Much to my surprise, the new airbus had mirrors above the settee and the girls started arranging their hair out of the way.
There is a small picture on the back of what the mask looks like and all of a sudden, Hightee said to me, "Oh, why did you have to choose the sexy wood nymph for me! I know I have been playing the lewd female in my last three pictures. In fact I've had to learn so many sexy songs, I hardly know any other current ones than those. But I should have thought you would have chosen the sweet nymph mask all the same." (Bleep) my driver.
She put it in place and pulled the heater cord. She discarded the backing into the box and then looked back at herself and laughed. "I'm really no male-eater. But I sure look like one now!" The eyes were languorous looking, the mouth was pursed in a huge kiss, the cheeks were blue, symbolizing longing. It made her look even prettier. Nothing could disguise the beauty of Hightee Heller. I felt uneasy. It was not much of a recognition preventer!
The Countess had hers on now. The huge, luminous eyes, way too big, a black and orange fur. The lepertige lady! As if she needed any hint of her actual dangerousness! But at least it was a good disguise. And it went with her pale orange dress and boots.
Heller, flying with one knee and one toe, put his on. I recognized it in the glass reflection of the windscreen. It was a character known in plays as the steelman: just two huge steel stars, one over each eye. Hardly any disguise at all. His pictures had been in the papers a lot. I was nervous.
They pushed at me to put on my own mask. Yes, my driver must have chosen it. It was the standard character known as the bucktoothed Demon! Frightfully ugly! Ske has no taste at all.
They laughed at each other's masks and at mine and then Hightee and the Countess began to chat amiably about the stage and Manco. It was obvious to see they were immediate fast friends.
The glitter and writhing coils of searchlight beams were ahead. Even in Joy City, this block of clubs stood out. I cringed a bit. This sure was public! Lombar's shadow seemed to loom over the scene. What was I getting into? Had I had any sense at all, I would have sabotaged that airbus while I still had time! Too late now. I was going down the chute into the pit of bad luck.
Chapter 3
Heller zipped the airbus down like he rode a crane hook. I was blinded by the writhing lights and don't know how he did it but the airbus landed as soft as the falling feather of a songbird squarely in the center of the club's vehicle escalator. The girls danced out and I would have followed them in but saw that Heller was still standing there on the ramp. He was watching the airbus and kept on watching it until he saw exactly where the escalator side arm thrust it. He took note of the position and then turned to the door.
The Artistic Club front was much like the other club fronts facing the square – all rippling lights and letters that threw colored sparks. The girls had fled off to the ladies room to recheck their masks the way girls will. Right in the entrance stood some club floorman in a white evening suit. He had his hand slightly out. I knew what was required. He wanted a five-credit note to escort us to one of the better tables! And, completely aside from a five-credit note, I had no notes at all other than these counterfeits! I stopped walking forward right there!
Heller said, "I'm going to the men's room to adjust my mask." And there I stood facing the wild animal – which I conceived this floorman to be – barehanded!
It was not the first hair-raiser of that evening!
Then, for some reason I did not understand, another floorman – the manager? – was beckoning to me from deeper within the club and I hastened on by the itching palm.
Heller was there in a moment and presently the girls came out and the manager? led us into the main club.
The evening was just beginning but most of the tables were already full. Masks, masks, masks, all types and shapes and kinds, a blur of hidden identities.
A blare of loud music!
Boots, boots, boots. Every color of boot anyone ever heard of and the underfloor circulating lights rippled and splashed upon them.
Tables, tables, tables. The manager led us to one, slightly raised, against a wall. I quickly checked. It was also near an emergency exit.
We sat down and looked across the club. There was a bandstand and stage over there. And to the right was an open dance floor flanked at the back by drop curtains.
A balladess, not a very good one, was standing in front of the band, black-faced, red-teared and wailing her heart out.
I wondered where the club prices were posted. Even though I couldn't pay them, I still would like to know. Then I saw that they were under the table-face. One pushed a button to light the table-face up but even with the button unpushed one could see the letters and figures. I got an impression of five– and ten-credit items! Columns of them! Nothing less than five or ten credits a person an item in this place? Ow!
The balladess was finished and there was a spattering of applause. She went back to her table and party.
A man stood up and marched out onto the dance floor. He took some hoops out of his evening suit, appeared to light them and then began to juggle them. One would have thought he would have burned his hands but it was just simulated fire.
"This is why they call it the Artistic Club," Heller was telling the Countess. "Everybody who comes here must do an act. It goes on all night."
"Don't some of them get stage fright?" I said.
"The management thought of that," said Heller. "They keep count and if any single person at a table backs out, the bill for the whole table is doubled!"
"What a funny idea," said the Countess. And she was laughing. I wasn't! Even though I couldn't pay the bill in the first place, the thought of doubling horrified me.
"I'm hungry," said Hightee.
And as host I had to ask politely, "What would you like?" Heller beckoned over a yellow-man waiter. He pushed the table button and the tabletop lit up, amazingly with the menu vertical and straight before each guest.
I felt like I was dying when I saw all those five– and ten-credit items! I made my throat behave. "Order away," I said gaily. It sounded more like a funeral dirge.
They all decided to have mountain springers – the small game animal imported from Chimpton, a whole planet away. Prohibitive! Ten credits a plate!
After solemn deliberation, they elected to have red bubblebrew. At ten credits the canister!
Then they decided on flaming icecake for dessert! At fifteen credits each!
My lightning fast ability to calculate put it at one hundred and five credits!
The management threw in toasted drybuns for nothing. How nice of them! They must be the most expensive club on Voltar!
I let them order me the same. I might as well be cashiered or executed on a full stomach. For my choice was either to use my identoplate and be court-martialled or use the counterfeit money I carried and be executed!
The mountain springer came and I picked at it, expecting perhaps to find diamonds imbedded in it.
Heller whispered to me, "Don't look so worried. It'll be all right. Have a good time. Don't spoil it for the girls." A lot heknew! This (bleeping) party of mine was going to ruin me. But then I remembered that a lot of other officers, faced with promotion parties, had had to starve a month or two. I drank my canister of red bubblebrew. But none of that made me feel any better.
They chattered and joked and seemed to enjoy the dinner immensely. I did eat. I was hungry.
When the last flicker of icecake fire had disappeared down their throats, Heller signalled a hovering yellow-man and ordered another round of red bubblebrew! That made it one hundred and eighty credits!