Second Variety and Other Stories (26 page)

"What?"

"Your chips. Turn them in."

"What for?"

"For money -- I think they call it now."

"Oh, bother." Allison turned to a heavy-set man sitting at the black-jack table. "Here!" She
dumped the chips in the man's lap. "You take them. All right, Larry. Let's go!"

The cab pulled up in front of Larry's apartment.

"Is this where you live?" Allison asked, gazing up at the building. "It's not very modern, is it?"

"No." Larry pushed the door open. "And the plumbing isn't very good, either. But what the hell."

"Larry?" Allison stopped him as he started to get out.

"Yes?"

"You won't forget about tomorrow, will you?"

"Tomorrow?"

"We have so much to do. I want you to be up bright and early, ready to go places. So we can
get things done."

"How about six o'clock in the evening? Is that early enough?" Larry yawned. It was late, and
cold.

"Oh, no. I'll be by for you at ten a.m."

"Ten! But my job. I got to work!"

"Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is our day."

"How the hell am I going to live if I don't --"

Allison reached up, putting her slender arms around him. "Don't worry; it'll be all right.
Remember? This is my world." She pulled him down to her, kissing him on the mouth. Her lips were
sweet and cool. She held onto him tightly, her eyes closed.

Larry broke away. "All right, already." He straightened his tie, standing up on the pavement.

"Tomorrow, then. And don't worry about your old job. Goodbye, Larry darling." Allison
slammed the door. The cab drove off down the dark street. Larry gazed after it, still dazed. Finally he
shrugged and turned toward the apartment house.

Inside, on the table in the hall, was a letter for him. He scooped it up, opening it as he climbed the
stairs. The letter was from his office, Bray Insurance Company. The annual vacation schedule for the
staff, listing the two weeks doled out to each employee. He didn't even have to find his name to know
when his began.

"Don't worry," Allison had said.

Larry grinned ruefully, stuffing the letter in his coat pocket. He unlocked his apartment door. Ten
o'clock did she say? Well, at least he would have a good night's sleep.

The day was warm and bright. Larry Brewster sat out on the front steps of the apartment
building, smoking and thinking while he waited for Allison.

She was doing all right; no doubt about that. A hell of a lot of things seemed to fall like ripe plums
into her lap. No wonder she thought it was her world... She was getting the breaks, all right. But some
people were like that. Lucky. Walked into fortune every time; won on quiz shows; found money in the
gutter; bet on the right horse. It happened.

people were like that. Lucky. Walked into fortune every time; won on quiz shows; found money in the
gutter; bet on the right horse. It happened.

A horn sounded, and Larry glanced up. A two-tone convertible was parked in front of him, the
top down. Allison waved. "Hi! Come on!"

Larry got up and came over. "Where did you get this?" He opened the door and slid in slowly.

"This?" Allison started the car up. It zoomed out into traffic. "I forget; I think someone gave it to
me."

"You forget!" He stared at her. Then he relaxed against the soft seat. "Well? What's first on the
list?"

"We're going to look at our new house."

"Whose new house?"

"Ours. Yours and mine."

Larry sank down into the seat. "What! But you --"

Allison spun the car around a corner. "You'll love it; it's nice. How big is your apartment?"

"Three rooms."

Allison laughed merrily. "This is eleven rooms. Two stories. Half an acre. Or so they tell me."

"Haven't you seen it?"

"Not yet. My lawyer just called me this morning."

"Your lawyer?"

"It's part of an estate left to me."

Larry pulled himself together slowly. Allison, in a scarlet two-piece outfit, gazed happily at the
road ahead, her small face blank and contented. "Let me get all this straight. You've never seen it; your
lawyer just called you; you get it as part of an estate."

"That's right. Some old uncle of mine. I forget his name. I didn't expect him to leave me anything."
She turned toward Larry, beaming warmly at him. "But this is such a special time for me. It's important
that everything go right. My whole world..."

