Chemistry
by James Patrick Kelly

                         1993 by Davis Publications, Inc. First Published in 
                        Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, June, 1993.
                        "I'm going to fall in love tonight," said Marja, "and 
                        this time you're coming with me." 
                        Lily had been staring without comprehension at Screen 8 
                        of 23/Brain Mechanisms in Mating. It was too hot for 
                        neurobiology; the spex with their heavy displays kept 
                        sliding down her nose. When she pushed them back up, 
                        Screen 8 flickered. "I have to study," she said, trying 
                        to remember the last time she'd heard a man whisper her 
                        name in the dark. 
                        "Face it, Lily, you think too damn much. What your 
                        synapses need is a nice warm norepinephrine bath." Marja 
                        Zoltowski had snuggled into a nest of pillows and tilted 
                        the top of her head backwards against the wall to keep 
                        her spex in place. Her Adam's apple bobbed when she 
                        spoke. 
                        "You Poles are such romantics." Lily shivered the way 
                        she used to when Glenn touched her face. "What is 
                        tonight, anyway?" 
                        "I don't know. Monday?" 
                        Lily blinked at the calendar icon and waited a second 
                        for the spex to retrieve her tickler from memory. "Okay, 
                        tomorrow we have day two of Freddy's virtual autopsy," 
                        she said, "and Wednesday is the immunology test. We 
                        hardly have time to sleep, much less fall for 
                        strangers." 
                        "Listen to yourself." Marja shook her head. "Do you call 
                        this a life?" 
                        "Nah," said Lily. Screen 9 of 12 was a diagram of the 
                        septo hypothalamic-mesencelphalic continuum. "I call it 
                        med school." 
                        "We could try that new place on Densmore Street. It's 
                        supposed to be grade."
                        "We? These are your urges, not mine. Why don't you just 
                        program a window shirt to flash available and hang out 
                        at Wally's?" 
                        "This isn't about sex, Lily, it's about feelings. 
                        Believe me, after they crank your hypothalamus you won't 
                        be able tell the difference between neuromance and the 
                        real thing." 
                        "Says you." 
                        "Emotions aren't magic, doctor. They are reproducible 
                        brain states." 
                        This was something Lily knew to be true, but preferred 
                        not to think about -- like the correlation between 
                        cheesecake and adipose tissue. "Anyway," she said, "we 
                        can't afford it."
                        "Love makes all things possible." 
                        Lily doubted that, but she said nothing. 
                        "I wonder what kind of men go out on a Monday night?" 
                        Marja smirked. "Gourmet cooks. Don't fancy restaurants 
                        close on Mondays?"
                        Lily set her spex on the kitchen table, mirror side 
                        down, so she wouldn't accidentally catch a glimpse of 
                        herself goofing off. "Weekend weathermen," she said. 
                        "Priests cutting loose after a long Sunday. I need to 
                        study tonight, and so do you." She got up to stretch her 
                        legs, but of course there was no room. She and Marja had 
                        squeezed into an efficiency apartment off campus and 
                        their stuff filled the place to overflowing. Two yard 
                        sale dressers, two futons, a MedNet node, a whiny 
                        refrigerator, a microwave on the kitchen table, two 
                        plastic chairs. They had to wash dishes in the bathroom, 
                        which had once been a closet. The closet was a 
                        clothesline stretched across the west wall. When the 
                        place was picked up she could take four, maybe five 
                        steps without bumping into something, but at the moment 
                        piles of hardcopy booby-trapped the floor like paper 
                        banana peels. There was a word for their lifestyle, she 
                        realized. Squalor. 
                        "How long have we known each other?" said Marja. "Almost 
                        two years and you haven't even breathed on a man. 
                        They're not all Glenns, you know. Look, we can fall in 
                        and out of love and still be back in plenty of time to 
                        weigh old Freddy's nonexistant spleen."
                        Lily picked up her spex again and held them at arm's 
                        length. From a distance the bright little images on the 
                        displays looked like a pair of shirt buttons. Had it 
                        really been two years? Maybe it was time to unbutton 
                        herself. 
                         
                        A private security rover patrolled Densmore Street; the 
                        servos of its infrared lenses mewled softly as it wove 
                        through the twilight. Most of the stores on the block 
                        were just closing: La Parfumerie, Hawkins Fine Wines, a 
                        World Food boutique and a couple of art galleries. Next 
                        to the Hothouse was the Office Restaurant. Through its 
                        windows Lily could see people in gray suits sitting 
                        alone at stylized desks, eating absently as they tweaked 
                        glowing blue spreadsheets. The neighborhood reeked of 
                        money and there was only fifty-three dollars and sixty 
                        seven cents left on her cash card. She wondered how much 
                        romance that would buy in the caviar part of town. 
                        At street level the Hothouse was as stolid as a bank: 
                        two stories of granite blocks regularly pierced by thin, 
                        dark windows. Higher up, it blossomed into a crystalline 
                        riot of glass and light. They hesitated in front of the 
                        marble threshold. 
                        "I bet they're wearing shoes made of real cow." Lily 
                        tucked her purse under her arm as if she expected some 
                        rampaging doorman to snatch it from her. 
                        "Don't worry." Marja touched Lily's hand. "You look 
                        fine." She had lent Lily a crepe off the shoulder dress 
                        her grandmother had left her. It was too 90's for Lily's 
                        taste, but Marja was the specialist when it came to this 
                        sort of thing. 
                        "You too," said Lily, "but that's not what I mean. Look 
                        where we are. We can't afford this -- unless you don't 
                        mind eating Cheerios for supper until finals."
                        "Come on. How much could it cost?" 
                        "What's the gross national product of Portugal?" 
                        "I'll ask, okay? I'll just poke my head in the door and 
                        find out."
                        "No, I'm coming." Lily rammed her purse deeper into her 
                        armpit and clamped it. 
                        Lily had expected flocked wallpaper and leather couches. 
                        Instead there were lots of bright plastic surfaces and a 
                        rug with all the ambiance of sandpaper. The lobby of the 
                        Hothouse was emphatically air-conditioned and 
                        illuminated almost to the point of discomfort. Only two 
                        of the five ticket booths were open. Beyond them was a 
                        bank of sliding doors, textured to look like the trunks 
                        of trees. 
                        "Hi." The cashier was a young woman in an extravagant 
                        foliage print dress. She had jade highlights in her 
                        black hair and an expression as guileless as a pansy. 
                        "Are you together?" The button on her collar said Ju. 
                        "Yes," said Marja.
                        "No." Lily nudged her. "We came together, but we're not 
                        together together."
                        Ju smiled. "Whatever."
                        "We're interested," Marja said, "but we're not really 
                        sure this place is for us. Can you tell us about it?" 
                        "As in, what does it cost?" Lily said. 
                        Ju slid a brochure across the counter toward them; her 
                        fingernails were polished the same green as her hair. 
                        "Your basic attraction enhancement is $39.95." She 
                        opened it; inside was a map. "Includes admission to all 
                        public areas on the third and fifth floors, all gardens, 
                        three dance floors, both pools, complimentary swimsuits 
                        and towels in the dressing booths. On the fourth floor 
                        are stores and services you'll pay extra for. Sit down 
                        and take-out restaurants, bars, gift shops, lingerie 
                        boutiques, contraception kiosks, simulators and personal 
                        fx galleries." 
