Lee got out, flashed him a smile, and said, “I have an appointment with Signorina Duff-Roberts. Meanwhile, I am not sure where I’ll be staying tonight. Could you get my bags and hold them for me somewhere?”
He bowed again. “Signorina Garrett?”
“Why, yes.”
“Your things will be taken up to your suite, Signorina.”
“Thank you.” Lee’s eyebrows went up slightly but her poise was built in. So: she had a suite in the Palazzo Colonna!
Without doubt there would be a small plaque on the door reading Lucretia Borgia Slept Here, or some such.
Inside the entrance were four more young men, in outfits of pages, complete to satin berets with tassels atop. They had been lounging, idly talking among themselves, but now one advanced for a sweeping bow, very much in character. “The Palazzo is not open to the public, Signorina.”
“I’m Lee Garrett,” she told him. “I have an appointment…”
“Of course, Signorina,” he blurted. “If you will come this way. Signorina Duff-Roberts awaits you.”
She followed him up the impressive stone stairway to the vestibule. Years ago, her father had brought her here to see the famed home of what had once been the most powerful family in Rome. Popes had been born here, and cardinals without number, and kings, queens, dukes, duchesses. In the vestibule were paintings of several schools, including Van Dyke, Murillo, and Lotto.
The way led them through the Hall of the Colonna Bellica, past the steps leading down to the Great Hall, and then up another stairway almost as magnificent as that at the entrance to the palace. The priceless treasures of the palace might have been expressed in tonnage. Then followed a series of coldly superb chambers, each a museum of murals, marbles, and tapestries. Why would anyone choose to live in such a place? But then they arrived at the spacious salon of Sheila Duff-Roberts.
There was no identity screen set into the magnificent carved door; that would have been a desecration. Her guide knocked softly and then, without waiting for a response, opened the door and closed it behind her.
On her visit as a youngster, Lee hadn’t been in this part of the rambling building. In those days it had still been occupied by descendants of the Colonna family and visitors had been excluded from the private quarters. This room had obviously once been one of the minor salons, now converted into a baroque office. The furniture was of the fifteenth or sixteenth century, with all the stiffly uncomfortable appearance of that era.
Sheila Duff-Roberts arose from her chair behind the desk. She was a large woman physically, but was built in handsome proportion. She enjoyed the long limbs and proud carriage of an Olympic champion. Her face was classical and she knew how to bring out her best features. Her hairdo, cosmetics, and jewelry were the products of experts. Basically, hers was a severe face, brightly intelligent rather than friendly, and her smile was cool. A cigarette dangled from the side of her mouth, man-style. She was dressed in a slack suit which Lee recognized as the latest style in Common Europe. She approached Lee briskly, hand outstretched. It proved to be a warm, firm hand, somehow projecting a caressing quality.
Sheila Duff-Roberts said throatily, “Well, my dear, in spite of your photographs, I didn’t expect you to look quite so darling.”
Lee didn’t quite know how to respond to that. To cover the fact, she looked at the desk and said, “Marvelous.”
It was done in sandalwood and was adorned with lapis lazuli, amethysts, and other semi-precious stones. In the front it had twelve small amethyst columns, and at the top, gilt statuettes representing the Muses and Apollo seated under a laurel tree.
The other chuckled and said, “Isn’t it beautiful—in a repulsive sort of way? I couldn’t resist; had it moved in from the Room of the Desks. One of the others there is possibly even worse. It’s done in ebony with twenty-eight ivory bas reliefs, and the central relief is a copy of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment. A real monstrosity. We’ll get it for your office, if you’d like. But do sit down, darling. You’re Lee Garrett, of course. I’m Sheila Duff-Roberts.”
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Lee took the sixteenth century chair the other indicated. She said, “Yes, Ms. Duff-Roberts. I was given instructions by Cary McBride to…”
“Yes, of course.” Sheila Duff-Roberts strode briskly around her ornate desk, resumed her chair, and touched a sheaf of papers before her. “I’ve been going over your qualifications. Very impressive, my dear.”
