“Leave it be.” Charlie put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’ve all forgotten it by now.” He looked backward. “At least, I think they have. We don’t want to hang around to find out." He started steering them both toward the tube station. Eric moved slowly.
“Pick ’em up, Eric. So you saw a girl, big deal. She’s gone. Forget about it."
“I can’t forget about it, Charlie." He didn’t consider his next words. They just materialized, like the Syrax. “I think I’m in love.”
The young advertising executive halted. For a long moment he considered the pavement, then stared at his longtime friend for an equal length of time. His expression was confused, and one eye half hid behind a bunched-up cheek.
“That’s funny, that is. You’re putting me on, aren’t you?’ ’
“No, I’m not. I’m serious, Charlie.”
“Sure you are.”
“I am.”
Charlie frowned, smiled crookedly, hesitated, then said, “Well I’ll be damned. A great looker like Gabriella practically throws herself on you and suddenly all you can think about is the proverbial face that passed in the night. Well, tough. Phoenix ain’t no pit stop in the race of life, Eric.” He held up two fingers a quarter-inch apart. “Your chances of ever seeing that face again are about this big.
“Or are you going to put an ad in the paper? ‘Wanted, beautiful girl, last seen traveling through intersection of Van Buren and Second Street at seven-thirty on the night of eighteen September.’ Naturally she’ll be an avid reader of the personals and she’ll pick up on your ad and call you immediately and you’ll get married and live happily ever after.”
“Charlie, there’s no romance in your soul.”
“Like hell there isn’t,” he shot back. “Ask Adrienne.”
“I said romance, not lust.”
“Look,” Charlie continued, “it doesn’t matter. I mean, this has been interesting and different and it’ll be a great story to tell in the office tomorrow, but you’ve got to get ready for a trip to Hong Kong and I’ve got the Bp insert packaging to design. All I’m saying is you have to put things in perspective. This isn’t an opto serial. Want a nightcap before we squirt the tube?”
“No. You’re right, Charlie. I don’t mean to hold you up. You could go on without me.”
“Like hell. You still look weird. I’m getting you home. I can see the headline, sixth minute on the channel hour reports: ‘Brilliant young designer for Selvem, Inc., found wandering downtown Phoenix streets in daze at four A.M. When questioned stated had fallen in love with face in crowd. Letters of sympathy directed to Chandler sanitarium.’” He hesitated and lost the sarcasm in his voice.
“Was she really that good-looking?”
“I never saw anything like her, Charlie.” There was uncommon intensity in his voice. “Not film-star beautiful. It was a different quality. Dreamy and ethereal, like something from a Parrish painting.”
“Maybe you’ll find her again in your dreams, Eric. Which you won’t enjoy if we don’t get out of here.” He checked his watch. “You know what happens after eight on a weekday. After that the tube runs one car on the half hour instead of every ten minutes. I don’t like hanging around the station waiting. I want to get home.”
Eric took a deep breath, smiled. “So do I.” He formed an apology. “You’re right about everything. It was interesting, though.”
“Like I said, it’ll make a great story. I won’t mention it if you don’t want me to.”
“What difference does it make? Be good for a few laughs. Come on.” He tugged at his friend’s arm. They started up Van Buren again.
“It wouldn’t matter even if you did find her again,” Charlie said into the silence. “I saw the car, too.”
“You didn’t see the people inside, though.”
“No, I didn’t. But it was a black Cadota and there was a chauffeur piloting it instead of a program. That’s for rich folks only, that machine. Sure, you’re a brilliant designer and all that. That works great on gals like Gabriella, but this mystery woman’s obviously way out of our class. Wouldn’t it be worse if by some miracle you did run into her again and she just ignored you?’ ’
“I supposed, but who says love has to be logical?”
“So you’re still smitten?”
Eric nodded, half shrugged.
“Terrific,” Charlie muttered. “Everything’s going great. Gabriella’s itching to jump in the sack with you and instead all you can think about is a millisecond glimpse of some woman who didn’t even see you. Now, does that sound like a candidate for the cupboard or not?”
"Think a minute, Charlie. What’s life without an occasional diversion to spice it up? What’s life without the exceptional exception?”
"Sensible, comfortable, and enjoyable,” was Charlie’s immediate rejoinder. “Other than that I can’t think of a damn thing.”
“Hell with it,” Eric said suddenly, clapping his friend on the back and checking his own wrist. “We can still make the seven-fifty car if we move it.” He increased his pace to a steady jog.
Charlie hoped he could shake this inexplicable, abrupt obsession out of his friend’s thoughts, but though Eric didn’t mention it again, there was no telling for sure. Eric had a way of sequestering seemingly forgotten items in the back of his mind and then pulling them out again for public display when least expected. Had he really given up on this evening’s absurdity, or was it after all only part of an elaborate joke? Even though he might be the butt of the humor, Charlie hoped for the latter. He didn’t want to see his friend make a fool of himself over something patently unobtainable.
It did seem as though Eric had forgotten it as they journeyed homeward. He talked only of business, the weather, and the game as the car accelerated to half a gee in the tube, the magnetic enclosure slipping beneath the streets to emerge beneath the Black Canyon freeway, then straight-arrowing north to arch over the Arizona Canal before increasing speed to 150 miles an hour.
“Charlie?”
“What?” He waited for the question. There were eight other late-hour commuters in the car and a lot of empty seats.
“I know that you’re a thoroughscan.”
“Well, what about it?” Charlie replied easily. That was an elaborate way of describing someone with a nearperfect memory. It was one reason he’d risen so fast in Selverv’s in-house advertising department. He could recall figures and designs with an ease that was the bane of his colleagues.
“That Cadota. Did you happen to notice its ID?”
“Hell no.” The reply followed the barest hint of uncertainty. “What makes you think I’d have time to thoroughscan a passing car?”
