Programmed for Peril

want to know what the hell you’re doing with Ms. Patricia Morley. What has gotten into you?”
    He grunted. He sensed her anger. He reached inward for riffs. Saint Dizzy, defend me with me boss sounds! Hard luck. The cabaret of his mind was soundless as the moon. The group was taking five.
    “She called me an hour ago. Do you know why she called me, Nicholas?”
    He shook his head.
    “She called to apologize to us. For making false accusations.”
    Trish had believed him! The first, necessary step to solving her problems. He smiled.
    “She told me you’ve gone to her twice—the first time to offer help and the second to tell her she was being spied on. Is that so?”
    He could not speak.
    “Tell me! Is that so? You saw her twice?”
    Annalee, buxom and fortyish, had served Sweetest Sister in this chamber for years. Privy to Smith-Patton family matters of all sorts, she was as close-mouthed as a priest out of the confessional. She busied herself with Sweetest Sister’s nails.
    Nicholas nodded, hating his limitations, himself.
    “You must know that she’s my enemy!”
    Nod.
    “Then why do you help her?”
    Silence.
    “Answer me, Nicholas. Annnnswer me!” Her voice cooed teasingly. “Why do you want to help that gray-eyed nut case?”
    He hoisted heavy words up from his throat as though with a winch. “To show her she was wrong about us.”
    Oracle Lois sat silent under mask and cotton. In time she spoke. “You’ve never been a crusader for the family’s good name, Nicholas. Have you? That lot seems to have fallen to me. No, I don’t think that’s the real reason you sought out Trish. I think it’s love. Or rather your version of it.” She giggled. “Even though I’m your dear sister, I can’t imagine just what love would mean to you. And I’m sure you’re quite incapable of telling me. Aren’t you?”
    Describe how he felt beholding the white curve where Trish’s neck swept down to become shoulder? Or hearing the purring vibrato of her voice speaking to him of spies and suspicions? He couldn’t!
    “How has she reacted to your attentions, Nicholas?”
    He saw Trish’s long hands spread before the tape machine controls, fingers tapered to sensible nails. He nibbled them, but only in his dreams. He knelt before her, kissed the stitched “Nike” on the side of her Airs. He could not reply to Sweetest Sister.
    “I can’t believe she’d be interested in you for a single moment, you being what you are. If she were, that would make my life so much easier. I could tell Foster his fiancée has fallen for my brother. That would very likely take care of their engagement. Oh, I’m being so stupid! You haven’t said a word to her about how you feel, have you?”
    He shook his head.
    Sweetest Sister fell silent. Annalee busied herself with cuticle pushers and emery boards. Nicholas dared not move. He knew he hadn’t been dismissed. Time passed.
    Dreamily Sweetest Sister said, “What does this bitch Trish Morley have? She steals my Foster, a steady, sensible man sitting on top of a fortune. Now my virgin brother wants her, too. He who, up to now, loved only PCs, pocket protectors, and pawns. Bottle it to sell, and I could make a fortune.” Another long silence. The acetone scent of Annalee’s polish remover filled the air. Nicholas anticipated a change in Sweetest Sister’s monologue direction. “Is there really something going on that Trish thought we were behind?”
    Nicholas nodded.
    “Is she in trouble? Could this - whatever’s going on - wreck her?”
    A surge of dread broke over Nicholas like a dark wave. He heard snaggle-toothed mermaids’ songs shaped to jazz riffs. “Maybe. I have to find out more.”
    Sweetest Sister’s masked head bobbed. “Then you should persist in the stupidity of loving her. Maybe you can win her away from Foster. Yes, yes, you have my permission to love her!” Her laughter was sharp as shards. It cut into him with countless points. “Whatever you find out, Don Quixote, I want to know. Report everything to me. Do you understand?’’ What Sweetest Sister learned she would use against Trish. How could he serve two mistresses, one whom he worshipped, another he obeyed? It wasn’t possible! How the matter would resolve itself he couldn’t imagine. He squirmed inwardly, phantoms of fear rushing onstage from the wings of his mind. Already he had moved far from the safe roles of electronics consultant, jazz buff, and chess master. And so quickly, too!