Lee said, “What qualifications? I haven’t the slightest idea what my duties are. Mr. McBride only told me I was to work for the Central Committee of the World Club.”
The other smiled her sparse smile and dispatched her cigarette in an elaborate ceramic work never meant, by the artist who had conceived it half a millennium ago, as an ashtray.
She said, “You were selected by our computers as my secretary, darling.”
Lee let out her breath, trying to disguise exasperation. “But what is your position? What do you do? What are these qualifications I’m supposed to have?”
“Relax, dear. I’m the secretary.” She took another cigarette from a medieval gold and ivory box and lit it with a modern gold desk lighter. “One of your qualifications is that you don’t need the job. Or any other job, for that matter. You’re filthy rich, dear.”
Lee looked at her blankly.
The Junoesque woman said, “So are all our other upper-echelon personnel. If they were not born with such resources, we make them available. In short, none of us is motivated by desire for money. We already have money. We are motivated by the dream.”
“What dream?” Lee said, still far out of her depth.
The other let heavy smoke flow from her nostrils. “The dream is to create a stable world, Lee. It’s been dreamed before, throughout history. For limited periods it has even been achieved, here and there—in Egypt for centuries; in Mexico by the Mayans; in China, at least to a certain degree, before the coming of the Europeans.”
Lee said, “What do you mean by stability?”
“For the first time, darling, the human race finds itself in a position to achieve a stable, unchanging society on a worldwide basis. No national disorders, wars, or extreme poverty.”
“It sounds like quite a dream,” Lee said skeptically. “I knew the World Club was a nonprofit think-factory seeking solutions to current problems, but I had no idea its scope was so all-embracing. Frankly, I’m having second thoughts. It sounds—well, impossible. It’s true that I want it to be something rational. Not a… forgive me… pipe dream.”
The secretary of the World Club chuckled throatily again. “Lee, darling, do you approve of GAS in the United States of the Americas?”
“I think so. I can’t think of any other manner of dealing with mass unemployment brought on by automation.”
“And do you approve of the United States taking in any North or South American country that wished statehood?”
“I think it was one of the most intelligent acts my country has ever performed.”
“Both were subtly engineered by the World Club.”
“But that’s ridiculous. I’ve never even heard a rumor of such a thing.”
Sheila smiled. “I said ‘subtly,’ did I not? First steps, darling. You see, our basic desire is to maintain the status quo in society, based on what now prevails in America and Common Europe. However, we are not really a conservative organization, certainly not a reactionary one. The World Club is quite revolutionary, in the broadest sense of the word. It aims at a stable, desirable world for the overwhelming majority. It cannot be all things to all people, but it can aim at making a stable society for the average person. To do this we must align ourselves against subversive elements: nihilist terrorists, the Wobblies in the States, Eurocommunists in Common Europe, even the Anti-Racist League. But we are not reactionary.”
“I see,” Lee said, somewhat less doubtfully. “What are some of the other ills that the World Club thinks it can solve?”
The handsome Amaz
on shrugged. “Bringing all religions together under the leadership of the United Church, perhaps. A universal language based on Esperanto. We already have a committee working on this. Meanwhile, English is the nearest to a universal language that we now have. Elimination of differences in religion and language will help guarantee a world society which will last indefinitely.”
“English, a universal language?” Lee said. “I thought there were a billion Chinese who spoke Mandarin.”
Sheila chuckled in her humorless manner. “Touché,” she said. “But most all of them are in China. The problem of assimilating China into our world society will have to be held in abeyance for the time. By the way, are you a women’s rights advocate?”
“In most ways,” Lee nodded. “However, I don’t claim that women are equal to men in all respects.”
The other looked at her sharply. “Why not? Certainly women are equal to men in all respects.”
“For one thing,” Lee said wryly, “they don’t have as long a penis. We can carry this chip on our shoulder to ridiculous extremes. It’s like the contention that blacks are the same as whites in all respects. Nonsense. One has a darker complexion than the other. So far as women are concerned—well, there has never been a female heavyweight champion of the world. A second-rate male pro would flatten the best female fighter who ever lived; they simply have more upper-body strength! On the other hand, I’ve always thought the first astronauts should have been women. We’re generally smaller and take up less space, use less food and oxygen, and on an average, we’re more deft with our hands. We seem to have more endurance under stress. I wonder how the average man would hold up under a difficult childbirth.”
