The reservations manager was as human as they were, especially when it came to his attitude toward money. As he’d feared, Frank found that his credit cards and cash were utterly useless.
Or as the manager put it, "If you’re trying to pull some kind of gag, my friend, this is the wrong place to do it." He wore a one-piece powder-blue jumpsuit with an exotic white and black flower sprouting from the buttonhole. His shaven skull was elaborately painted. The composition continued down both sides of his neck to vanish beneath the jumpsuit’s shoulder straps.
"What about this?" Burnfingers fumbled inside his leather pouch and extracted a Spanish piece of eight. Frank didn’t get a good look at it, but it gleamed like new.
The manager held it up to the light. "Pretty, but malleable. Not worth much, I’m afraid."
A discouraged Frank turned away from the desk. "So we’re stuck. We’ll have to sleep in the motor home after all."
"Wait." The manager’s eyes narrowed. "What’s that noise?"
Since the lobby fronting the desk was active with people and other creatures coming and going, not to mention the din rising from the nearby casino, his query could have stimulated several different answers. Except that he was looking straight at Wendy, who was standing behind her parents rocking to the sounds from her Walkman. Evidently the manager’s hearing was more than acute.
Sometimes, Frank thought, it helps to be experienced in commerce.
"Just some of my daughter’s music."
The manager listened a moment longer, licking his lips. "Could I hear closer?" he finally asked hesitantly.
"Sure." Frank turned to yell at his daughter. "Wendy!"
She made a face, slipped off the earphones. "What’s up, Pops?"
"Let our friend here have a listen."
She looked dubious but passed over the Walkman and phones. The manager slipped them on carefully. A look of pure bliss transformed his face. Frank was becoming impatient when the man finally removed the phones. He looked around to make sure none of his fellow employees was near, leaned over the counter. He wore avarice like a cheap cologne.
"How much do you want for this?"
"Now wait a minute, Pops. That’s my Walkman," Wendy protested.
The two men ignored her as Frank showed the manager how the little machine operated. He nudged the eject tape and the cover popped open.
"The music is recorded on this strip of plastic material?" The manager ran a finger over an inch of tape.
"That’s right."
"This is wonderful. The archaic melodies, the astonishingly primitive rhythmic arrangements, the pure tone-deafness of the singers, not to mention the exquisite inanity of the vocals. Where did you buy it?" He looked up from the Walkman, studying their appearance, their attire. "Where are you people from, anyway? Canatolia? Marsecap? Notil?"
"Just tell me what it’s worth to you."
"I don’t know. This is just a hobby of mine." He swallowed. "Do you have more tapes like this one?"
"Yeah. There’s a whole bunch out in the mot — out in our vehicle."
"How many is a whole bunch?"
"Beats me." He turned. "Wendy?"
"C’mon, Pops," she protested. "You can’t."
"Never mind. I’ll buy you a whole new setup when we get home. Anything you want. Then you can spend a whole day shopping at Tower Records. All the tapes you can carry."
She still sounded reluctant. "Well — okay. But only if we have to."
"We have to."
"I guess," she mumbled, not looking at the desk manager, "I brought a couple dozen."
"A couple of dozen?" The man’s eyes widened. Sensing he was overreacting, he tried to appear disinterested. "I guess we could trade. I could let you stay for a little while, maybe throw in a meal or two if you’re hungry."
Frank hadn’t become a major player in the sporting goods business by selling himself short. "Forget it." He reached for the Walkman. "We’ll try somewhere else."
The manager’s hand jerked forward to stay him. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to see if you knew what you had here." He glanced uncertainly at Wendy. "Several dozen, you say? All different?"
"All different," Wendy admitted.
"I’ll give you a suite." The man was whispering now. "One of the best in the house. Not the best. I just can’t. Those are strictly for the high rollers who come in from the major worlds. But you’ll be comfortable, I guarantee it. And I’ll give you an open line of credit to in-house services. Food and miscellaneous."
"What about shows?"
"Included. Anything at the hotel."
"And gambling," said Alicia suddenly, "we’ll want to do some gambling."
The manager winced. "All right," he muttered after a moment’s hesitation. He eyed Frank calculatingly. His subject managed to appear bored and indifferent. "I’ll give you a ten-thousand credit line. No more. You aren’t professionals, are you?"
"Professionals? Professional what?" asked Alicia.
"Gamblers."
"Heavens, no."
That satisfied him. "Fine. You’ll lose it all back by morning, then. It’s all I can do. I have a lot of discretion where food and board is concerned, but not actual credit. You understand?"
Frank didn’t know how much ten thousand credits was, but he wasn’t going to argue about it. "Deal. I don’t think we’ll be staying here more than a day or so anyway."
"Then we are agreed." The man looked relieved, as though he’d just pulled off a grand coup but was trying to conceal his elation. "Give me a minute and we’ll register you. I’ll do it myself." He winked. "Can’t have you formally signing in, now can we?" He wore the smile of someone who’d just bought the Hope diamond for twenty bucks and a handful of subway tokens.
Let him celebrate, Frank thought. They’d had the better end of the deal. Tonight — today, rather — they’d sleep in a real bed and eat well. They’d have their vacation, if only for a day. Much longer than that and Mouse would be nagging at them to move on.
As soon as their surreptitious registration had been completed, the manager turned his duties over to an assistant and took them up to the room himself. The elevator they entered was cylindrical instead of rectangular. There was no sense of motion as it ascended, only unattached numbers crawling through the air where the door had been a moment earlier. As they rose, the manager enthusiastically recited a list of celebrities currently appearing at the hotel. Frank and Alicia recognized none of them.
Wendy continuously bemoaned the loss of her Walkman. "I said I’d buy you a new one," her father reminded her. "Soon as we get back to L.A."
"Yeah. If we ever get back to L.A."
Alicia put an arm around her daughter. "Of course we’re going to get home. Aren’t we, Frank?"
He nodded as their eyes met, and he could see the concern there.
Both of them felt better the instant they entered the expansive room.
"This is more like it," he murmured. "Maybe we ought to stay on this thread for a while."
"Frank!"
He grinned at his wife. "Just kiddin', hon."
"I am going to lie down for a while." Mouse’s voice was wispier than usual. "I must conserve my strength for singing."
"Sure, go ahead," Frank told her magnanimously.
A quick survey revealed two sleeping rooms located off the main sitting area. Mouse crawled onto the first bed she encountered and was instantly asleep.
As for the rest of them, they could have spent the whole morning learning about the remarkable room, but Frank planned on seeing as much of Pass Regulus and their hotel as possible. So after several hours' sleep he roused his family and prepared to go exploring.