Philip Dick - In Milton Lumky Territory

Now, on Taffy’s other wrist, Milt had begun to draw a woman’s torso. “This is the story of Gina Lollobrigida and the whale,” Milt said, sketching in enormous breasts. Taffy giggled witlessly. “Once upon a time Gina Lollobrigida was walking along the seacoast of sunny Italy when a gigantic whale appeared, tipped his hat, and said. ‘Lady, have you ever thought of going into show business? Let’s face it, with a figure like that you’re wasting your time.’”

“That’s enough,” Susan said.

Milt paused in his sketching. “I’m now drawing the magical sweater on her,” he said. “So it’s okay; don’t worry.”

“That’s enough,” she repeated.

“The magical sweater is important,” he said, but he stopped. “The rest of the story,” he said to Taffy, “has to do with the wholesale underwear industry and you wouldn’t be interested.” He released her arm, to her disappointment.

“She can keep the combination bottle opener and pen,” Susan said, in a tone that implied she had worked it out as a rational compromise.

“Fine,” Milt said, handing the thing over to Taffy.

“What do you say?” Susan said.

Milt said, “I say it’s a hell of a cold mean world when you can’t do nice things for children.”

“I don’t mean you,” Susan said. “I mean, Taffy, what do you say when somebody gives you something?”

Spluttering and simpering, she managed to say, “Thank you.”

“‘Thank you, Uncle Lumky,’” Milt said.

“Thank you, Uncle Lumky,” she echoed, and then she leaped away and rushed from the room, back up the hall. Susan went with her, into her room, to tuck her into bed.

Milt and Bruce remained.

“That’s a pretty nice little girl,” Milt said in a subdued voice.

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you think she looks like Susan?”

Up to now he hadn’t thought about it. “Some,” he said.

“I never know what to tell kids and what not to tell them,” Milt said. “I made a vow once not to moralize with them, but maybe I’m leaning over backward in the other direction.”

“There’s no use asking me,” he said. “That’s one topic I know nothing about.”

“I like kids,” Milt said. “I always feel sorry for a kid. When you’re that small you can’t take on anybody. Except smaller kids. And that isn’t worth much.” He rubbed his chin and studied the living room, the furniture and books. “She has a decent place here. Come to think of it, I’ve never been here before. It’s comfortable.”

Bruce nodded.

Returning to the room, Susan said, “She asked me why your breath smelled so funny. I told her you had been eating exceptionally strange foods that we don’t serve.”

“Why did you tell her that?” Milt said.

“I didn’t want to tell her that it was beer.”

“It wasn’t beer. I haven’t been drinking beer. I haven’t been drinking anything.”

“I know you have,” Susan said. “I can tell by the way you acted when you first came in. And your face is so flushed.”

His face became more flushed. “I’m serious; I haven’t had anything to drink.” He arose to his feet. “It’s my high blood pressure. I have to take reserpine for it.” Reaching into his pocket he brought out a pill wrapped in tissue paper. “To keep my blood pressure down.”

They both were silent, wondering about him.

“Everybody’s so suspicious of everyone else in the world,” Milt said. “There’s no mutual trust anymore. And they call this a Christian civilization. Kids lie about their age, women accuse you of things you haven’t done.” He seemed genuinely angry.

“Take it easy,” Bruce said.

“I hope when your little girl grows up,” Milt said, “she lives in a better society.” He moved in the direction of the door. “Well,” he said in a morose voice, “I’ll see you both when I’m through here again.”

As she opened the door for him, Susan said. “Don’t leave mad. I was just teasing you.”

Facing her calmly he said, “I don’t hold it against you.” He shook hands with her, and then with Bruce. “It just depresses me; that’s all.” To Bruce he said, “Where are you staying? I’ll look you up when I get back.”

Susan said, “He hasn’t gotten settled yet.”

“That’s too bad,” Milt said. “It’s hard as hell to get settled in a new town. I hope you find a place okay. Anyhow I can always get hold of you at R & J Mimeographing Service.”

He said good night, and then the door shut after him. Presently they heard a car start up and leave.

“I thought I should tell him that,” Susan said.

“You did right,” he said. But it disturbed him.

She said, “I didn’t want you to have to take the responsibility of answering. There’s no reason why it should fall on your shoulders. Do you think he came over to check and see? Maybe he had a suspicion about us. I don’t see that it matters. He’s only around here a few times a year. I think he’s still interested in me, and it makes him jealous.”

“That might be,” he said. But in his own mind he believed that Milt had merely been lonely and had wanted company.

“If we went through the legal arrangements,” Susan said, “we would be immune to this kind of situation. Otherwise it’ll crop up again and again. You’ll have your mail to think about…and don’t you have to give the draft board your permanent address? And your driver’s license. A million details like that. Even your withholding statements that I have to fill out, as your employer.”

My employer, he thought. That’s right.

“That’s not enough of a reason to get married,” he said.

She gave him a sharp look. “Nobody said it was. But I don’t like not telling people the truth. It makes me uncomfortable. I know we’re not doing wrong, but if we have to lie then it almost seems like an admission that we’re guilty, trying to hide it.”

“I’m not adverse to it,” he said.

“To marrying me?”

“Yes,” he said.

They both considered that.

After they had locked up the house and shut off the lights they closed themselves off in her bedroom, as they had been before Milt Lumky arrived. For a good long time they were free to enjoy each other. But all at once, without sound or warning of any kind, the bedroom door flew open. Susan sprang naked from the bed. There in the doorway stood Taffy.

“I lost it,” Taffy sniffled. “It fell down and I can’t find it.”

Susan, pale and smooth in the darkness, swooped down on her and carried her out of the room. “You can find it tomorrow,” her voice carried back to him as he lay in the bed, under the disordered covers, his heart pounding. More murmurs, both Susan’s and her daughter’s, then a door shutting. Susan padded back and returned to the bed. Against him her body was cold; she shivered and pushed against him.

“God damn that Milt Lumky and his combination bottle opener and ball point pen,” she said. “Taffy dropped it down behind the bed; she went to sleep with it. She’s got ink or whatever it is—dye, I suppose—all over the pillow.”

He said, “She certainly startled me.”

The thin, cold body pressed closer and closer. She wrapped her arms around him. “What a night,” she said. “Don’t worry. She was so sleepy she hardly knew what she was doing. I don’t think she realized you were here.”

But after that he remained in a state of discomfort.

“I know,” Susan said, lying beside him. “It’s upsetting. And you’re not used to a child around. I am. I taught children. It’s second nature to me, to think in terms of them. Don’t for God’s sake project on an eight-year-old child your own adult feelings. All she could see was me; it’s my room and she knows I’m in here. A child is a child.”