There was a telephone number and an address out on Long Island. There
was nothing else.
"Three thousand is what it will cost you," the attendant said. "You're
lucky it's a joint account you have."
"Three thousand dollars!" gasped Horner. "For what?"
"For a new body, naturally. Twenty-five years old and in sound health.
Fit as a pin, you're guaranteed that. I think it's a bargain."
"But three thousand dollars--"
"What kind of car you drive?"
Horner told him.
"Buy it brand new?"
"I never buy second-hand cars," Horner told him haughtily.
"Then it cost you damn near as much as a new body is going to. What are
you complaining about?"
Horner clucked an answer and then was told he could go to the locker
room and climb into his clothing. He tipped the usual fifty cents,
showered, dressed in his street clothing. He did all this, trying not
to think about what he had heard--but the more he tried not to think
about it, the more he did think about it.
Calling himself a fool, he returned to the massaging rooms. He poked
his head inside the room in which the new man had given him a rub-down.
An attendant with a stocky build and shell-rimmed glasses stared out at
him, squinted myopically, and smiled. "Evening, Mr. Horner," he said.
It was George, who had given Horner his weekly massage every week for
the past five years--except tonight.
"Why, you're here!" blurted Horner.
"Sure am, sir. Wondered why you were late. Go ahead and undress, now.
I'll reserve your usual table...."
"But I just had my massage."
"Oh?" said George, trying to make his voice sound indifferent. "Trying
one of the other masseurs?"
"Not at all," snapped Horner. "You weren't here. Well, were you?"
"Never even stepped out. Been here all night," George said.
"But the other man, the new man--"
"No new man, Mr. Horner, sir. Haven't put on a new man in six-seven
months. I'd know, wouldn't I?"
"You'd know," said Horner slowly, after a silence.
* * * * *
"Something the matter, sir?"
"It's nothing. Nothing."
Horner got out of there very quickly. He took a cab home, which was
unusual for him. If George and his nameless friend had been playing an
elaborate practical joke, they had also been playing hob with Horner's
digestion. For now a hot sensation flooded his middle--his damned ulcer
acting up. Ulcers, he thought with a sudden wry smile, ulcers and what
else? You're forty-seven, Horner. A mildly successful life, a good
marriage, a middling business, no children, no outstanding debts--any
regrets?
Yes, Horner thought. Regrets. His ulcer was a regret. He had to be
careful what he ate, couldn't drink much. His rising blood pressure
would one day be a regret, even if it wasn't yet. And generally,
vaguely, his insignificance was a regret. He was not a meek man, but
he was no Tarzan of the Apes. He was not a small man, but he was no
Goliath. He was not a low-brow, but he was no Einstein. He was not
without an eye and some appeal for women, but he was no Don Juan. He
sighed, knowing you could extend the list indefinitely. Hugh Horner,
small businessman. Hugh Horner, small man.
"Here's your address, Mac," the cab driver said.
Horner got up with a start. He realized he had been sitting there for
some time with the cab perfectly still. He somehow sensed that time
had passed, more time than the thirty-odd minutes it would take a cab
to deliver him to his home on the other side of the Brooklyn-Battery
Tunnel.
"Where--where are we?" he asked the cabbie. For some reason, he
fingered the business card in his pocket. The one the new masseur, the
masseur who apparently did not exist, had given him.
The cabbie, shrugging, told him an address which was not immediately
familiar. Then, with a sudden quickening of his heart, Horner realized
it was the address on the business card in his pocket.
"You mean," Horner demanded, "we're on Long Island? I don't remember
telling you to take me here."
* * * * *
"Well, I didn't dream it up myself, Mac," the cabbie said. "Look, I
don't care if you get out or you don't get out. The flag is still down
and I'm still making money. So, what'll it be?"
"I ought to call my wife," Horner said.