(extract)
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Jeb doesn’t really know how to deal with his retirement. Sometimes he thinks it’d be better to just hurry up and die of whatever is ravaging his guts. The doc thinks it’s the big-C, but who cares? Whether they’s right or wrong, there’s nothing anyone can do for him here.
But most times he greets each new day with a smile and a mutter of, “You ain’t done for me yet, you SOB!” He goes out into the Plaza and mingles, slowly dismantling the distance he’d had to maintain as sheriff, or stays in and catches up on all the books he’d meant to read and hasn’t quite got round to.
Most often he finds himself talking to Charles, despite having at first taken him for a pompous idiot. (He’s pretty sure Charles had considered him a dumb redneck, so call it quits.) When all is said, they’re the oldest here and each enjoys listening to the other’s reminiscences of a past that is entirely beyond his own experience.
So when Charles and Phyllis invited Jeb round to supper one Beauday evening – they called it ‘dinner’ – he was glad to accept.
Until then he’d only ever seen Phyllis as Charles’s silent shadow: not cowed, not awkward, always attentive, courteous and kind when spoken to. Just quiet. Following everything closely while leaving the talking to Charles.
At her own dinner table Phyllis – “call me Fizz” – turned out to be a very different person. Quick, intelligent, well informed, adept at drawing out his thoughts (even when it meant reining in Charles), and the first to notice and act when the conversation strayed into uncomfortable territory. Besides, she’s a fine looking woman!
And the couple weren’t afraid to go beyond the limits of what Jeb thought of as proper conversation for the table, so much so that at one point he was lulled into asking, “So why is everyone here so horny?” It was a wistful thought, intended to stay inside his head, and it was a surprise to hear himself voice it. He’d been celibate since his wife Barbara died. The pairing with Eunice had failed miserably. What chance did he have in his current condition of ever finding a connection? Sometimes he felt he was the only person in town not getting any.
“Seriously?” Phyllis had replied. Stopping herself from launching a dissertation that could betray her true profession, she went on, “Here’s a research project for you. Look up the number of athletes who take part in a typical Olympics. Then look up the number of condoms provided in the athlete’s village. Divide the second figure by the first. Then multiply the result by two – a typical shag involves two people and one condom. The answer is how often exceptionally fit people shag in the course of two Earth weeks. You’ll probably find it comes out around three or four times a day each. Settlers here have more spare time and the helping hand of lower gravity, but I bet we come nowhere close to that… and we don’t have the distraction of chasing medals. I’d argue that shagging levels here are no higher than you’d expect for very fit people with time on their hands.”
Well, it didn’t help him any. But it sure made for lively conversation. So when they asked if he’d like to join them again next Beauday Jeb accepted.
As the 10 days ticked by, Jeb wondered whether a week was too soon, whether they’d have enough conversation.
The fear proved unfounded. Between the building works for the incoming settlers, the cultural differences between the Hive and the Mansion, the antics of some of the townsfolk, the state of affairs on Earth-Luna, and vast untapped events and incidents from their pasts, the time flew by.
Jeb was wrong-footed when they asked him if he’d like to adjourn to the living room to carry on talking. The idea of tarrying after a meal was strange to him. But he was enjoying himself, so he agreed.
As the next 10 days passed, Jeb began to feel he ought to be offering some return hospitality. But not having their luxury of one evening a week when habmates were out, he consulted Jacqui. She suggested he take them a bottle of the local “wine” (you could hear the quote marks when she said it), which was at once the worst wine ever sold for that much money and the best wine on the planet.
That third week, whether from the wine they shared or by some prearranged plan, went a bit differently. They again adjourned upstairs but, instead of going into the living room, Fizz led the way along the corridor and into the room at the end. Wasn’t this a bedroom? Maybe their hab had a different layout.
It didn’t.
Rather than follow Fizz into the bedroom, Jeb hovers by the door. Charles sidles past into the room, stands hand-in-hand beside Fizz and says, “There’s something we wanted to ask you, old chap.” Seeing nothing but puzzlement on Jeb’s face, he continues, “The thing is, you see, my darling wife is a lusty woman – big appetite. I, on the other hand, don’t have quite the pep I used to. We wondered whether we could interest you in helping out a bit.”
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