threw back the blanket and sat up. "Hand me the phone."
Dizz obediently did as she was told. Then she sat down on the couch, too curious not to listen.
Chris took the phone and barked into it, her voice thick with alcohol and not enough sleep. "Jonathan?" she said. "What's happening?"
"Chris, Max reached port this morning. He just called. He wants to see you. He wouldn't say much on the phone, of course." Dr. Brandt's voice rose to a shriek. "But he wants five thousand."
Chris whistled through her teeth. "What's he got? Neptune's triton?" For five thousand, Chris thought, that's the least we should expect.
"Humpf," sniffed Dr. Brandt. ‘I wouldn't give him five thousand if he'd found Atlantis. I told him we couldn't go over five hundred. He'll take it," he said smugly.
"Okay," Chris said. "I'll see him this afternoon. Same place?”
"Yes."
"Right. I'll get in touch with you later." Chris banged down the receiver and stood up. She started toward the bathroom. "Just coffee, Dizz. I'm in a hurry."
Dizz sat looking after her in amazement. "So I see," she commented. "But you're not leaving here with a hangover and an empty stomach."
"Who's got a hangover?" Chris said from the bathroom. "I feel wonderful."
"Well, I've got one if you haven't," Dizz answered, following her into the room. She put down the lid on the toilet and sat down.
Chris turned on the hot water in the tub and nipped the handle on the stopper to "Closed". Then she turned to the sink, took a pink toothbrush from the cup holder and squeezed out a long strip of tooth paste. She brushed vigorously and rinsed her mouth.
"Well?" Dizz said.
Chris turned off the water and stuck an inquiring toe into the tub. She added a dash of cold. Without pausing to answer Dizz, she climbed in and began to work up a lather.
"Well?" Dizz said again.
"Well what?" Chris said.
"Don't be difficult. Who is Max?"
"Max is a man," Chris said.
Dizz clucked irritably. "Look, child, you never got this excited over a man in your life. Who is Max?"
Chris laughed. "Wash my back, will you?"
Dizz came and leaned over the tub. She took the wash cloth and the soap and gave the broad back a good scrub. Then she stood up.
"Well?" she said.
"Well what?" Chris answered.
"Oh, go to hell!" Dizz said and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.
Chris grinned and fished for the soap. She lathered the cloth and briskly scrubbed one long leg, then the other.
She got a secret pleasure out of deviling Dizz that way. She knew it was mostly a sadistic urge, a desire to get even. For last night and for all the other nights, she had to hit back.
Chris frowned. Even in her frustration she knew it was not right to blame Dizz. God knows, Dizz isn't happy about it, Chris thought. The way she lies there, in an agony too thick for me to penetrate. A million miles away from me and from anyone who would try to help her.
Well, she sighed, not much I can do about that. Except live with it. And love her and want her and never really have her.
Chris opened the drain and stepped out of the tub. She picked up a towel and began to dry. She had put away her problem with Dizz and turned her thoughts to Max.
I hope it's something big, she thought. Something that'll get me away from a typewriter for a while and back into the sea.
By the time she had dried herself and combed her hair, Chris was full of hope. Hope for a chance to get away for awhile, from Dizz and from George and from Carol and from herself, and back to the stillness and peace of the underwater world.
When Chris reached the kitchen, dressed and ready to go, Dizz had just finished scrambling eggs with bacon. She carried two plates from the stove to the table. "Sit down," she said.
Chris sat. "What's eating you?" she grinned.
"You make me so damned mad sometimes. What's so mysterious about a bunch of stinking sea shells?" Dizz was furious and fuming.
"Who said anything about sea shells?" Chris picked up a fork and went at the eggs
Dizz obediently did as she was told. Then she sat down on the couch, too curious not to listen.
Chris took the phone and barked into it, her voice thick with alcohol and not enough sleep. "Jonathan?" she said. "What's happening?"
"Chris, Max reached port this morning. He just called. He wants to see you. He wouldn't say much on the phone, of course." Dr. Brandt's voice rose to a shriek. "But he wants five thousand."
Chris whistled through her teeth. "What's he got? Neptune's triton?" For five thousand, Chris thought, that's the least we should expect.
"Humpf," sniffed Dr. Brandt. ‘I wouldn't give him five thousand if he'd found Atlantis. I told him we couldn't go over five hundred. He'll take it," he said smugly.
"Okay," Chris said. "I'll see him this afternoon. Same place?”
"Yes."
"Right. I'll get in touch with you later." Chris banged down the receiver and stood up. She started toward the bathroom. "Just coffee, Dizz. I'm in a hurry."
Dizz sat looking after her in amazement. "So I see," she commented. "But you're not leaving here with a hangover and an empty stomach."
"Who's got a hangover?" Chris said from the bathroom. "I feel wonderful."
"Well, I've got one if you haven't," Dizz answered, following her into the room. She put down the lid on the toilet and sat down.
Chris turned on the hot water in the tub and nipped the handle on the stopper to "Closed". Then she turned to the sink, took a pink toothbrush from the cup holder and squeezed out a long strip of tooth paste. She brushed vigorously and rinsed her mouth.
"Well?" Dizz said.
Chris turned off the water and stuck an inquiring toe into the tub. She added a dash of cold. Without pausing to answer Dizz, she climbed in and began to work up a lather.
"Well?" Dizz said again.
"Well what?" Chris said.
"Don't be difficult. Who is Max?"
"Max is a man," Chris said.
Dizz clucked irritably. "Look, child, you never got this excited over a man in your life. Who is Max?"
Chris laughed. "Wash my back, will you?"
Dizz came and leaned over the tub. She took the wash cloth and the soap and gave the broad back a good scrub. Then she stood up.
"Well?" she said.
"Well what?" Chris answered.
"Oh, go to hell!" Dizz said and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.
Chris grinned and fished for the soap. She lathered the cloth and briskly scrubbed one long leg, then the other.
She got a secret pleasure out of deviling Dizz that way. She knew it was mostly a sadistic urge, a desire to get even. For last night and for all the other nights, she had to hit back.
Chris frowned. Even in her frustration she knew it was not right to blame Dizz. God knows, Dizz isn't happy about it, Chris thought. The way she lies there, in an agony too thick for me to penetrate. A million miles away from me and from anyone who would try to help her.
Well, she sighed, not much I can do about that. Except live with it. And love her and want her and never really have her.
Chris opened the drain and stepped out of the tub. She picked up a towel and began to dry. She had put away her problem with Dizz and turned her thoughts to Max.
I hope it's something big, she thought. Something that'll get me away from a typewriter for a while and back into the sea.
By the time she had dried herself and combed her hair, Chris was full of hope. Hope for a chance to get away for awhile, from Dizz and from George and from Carol and from herself, and back to the stillness and peace of the underwater world.
When Chris reached the kitchen, dressed and ready to go, Dizz had just finished scrambling eggs with bacon. She carried two plates from the stove to the table. "Sit down," she said.
Chris sat. "What's eating you?" she grinned.
"You make me so damned mad sometimes. What's so mysterious about a bunch of stinking sea shells?" Dizz was furious and fuming.
"Who said anything about sea shells?" Chris picked up a fork and went at the eggs
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