                        It's nothing but a mall, Lily thought. I'm twenty-five 
                        years old and still looking for love at the mall.
                        "We also have fifty-three private encounter rooms," Ju 
                        pointed to the map, "on the sixth floor. We're the 
                        biggest neuromance palace in the city." 
                        Lily watched a little man in a navy blue jacket and gray 
                        slacks approach the other cashier. Her age but not her 
                        type; he looked as if he had just finished eating a memo 
                        salad at the Office Restaurant. "So how do you make 
                        someone fall in love?" she asked. 
                        "Oh, we don't make you fall. We enhance the attraction 
                        response. There's a big difference. See, we trick this 
                        part of your brain called the hypothalamus into ordering 
                        up these special hormones. It's all natural." 
                        "Hormones like LHRH and testosterone?" said Lily.
                        "Testosterone, right." Ju nodded. "That surprised me 
                        when I first heard it. I mean, you'd think you'd grow a 
                        mustache -- or worse. But it's okay; I've tried it." She 
                        gave them a blissful smile. "Don't know about the one 
                        with letters, they all sound the same. To tell the 
                        truth, they explained this to me once, but it didn't 
                        take. All I know is that whatever we do to you is 
                        approved by the FDA and licensed by the Board of Health. 
                        This card explains ... " 
                        "Give me that." Marja snatched it from Lily. "Believe 
                        me, the procedure is straight out of Wessinger's 
                        neurobiology lab. The less you think about it, the 
                        better you'll feel." 
                        "Whatever." Ju dimpled. "But really, one of the best 
                        parts is that they tickle something called your 
                        vomeronasal organ -- don't ask me how. You'll smell 
                        stuff you've never noticed before. Unbelievable, how 
                        great the food tastes. Try the brownies with brandy 
                        sauce." She kissed her fingers to the air and the man 
                        waiting at the next booth glanced over at them. Lily 
                        thought he might actually be shorter than she was. 
                        "So what if we pay you our forty bucks," she said, "and 
                        go upstairs and find there're no human beings left? I 
                        don't want to fall for an insurance salesman." 
                        "Oh, that's not a problem, believe me. We offer a money 
                        back guarantee, but only a few people ask. See, when 
                        those elevator doors open onto the welcome garden, 
                        you're ... I don't know ... ripe. I can't explain it 
                        exactly, but enhancement makes me realize how cute men 
                        look, how sweet they can be. At least while they're 
                        here. And it's really a grade crowd tonight. Some real 
                        hammers, if you know what I mean. I kind of wish I 
                        wasn't working myself."
                        An older man who shouldn't have been wearing red 
                        skintights got in line behind them, so they gave Ju 
                        their cash cards. While she debited them, she had them 
                        press thumbs to a blood drawer. She printed two green 
                        buttons that read Lily and Marja and explained that 
                        green was for righties, red for gays. She had them sign 
                        liability waivers and told them they'd need to give a 
                        urine sample and warned them about side effects. 
                        Although enhancement would wear off in four to five 
                        hours, they might have trouble falling asleep 
                        immediately after leaving the Hothouse; there was a 
                        chance their next periods might be a couple of days off 
                        schedule. She grinned, reminded them about the brownies 
                        and ushered them through the booth.
                        "We're in this together, right?" Lily whispered as the 
                        tree trunk doors opened. "You'll stop me before I do 
                        anything stupid?"
                        Marja laughed and patted her on the back. "Sort of late 
                        for that now." 
                         
                        Lily rubbed the button-sized swelling on her wrist where 
                        the orderly had poked her with the pressure syringe. Her 
                        purse hung loosely by her side. 
                        "Pulse acelerated." Marja was practically vibrating as 
                        the elevator climbed to the third floor. "Skin 
                        temperature elevated. Apocrine sweat glands -- whew!" 
                        She peered into Lily's left eye, "Doctor, your pupils 
                        are dilated!"
                        "Stop diagnosing." 
                        "Okay, so how do you feel?" 
                        Lily considered and then giggled. "Like I'm six and it's 
                        Christmas Eve. You're losing your corsage." 
                        Marja repinned the orchid which the orderly had laced 
                        with pheromones synthesized from her urine sample. The 
                        doors slid open. 
                        Fifteen or twenty faces turned, glowing with 
                        expectation. Lily was instantly drawn to them, 
                        understanding their conspicuous need because she shared 
                        it. They had hauled themselves out of the icy datastream 
                        into the warmth of high touch and beautiful feelings. As 
                        the enhancement drugs gripped her, she felt the weight 
                        of her life drop away. Tomorrow they would all go back 
                        to their desks and workshops and counters and she would 
                        ligate the arteries of a cybercorpse named Fred. But 
                        that was far removed from this bright dream of lush and 
                        immediate sensation. She let it fill her lungs and eyes 
                        and ears; she wanted to lick it. A band stood poised to 
                        play. Leaves like green hands waved at her. She itched 
                        to rub her bare feet on the moss rug, shinny up that 
                        palm tree, kiss all three of those men by the fountain 
                        just to find out how they tasted. No, she wasn't going 
                        to ask for her money back. She knew she would find him 
                        here. Someone to love, for a little while at least. His 
                        identity was a mystery only she could solve: Lily 
                        Brewster, girl detective. Maybe he was still lingering 
                        at the marble threshhold on Hope Street, ten thousand 
                        miles below, or already talking to Ju in the lobby. Most 
                        likely he was watching her, one of the happy faces, 
                        which she now noticed were arranged in a kind of loose 
                        formation. She and Marja stepped down into the welcome 
                        garden's central courtyard and smiling people closed 
                        around them. 
                        She smiled back, even after she realized she was going 
                        to have to square dance. 
                        The bass player had a voice as friendly as a milk 
                        commercial. 
                        "All square your sets around the hall,
                        Four couples to a set, listen to the call." 
                        He chose "The Texas Star," a simple figure dance which 
                        featured constant switching of partners. 
                        Her first was the short man from the lobby; his green 
                        name badge read Steve. She couldn't understand how he 
                        had gotten to the welcome garden before her. Just as the 
                        dance began, he insisted on shaking her hand. "You're 
                        freezing!" Lily said, clasping his cold hand between 
                        hers.
                        He stared as if he were memorizing her face. "I just 
                        washed up." When the fiddles started, he led her into a 
                        left-faced turn under his arched right arm. "You know, 
                        Lily, your handshake tells a lot about you." 
                        "Meet your partner, pass on by
                        Pick up your next one on the fly."
                        Nick, a pale man with a mustache like a caterpillar 
                        said, "I know you! We met at Justin Metaphor's last 
                        image launch." He stared at Lily's corsage as if he 
                        wanted to eat it. "You came as President Garmezy."
                        "Not me," she said. "I'm a Neurocrat."
                        "Smalls back out, bigs go in,
                        Make that Texas Star again." 
