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“Should be done here in an hour.”
“I’ll meet you at O’Malley’s.” She glanced at the time. “Seventeen hundred.”
“Should work. They’re calling us back. Later.”
She turned from the ’link as Peabody set a mug of coffee on the desk. “Better?”
“Yeah, I guess. Throat’s kinda sore. Your fridgie and your AutoChef are both out of Pepsi.”
“Jamie must drink it by the truckload. Tell Summerset, then—”
She broke off when a small tornado burst into her office.
Mavis Freestone moved fast. The two-inch platforms on her purple gel-sandals didn’t seem to affect speed or balance. She zoomed into Eve’s office, a blur of purple, pink, and possibly puce, all mixed together in a micro-skirt and tit tube that almost covered the essentials. Her hair was in what appeared to be a half-million braids that echoed the color theme.
She spun to the desk, around it—the squishy gel on her feet making little sproinging sounds—and caught Eve in a headlock embrace that cut off all oxygen to the brain.
Eve managed to glug, slap on the arms that pressed on her windpipe.
“This is the best day! The most totally mag day ever invented. I love you, Dallas.”
“Then why are you trying to kill me?”
“Sorry, sorry.” But she squeezed again until Eve’s ears began to ring. “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Can’t.” Freed, Eve coughed, rubbed at her throat. “Even if I were physically able I’m buried here. I’ll call you when I surface.”
“I have to. It’s important. It’s like vital. Please, please, please.” She bounced as she begged, and the virulent mix of colors on the move made Eve dizzy.
“Two minutes. Talk fast.”
“It’s private. Sorry, Peabody, but . . . please!”
“Peabody, go find Summerset, tell him to hunt up a cargo plane full of Pepsi.”
“Close the door, okay. Would you? Thanks.” Still bouncing, Mavis linked her hands, held them between her small, barely restrained breasts. Her fingers winked and glowed with rings. On her left arm some sort of coil snaked from wrist to elbow. Eve wondered if the impression of it would be permanently stamped on her throat.
“Make it fast, Mavis.” Eve scooped back her hair, gulped down coffee. “I’m really pressed. Weren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”
“FreeStar One. Olympus Resort. Did a week gig at the Apollo Casino. It rocked. I just got back this morning.”
“Good. Great.” Eve shifted her gaze to her screen, began to process the data in her head. “We’ll get together when I’m clear. You can tell me all about it.”
“I’m knocked up.”
“Fine. We’ll cover that. We can—” Her brain simply went on hold, as if someone had flicked a switch that shut down all the circuits. When it clicked back, there seemed to be some sort of blip blanking out basic reasoning functions.
“What did you say?”
“I’m knocked up.” Mavis let out a snorting laugh, then slapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes, as purple as her shoes today, danced like a pair of chorus girls.
“You’re . . . You . . .” Stunned into stammering, Eve stared at Mavis’s bare midriff, at the trio of belly dangles that sparkled from her navel. “You got something growing in there?”
Her hands still over her mouth, Mavis nodded rapidly. “A baby.” The laugh spurted through her fingers. “I’ve got a baby in there. Is that the ult? Is that beyond the beyond? Feel!” She snagged Eve’s hand and pressed it to her belly.
“Oh, Jesus. Maybe I shouldn’t touch it.”
“It’s okay, it’s all padded and everything. What do you think?”
