dance. The whiskey had begunits warming effect, and he laughed.
This was the land of the lotus eaters, the sanctuary of the escapists,the haven of all who wished to cast off their shell of inhibition andbecome the thing they dreamed themselves to be. Here one could be amonghis own kind, an actor upon a gay stage, a gaudy butterfly metamorphosedfrom the slug, a knight of old.
The Persian dancing girl was probably the wife of a boorish oaf whoseidea of romance was spending an evening telling his wife how he came tobe a successful bank president. But she had found her means of escape.Perhaps she had pleaded a sick headache and had retired to her room. Andthere upon the bed now reposed her shell of reality while her innerself, the shadowy one, completely materialized, became an exotic thingfrom the East in this never-never land.
The man, the toreador, had probably closeted himself within his librarywith a set of account books and had left strict orders not to bedisturbed until he had finished with them.
Both would have terrific hangovers in the morning. But that, of course,would be fully compensated for by the memories of the evening.
Hyrel chuckled. The situation struck him as being funny: the shadowyself got drunk and had a good time, and the outer husk suffered thehangover in the morning. Strange. Strange how a device such as thetelporter suit could cause the shadow of each bodily cell to leave thebody, materialize, and become a reality in its own right. And yet ...
* * * * *
He looked at the heel of his left hand. There was a long, irregular scarthere. It was the result of a cut he had received nearly three weeks agowhen he had fallen over this very table and had rammed his hand into asliver of broken champagne glass. Later that evening, upon re-telportingback home, the pain of the cut had remained in his hand, but there wasno sign of the cut itself on the hand of his outer self. The scar waspeculiar to the shadowy body only. There was something about the shadowybody that carried the hurts to the outer body, but not the scars....
Sudden laughter broke out near him, and he turned quickly in thatdirection. A group of gaily costumed revelers was standing in asemi-circle about a small mound of clothing upon the floor. It was thecostume of the toreador.
Hyrel laughed, too. It had happened many times before--a costumesuddenly left empty as its owner, due to a threat of discovery at home,had had to press the switch in haste to bring his shadowy self--andcomplete consciousness--back to his outer self in a hurry.
A waiter picked up the clothing. He would put it safely away so that theowner could claim it upon his next visit to the club. Another waiterplaced a fresh bottle of whiskey on the table before Hyrel, and Hyrelpaid him for it.
The whiskey, reaching his head now in surges of warm cheerfulness, wasfilling him with abandonment, courage, and a desire for merriment. Hepushed himself up from the table, joined the merry throng, threw his armabout the Persian dancer, drew her close.
They began dancing slowly to the throbbing rhythm, dancing and holdingon to each other tightly. Hyrel could feel her hot breath through herveil upon his neck, adding to the headiness of the liquor. His feelingof depression and inferiority flowed suddenly from him. Once again hewas the all-conquering male.
His arm trembled as it drew her still closer to him and he began dancingdirectly and purposefully toward the shadows of a clump of artificialpalms near one corner of the room. There was an exit to the gardenbehind the palms.
Half way there they passed a secluded booth from which protruded a longleg clad in black mesh stocking. Hyrel paused as he recognized that partof the costume. It was she! The girl! The one he had met so briefly thenight before!
His arm slid away from the Persian dancer, took hold of the mesh-cladleg, and pulled. A female form followed the leg from the booth and fellinto his arms. He held her tightly, kissed her white neck, let herperfume send his thoughts reeling.
"Been looking for me, honey?" she whispered, her voice deep and throaty.
"You know it!"
He began whisking her away toward the palms. The Persian girl waspulled into the booth.
Yes, she was wearing the same costume she had worn the night before,that of a can-can dancer of the 90's. The mesh hose that encased hershapely legs were held up by flowered supporters in such a manner as toleave four inches of white leg exposed between hose top and lacypanties. Her skirt, frilled to suggest innumerable petticoats, fell awayat each hip, leaving the front open to expose the full length of legs.She wore a wig of platinum hair encrusted with jewels that sparkled inthe lights. Her jewel-studded mask was as white as her hair and coveredthe upper half of her face, except for the large almond slits for hereyes. A white purse, jewel crusted, dangled from one arm.
He stopped once before reaching the palms, drew her closer, kissed herlong and ardently. Then he began pulling her on again.
She drew back when they reached the shelter of the fronds. "Champagne,first," she whispered huskily into his ear.
His heart sank. He had very little money left. Well, it might buy acheap brand....
* * * * *
She sipped her champagne slowly and provocatively across the table fromhim. Her eyes sparkled behind the almond slits of her mask, caught thecolor changes and cast them back. She was wearing contact lenses of agarish green.
He wished she would hurry with her drink. He had horrible visions of hiswife at home taking off her telovis and coming to his chair. He wouldthen have to press the switch that would jerk his shadowy self backalong its invisible connecting cord, jerk him back and leave but a smallmound of clothes upon the chair at the table.