                        "Am I a big or a small?" She crooked her arm into that 
                        of a heavyweight with hair down his neck. Tomasz had 
                        feet as wide as shovels. 
                        "You're a small, my kitten, but plenty big enough for 
                        me." He had a thick Middle European accent; she decided 
                        to leave him for Marja. 
                        "Bigs back out and all circle eight
                        Circle back to place 'til you get it straight."
                        The fiddlers stroked their instruments. Was that her 
                        roommate, skipping like a girl scout? Lily was 
                        determined to initiate the next conversation. "This is 
                        probably the silliest damn thing I've ever done," she 
                        said to a red badge named Renfred who smelled of 
                        cigarettes.
                        "Never done it before." Sweat beaded across his face 
                        like a glass of iced tea. "I'm from Toronto."
                        "Hand over hand and heel over heel
                        The more you dance the better you feel."
                        "I've finally decided who you remind me of." Keith had 
                        green eyes and more teeth than a shark. "One of those 
                        Vermeer women, standing in front of a window." The fat 
                        end of his untied tie dangled in front of his crotch and 
                        the skinny end beat against his pocket as he danced. 
                        "Vermeer, you know, the painter?" 
                        Not a bad line, she thought, but he ruined it by 
                        prompting her. "Keith." She tugged the tie from around 
                        his neck and handed it to him. "Is this yours?"
                        Her next partner ignored her. "Yes, of course I did." He 
                        spoke over his shoulder to the Asian woman behind Lily. 
                        "She belonged with her parents." 
                        "Tuck in your shirt, pull down your vest
                        And bow to the one you like the best."
                        The fiddlers tipped their instruments toward the caller 
                        and the dance ended. Lily might have nodded at Keith, 
                        the Vermeer fan, if he'd been paying attention, but he 
                        was already fawning over an older woman with eyes like 
                        targets. Someone tapped her left shoulder; she turned. 
                        "My name is Steve." The guy with cold hands bowed.
                        "Lily." She glanced down to see that she hadn't lost her 
                        name badge. "Obviously." 
                        "Lily, do you know that people rarely change their first 
                        impressions?" His eye contact was relentless.
                        "Is that so?" she said. Steve was as clean-cut as a 
                        Marine recruiter. He had stubby fingers and wide 
                        shoulders. A thread hung loose from the middle 
                        buttonhole of his jacket. "What's yours?" He hadn't 
                        gotten any taller. 
                        He held up open palms, as if to show he was unarmed. 
                        "That you're gorgeous, lonely, nervous and still 
                        shopping. Will you at least let me shake your hand 
                        again?"
                        "Promise to give it back?" she said. He had a precise 
                        and sincere grip that didn't try to prove anything. 
                        "You've warmed up." Their hands fit together nicely. 
                        "When my palms get sweaty," he said, "I rinse them under 
                        cold water. It's a sales trick: the confident man keeps 
                        a cool hand."
                        She had never understood why men always said such odd 
                        things to her. 
                        "Here's another," he continued. "Say we're shaking and 
                        you haven't decided whether to trust me. Look where your 
                        hand is, Lily. When we started talking, you kept it 
                        close to your body. Now that I've drawn it toward me 
                        slightly, you've come along with it." 
                        Lily let go of him. She reminded herself that this was a 
                        man with a crew cut who practiced sales tricks. "And 
                        what are you trying to sell me?" 
                        "I don't know yet." His voice was low. "First I have to 
                        find out if I carry what you want."
                        The elevator doors opened and everyone turned to inspect 
                        the new arrivals. It was Old Man Skintights and a 
                        thirtyish brunette in a caramel-colored suit. As the 
                        dancers moved to welcome them, the fiddlers picked up 
                        their bows. 
                        "Never leave a prospect until you schedule your next 
                        meeting." Steve grinned. "Shall we say, after this 
                        dance?" He strolled away whistling but paused at the 
                        edge of the garden and called to her. "I like you, Lily 
                        Obviously." He disappeared behind a hibiscus covered 
                        with red flowers.
                        There's a man who knows exactly what he wants, she 
                        thought, and I'm it. She was at once pleased and scared 
                        and slightly let down. Where had he gone so abruptly? To 
                        rinse in cold water? 
                        The caller tapped the belly of his bass. "All square 
                        your sets ..." 
                        Lily had intended to dance again, but that was what he 
                        expected her to do. She thought it better to be 
                        unpredictable, make his hands sweat. She spotted some 
                        people gathered beneath a statue of a satyr groping a 
                        nymph. 
                        "Now you're getting into ideology," a nervous black man 
                        said. "Ask Alice about that." 
                        "About what?" said a woman in a poet's blouse and orange 
                        tights.
                        "Keith here claims the female orgasm is vestigial. A 
                        leftover, like an appendix."
                        "Should we kill him now," Betty said to T.J., who had 
                        his arm around her waist, "or hear him out first?"
                        "Hey, I'm not against anyone's orgasm," Keith said 
                        quickly. "My point is that in evolutionary terms, female 
                        orgasm is irrelevant. Some societies don't even have a 
                        word for it."
                        "We should make one up for them," said Lily. "How about 
                        shimmer? Or leap? 
                        "Oh yes, baby, yes, I'm rippling." 
                        Alice shook her head. "Maybe you ripple, honey, but I 
                        surge."
                        All the women laughed. 
                        Keith wasn't giving up. "Women reproduce whether they 
                        climax or not. With us, orgasm is everything. If we 
                        don't come, there's no ball game." 
                        "Ball game?" Betty rubbed against T.J. "Why is it that 
                        whenever we try to talk about love, men change the 
                        subject to sports?" 
                        "It's because we take pleasure differently," said Alice. 
                        "A man gets off on objects. He sees tits and an ass and 
                        he doesn't care who they're attached to. We need 
                        intimacy and tenderness to enjoy ourselves. We don't 
                        give a damn how the his cock is; we want to know the 
                        size of his feelings." 
                        "All men want is sex." Maya sighed. "We want love." 
                        "Ah, bullshit," said T.J "I want to dance." 
                        "Look, someone's imprinting." 
                        The band broke into the ceremonial "Only You Tonight" 
                        and dancers closed in a circle around a couple, clapping 
                        and cheering them on. Lily strained to see who it was. 
                        Big Tomasz with the shovel feet -- and Marja! "Wait!" As 
                        Lily raced across the courtyard, Marja pulled Tomasz 
                        down to her. He buried his nose in her corsage. The 
                        orderly had explained that once a two people imprinted 
                        themselves with each others' pheromones, they would be 
                        inseparable the rest of the night. When Tomasz came up, 
                        his eyes were gleaming. 
                        Lily waved frantically at her but Marja paid no 
                        attention. Tomasz offered her the chocolate the Hothouse 
                        staff had impregnated with his own musky androstenols. 
                        It was wrapped in gold foil; she unpeeled it 
                        lasciviously, pressed it between her lips and chewed, 
                        her jaws working around a cheek-stretching smile. 
                        The crowd's rhythmic clapping punctuated the impromptu 
                        ceremony. "Let's congratulate the new couple," said the 
                        caller from behind his bass. Now that they had 
                        imprinted, their badges changed to a color which only 
                        they shared. It was the purple of venous blood. "Seal it 
                        with a kiss!" the caller cried. 