The tall Sheila eyed her. “You have one quality that doesn’t come out in the computer reports—the strength to state strong opinions, darling. Do you have any other questions?”
“Yes,” Lee said definitely. “I’m surprised that both you and Mr. McBride have revealed so much to me, even before I’ve consented to take the position. You’ve told me that most workers for the World Club don’t even know it exists. But you’ve bared everything to me.”
The other lit still another cigarette. “Not quite everything, dear,” she said dryly. “You must realize that our computers selected you above all others. The computers seldom make mistakes in these things. We are assured that you are the best person for the position and the computers are of the opinion that you will take it. Obviously, it was required that you know what you are stepping into.”
Lee took a deep breath and said in resignation, “What would my duties be?”
“This first week, to give members the chance to become acquainted with you, since in this position you will be privy to many of their innermost decisions. The committee is now in session and will be for the rest of this month. Most of them are now in residence. These regular sessions are held twice a year. They’re informal, and consist largely of their sitting around, two by two or in larger groups, and discussing developments of the program. Not all are present at this session. Grace Cabot-Hudson, who is rather old and infirm, remained at her residence in North America.” Sheila Duff-Roberts looked at her timepiece. “But now, my dear, you must be tired, and will wish to see your suite and freshen up. And I have duties, of course.” Her eyes shifted slightly. “By the way, there is to be a partous tonight. Would you be interested?”
Lee shook her head. She wasn’t shocked, not in this age, but she was somewhat surprised. She said, “No, I’m not interested in group sex.”
The Amazon’s brows went up. “Lesbian?”
“No.”
“Pity,” Sheila said. “However, perhaps in time you’ll change your mind. Which reminds me. We have a staff of half a dozen office girls.” She took her lower lip in her perfect teeth. “Some of them are quite darling.”
There was a knock at the door and a man with the look of a well-tanned European, somewhere in his mid-thirties sauntered through. He wore his red hair in a young athlete’s crew cut and his dark blue eyes seemed out of place in his dark complexion. There was an easygoing sardonic quality in his smile. “Sheila,” he said, “you are looking particularly Brunhildic today. Have you been butchering male chauvinists with your broadsword again?”
The secretary of the Central Committee snorted at that and said, “Where the hell have you been, Jerry? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks.”
“Reclusing,” he told her easily. “Haven’t you heard? I am currently labeled the world’s wealthiest recluse and also its most eligible bachelor. Want to get married? Oops, no, of course not.”
Sheila snorted again and said, “This is Lee Garrett. She’s to be my new secretary. Lee, Mr. Jeremiah Auburn. Mr. Auburn is a member of the Central Committee; its youngest, by the way. How he ever got into its membership is a mystery to me.”
“Mind how you speak to your superiors, Ms. Duff-Roberts,” he said amiably. And then, as he shook hands with Lee, “Wizard, we meet again.”
Lee wrinkled her forehead. “I… I’ve heard about you, Mr. Auburn, but where did we ever meet? I’m sure that I would recall.”
A glint of laughter came into his eyes. “It’s an old ploy of mine. I’m terrible at remembering people and women become so distressed when I don’t recall their faces, particularly if I once spent a long weekend with them in the Bahamas, or Hawaii, or wherever, that I say, ‘Wizard, we meet again,’ just to be sure.” He headed for an elaborate Florentine cabinet, which turned out to be a disguised bar.
“How good of you, Jerry,” Sheila said sarcastically. “It must be distressing to be such a ladykiller.”
“A distress you’d love to share,” he said over his shoulder. And then, “Hmmm, perhaps you do.”
“I hope you worry about that a lot,” Sheila said, obviously well used to his banter.
He called, “Anybody else up to a bit of guzzle? I just checked. It’s twelve, so you won’t be considered a morning lush.”
