'He's a blessé, a little bit. He has something wrong with his ankles. They were mutilated when he was a baby.'
'Hum,' said Rafiel, and gave Victorium a nod. The musician replayed the five bars of music.
'Can you dance to it?' Victorium asked anxiously.
'Of course I can. If I had my tap shoes-'
'Give him his tap shoes, Mosay,' Docilia ordered, and then bent to help Rafiel slip them on, while the dramaturge clapped his hands for a server to bring a tap mat.
'Play from the end of the duet,' Rafiel ordered, abandoning his meal to stand up in the narrow space of the balcony. He moved slightly, rocking back and forth, then began to tap, not on the beat of the music, but just off it - step left, shuffle right - while his friends nodded approvingly - spank it back, scuff it forward. But there wasn't really enough room. One foot caught another; he stumbled and almost fell, Victorium's strong hand catching him. 'I'm clumsier than ever,' he sighed resentfully.
'They'll love it,' Mosay said, reassuring him, and not lying, either, Rafiel knew unhappily; for what was it but his occasional misstep, the odd quaver in his voice - to be frank about it, the peculiarly fascinating traits of his advancing age - that made him a superstar?
He finished his meal. 'Come on, Docilia. I'm ready to go,' he said, and although the others clearly wanted to stay and talk they all agreed that what Rafiel suggested was a good idea. They always did. It was one of the things that made Rafiel's life special - one of the good things. It came with being a superstar. He was used to being indulged by these people, because they needed him more than he needed them, although, as they all knew, they were going to live forever and he was not.
3
All the worlds know the name of Rafiel, but, actually, 'Rafiel isn't all of his name. That name, in full, is Rafiel GutmakerFensterbom, just as Docilia, in full, is Docilia Megareth-Morb, and Mosay is Mosay Koi Mosayus. But 'Rafiel' is all he needs. Basically, that is the way you can tell when you've finally become a major vid star. You no longer need all those names to be identified or even to get your mail delivered. Even among a race of ten trillion separate, living, named human beings, when you have their kind of stardom a single name is quite enough.
Rafiel's difficulty at present was that he didn't happen to be in his own condo, where his mail was. Instead he was in Docilia's, located fifty-odd storeys above his own in the arcology. He really did want to know what messages were waiting for him.
On the other hand, this particular delay was worthwhile. Although Rafiel had been sleeping for eleven days, his glands had not. He was well charged up for the exertions of Docilia's bed. He came to climax in record time - the first time - with Docilia helpfully speeding him along. The second time was companionably hers. Then they lay pleasantly spooned, with Rafiel drowsily remembering now and then to kiss the back of her neck under the fair hair. It wasn't Alegretta's hair, he thought, though without any real pain (you couldn't actually go on aching all your life for a lost love, though sometimes he thought he was coming close); but it was nice hair, and it was always nice to make love to this tiny, active little body. But after a bit she stretched, yawned and left him, fondly promising to be quickly back, while she went to return her calls. He rolled over to gaze at the pleasing sight of her naked and youthfully sweet departing back.
It was a fact, Rafiel knew, that Docilia wasn't youthful in any chronological sense. In terms of life span she was certainly a good deal older than himself, however she looked. But you couldn't ignore the way she looked, either, because the way she looked was what the audiences were going to see. As the story of Oedipus Rex began to come back to him, he began to wonder: Would any audience believe for one moment that this girlish woman could be his mother?
It was a silly thought. The audiences weren't going to worry about that sort of thing. If it registered with them at all it would be only another incongruity of the kind that they loved so well. Rafiel dismissed the worry, and then, as he lay there, pleasantly at ease, he at last became aware of the faint whisper of music from Docilia's sound system.
So it had been an agendaed tryst after all, he thought tolerantly. But a sweet one. If she had not forgotten to have Victorium's score playing from the moment they entered her flat, at least she had been quite serious about the lovemaking he had come there for. So Rafiel did what she wanted him to do; he lay there, letting the music tell its story to his ears. It wasn't a bad score at all, he thought critically. He was beginning to catch the rhythms in his throat and feet when Docilia came back.
She was glowing. 'Oh, Rafiel,' she cried, 'look at this!'
She was waving a tomograph, and when she handed it to him he was astonished to see that it was an image of what looked like a three-month foetus. He blinked at her in surprise. 'Yours?'
She nodded ecstatically. 'They just sent it from the creche,' she explained, nervous with pleasure. 'Isn't it tres belle?
'Why, that's molto bene,' he said warmly. 'I didn't know you were enceinte at all. Who's the padre?'
She shrugged prettily. 'Oh, his name is Charlus. I don't think you know him, but he's really good, isn't he? I mean, look at that gorgeous child.'
In Rafiel's opinion no first-trimester foetus could be called anything like 'gorgeous', but he knew what was expected of him and was not willing to dampen her delight. 'It's certainly a good-looking embryo, sema dubito,' he told her with sincerity.
'His always are! He's fathered some of the best children I've ever seen - good-looking, and with his dark blue eyes, and oh, so tall and strong!' She hesitated for a moment, prettily almost blushing. Then, 'We're going to share the bambino for a year,' she confided proudly. 'As a family, I mean. When the baby's born Charlus and I are going to start a home together. Don't you think that's a wonderful idea?'
There was only one possible answer to that. 'Of course I do,' said Rafiel, regardless of whether he did or not.
She gave him a fond pat. 'That's what you ought to do too, Rafiel. Have a child with some nice dama, bring the baby up together.'
'And when would I find the time?' he asked. But that wasn't a true answer. The true answer was that, yes, he would have liked nothing better, provided the right woman was willing to donate the ovum... but the right woman had, long ago, firmly foreclosed that possibility.
Docilia had said something that he missed. When he asked for a repeat, she said, 'I said, and it'll help my performance, won't it?'
He was puzzled. 'Help how?'
She said, impatient with his lack of understanding, 'Because Jocasta's a mutter, don't you see? That's the whole point of the story, isn't it? And now I can get right into the part, because I'm being a mutter, too.'
Rafiel said sincerely, 'You'll be fine.' He meant it, too. He had assumed she would all along.
'Yes, certo,' she said absently, thinking already of something else. 'I think I ought to give a copy to the dad. He'll be so excited.'
'I would be,' Rafiel agreed. She blinked and returned her attention to him. She lifted the sheet and peered under it for a thoughtful moment.
'I think,' she said judiciously, 'if you're not in a great hurry to leave, if we just give it a few more minutes....'
'No hurry at all,' he said, pulling her down to him and stroking her back in a no-hurry-at-all way. 'Well,' he said. 'So what else have you been doing? Did they release your Inquisitor yet?'