                        The crowd whooped.
                        "Isn't he grade?" Marja was glowing. "Am I lucky or 
                        what? This is Lily, my roommate. Tomasz is a lion tamer, 
                        can you believe that?" Lily could smell the chocolate on 
                        her breath. 
                        "Moj Boze, Marja, ja cie kocham." 
                        "Aren't lions extinct?" Lily said. 
                        He didn't hear her; he and Marja were kissing again. By 
                        the time they finished, Lily assumed he had forgotten 
                        the question, so she asked again. 
                        "In the wild, yes." He kept one massive arm clasped 
                        around Marja's shoulder as if she were a trophy he had 
                        just won. "I work with the New World cats mostly, 
                        cougars and jaguars. We have one leopard." He feinted at 
                        her with his free hand and grinned when she recoiled. 
                        "All strong enough to kill you." 
                        "I didn't even know the circus was in town."
                        "They leave Wednesday," said Marja. "Which is why we're 
                        going to the fifth floor right now and find a quiet 
                        place and tell each other our life stories. Maybe later 
                        we can swim." 
                        "I want an olive pizza," said Tomasz, "and a liter of 
                        kava." 
                        "Okay, kava and pizza." She nestled up to him. "What 
                        else do you want?"
                        He had a laugh that could worry a cougar. 
                        "So Marja," said Lily, "maybe we should set a time to 
                        meet?"
                        "No, no, I'll get home on my own." She gave Lily a look 
                        like a bedroom door closing. "Don't wait up. I'll see 
                        you at Freddy's tomorrow." 
                        "Freddy?" said Tomasz.
                        "He's nobody," she said as she steered her prize away. 
                        Lily filled with doubts as she watched her friend go. 
                        They had promised not to let each other do anything 
                        stupid. Did falling for a lion tamer qualify? Now that 
                        she'd been abandoned, she wished she were home studying. 
                        Coming to the Hothouse made sense in the romantic 
                        abstract, but the men here were all annoyingly specific. 
                        She wasn't attracted to anyone and even if she were, how 
                        could she trust her feelings? They'd pumped her so full 
                        of hormones she could probably fall for a vacuum cleaner 
                        if it smelled right. She decided she didn't much like 
                        being enhanced, although she understood that there was 
                        no difference between the brain chemistry of neuromance 
                        and actually falling in love. Despite her B+ in 
                        Wessinger's class, Lily was reluctant to accept a 
                        mechanistic view of her inner life. She didn't like 
                        being reminded that love, hope and joy were merely 
                        outputs of her limbic system. What she ought to do was 
                        march right down for a refund, go home and stare into 
                        her spex until she had memorized the immunoglobulins. 
                        The idea was oddly comforting: maybe the enhancement was 
                        wearing off. Marja had warned her that thinking too much 
                        about it might spoil the effect. 
                        "You didn't dance."
                        She moaned. "Oh, shit." She couldn't help herself. Steve 
                        had taken off the navy blue jacket; he was wearing a 
                        white shirt and a red striped tie. "I'm sorry. Look, 
                        this has nothing to do with you. You seem nice enough. 
                        It's just ... I'm probably going to leave. Get my money 
                        back."
                        "Why?" 
                        "Because I don't like being programmed. I mean, I 
                        realized that's what would happen when I walked in, but 
                        I thought somehow it would fool me. Now I know better. 
                        This just doesn't feel like love. It's a chemistry 
                        experiment."
                        "You've been in love before, Lily?" 
                        "Of course." He wouldn't take a hint; she'd probably 
                        have to be rude. 
                        "What's it like?"
                        "Oh, come on." She watched him watching her, his pupils 
                        like black buttons. "You know."
                        "No. I've never been in love."
                        "What, you grew up in a monastery?" 
                        The sarcasm seemed to bounce off him. "I thought I was 
                        in love once." He paused, as if deciding how much to 
                        tell her. "We worked in the same office. She was older. 
                        Married. When her husband found out, she broke it off. 
                        She said she didn't love me and that I didn't really 
                        love her." 
                        "And you believed her?" Lily didn't know why she was 
                        encouraging him. He nodded. "She was right. The sex was 
                        great but it wasn't love. I got all excited because she 
                        was beautiful, smart, rich, powerful, what I thought I 
                        wanted. But we never talked, except about the business 
                        or the weather or what hotel to meet at. The day we 
                        broke up she told me she was a Catholic and went to 
                        church every Sunday. She said she'd felt really guilty 
                        about what we'd been doing. It wasn't a secret, I just 
                        never asked." 
                        The elevator doors opened again and a bald Hispanic 
                        woman blinked in astonishment at the welcome garden. 
                        "I realized that if I hadn't loved her, then I'd never 
                        loved anyone."
                        The musicians were ready. "Hell of a thing to find out 
                        about yourself," she said.
                        "Something I'd like to fix, Lily." 
                        This was her chance; she could escape into the next 
                        dance. She wouldn't have to hurt him -- not that she 
                        cared. Afterward she could sneak away. She didn't need a 
                        man with another woman's footprints up his back. But if 
                        she left now, who was going to make sure Marja didn't 
                        run off with the circus?
                        "What happened to your jacket?" she said. "Your name 
                        badge?" 
                        "I went to find a place where we could be alone. I left 
                        them to hold our spot." 
                        The bass player announced a new dance called "Swing or 
                        Cheat" and sets began forming around them. 
                        "It's really pretty," Steve said. "There's a stream and 
                        a bush with tiny oranges on it and white flowers that 
                        smell like honey."
                        Lily was getting used to the way he made eye contact. 
                        Whatever Steve's other faults, she believed he was 
                        sincere. Glenn had always looked away when he lied to 
                        her.
                        "You just left your jacket there?" she said. "I hope no 
                        one takes it." 
                         
                        He led her down a slate path past the eight foot wide 
                        sheet of falling water which drowned the shrilling of 
                        the fiddles. They turned into one of the garden's many 
                        little clearings. The bench was wrought iron; it sat low 
                        on a lawn of lemon thyme. The stream burbled in front of 
                        them and the air hung heavy and sweet. Steve's jacket 
                        was folded over the armrest. 
                        "Calamondin oranges." She slid her purse under the 
                        bench. "They're sour, just barely edible. They make good 
                        marmalade, though."
                        "How do you know so much about plants?"
                        "My dad's hobby, actually. He had a greenhouse. I 
                        remember in the winter, it was always so bright and 
                        warm. Like going on vacation. The pots were all on 
                        wheels; when he was away I used to move plants around 
                        and build myself a jungle. He was away a lot. He was a 
                        doctor too."
                        "Is he still alive?"
                        "No, my parents are both dead." She let one of her shoes 
                        drop off. "He always said he liked flowers so much he 
                        had one for a daughter." She tickled her foot in the 
                        thyme. This clearing reminded her of one of her jungles. 
                        
                        "My father is an engineer on an oil tanker," Steve said. 
