The Bazaar of Bad Dreams

Don said, ‘Look on the bright side, you two. It seems we dodged the bullet in most of the Urs, including this one.’ But his voice wasn’t quite steady.

‘Robbie’s right,’ Wesley said. He had discovered that the final issue of The New York Times in Ur 4121989 was only three pages long, and every article was death. ‘Turn it off. I wish I’d never seen the damn Kindle in the first place.’

‘Too late now,’ Robbie said. And how right he was.

They went downstairs together and stood on the sidewalk in front of Wesley’s apartment building. Main Street was almost deserted. The rising wind moaned around the buildings and rattled late-November leaves along the sidewalks. A trio of drunk students stumbled back toward Fraternity Row, singing what might have been ‘Paradise City.’

‘I can’t tell you what to do – it’s your gadget – but if it was mine, I’d get rid of it,’ Don said. ‘It’ll suck you in.’

Wesley thought of telling him he’d already been sucked, but didn’t. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

‘Nope,’ Don said. ‘I’m driving the wife and kids to Frankfort for a wonderful three-day weekend at my in-laws’. Suzy Montanaro’s taking my classes. And after this little seminar tonight, I’m delighted to be getting away. Robbie? Drop you somewhere?’

‘Thanks, but no need. I share an apartment with a couple of other guys two blocks up the street. Above Susan and Nan’s Place.’

‘Isn’t that a little noisy?’ Wesley asked. Susan and Nan’s was the local café, and opened at 6:00 a.m. seven days a week.

‘Most days I sleep right through it.’ Robbie flashed a grin. ‘Also, when it comes to the rent, the price is right.’

‘Good deal. Night, you guys,’ Don started for his Tercel, then turned back. ‘I intend to kiss my kids before I turn in. Maybe it’ll help me get to sleep. That last story—’ He shook his head. ‘I could have done without that. No offense, Robbie, but stick your birthday up your ass.’

They watched his diminishing taillights and Robbie said thoughtfully, ‘Nobody ever told me to stick my birthday before. That’s a first.’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to take it personally. And he’s probably right about the Kindle, you know. It’s fascinating – too fascinating – but useless in any practical sense.’

Robbie stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘You’re calling access to thousands of undiscovered novels by the great masters of the craft useless? Sheezis, what kind of English teacher are you?’

Wesley had no comeback. Especially when he knew that, late or not, he’d probably be reading more of Cortland’s Dogs before turning in.

‘Besides,’ Robbie said. ‘It might not be entirely useless. You could type up one of those books and send it in to a publisher, ever think of that? You know, submit it under your own name. Become the next big thing. They’d call you the heir to Vonnegut or Roth or whoever.’

It was an attractive idea, especially when Wesley thought of the useless scribbles in his briefcase. But he shook his head. ‘It’d probably violate the Paradox Laws … whatever they are. More importantly, it would eat me like acid. From the inside out.’ He hesitated, not wanting to sound prissy, but wanting to articulate what felt like the real reason for not doing such a thing. ‘I would feel ashamed.’

The kid smiled. ‘You’re a good dude, Wes.’ They were walking in the direction of Robbie’s apartment now, the leaves rattling around their feet, a quarter moon flying through the wind-driven clouds overhead.

‘You think so?’

‘I do. And so does Coach Silverman.’

Wesley stopped, caught by surprise. ‘What do you know about me and Coach Silverman?’

‘Personally? Not a thing. But you must know Josie’s on the team. Josie Quinn from class?’

‘Of course I know Josie.’ The one who’d sounded like a kindly anthropologist when they’d been discussing the Kindle. And yes, he had known she was a Lady Meerkat, although one of the subs who usually got into the game only if it was a total blowout.

‘Josie says Coach has been really sad since you and her broke up. Grouchy, too. She makes them run all the time, and kicked one girl right off the team.’

‘She booted the Deeson girl before we broke up.’ Thinking: In a way that’s why we broke up. ‘Um … does the whole team know about us?’

Robbie Henderson looked at him as though he were mad. ‘If Josie knows, they all know.’

‘How?’ Ellen wouldn’t have told them; briefing the team on your love life was not a coachly thing to do.

‘How do women know anything?’ Robbie asked. ‘They just do.’

‘Are you and Josie Quinn an item, Robbie?’

‘We’re going in the right direction. G’night, Wes. I’m gonna sleep in tomorrow – no classes on Friday – but if you drop by Susan and Nan’s for lunch, come on up and knock on my door.’

‘I might do that,’ Wesley said. ‘Good night, Robbie. Thanks for being one of the Three Stooges.’