Sheila asked for Scotch but Lee shook her head, still uneasy. Somehow, this man seemed familiar; possibly it was his voice, but she knew that she’d never seen him. There wasn’t a woman in the world who could meet Jerry Auburn and forget about it. The leading light of the rocket set for a decade, he had suddenly reversed his engines and disappeared from sight, in the tradition of Howard Hughes. From time to time he would pop up in the news but largely he was, as he had said, a recluse. Lee couldn’t imagine him being a member of the World Club, much less of its Central Committee.
He brought Sheila’s drink back to her, held up his own darkish brandy and water, and said, “Cheers, Sheila, old chum-pal. A new secretary, eh? What happened to the ultra-efficient Pamela?”
“I’m sure you’ll learn all about it,” she said, and sipped. “Lee just came in today.”
“Wizard,” Jerry Auburn said, looking Lee over again. He made with a mock leer. “You certainly pick them, Sheila.”
Sheila didn’t disguise her impatience at that. “Attractiveness and poise are requirements of employees who must meet the public, the news media, and so forth, Mr. Auburn. As you very well know.”
He finished the drink in one fell swoop and looked at his chronometer. “This is as good an opportunity as any for me to become acquainted with our beauteous Ms. Garrett. Are you available for lunch, ah, Lee?”
“Why,” she said, “I haven’t even seen my rooms yet, but I’m not really tired and we didn’t eat on the shuttle from Paris.”
“Wizard,” he said. “Then with Sheila’s permission, I’ll whisk you off.”
“I’ll see you later this afternoon, dear,” Sheila told her. “Don’t forget about the, uh, party this evening, if you change your mind.”
Out in the hall, as they walked toward the staircase, Jerry Auburn grinned and said, “Has Sheila already invited you to one of her versions of the partous?”
She looked up at him from the side of her eyes. “Yes.”
“I went to one once. They’re rather in the far-out line—in the
Roman tradition of Nero. Not my cup of tea. I love ladies one at a time and I don’t like boys at all. And I’ll leave the building of horizontal pyramids to the pharaohs. Must’ve been unhealthy; they’re all dead, I notice.”
She laughed. “We seem to share similar ideas,” she told him, before realizing that he might misinterpret that.
He chuckled and took her arm as they began to descend the stairs without saying anything further on the subject of sex.
The pages at the door came hurriedly to attention as Jeremiah Auburn approached, as did the guards with their halberds.
There was a beautiful sportster at the curb, one of the extreme models from Bucharest. Lee was moderately surprised when he ushered her to it and saw her seated on the passenger side. “You have permission to drive your own car in Rome?” she said.
“Ranking members of the World Club have their prerogatives, Lee. Having our central headquarters here is a feather in the caps of the city fathers. They turned over the Palazzo Colonna to us about ten years ago. Do you know Rome? Any preferences on where to eat?”
“I haven’t been here for years. I’ll leave it to you.”
“Wizard, let’s say the Hostaria dell’Orso. I believe it’s supposed to be the oldest restaurant in town. Dante used to live in the building.”
He turned the corner and sped down the Via Battisti in the direction of the looming monstrosity that was the monument to Vittorio Emanuele.
As they passed it, Lee shook her head. “Imagine leveling several acres of the Roman forum to erect that thing.”
“My sentiments exactly,” he said. “So, you’re to be Sheila’s new secretary. Did she give you her song and dance about the dream?”
Lee looked over at him in some surprise. “She made rather a moving appeal for the goals of the World Club, a stable society in which most of history’s problems would be solved.”
Jerry laughed softly. “Did she discuss her final solution to the women’s rights problem?”
“Why, no. She asked how I stood on the question but we didn’t go very far into it.”
He said, “I suspect her goal is the reestablishment of a matrilineal society. Get Sheila a bit into her cups and she begins to point out that women predominate numerically in the world but for all practical purposes are ignored in its governing. For instance, we’ve never had a female president of the United States. I suspect that Sheila wouldn’t object to taking the job.” He grinned again. “I can just see a whole cabinet of lesbians.”
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