” She might have been surprised. He thought her double take somewhat stylized. “We have a room?”
    “Yes, we have a room. Should we require one.”
    “How many beds it got?”
    “How many beds? I don’t know. Two, I guess. What difference does it make?”
    Shelley was on her feet.
    “Let’s go look at it. I think I want to swim in the pool.”
    “The pool,” Walker said, and laughed.
    She laughed with him.
    “That’s right. Remember the pool? Where employees weren’t allowed to swim eight years ago tonight? Got your bathing suit?” She worried him to his feet, clutching at his elbow. “Come on, come on. Last one in’s a chickenshit.”
    He got up and followed her out, past the bar. As they went by, the crooning man gave them a languid eyes-right.
    “Do you enjoy great music?” he was asking the blond woman. “Symphonies? Concertos? Divertimenti?”
    They rode the automatic elevator to the top floor and followed the soiled carpet to their door. The room behind it was large and high-ceilinged with yellow flaking walls. The furniture was old and faintly Chinese in ambiance. The air conditioner was running at full power and it was very cold inside. Walker went to the window and turned it off. Two full-length glass doors led to a narrow terrace that overlooked the