"Yeah. Your whole world. Well, I hope you like the house after you see it."

Allison laughed. "I will. After all, it exists for me; that's what it's there for."

"You've got this worked out like an exact science," Larry murmured. "Everything that happens to
you is for the best. You're pleased with everything. So it must be your world. Maybe you're just making
the best of things -- telling yourself you really like the things that happen to you."

"Do you think so?"

He frowned in thought as they zipped along. "Tell me," he said finally, "how did you learn about
these multiple worlds? Why are you so sure this one is yours?"

She smiled at him. "I worked it out myself," she said. "I studied logic and philosophy, and history
-- and there was always something that puzzled me. Why were there so many vital changes in the
fortunes of people and nations that seemed to come about providentially, just at the right moment? Why
did it really seem as if my world had to be just the way it was, so that all through history, strange things
happened which make it work out that way?

"I'd heard the 'This Is the Best of All Possible Worlds' theory, but it didn't make sense the way I
read about it. I studied the religions of mankind, and scientific speculations of the existence of a Creator
-- but something was lacking, something which either couldn't be accounted for, or was just overlooked."

Larry nodded. "Well, sure. It's easy; if this is the best of all possible worlds, then why is there so
much suffering -- unnecessary suffering -- in it, if there's a benevolent and all-powerful Creator, as so
many millions have believed, do believe, and will believe in the future, no doubt, then how do you
account for the existence of evil?" He grinned at her. "And you worked out the answer to all that, eh -just
tossed it off like a martini?"

Allison sniffed. "You don't have to put it that way... Well, it is simple and I'm not the only one
who's figured it out, although obviously I'm the only one in this world..."

"Okay," Larry broke in, "I'll hold back objections until you've told me how you did it."

"Okay," Larry broke in, "I'll hold back objections until you've told me how you did it."

"Thank you," he said.

"It's simple, like the egg-trick, once you know the angle. The reason why both the benevolent
Creator and the 'Best of All Possible Worlds' theory seem to bog down is because we start out with an
unjustified assumption -- that this is the only world. But suppose we try a different approach: assume a
Creator of infinite power; surely, such a being would be capable of creating infinite worlds... or at least,
so large a number of them to seem infinite to us.

"If you assume that, then everything else makes sense. The Creator set forces into motion; He
created separate worlds for every single human being in existence; each one exists for that human being
alone. He's an artist, but He uses an economy of means, so that there's much duplication of themes and
events and motives throughout the worlds."

"Oh," Larry replied softly, "now I begin to see what you're driving at. In some worlds, Napoleon
won the battle of Waterloo -- although only in his own world did everything work out just right for him;
in this one he had to lose..."

"I'm not sure Napoleon ever existed in my world," Allison said thoughtfully. "I think he's just a
name in the records, although some such person did exist in other worlds. In my world, Hitler was
defeated, Roosevelt died -- I'd be sorry about that, only I didn't know him, and he wasn't very real,
anyway; they were both just images carried over from other people's worlds

"All right," he said. "And everything worked out wonderfully for you, all your life, huh? You were
never really sick, or hurt, or hungry..."

"That's about it," she agreed. "I've had some hurts and frustrations, but nothing really... well,
really crippling. And every one has been important toward getting something I really wanted, or getting to
understand something important. You see, Larry, the logic is perfect; I deduced it all from the evidence.
There's no other answer that will stand up."

Larry smiled. "What does it matter what I think? You're not going to change your mind."

Larry gazed at the building in sick disgust. "That's a house?" he muttered at last.

Allison's eyes danced with happiness as she looked up at the great mansion. "What, darling?
What did you say?"

The house was immense -- and super-modern, like a pastry cook's nightmare. Great columns
reared up, connected by sloping beams and buttresses. The rooms were set one on top of each other like
shoe-boxes, each at its own angle. The whole building was finished in some kind of bright metal shingle, a
frightening butter-yellow. In the morning sun the house blazed and sparkled.

