I led the way into Gene’s old office. The significance would be lost on her. I knew from Andy that Halley had been to the labs only once, her first week on the job, well before Gene had been promoted.
Still, Halley should have been impressed by my changes. At this point in my tenure, I had convinced Andy to allow the maintenance crews in to clean during the three days a week I was there, with a promise that I would supervise them. Andy trusted me to make sure the staff didn’t disturb work in progress. I arranged for them to vacuum and dust in two shifts, accommodating the odd hours of the technicians. I had dealt with the office furniture bureaucracy. The broken chairs and desks were replaced. I bought as many plants as the guys would tolerate. I convinced Stick that spies were unlikely to be crouched with binoculars in the woods across the road and thus the shades could be opened. I arranged with two of the cleaning staff — Rose and Fred — to do so each morning; the technicians couldn’t be trusted to remember. Since the windows had to remain shut, I was reduced to buying air filters and dehumidifiers, not without a lot of worry and memos from different divisions, including one called Technical Integrity, claiming that I was somehow going to destroy every microchip in the building. I found a lab in California which used the same method to freshen their sealed-air supply; that silenced Technical Integrity. So far, no disaster had occurred. Joe Stein’s mother would have been proud of me. The place still wasn’t spotless and it was far from beautiful, but the air was breathable, there was some light, and the leafy green plants were a reminder that the world has parts not made of metal and plastic.
As for Andy’s office, now the chess set, the prototype and his Black Dragon terminal rested on different tables. I brought in a separate desk for the rare occasions he used paper. I requisitioned a small refrigerator and stocked it with Coke. I discovered he liked apples and sharp cheddar cheese; a supply of both was maintained. Since Andy was a Michael Jordan fan, on the wall opposite his desk I hung a poster depicting the Chicago star making a twisting layup between two mammoth defenders.
Halley entered, ignorant of my domestic touches, opened a large manila envelope and pulled out several pages of elaborate typefaces. “These are rough,” she said. “I hate most of them. There’s one that may be it.”
“I don’t know a goddamn thing about advertising,” I said.
“You can read and you can react,” she said. “That’s all I need.”
I proved to her I had no feel for promotion. The one I liked (We made Centaur Fast, Flexible and Smart. All you have to do is make a Lap.) was among her least favorite. The leading candidate was — Don’t Take Your Troubles Home From The Office … Take The Solution.
“It’s banal,” I said. “And sort of pompous.”
Halley smiled as she returned the papers to the envelope. “Well, you’re right about one thing. We’re not there yet.” She closed the clasp. “Are you gay?” she asked casually. She brought her head up, in the style of a television detective, to catch my reaction.
I laughed. “That’s a little weak, Halley.”
“You just like to play mind games, is that it?”
“That’s my job.”
“What I want to know is — are they for your entertainment or mine?”
“It’s really quite simple, Halley. I meant to talk to you about it. Do you want to do that now?”
She looked at the pint-size refrigerator, at the Staunton chess pieces frozen in mid-game, and finally at the guts of the prototype, still a crashed mess of boards and wires. “Well, we could find a more romantic spot.” She smiled. “Or at least a bathroom.”
I checked my watch. “I have a meeting with your father in a half hour—”
“What was that shit you pulled — saying you love me?” she interrupted. The words were angry; her tone, however, was merely annoyed. “I mean,” she leaned one hand on Andy’s desk, the other on her hip, “especially for a brilliant psychiatrist, that was pretty primitive manipulation.”
“I do love you,” I said. Halley straightened, blinking at me. “But, unfortunately, you’re mentally ill and I’m not into that. I don’t have the shrinks disease of having relationships with potential patients. Not that I would treat you anyway.”
Halley’s lovely full lips, her pink lipstick iridescent against the tan, opened into a broad, amazed smile. She turned to the wall as if there were someone there to share her amusement. She came back to me, both hands on her hips, let out one of her noises of multiple feelings, and repeated with utter skepticism, “I’m mentally ill?”
“You’re a classic narcissist.”
“At least I’m a classic,” Halley mumbled.
I ignored her sarcasm. “I noticed you had one of Alice Miller’s books on your shelves, so I know you won’t misunderstand my use of the term. Almost nothing you do or say is genuine. You’re constantly making up personas to win the love of whomever you’re dealing with. Mostly, of course, you’re focused on men because of your unresolved incestuous desires for Stick. Quite a nickname for someone with your fixation. Both phallic and punitive.” I waved that digression away. “Your quest is hopeless, Halley — making yourself into the perfect fantasy for all these men to impress your father. What you really want, the only thing that will really satisfy you, is if Daddy falls in love with you. I guess you’re so far gone that you might even actually want him to fuck you. To feel him quaking in your arms, groaning in ecstasy, vulnerable and in your control. But that’s never going to happen. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love anyone. You said you were incapable of love, but you were really thinking of your father. You’re very much in love and he’s taking advantage of it. He’s got every man in Minotaur by the balls — so to speak — thanks to you. Of course that’s your murdered self all over again. The real Halley is dead — there are only pretty reflections to mesmerize us. You can’t get Daddy to fuck you, so you help him fuck others.”
Halley was still. She didn’t appear alarmed or upset. She nodded once or twice during my speech, not in agreement, to indicate she was following me. “I don’t want to fuck my father. I know why you think …” She smiled gently, as if regretting that she had to embarrass me. “I played along with your little fantasy because I thought—” She stopped, catching herself.
I finished for her, “Because you thought that would make me addicted to you — like Gene, like Jack, like who knows how many others. I knew that’s what you thought. But it wasn’t my fantasy, Halley. It was yours.” Once again, as she had so often, Halley surprised me with her will and her essential inner strength. There were many reactions she might have had — all of them genuine. There were many false reactions she might have chosen — all of them useless. Instead, she cocked her head, eyes brilliant, and asked coolly, “And what is your fantasy? You say I’m an expert at supplying them. So tell me, what do you like?”
I nodded, impressed. “You should have been a therapist. You always throw people back on themselves.” I felt this was my last chance to reach her. I walked over, resting my hands on her shoulders. I shook her gently. “Okay. No games. Listen to me. You can be helped. You’re very bright and you’re young. There’s really no limit to what you can accomplish. I know you must feel guilty, somewhere, about the harm you’ve caused, to your brother, to Gene, and possibly many others. But that really wasn’t in your control, although you think you’re in control all the time.” Halley listened to me, chin up to meet my eyes, lips shut, face impassive. I believed she was interested. I was convinced most of her, the best of her, wished to hear me. “I can get you the names of many good doctors. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You won’t be anybody’s fool. You won’t turn into a victim. You won’t be hurt and alone again, the way he made you feel as a little girl. You can find her — there’s a real Halley in there — and she’s even stronger than this one.”