                        "He'd be at sea for three months and then with us for 
                        two. I missed him when he was away, but once he got home 
                        I couldn't wait for him to ship out again. He was too 
                        strict and he yelled at Mom. Since they divorced, I 
                        haven't seen him much. Now Mom -- she's great. She 
                        worked twenty eight years at Sears, wherever they needed 
                        her. She could talk you into a tent or towels or a 
                        thinkmate, no problem. I was a shy boy, if you can 
                        believe that, but she kept pushing me. She said I had to 
                        go out and show the world what a great son she had."
                        As he spoke, Lily folded and unfolded her hands. She 
                        didn't want to hear about Steve's family problems and 
                        now she was embarrassed to have shared memories of her 
                        father with a stranger. "What are we doing here?" 
                        "I don't know about you, Lily, but I'm enjoying the 
                        view." He leaned back and looked her up and down with 
                        obvious approval "Pretty flowers, great company -- hey, 
                        ssh!" 
                        He held a finger to his lips. There were muffled voices, 
                        then footsteps on the path. The foliage hid the 
                        strollers but as they approached Lily heard a man 
                        declaiming with the grandiloquence of a longtime 
                        Shakespeare abuser. "She walks in beauty, like the night 
                        of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's 
                        best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes 
                        ...." 
                        Lily held in her laughter until they were safely past, 
                        then she burst. After a second, Steve roared too, 
                        although she suspected that it was only because he was 
                        relieved that she was finally unwinding. 
                        "So you can laugh," he said. "What an improvement!" 
                        "It's just ... the old Byron trick." She couldn't catch 
                        her breath. "The corniest, the lamest ...." She started 
                        to dissolve again. 
                        "This Byron writes poems?"
                        "Lord Byron, you dope." It didn't seem to help. "Hey, 
                        even I know Byron and I took hackers' English in 
                        college." 
                        He leaned forward and reached between his feet for a 
                        sprig of thyme. He said nothing. 
                        "I can't believe anyone over eighteen would fall for a 
                        line like that." 
                        He started defoliating the thyme. "Maybe she likes 
                        poetry." 
                        "But don't you see, that's the whole problem! Tired old 
                        poems work, dumb songs work, honesty works, lies work, 
                        every trick in the book works. There's no choice 
                        involved, we're practically defenseless here." 
                        "You know what the problem is, Lily?" He looked unhappy. 
                        "You're too busy thinking to enjoy yourself." 
                        She was surprised at how much his disapproval stung. 
                        "Excuse me?" He was nobody, a pushy salesman she hardly 
                        knew. "Using your head isn't exactly a handicap, you 
                        know." She waited for him to apologize, explain himself, 
                        make her feel better, but he let the silence stretch. 
                        The dumb little bastard. He wasn't going to get away 
                        with hurting her; she could retaliate. "So Steve, what 
                        was your major in college?" She already knew the answer. 
                        
                        "Didn't have one."
                        "Oh come on, everyone ..."
                        "Didn't go."
                        The stream babbled through another long silence. She 
                        thought of twelve different things to say, but couldn't 
                        speak because she was too ashamed of herself for 
                        humiliating him. What a snob she was! If this was 
                        neuromance then she could do without it; she'd had more 
                        conflicting feelings in the past half hour than she'd 
                        had in six months. Steve stood up, put on his jacket, 
                        sat down again. She watched him, an emptiness growing 
                        within her. Maybe she couldn't fall anymore, maybe the 
                        parts of her brain that loved had atrophied. 
                        "You never answered my question, Lily," he said. 
                        "What was it?" 
                        "You were going to tell me what it's like to be in 
                        love."
                        "It stinks, actually." She didn't hesitate. "You lose 
                        everything, your friends, your freedom. Your bathroom. 
                        He kicks you awake at three in the morning but if he's 
                        not there you can't sleep. He never wants the vid you 
                        want and he doesn't eat fish and he can't wait to tell 
                        you when you're wrong. And when you're fighting, it 
                        feels like you're getting an appendectomy without 
                        anesthesia." 
                        "You call that a sales pitch?" There was a hint of a 
                        smile on his lips. "If it's so horrible, why come here?" 
                        
                        "I don't know why I came here." Another silence that she 
                        didn't want loomed. "I'm sorry, Steve." 
                        "Hey, you said my name! That's the first time you said 
                        my name." 
                        "I figured it was time, since you've said mine a hundred 
                        times already." She gave a dry chuckle. "What is that, 
                        anyway, another sales trick?" 
                        "You know studies show only twenty percent of 
                        communication is verbal." He slid slowly across the 
                        bench toward her. "The other eighty percent depends on 
                        non-verbal cues." He kept coming. "Facial expressions, 
                        posture, tone of voice." When he stopped, they were six 
                        inches apart. "I'm in your personal space now. We're not 
                        touching but you can feel me, can't you?" 
                        "Yes." She liked the feeling. It was like coming out of 
                        an ice storm and standing next to a crackling fire.
                        "Sales tricks are based on the way people are, Lily. 
                        They connect with real feelings. Sure, some people use 
                        them to sell bad products or unnecessary ones, but I 
                        don't. I just try to give the prospect what she wants." 
                        Lily watched his mouth as he spoke. For some reason, the 
                        way his lips moved fascinated her. She could see his 
                        teeth and the tip of his tongue. 
                        "But you don't know what you want, do you?"
                        "I want to be happy." 
                        "But you don't want to fall in love?" He leaned and 
                        brushed his shoulder against her. "Lose your freedom? 
                        Everything?"
                        "Maybe it's too late." She was surprised to hear herself 
                        say it aloud, although she had known it for some time. 
                        "I wonder what would happen if I sniffed my own 
                        corsage?" She touched it absently. "Probably spend the 
                        night crouching by the stream, admiring myself."
                        "I'd like to spend the night admiring you, Lily. 
                        Obviously."
                        She laughed and then she kissed him. When she closed her 
                        eyes, he smelled like chocolate. It had to be some kind 
                        of trick, she thought before she stopped thinking. When 
                        she finished with him, she saw her own smile reflected 
                        on his lips. 
                        "I'm hungry." Lily slipped her hand into his pocket. "Do 
                        you have anything to eat?" She trapped the candy against 
                        his taut abdominal muscles. 
                        He squirmed as if he were ticklish. "Can we do this in 
                        private?"
                        As far as she was concerned, the rest of the Hothouse 
                        was nothing but rumors and mist. "We can do whatever we 
                        want." 
                        She expected some kind of cortisol and epinephrine boost 
                        when she ate the chocolate but all she felt was the 
                        lingering warmth of his kiss. It was only when he 
                        lowered his head slowly, deliberately, to her corsage, 
                        that her blood began to pound. He filled his lungs with 
                        her scent. "Nice," he said, "but I prefer the real 
                        thing." 
                        "Hey look," she said, "our badges have already changed 
                        ...." 
                        He covered her mouth with his, filling her world in all 
                        directions. He certainly knew how to sell a kiss. She 
                        brushed her fingertips across his cheek and he pulled 
                        back and rubbed his cheek against hers. "You like to 
                        hear me say your name." He nuzzled her ear. "Don't you?" 
                        He was whispering. "Lily?" 
                        "Yes," she said. "Oh, yes." 