Deep depression laid hold of him. He would not be able to see her aftertonight until he received his monthly dole two weeks hence. She wouldn'twait that long. Someone else would have her.
Unless ...
Yes, he knew now that he was going to kill his wife as soon as theopportunity presented itself. It would be a simple matter. With the aidof the telporter suit, he could establish an iron-clad alibi.
He took a long drink of whiskey and looked at the dancers about him.Sight of their gay costumes heightened his depression. He was wearing acheap suit of satin, all he could afford. But some day soon he wouldshow them! Some time soon he would be dressed as gaily....
"Something troubling you, honey?"
His gaze shot back to her and she blurred slightly before his eyes. "No.Nothing at all!" He summoned a sickly smile and clutched her hand inhis. "Come on. Let's dance."
He drew her from the chair and into his arms. She melted toward him asif desiring to become a part of him. A tremor of excitement surgedthrough him and threatened to turn his knees into quivering jelly. Hecould not make his feet conform to the flooding rhythm of the music. Hehalf stumbled, half pushed her along past the booths.
In the shelter of the palms he drew her savagely to him. "Let's--let'sgo outside." His voice was little more than a croak.
"But, honey!" She pushed herself away, her low voice maddening him."Don't you have a private room? A girl doesn't like to be takenoutside...."
Her words bit into his brain like the blade of a hot knife.
No, he didn't have a private room at the club like the others. A privateroom for his telporter receiver, a private room where he could take awilling guest. No! He couldn't afford it! No! _No!_ NO! His lot was acheap suit of satin! Cheap whiskey! Cheap champagne! A cheap shack bythe river....
An inarticulate cry escaped his twisted lips. He clutched her roughly tohim and dragged her through the door and into the moonlight, whiskey andanger lending him brutal strength.
He pulled her through the deserted garden. _All the others had privaterooms!_ He pulled her to the far end, behind a clump of squatty firs.His hands clawed at her. He tried to smother her mouth with kisses.
She eluded him deftly. "But, _honey_!" Her voice had gone deeper intoher throat. "I just want to be sure about things. If you can't affordone of the private rooms--if you can't afford to show me a good time--ifyou can't come h
ere real often ..."
The whiskey pounded and throbbed at his brain like blows from an unseenclub. His ego curled and twisted within him like a headless serpent.
"I'll have money!" he shouted, struggling to hold her. "I'll have plentyof money! After tonight!"
"Then we'll wait," she said. "We'll wait until tomorrow night."
"No!" he screamed. "You don't believe me! You're like the others! Youthink I'm no good! But I'll show you! I'll show all of you!"
* * * * *
She had gone coldly rigid in his arms, unyielding.
Madness added to the pounding in his brain. Tears welled into his eyes.
"I'll show you! I'll kill her! Then I'll have money!" The handsclutching her shoulders shook her drunkenly. "You wait here! I'll gohome and kill her now! Then I'll be back!"
"Silly boy!" Her low laughter rang hollowly in his ears. "And just whois it you are going to kill?"
"My wife!" he cried. "My wife! I'll ..."
A sudden sobering thought struck him. He was talking too much. And hewasn't making sense. He shouldn't be telling her this. Anyway, hecouldn't get the money tonight even if he did kill his wife.
"And so you are going to kill your wife...."
He blinked the tears from his eyes. His chest was heaving, his heartpounding. He looked at her shimmering form. "Y-yes," he whispered.
Her eyes glinted strangely in the light of the moon. Her handbag glintedas she opened it, and something she took from it glittered coldly inher hand.
"Fool!"
The first shot tore squarely through his heart. And while he stoodstaring at her, mouth agape, a second shot burned its way through hisbewildered brain.
* * * * *
Mrs. Herbert Hyrel removed the telovis from her head and laid itcarefully aside. She uncoiled her long legs from beneath her, walked toher husband's chair, and stood for a long moment looking down at him,her lips drawn back in contempt. Then she bent over him and reached downhis thigh until her fingers contacted the small switch.
Seconds later, a slight tremor shook Hyrel's body. His eyes snappedopen, air escaped his lungs, his lower jaw sagged inanely, and his headlolled to one side.
She stood a moment longer, watching his eyes become glazed andsightless. Then she walked to the telephone.
"Police?" she said. "This is Mrs. Herbert Hyrel. Something horrible hashappened to my husband. Please come over immediately. Bring a doctor."
She hung up, went to her bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and slidcarefully out of her telporter suit. This she folded neatly and tuckedaway into the false back of the medicine cabinet. She found a fresh pairof blue, plastifur pajamas and got into them.
She was just arriving back into the living room, tying the cord of herdressing gown about her slim waist, when she heard the sound of thepolice siren out front.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
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