The pout was beginning as Rod led Jenine out to gallop.
"And to think this all came from a 3DT epic!" Jenine burbled as she bobbed and weaved. "Didn't you just love Hamlish Hofernung as Louis XV?"
"He lived up to his nickname, that's for sure." Inwardly, Rod sighed. He was in for a good ten minutes of discussion of nothing but the latest tank stars and their exploits. It wasn't that epics were the only thing Jenine was interested in—it was just that they were the only topic she knew anything about. At least she had a modicum of wit, though—or witty lines, provided she'd heard them from an actor.
Dinner surpassed the proverbial bore crashing; it didn't even leave any splinters. Rod had learned how to smile on cue at a very young age; he and his brother had practiced making faces in the mirror, so he was admirably suited to being a good conversationalist. He had perfected the trick of mental activity on two levels, thinking about something interesting with his forebrain while his speech and hearing centers were routed together on automatic, ears picking up cues that his mouth responded to by delivering up the appropriate noncommittal responses. "Is that so?"
"You don't mean it!"
"You don't say…" There were even places for "Uh-huh," and "Yes," and "I thought so myself." But never, of course, for "No," or "I don't agree"; those might take some explanation, and actually involve saying something.
Officially, he had taken Lady Heloise into dinner; she was plain as a prairie, but she at least had a brain, and could comment on the day's news, if nothing else. But by some strange fluke, he had Lady Morwenna on his other side, and Lady Laetitia across the table. The result was a matter of trying to respond to three conversations at once, since none of the girls was willing to wait for either of the others to stop talking before she directed another comment at Rod. He actually had to pay attention to what they were saying, which ruined all the fun—not that it was in any great shape to begin with. Why they couldn't aim their ramblings at their own dinner companions, Rod didn't know—though it might have had something to do with the gentlemen in question being half again as old as themselves. But they had much better prospects than Rod; after all, some money is better than none, isn't it?
Which led to the inescapable conclusion that Rod wasn't the kind of man these young ladies intended to marry (or that their mamas intended for them), but that he was the kind they wanted to dance and flirt with.
Why me? It certainly couldn't have been his looks.
Maybe his conversation. In a desperate attempt to divert attention away from himself, he pointed his nose at Marquis Msimangu, Lady Laetitia's escort. "I hear a rumor that you've designed a new robot, milord."
"Why, yes, actually." Hugo came alive with surprise that anybody should be talking to him. "Still full of bugs, of course, but looks as though the damned thing may actually work."
Rod paused a fraction of a second, to let one of the young ladies ask the polite follow-up, but they were all looking as though the lemon in their tea was getting to them. "What kind is it?"
"Oh, a household 'bot. It'll do all the usual—you know, cook, clean, dust, pick up…"
Rod frowned. "Usual, yes. What's the new part?"
"Oh, it makes toast. For those who like their grilled bread truly fresh—it has two slots in its chest, and makes the toast right there, by your bed."
"A startling innovation," Rod murmured, picturing himself sitting up in bed and being hit in the eye by two slices of toast. "Really wakes you up in the morning."
Lady Morwenna ostentatiously turned aside and straightened in "surprise."
"Oh! Lady Michelle is talking about that new card game from Terra!" She turned a dazzling smile back toward Rod. "You know, the one you can play without a calculator to hand?"
Rod still couldn't understand why people needed special calculators for bridge and canasta—but then, he had never taken card games seriously enough to try to keep track of which cards had been played. "Really? How's it work?"
"Oh, the object of the game is to match cards by number," Lady Laetitia spoke up, oblivious to Morwenna's start and glare—it had been her topic! And she took it back. "Yes, you ask the player to your left, 'Have you any eights?' or some such, and if they have, they must give them to you."
"Intricate," Rod murmured. "What if they don't have any?"
"Why, then they say, 'Go fish!' and you search through the extras."
"It's a great deal of fun," Lady Heloise said, delighted to find something she could talk about. "Frees you from trying to think about the cards, and lets you pay attention to the play."
"Like a drama where the characters are very simple?"
"Oh, you've seen the new Notty Alent romance!" Laetitia gushed. "Isn't she just splendid as Lady Carstairs!"
"And that wonderfully decrepit house she's brought into, as governess!" said Morwenna. "What a comedown for the poor thing—a lady born, and finding all the money gone when her father dies." A tear glistened at the corner of her eye. All the other ladies were silent, too, contemplating the awful spectacle of actually having to earn their own livings.
Rod cleared his throat, aware that reality should never intrude at a ball. "Your gown is striking, Laetitia." In fact, it almost struck out. "I don't believe I've ever seen that cut before."
"Why, thank you!" Laetitia flushed with pleasure, and Morwenna cooed, "She reached Monsieur Valdez first!"
"Really, Titia, you were quite precipitate," Heloise scolded. "I swear you scarcely let the poor man step off the boarding ramp before you were on him!"
" 'She who hesitates is lost,' " Laetitia quoted, looking immensely pleased with herself.
"Mine will be done for Thursday's ball, though, so don't think you'll keep the advantage, Tish."
Laetitia sat back with a pinfeather smile. "A genuine original by an authentic Terran couturier."
Well, that explained it. Rod had heard about the new arrival, and had been so surprised that a Terran designer would actually choose to come to Maxima, that he had asked Fess for a brief on the man. The robot had run through the last six months' news, and given him the not-so-startling information that Monsieur Valdez was more widely known by his Terran trade name of Monsieur Iberien. That put the whole thing in perspective. Rod remembered, from his weekly newsfeeds, that Monsieur Iberien had struck out on his own only two years ago, after ten years' apprenticeship in the House of Lachenoir. He had obtained backers, launched his first fall line, garnered unanimous critical censure, obtained absolutely no orders except one from a costermonger who wanted something special for his wife, and had gone spectacularly bankrupt. "I understand he has a novel theory as to what constitutes art."
"Yes, it does seem singular." Sir Gilman, on Morwenna's other side, frowned. "Something about the feeling you get, you know, when you look into a can of worms."
The ladies paled and Rod said quickly, "Well, that was only an example. He says art consists entirely in arousing strong emotional responses, and the nature of the response doesn't matter."
"I certainly receive a great emotional response from looking at your dress, Laetitia," Morwenna purred. Laetitia flushed angrily, but Rod said, "Yes, it's called envy." Actually, he sympathized with Morwenna. The dress had only a touch of Monsieur Iberien's theory left in it—the emotion it tried to arouse was surprise, by use of fluorescent colors and patterns of dots running counter to the stripes, and it certainly enhanced Laetitia's appearance, by distracting attention from her face. Rod speculated that Monsieur Iberien might do very well here, after all, as long as he could restrain his artistic impulses and try to give the ladies what would help them. Apparently he had really let himself go, on Terra, and no woman was terribly interested that season in wearing a dress full of fishbait. His fall collection had become a matter of passing the hat in November; the other designers had pooled their resources and paid him to leave Terra, before he brought the whole fashion industry crashing down. He had been able to settle his debts, but had arrived on Maxima almost destitute.