“You cheated,” Diane said.
“Maybe I did.”
“Don’t you have anything except icewater in your veins?”
He shrugged. “If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
“Don’t talk dirty.”
He took her by the arm and headed for the big glass doors at the far end of the room. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I’ve bought all your tapes.”
“And I’ve been watching your name on the news.”
“Don’t believe most of it.”
He pushed the door open and they stepped out onto the balcony. Shatterproof plastic enclosed the balcony and shielded them from the humid, hazy Washington air—and anything that might be thrown or shot from the street far below. The air conditioning kept the balcony pleasantly cool.
“Sunset,” Diane said, looking out toward the slice of sky that was visible between the two apartment buildings across the avenue. “Loveliest time of the day.”
“Loneliest time, too.”
She turned to him, her eyes showing genuine surprise. “Lonely? You? I didn’t know you had any weaknesses like that.”
“I’ve got a few, hidden away here and there.”
“Why do you hide them?”
“Because nobody gives a damn about them, one way or the other.” Before Diane could reply, he said, “I sound sorry for myself, don’t 1?”
“Well..
“Who’s this Larry character?”
“He’s a very nice guy,” she said firmly. “And a good musician. And he doesn’t go whizzing off into the wild blue yonder . . . or, space is black, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I don’t go whizzing any more, either. I’ve been grounded.”
She blinked at him. “What does that mean?”
“Grounded,” Kinsman repeated. “Deballed. No longer qualified for flight duty. No orbital missions. No lunar missions. They won’t even let me fly a plane any more. Got some shavetail to jockey me around. I work at a desk.”
“But. . . why?”
“It’s a long dirty story. Officially, I’m too valuable to risk or something like that.”
“Ghet, I’m so sorry . . . flying meant so much to you, I know.” She stepped into his arms and he kissed her.
“Let’s get out of here, Diane. Let’s go someplace safe and watch the Moon come up and I’ll tell you all the legends about your namesake.”
“Same old smooth talker.”
“No, not any more. I haven’t even touched a woman since . . . well, not for a long time.”
“I can’t leave the party, Chet. They’re expecting me to sing.”
“Screw them.”
“All of them?”
“Don’t talk dirty.”
She laughed, but shook her head. “Really, Chet. Not now.”
“Then let me take you home afterward.”
“I’m staying here tonight.”
There were several things he wanted to say, but he checked himself. “Chet, please don’t rush me. It’s been a long time.” It sure as hell has.
They went back into the party and separated. Kinsman drifted through the crowd, making meaningless chatter with strangers and old friends alike, drink in one hand, occasionally nibbling on a canape about the size and consistency of spacecraft food. But his mind was replaying, over and over again, the last time he had seen Diane.
Five years ago.
Soaring across the California countryside, riding the updrafts along the hillsides and playing hide-and-seek with the friendly chaste-whitecumuli,the only sound the rush of air across the glass bubble an inch over your head, your guts held tight as you sweep and bank and then soar up, up past the clouds and then you bank way over so you ’re hanging by the shoulder harness and looking straight down into the green citrus groves below. Diane sitting in the front seat, so all you can see of her is the back of her plastic safety helmet. But you can hear her gasp.
“Like it?”
“It’s wild . . . gorgeous!”