"What are -- those?" Larry indicated some forlorn plants snaking up the irregular sides of the
house. "Are those supposed to be there?"

Allison blinked, frowning a little. "What did you say, darling? You mean the bougainvillaea?
That's a very exotic plant. It comes from the South Pacific."

"What's it do? Hold the house together?"

Allison's smile vanished. She raised her eyebrow. "Darling, are you feeling all right? Is there
anything the matter?"

Larry moved back toward the car. "Let's go back to town. I'm getting hungry for lunch."

"All right," Allison said, watching him oddly. "All right, we'll go back."

That night, after dinner, Larry seemed moody and unresponsive. "Let's go to the Wind-Up," he
said suddenly. "I feel like seeing something familiar, for a change."

"What do you mean?"

Larry nodded at the expensive restaurant they had just left. "All those fancy lights. And little
people in uniforms whispering in your ear. In French."

"If you expect to order food you should know some French," Allison stated. Her face twisted
into an angry pout. "Larry, I'm beginning to wonder about you. The way you acted out at the house. The
strange things you said."

"If you expect to order food you should know some French," Allison stated. Her face twisted
into an angry pout. "Larry, I'm beginning to wonder about you. The way you acted out at the house. The
strange things you said."

"Well, I certainly hope you recover."

"I'm recovering each minute."

They came to the Wind-Up. Allison started to go inside. Larry stopped for a moment, lighting a
cigarette. The good old Wind-Up; he felt better already, just standing in front of it. Warm, dark, noisy,
the sound of the ragged dixieland combo in the background -

His spirits returned. The peace and contentment of a good run-down bar. He sighed, pushing the
door open.

And stopped, stricken.

The Wind-Up had changed. It was well-lit. Instead of Max the waiter, there were waitresses in
neat white uniforms bustling around. The place was full of well-dressed women, sipping cocktails and
chatting. And in the rear was an imitation gypsy orchestra, with a long-haired churl in fake costume,
torturing a violin.

Allison turned around. "Come on!" she snapped impatiently. "You're attracting attention, standing
there in the door."

Larry gazed for a long time at the imitation gypsy orchestra; at the bustling waitresses; the
chatting ladies; the recessed neon lighting. Numbness crept over him. He sagged.

"What's the matter?" Allison caught his arm crossly. "What's the matter with you?"

"What -- what happened?" Larry waved his hand feebly at the interior. "There been an
accident?"

"Oh, this. I forgot to tell you. I spoke to Mr O'Mallery about it. Just before I met you last night."

"Mr O'Mallery?"

"He owns this building. He's an old friend of mine. I pointed out how -- how dirty and
unattractive his little place was getting. I pointed out what a few improvements would do."

Larry made his way outside, onto the sidewalk. He ground his cigarette out with his heel and
shoved his hands in his pockets.

Allison hurried after him, her cheeks red with indignation. "Larry! Where are you going?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight?" She stared at him in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going."

"Going where?"

"Out. Home. To the park. Anywhere." Larry started off down the sidewalk, hunched over, hands
in his pockets.

Allison caught up with him, stepping angrily in front of him. "Have you gone out of your mind? Do
you know what you're saying?"

"Sure. I'm leaving you; we're splitting up. Well, it was nice. See you sometime."

The two spots in Allison's cheeks glowed like two red coals. "Just a minute, Mr Brewster. I think
you've forgotten something." Her voice was hard and brittle.

"Forgotten something? Like what?"

"You can't leave; you can't walk out on me."

Larry raised an eyebrow. "I can't?"

"I think you better reconsider, while you still have time."

"I don't get your drift." Larry yawned. "I think I'll go home to my three room apartment and go to
bed. I'm tired." He started past her.

"Have you forgotten?" Allison snapped. "Have you forgotten that you're not completely real!
That you exist only as a part of my world?"