                         
                        She told him about getting an A- in Professor Graves 
                        Anatomy class where twenty students failed and he told 
                        her about the time he'd hit a grand slam off Chico 
                        Moran, who was now the number two starter for the 
                        Dodgers. She'd done her pre-med at Michigan State and 
                        he'd played shortstop for a season and a half with the 
                        Red Sox's farm team in New Britain, Connecticut before 
                        blowing out his knee sliding into third. It was the 
                        worst moment of his life; hers was when her father died. 
                        He was twenty-six, she was twenty-five. She warned him 
                        she wouldn't eat artichokes or buffalo or anything with 
                        peanut butter in it. He'd never had an artichoke. He 
                        bragged about the time his mother sold a watch to Vice 
                        President Blaine and made the six o'clock news. Her 
                        mother had never worked, she'd stayed home to take care 
                        of Lily and her two sisters and drink blush wine. Lily 
                        was the youngest, Steve was an only child. She 
                        complained about Marja's shoes. He hardly ever saw his 
                        best friend because he caught for the Colorado Rockies. 
                        He made her tell him about Glenn who was at Johns 
                        Hopkins now studying gerontology because that was where 
                        the money was. They'd lived together off-campus their 
                        senior year in East Lansing; Glenn had a four handicap 
                        in golf and wanted her to wear stupid hats when he was 
                        in the mood for sex. He told her a little more about 
                        Marsha, how she'd taught him how to sell and how she 
                        apologized for her Caesarian scar the first time they'd 
                        made love. He said the best times together were when she 
                        let him drive her Porsche 717 and Lily laughed and said 
                        Glenn had a Mazda Magic which he had never let her drive 
                        but that once when he went home for his grandmother's 
                        funeral she had swiped his keys and cranked it to 110 on 
                        I 96 and had never told anyone until now so they pressed 
                        their bodies hard against each other and kissed until 
                        their lips were numb and Lily wondered what it cost to 
                        rent an encounter room on the sixth floor.
                        By eleven the clearing was too small for them. It was 
                        time to see if their newfound infatuation was portable. 
                        They started strolling hand in hand up the slate path 
                        before she realized she had left her purse behind. 
                        Almost everybody had in the welcome garden paired up and 
                        dispersed; there were only enough dancers to make two 
                        sets. Lily thought she detected a note of desperation in 
                        the music. As the dancers promenaded, the caller warned 
                        them: 
                        Hurry up strangers, don't be slow,
                        You'll never fall in love unless you do-si-do.
                        Maybe the band was ready to pack up. As she watched Old 
                        Man Skintights bravely circling the floor, she wondered 
                        what it would feel like to get enhanced and then not 
                        find anyone to fall for. A refund wouldn't really cover 
                        the cost of being iced out at a neuromance palace. She 
                        remembered her first glimpse of the welcome garden, when 
                        it had bubbled with exotic possibilities. Now it seemed 
                        as flat as yesterday's champagne. 
                        "They gave us four or five hours," she said. "At 
                        midnight we all turn into pumpkins." 
                        Steve had zero tolerance for melancholy. "This way." He 
                        aimed her at the elevators. 
                        "No," she said, "let's walk up."
                        "Two flights?"
                        "Oh, we have to peek at shops on the fourth floor," she 
                        said. He looked doubtful. "Maybe get something to eat?"
                        "I'm not hungry." 
                        "Well, what if I am?" 
                        He colored; it was the first time she had seen him 
                        embarrassed. "Sorry." He turned reluctantly toward the 
                        stairs but when he tugged at her to follow, she let him 
                        go. 
                        "Steve, what's the matter?"
                        "I don't know." He shrugged. "Maybe it's just that I 
                        hate being sold things I don't need." She sensed that he 
                        wanted to say something else -- but he didn't. 
                        "I'll swallow my cash card, okay?" Lily said. He reached 
                        out for her and she came to him. "I'll be good. 
                        Promise." 
                        Where the third floor had been a hot, dark blur, the 
                        fourth was a place to lounge and consume conspicuously. 
                        With its open sight lines, it flaunted the true size of 
                        the Hothouse. The shops and restaurants ringed an 
                        enormous irregularly-shaped pool. Its bays and 
                        pennisulas were landscaped with bougainvillea. There 
                        were sandy beaches and ten foot bluffs. They saw couples 
                        sprawled on checked tableclothes beside wicker picnic 
                        baskets: the picnickers drank wine from bottles with 
                        broad shoulders and broke long sticks of french bread. 
                        "We can swim," said Lily. "That's free."
                        "Sure." When he gave her a forlorn smile, she worried 
                        that he was relieved to be getting away from her. 
                        The dressing booths were between the Honey Bun Bakery 
                        and the Intimate Moment, a lingerie store. The bakery 
                        breathed the yeasty aroma of warm bread onto them. 
                        Lily's mouth watered but she said nothing. Instead she 
                        kissed Steve and he brightened. They went through 
                        separate doors. 
                        Her booth was a four foot square; its only furnishing 
                        was a shelf-like seat. The far wall was a screen on 
                        which appeared her image, larger than life. She winked 
                        at herself and then giggled because she was certain that 
                        she had just discovered Steve's secret character flaw: 
                        he was cheap. Somehow that reassured her, perhaps 
                        because it was so curable. It wasn't as if he were a 
                        womanizer or a drunk or a golfer. Lily believed she 
                        understood thrift since she practiced it of necessity 
                        herself. Someday, when she was a rich gynecologist, they 
                        would come here and she would buy him something from 
                        every shop. 
                        Suddenly the little booth seemed very chilly. The 
                        enhancement that had helped her fall for Steve would 
                        wear off in a couple of hours and then what would be 
                        left of her feelings for him? Maybe there wasn't going 
                        to be any someday with Steve. 
                        "Welcome to the Hothouse." When the booth spoke to her, 
                        it was her own image that appeared to be talking. "This 
                        is a dressing booth. Occupancy is strictly limited to 
                        one. For those couples requiring privacy, may we suggest 
                        our encounter rooms on the six floor?"
                        "Oh?" She leered at herself. "And how much would they 
                        cost?"
                        Eight windows opened down the left hand side of the 
                        screen. "Encounter rooms range from $20 to $110." Each 
                        window showed a differently priced room. Twenty dollars 
                        bought a closet with a bed in it; the suite with a 
                        chandelier and the flocked wallpaper cost a hundred. 
                        "Shall I make a reservation for you now?"
                        "No, make me a bathing suit."
                        The rooms disappeared. "Swimdress, tank, two piece or 
                        bikini?" 
                        "Bikini."
                        She whimpered when saw herself on the screen in a 
                        generic black bikini. There had to be some perverse 
                        glitch in the booth's software; her skin was the color 
                        of cement and her knees looked like doorknobs. 
                        "Would you prefer a bandeau, halter or athletic top?" 
                        "Bandeau."
                        "Underwire, sculptex, pump, or natural?"
                        "Pump?"
                        She watched in horror as her breasts rose like popovers 
                        baking on fast-forward. If they'd been lifted any higher 
                        they would have been pointing at the moon. 
                        "No, natural."
