AZOTUSLAND Chapter Seventy-eight

It was days later that Maugham as "Cox from Seattle" got Rnonymous' immediate attention.

She cooed to him, or rather to a "Cox" which was re-routed to Maugham.

Though it was all Internet, she liked his look and was interested in his mind. She was an artist and wanted collaborators. She sent five pictures and asked for his regular email and he sent the yahoo account that has been carefully setup.

Two days later after some banter back and forth, he got a bite from her, from Alabaster on TheOnion.com for "Steve Hartsdedt" from Atlanta. Some of the words written had obviously been cut and pasted for this new venue.

The pictures were more shy and subdued.

Maugham called Martine down and asked her help in separating the two responses, or series of responses. They could not echo anything but pure male lust through two decidedly different filters.

She was quite helpful.

*******

That next Friday night Jim finished a quick reading of the Beat Poets and a short slide-show of them at the Cafe Trieste in San Francisco. This was done in the library and he was tired as he uncharacteristically boarded the elevator and headed down . It stopped at the first floor and Rachel looked at him darkly, stepped in and slapped him in the face hard.

He slumped to the floor and said "Owwww! That hurt."

"You are a fake and a monster," she said. "You had me believing."

Then she got off and walked away.

"God I am an asshole," he said quietly as the elevator closed and headed down, his face still stinging.

****************

Jim got off the elevator, walked into Maugham's office.

"How you doing pal?"

"Not as good as you."

He headed to the refrigerator and grabbed a Hornsby and drank down half of it.

"Well, yer never bored," Maugham smirked.

"Yeah," Jim sighed heavily.

"What's eating you Bro?" Maugham asked.

"Everything and everyone," Jim said.

"Sounds a bit dramatic?" Maugham said.

"Yeah, suppose."

"I'm just not very good around people," he said.

"Ah bullshit!" Maugham, said laughing. "Yer just not good around women."

Jim chuckled darkly and slumped down on the floor.

Maugham went to the fridge and crabbed a Hornsby himself, which was unheard of..and sat down next to his beloved friend.

They sat quietly for awhile in the semi-dark.

"How did it go with Matisse?"

"Sabine?"

"Terse?"

"Yes"

"Figured. Control."

"Utter."

"She'll get over it," Maugham said.

"Yes."

"Someone gnawing at your soul?"

"What's usual?"

"That. Do tell."

"I have this vision for all outsides," Jim started, "But at my core I am lost."

"I dunno, you get mail here." Maugham grinned.

Jim laughed.

"I envy you Maug," he said.

"Me? Why me?"

"Clarity and love."

Maugham bumped his head back against the wall a few times and twirled his three braided hair strands.

"You gotta suck it up Bro," Maugham said. "Cut your losses, watch yer backside. Hey...remember that thing...er... you once in a drunken stupor read me that story about King David...remember that?"

"Yeah, kinda..he reminds me of you," Jim said grinning. "Look, I gotta go," Jim said suddenly. Then he left and Maugham looked at the floor and sighed.

**********

In Silo 2 Jim turned up the gas burners so the lighted the place loud for once and he grabbed the remote and lighted up HAL and wondered what they hell to conjure up. He felt no peace. He missed his daughter, felt remorse about Rachel, and then had his own prior hauntings.

He had, perhaps, 2,000 movies cued and they were the best. None resonated at all. It was an early art form and art was a step back from life and often a denial if it or at least of death.

As he hit the button that brought up the scenes of his daughter playing and cooing and laughing. She loomed over him on the big screen at least twice his size. She played a xylophone and was two.

**************