And then they'd got to talking. He was brilliant. She could tell that from the few things he said. But mostly he wanted her to talk. He liked listening to her-about everything, about anything she wanted to say.
He got her to tell him about growing up in Iowa, about moving to California when she was fourteen, about high school and college and her unsuccessful love affairs, about her theories of history and physics and mathematics and especially anthropology and- He liked her. He listened, and he liked her, and to Gwen that was devastating.
And she couldn't compete with him. Partly she couldn't because she didn't know what he did. He never said directly, but she had the impression that he was in advanced physics. Once he'd got her talking about the origin of the universe. She'd told him what she thought, and he scribbled some equations on a napkin. They meant nothing to her. He'd thrown the napkin away. She went back the next morning and retrieved it from the garbage behind the restaurant and went to the library. After spending all day working on them the equations still meant nothing to her. She couldn't even find many of the symbols.
Which meant he was a liar-only it didn't. Les didn't have to lie. He talked about himself only when she urged him to, and never to impress her. He'd already done that on the first night, when she found he'd read nearly every anthropology book ever written and understood all the major theories. When she could get him to talk, she learned more in an hour with Les than she did in a month of classes.
For three weeks she had never seen him except in the coffee shop. He came in late, always after midnight, sometimes not until dawn. He drove a truck for spending money and had no fixed schedule; but he always came, and she was always waiting. They'd never discussed it, but she knew he came just to see her.
For three weeks they talked in the shop. He waved good-bye to her when it got so late she had to go home (or to morning classes).
Until yesterday. Yesterday he got up when she did, paid his check, and walked home with her. It seemed perfectly natural that he come in with her and that they go to bed together, and that he aroused her to flights of passion she had never supposed possible.
He stayed until noon.
And now he was coming back and wanted to take her somewhere. She dressed carefully. A skirt that didn't wrinkle. They didn't have to wrestle in a car-he was welcome in her bed-but who knows? she thought. She grinned at her image in the mirror. "Painted hussy," she told it.
The image grinned back. "We likes it, don't we, ducks?"
"Damn straight," Gwen said. "Damn straight. Never thought I would-"
She laughed at herself, but she studied her small collection of jewelry and perfume just the same. What would he like?
"Independent. Liberated. And working my arse off to make him want me," she told the mirror.
"Hang on to this one," the image said.
"Right." If we can. Please. Let this be all right. Let this last.
When the doorbell rang an hour after midnight, she ran to it, then caught herself. He knew she liked him, but she didn't want him to think she was that nuts over him. Still, she was a little breathless when she opened the door. Would he leap at her? Carry her to bed? She damned well wasn't going to resist- He kissed her, but broke away quickly before that could lead to anything else. Then he grinned. "Later. We'll have a lot of time."
"Good."
"Go for a drive?" he asked.
"Sure. Where? Do I need a coat?"
"Actually, I had in mind a weekend trip. Can you pack a bag?"
She frowned. Was he that confident? But then he had reason to be. And why not? "I can get away," she said. "For a couple of days. But I ought to call my landlady and tell her-"
"Leave a note. It's late."
"What should I pack? Swimsuit? Ski clothes?"
"Do you like boats? Sailing?"
"I never went on one before. I don't get motion sick-I guess I've told you that."
"You have."
There it was. The tiny accent. "Just where did you grow up?" she asked.
"I thought you were the professional who'd guess from my speech patterns." He grinned.
It's a nice grin, she thought. A nice grin, on a nice face. She moved closer to him. "Wheedle, wheedle."
He pulled her against him and held her for a moment.
"You're just the right size," she said.
"How's that?"
She shrugged. "Big enough that I think of you as a big man, but not so big you tower over me. And not so big in other ways, if you know what I mean-"
He laughed. "We do seem compatible."
"Yes, I like that. I'll pack my sailing clothes," she said. "I won't be long."
"I didn't know they kept boats in the mountains," Gwen said. "Just where are you taking me?"
It seemed a reasonable question. The road climbed steadily higher into the Angeles Mountains, directly away from the sea. At first she'd thought they were driving up the coast toward Santa Barbara, but he'd turned east.
The truck hummed along the road. It was a heavy Ford pickup, and the bed was crammed with odd shapes covered with a tarpaulin. That seemed strange too. Why a loaded truck for a weekend date? "Where are we going, Les?"
"Don't trust me?"
"I–I don't know. I don't-Les, please. Don't play head games with me."
"I don't want to, Gwen." His voice was very serious. "But I don't have much choice." He hesitated a moment. "You told me you want to learn. You like anthropology because you want to learn. To travel, see strange people and learn how they live-"
"Yes — "
"I can give you a chance to do that. Right now. But it's a long trip. Will you come with me?"
"Right now? Just like that? Not tell anyone-"
"Yes."
"Les, I can't-''
"Sure you can. You told me yourself, nobody cares what happens to you. Your mother's dead, and you haven't heard from your father in years. Sure you can. Who'll care? The people at the university? Landlady? Not really."
"But-right now? Just like that? Where do we go?"
"That's the part I can't tell you. A long voyage to exotic and distant lands. I can promise you that."
"With you."
"Yes. With me." He drove with both hands on the wheel, both eyes on the road; almost as if he were afraid of the truck. Now he let go to take her hand for a moment and squeeze it. "With me. I promise you that."
She thought about it. But it was all so strange. "What's in the truck? Your travel equipment? What-who are you? CIA?"
"What if I were?"
"I-wouldn't like that."
"Then I'm not," he said. "Let's see. Other question. The gear in the truck is for travel, but it is not mine. I get equipment for others. Get it and deliver it."
"But always at night-"
"Generally," he agreed.
"Les, where are we going? I thought Mexico for a moment, but we're going northeast. Where-"
"Can't tell you. But will you come with me?"
"If I don't?"
He let the truck slow. "I turn around and take you home."
"And then?"
"And then I leave. I have to go, Gwen. I'm sorry I haven't been able to tell you much, but I can't. I do want you to go with me, but you don't have much time to make up your mind."
"How long-how long will we be gone?"
"A long time. Years. But you'll see exotic places, faraway places, places you'll never see unless you come with me."
"I didn't pack very much," she said. "Not for being away that long. Will you buy me a grass skirt?"
The truck ran on for a second more. Then he stopped, turned, and kissed her. "I'm glad," he said. Then he started up. "We don't have a lot of time. They won't wait all night."
"Who won't?" she asked.
An hour later she knew.
2
Gwen was on the Moon. She had to keep telling herself that. She was on the Moon and talking to a TV set.