                        They receded. She turned sideways and eyed her figure 
                        hopelessly. She experimented with a high-cut brief but 
                        the edges of her glutei maximi hung out of it like 
                        mocking fleshy grins. The booth could fabricate the suit 
                        in any of three thousand prints or 1.2 million solids. 
                        With a sigh, she chose something in the mid-cyan range. 
                        Letting him see her in a swimsuit on the first date -- 
                        what had she been thinking of? A drawer slid open with 
                        the suit and towel in a sealed plastic bag. 
                        "After pressing your thumb to the printreader, deposit 
                        your belongings in the drawer for later retrieval." Lily 
                        could not help but think of Steve's cool hands as she 
                        started unbuttoning the front of her dress. 
                        She came out of the dressing booth and immediately 
                        panicked: Steve wasn't waiting. The door to his booth 
                        was open! Her first thought was that he was mad at her 
                        and had left. Her skin felt tight. Maybe he'd gone back 
                        to the welcome garden to try his luck again, or left the 
                        Hothouse altogether. Oh God, what had she been thinking 
                        of? They should've taken the damn elevator; she didn't 
                        really care about swimming and she couldn't afford to 
                        shop. She had to find him, apologise -- but should she 
                        get dressed first or ransack the Hothouse in her bikini? 
                        While she was trying to decide, he came out of the men's 
                        room. The sight of him made her eyes burn. This was 
                        love, yes, it had already reduced her to a dithering 
                        adolescent.
                        "Lily, are you all right?" he said. 
                        She swooped into his embrace. "Fine now." She didn't 
                        know why it had bothered her before that he was short. 
                        She put her arms around his compact athlete's body and 
                        realized that a larger man wouldn't be quite so 
                        huggable. She noticed that he was slightly lopsided, 
                        right deltoids and biceps bigger than the left. All 
                        those throws to first base. "I just missed you." 
                        "Look at you." He peeled her away from him. "You're 
                        beautiful. Fantastic." 
                        They kissed again and she ran her fingertips across his 
                        back and felt his skin warming hers. She knew exactly 
                        what had happened: the fear of losing him had hit her in 
                        the adrenal glands. Hard. Hormones had seeped and 
                        messenger chemicals had washed into the deepest parts of 
                        her brain but the chemistry didn't matter to her 
                        anymore. She wanted him. It wasn't only lust; she wanted 
                        to ease his pain over losing baseball, to thank him for 
                        listening to her whine about Glenn, to show him what 
                        love might be. They would be so good for one another, 
                        only she didn't have the $20. She tried to think of a 
                        way to get him to split the cost of a room without 
                        aggravating him about the money. 
                        "Lily," he murmured. "There's something I have to tell 
                        you."
                        She shuddered -- she hated the way men confessed! They 
                        didn't know how and besides, whenever they were sorry, 
                        it was always for the wrong thing. Lily wasn't 
                        interested in what he had to say She wanted to tell him 
                        to shut up. But she didn't have to. 
                        "Lily!" Someone was waving. 
                        "Over here. Lily." Marja stood, hands raised, on a red 
                        checked tablecloth on the beach. Tomasz lolled at her 
                        feet like a sleepy tiger. 
                        "Just wave back," said Steve, "we really need to talk." 
                        "She's my best friend. She'll strangle me if I don't 
                        introduce you." 
                        Marja was wearing a purple maillot that had a cookie 
                        sized transparency sprite roving across its surface, 
                        exposing pale skin. That might have explained why her 
                        cheeks were so red, but Lily doubted it. Tomasz sat up 
                        as they approached and rubbed his eyes. There was a 
                        half-full bottle of kava in the picnic basket. Someone 
                        had kicked white sand into an empty pizza carton. 
                        "And who is this?" Marja said. 
                        "Steve." Lily said. "My God, Steve, you haven't told me 
                        your last name yet." 
                        "Beauchamp." 
                        "Nice to meet you." They shook hands; Lily watched and 
                        wondered what he discovered about her. "I was just about 
                        to swim," said Marja. "You two interested in a quick 
                        dip?"
                        "Sure," said Lily. She glanced over at Steve; he was 
                        pouting. "Steve?" 
                        He shook his head. 
                        "Good. Let the ladies go." Tomasz rolled toward the 
                        kava. "We'll work the bottle." 
                        The two women waded into the tepid water. When it lapped 
                        at her waist, Marja sank backwards with a weary moan. "A 
                        pretty little one you picked," she said. 
                        "I think so," Lily said. "So, did you do anything stupid 
                        yet?"
                        "I let him talk me into this damn bathing suit. Bad 
                        enough people can see my thighs but random nudity ...." 
                        She snorted in disgust. "My synapses don't snap for 
                        Tomasz the way they used to, but it was grade while it 
                        lasted."
                        "How was the sixth floor?"
                        "What, am I still flushed? For a while I thought my face 
                        had caught fire." She ducked underwater and came up 
                        spluttering laughter. "He's one of the hammers -- isn't 
                        that what the receptionist called them? Wasn't much of a 
                        talker, but he communicated, wow. Got that from his 
                        cats, I guess. Funny to be talking about him in the past 
                        tense already." She splashed Lily. "So did you have an 
                        encounter?"
                        "We've talked a lot, that's all. He's very ... I don't 
                        know ... decisive. From the moment we met he seemed so 
                        sure that he wanted me. Eventually I started wanting 
                        him. A lot." She laughed. "Whatever they gave us must 
                        have worked overtime because I ... I think really love 
                        him, Marja. I don't want this to be over in an hour." 
                        She did a few backstrokes away from the shore, where 
                        Steve was gesturing at Tomasz with the bottle of kava. 
                        "Is that supposed to happen?" 
                        "Hey, maybe you talked too much, roomie. You're not in 
                        the market for a keeper. Besides, where would you put 
                        him?" 
                        "He can stay at his place; I just want to borrow him 
                        once in awhile. Anyway, right before we spotted you he 
                        said he had something important to tell me, which is 
                        probably that he's emigrating to Uzbekistan next 
                        Wednesday." When Lily waved to him, Steve got up and 
                        walked edge of the water. "I should get back," she said. 
                        
                        "Tomasz and I are about done, Lily." Marja looked 
                        worried. "Maybe we should both call it a night? Get his 
                        number. If you're still hot in the morning, you can call 
                        him." 
                        She treaded water, not listening. "Ever hear of a 
                        baseball player named Chico Moran?" 
                         
                        Flowers had overrun the fifth floor. They marched down 
                        crushed stone paths and spread across parterres and 
                        perennial borders. This was a strolling floor, not as 
                        private as the third, nor as public as the fourth. The 
                        oak benches tucked beside the flower beds were clearly 
                        visible from the paths. The only privacy was that 
                        afforded by politeness. Lily and Steve passed blindly 
                        past two laughing gay men and an elderly couple who had 
                        fallen asleep. She, however, could not help but gape at 
                        the impossible couple of Alice the feminist and Keith 
                        the lizard, entwining passionately 
                        Finally they chanced upon an empty bench which faced a 
                        drift of impatiens swarming around the legs of burgundy 
                        roses. She leaned over to smell one and then covered a 
                        yawn with the back of her hand. It was almost one. Time 
                        for him to stop talking and get back to kissing. 
