Liberty
NEW THREE-DEE PROJECTION SYSTEM FULLY SUCCESSFUL
Scintillation-Free Images Result from Picosecond Control Units Developed by Oxnard Laboratory in California
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Dr. Oxnard Claims System Can Be Adapted to ‘Animate’ Still Photos; Obviate Need for Actors in TV
Electronics News
17: THE OUTCOME
Bill Oxnard grimaced with concentration as he maneuvered his new Electric TR into Ron Gabriel’s driveway. Ordinarily it would have been an easy task, but the late winter rainstorm made visibility practically nil and there was a fair-sized van parked at the curb directly in front of the driveway.
The front door of the house was open and a couple of burly men in coveralls were taking out the long sectional sofa that had curled around Gabriel’s living room. They grunted and swore under their breaths as they swung their burden around the Electric TR. The sofa was so big that if they had dropped it on the sportscar, they would have flattened it.
Brenda looked upset as she got out of the righthand seat. “They’re taking his furniture!” She dashed into the house.
Oxnard was a step behind her. It only took three long strides to get inside the foyer, but the rain was hard enough to soak him, even so.
There were no lights on inside the house. The furniture movers had left a hand torch glowing in the living room. Oxnard watched them reenter the house, trailing muddy footprints and dripping water, to grab the other chairs in the living room.
Brenda said, “Bill! And they’ve turned off his electricity!” She was very upset and Oxnard found himself feeling pleased with her concern, rather than jealous over it. She’s really a marvelous person, he told himself.
They looked around the darkened house few a few minutes and finally found Ron Gabriel sitting alone in the kitchen, in candlelight.
“Ron, why didn’t you tell us?” Brenda blurted.
Gabriel looked surprised and, in the flickering light of the lone candle, a bit annoyed.
“Tell you what?”
“We would have helped you, wouldn’t we, Bill?”
“Of course,” Oxnard said. “If you’re broke, Ron, or run out of credit...”
“What’re you talking about?” Gabriel pushed himself up from the table. He was wearing his old Bruce Lee robe.
“We’ve been following the reviews of ‘The Starcrossed,’” said Brenda. “We saw what a panning the scripts took. They’re blaming you for everything...”
“And when we saw them taking away your furniture...”
“And no electricity....”
A lithe young girl walked uncertainly into the kitchen, dressed in a robe identical to Gabriel’s. The candlelight threw coppery glints from her hair, which flowed like a cascade of molten red-gold over her slim shoulders.
With a you guys are crazy look, Gabriel introduced, “Cindy Steele, this is Brenda Impanema and Bill Oxnard, two of my loony friends.”
“Hello,” said Cindy, in a tiny little voice.
Brenda smiled at her and Oxnard nodded.
“We were going to have a quiet little candlelight dinner,” Gabriel said, “just the two of us. Before the Ding-Dong Furniture Company came in with my new gravity-defying float-chair. And the Salvation Army came by to pick up my old living room furniture, which I donated to them. And my friends started going spastic for fear that I was broke and starving.”
“Is that what...” Brenda didn’t quite believe it.
But Oxnard did. He started laughing. “I guess we jumped to the wrong conclusion. Come on,” he held out a hand to Brenda, “we’ve got a candlelight dinner of our own to see to.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? Really?” He came around the table and looked at the two of them closely. “Son of a gun.” He grinned.
They walked out to the foyer together, the four of them, Gabriel between Oxnard and Brenda, Cindy trailing slightly behind, twirling a curl of hair in one finger.
“Hey look,” Gabriel said. “Come on back after dinner. For dessert. Got a lot to tell you.”
“Oh, I don’t think...” Brenda began.
“We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Oxnard said. “We’ve got a lot to tell you, too.”
“Great. Bring back some pie or something.”
“And give us at least three hours,” Cindy said, smiling and walking the fingers of one hand across the back of Gabriel’s shoulders. “I’m a slow cooker.”