                        Steve waved for her to sit beside him. "Because good 
                        salesmen don't lie, Lily." He put his arm around her. 
                        "We have to buy before we can sell. First I have to 
                        believe that my product is the best for you, otherwise I 
                        can't get you interested in it. And I do, Lily. Maybe 
                        you still have some doubts, but I know I'd be good for 
                        you." 
                        "No, I'm sure too." She was delighted that it was still 
                        true. Marja was no doubt already home in bed; Lily's 
                        enhancement must have worn off by now. This wasn't 
                        neuromance anymore; she was on her own. 
                        "This isn't easy, okay? A salesman never brings up his 
                        own negatives. That's anti-selling. If a client has a 
                        problem or complaint, I acknowledge it and try to work 
                        it out. But if I start telling you what I think is wrong 
                        with me, not only could I lose you, I might even stop 
                        believing in myself." 
                        "I'm sorry; I should've listened before." She leaned her 
                        head on his shoulder. "So tell me now." 
                        "Okay, start at the beginning. Ever heard of the new 
                        produce?" 
                        "Isn't that the pricey stuff they sell at those food 
                        boutiques?" 
                        He nodded. "Here in America we rely on just twenty-four 
                        crops for most of what we eat. But there are over 20,000 
                        edible plants. Oca from South America. Arracacha, it's a 
                        cross between celery and carrot. Mamey from Cuba. I've 
                        spent a lot of time learning the new produce. It's a 
                        specialty market now but it has tremendous potential for 
                        breakout. I developed contacts all over the country." 
                        "This has something to do with us?" 
                        His voice was tight. "You remember Marsha, the one who 
                        taught me about selling? Well, her husband Bill owned 
                        the company I worked for. Not only did he fire me, but 
                        the son of a bitch is still working overtime to keep me 
                        from catching on somewhere else. Like this evening, I 
                        stopped by World Food across the street. I used to take 
                        the manager there out to the stadium -- on my tab. But 
                        tonight my good friend informs me that his headquarters 
                        says I'm nobody and there's nothing he can do for me." 
                        He choked back his outrage. "I'm going to beat these 
                        guys, Lily, and soon. Only ...."
                        "You're out of work?" She sat up, giddy with relief. 
                        "You poor thing, that's terrible." It was hard to keep 
                        from laughing. "How long?" 
                        "Eight months." 
                        "Steve, you're only twenty-six. It's not like you're 
                        Willie Loman. You can find something else to sell." 
                        "Willie Loman? Who's he, some fancy marketing professor? 
                        What the hell does Willie Loman know about selling 
                        glasswort to Piggly Wiggly?" 
                        "Nothing." She slipped her hand onto his knee and 
                        squeezed. "Forget it." She didn't want him angry at her, 
                        too. 
                        "I gave up my life once, Lily," he said firmly. "What I 
                        learned from that is I never want to do it again. But 
                        now you know that the real reason I didn't want to go to 
                        the fourth floor was that I couldn't afford to. Believe 
                        me, if I had money to spend, you'd see all of it. When 
                        we were down by the stream, I kept thinking how it would 
                        be to take you upstairs to one of the rooms." He reached 
                        into his pocket. "Problem is my cash card flamed out two 
                        weeks ago." He pulled a crumpled two dollar bill taut, 
                        smoothed it against his leg and offered it to her. "My 
                        life savings." 
                        "You have no money at all? Then why come to a place like 
                        this? How'd you even get in?"
                        "Because the most important sales trick of all has 
                        nothing to do with the prospect. See, a salesman has to 
                        keep up his own self image. When everyone else is 
                        beating him down, he has to treat himself like a winner. 
                        Maybe I'm broke, but I'm not nobody, damn it! I'm Steve 
                        Beauchamp; I go where I want, when I want." He 
                        straightened. "Anyway, I talked my way into a discount 
                        because I didn't get enhanced. Even so, they took almost 
                        everything I had at the door."
                        "You didn't get enhanced!" 
                        "Didn't need to." He took her hand; his palm was moist. 
                        "I know this sounds strange, but when I came out of 
                        World Food and saw you with your friend, something 
                        happened. I can't explain it, but I thought, there's a 
                        woman I need to meet. So I followed you in. Believe me, 
                        Lily, I've never done anything like this before. When I 
                        saw you again in the lobby, I knew I was right. So what 
                        if the cost of admission flattened me? By then I was 
                        already falling in love." 
                        "You were not." She pulled away from him. "You didn't 
                        even know me." 
                        "I do now." He smiled. 
                        "My God, Steve, this doesn't make any sense." She wasn't 
                        sure how she was supposed to react; it was like her 
                        recurring nightmare of sitting down to a final she 
                        hadn't studied for. This man she wanted was either a 
                        phony or a pathological romantic. "Just what did you 
                        think was going to happen after my enhancement wore off? 
                        Most couples leave this place in separate cars, you 
                        know."
                        "Sure, I knew that was a possibility." He shrugged. "But 
                        I had confidence in myself. And you. The way I figure 
                        it, there must be something about me you really like 
                        because I couldn't afford a treated chocolate." He 
                        sifted her hair through his fingers. "Actually, I've 
                        been waiting all night for the drugs you took to wear 
                        off. I want us to fall in love for real, not because our 
                        hormones are boiling over. We need a clear heads for 
                        something as important as this. That's why you should 
                        never close in a bar, unless you're prepared to wake up 
                        with a sour head and a sour deal." 
                        "You really think we're in love?"
                        He paused to consider. "Maybe I don't know enough about 
                        love to recognize it, but this is what I hoped it would 
                        feel like." 
                        She turned her face toward him and closed her eyes "Sell 
                        it to me," she said. 
                        He obliged. Time passed, clothing got rearranged, 
                        buttons were unbuttoned. The bench wasn't big enough for 
                        them to lie on, but they were approaching horizontality 
                        when a rover disguised as a sunflower crunched down the 
                        gravel path, aimed its enormous yellow blossom at them 
                        and said politely, "For those couples requiring privacy, 
                        may we suggest our encounter rooms on the sixth floor?" 
                        "We could leave," Lily said breathlessly. "Go to your 
                        place." 
                        "I don't have a place. Actually I've been living out of 
                        my car. It's parked about ten blocks from here and it's 
                        out of gas and I don't get my unemployment check until 
                        ...."
                        "Ssh!" She put a finger to his lips. "Keep bringing up 
                        negatives and you'll lose the sale." Lily stood, reached 
                        both hands down to him and pulled him up beside her. "My 
                        place then." She wasn't sure exactly what she was going 
                        to do when they got there. Tack a sheet to the ceiling 
                        between her futon and Marja's? Not a simple project at 
                        two in the morning -- and what if Steve snored?
                        Lily pushed her doubts away. What had Marja said? Love 
                        makes all things possible. She knew she was taking a 
                        risk with this intense little man but she'd been smart 
                        and lonely for so long. She had to laugh at herself as 
                        they stepped into the elevator. 
                        It was time to try something stupid. 
            
             

