cosmetics. There were displays of kitchen gadgets,appliances, and other heavy machinery for the home; recorded lectureson stock management and market control. Here women came from everypart of the country for advice, help and guidance. Here the TopDirectors met to plan business policy, to govern the nation, and tosupervise the production of the compound. For only the TopDirectors--less than a dozen women--actually knew the formula. Liketheir stockholdings, the secret was hereditary, passed from mother todaughter.
George searched every floor of the building, but found nothing exceptexhibit rooms. Time passed, and still he did not find what he had comefor. More and more women crowded in to see the exhibits. Several timeshe found new-comers examining him oddly; he found he had to avoid thecrowds.
Eventually he went down steps into the basement, though a door marked"Keep Out." The door was neither locked nor guarded, but there was aremote chance it might lead to the production center for the compound.In the basement George found a mechanical operation underway; at firsthe took it for another cosmetic exhibit. Conveyor belts deliveredbarrels of flavoring syrup, alcohol and a widely advertised liquidvitamin compound. Machines sliced open the containers, dumping thecontents into huge vats, from which pipes emptied the mixture intopassing rows of bottles.
The bottles: suddenly George recognized them and the truth dawned onhim, sickeningly. Here was the manufacturing center for thecompound--but it might just as well have been a barn in Connecticut ora store window in Manhattan. No man was enslaved by the compound, forthe compound did not exist. He was imprisoned by his own sense ofguilt, his own fear of being different. George remembered his own fearand guilt: he knew how much a man could be driven to make himselfconform to what he thought other men were like.
His revenge was as foolish as the sham he wanted to destroy. He shouldhave reasoned that out long ago; he should have realized it wasimpossible to have immunity to an addictive drug. But, no, Georgebelieved what he saw on the television programs. He was victimized asmuch as any man had ever been.
He turned blindly toward the stairway, and from the shadows in thehall the Morals Squad closed in around him. With a final gesture ofdefiance, he ripped off the stolen dress and the absurd hat, and stoodwaiting for the blast from their guns. An old woman, wearing theshoulder insignia of a Top Director, pushed through the squad andfaced him, a revolver in her hand. She was neither angry nordisturbed. Her voice, when she spoke, was filled with pity. Pity! Thatwas the final indignity.
"Now you know the truth," she said. "A few men always have to try it;and we usually let them see this room and find out for themselvesbefore--before we close the case."
Tensely he demanded, "Just how much longer do you think--"
"We can get away with this? As long as men are human beings. It'seasier to make yourself believe a lie if you think everyone elsebelieves it, than to believe a truth you've found out on your own. Allof us want more than anything else to be like other people. Women havecreated a world for you with television programs; you grow upobserving nothing else; you make yourself fit into the pattern. Only afew independent-minded characters have the courage to accept their ownimmunity; most of them end up here, trying to do something noble forthe rest of mankind. But you have one satisfaction, for what it'sworth: you've been true to yourself."
_True to yourself._ George found a strange comfort in the words, andhis fear was gone. He squared his shoulders and faced the mouth of hergun. _True to yourself_: that was something worth dying for.
He saw a flicker of emotion in the old woman's eyes. Admiration? Hecouldn't be sure. For at the moment a shot rang out from the end ofthe corridor; and the Top Director fell back, nursing a hand suddenlybright with blood.
"Let him go." It was Jenny's voice. She was sheltered by a partly opendoor at the foot of the stairway.
"Don't be a fool," the old woman replied. "He's seen too much."
"It doesn't matter. Who would believe him?"
"You're upset. You don't realize--"
"He's mine and I want him."
"The Directorate will give you a refund of the purchase price."
"You didn't understand me. I don't want one of your pretty automatons;anybody can buy them for a few shares of stock. I want a man--a realman; I want to belong to him."
"He belongs to you; you bought him."
"And that's what's wrong. We really belong to each other."
The old woman glanced at George and he saw the same flicker of feelingin her eyes. And tears, tears of regret. Why? "We have yououtnumbered," the old woman said quietly to Jenny.
"I don't care. I have a gun; I'll use it as long as I'm able."
The Morals Squad raised their weapons. The Director shook her headimperiously and they snapped to attention again. "If you take him fromus," she called out to Jenny, "you'll be outlawed. We'll hunt youdown, if we can."
"I want him," Jenny persisted. "I don't care about the rest of it."
The old woman nodded to George. He couldn't believe that she meant it.The Director was on her home ground, in her headquarters building,backed by an armed squad of stone-faced Amazons. She had no reason tolet him go.
She walked beside him as he moved down the hall. When they weretwenty feet from the guard, she closed her thin hand on his arm; hereyes swam with tears and she whispered, "There truly is a love potion.Not this nonsense we bottle here, but something real and veryworthwhile. You and this girl have found it. I know that, from the wayshe talks. She doesn't say anything about ownership, and that's as itshould be. As it has to be, for any of us to be happy. Hold tight tothat all the rest of your life. Don't ever believe in words; don'tfall for any more love stories; believe what you feel deepinside--what you know yourself to be true.
"You men who learn how to break away are our only hope, too. Most ofus don't see that yet. I do; I know what it used to be like. Somedaythere may be enough men with the stamina to take back the place ofdominance that we stole from them. We thought we wanted it; fordecades before we had been screaming about women's rights." Her thinlips twisted in a sneer and she spat her disgust. "Finally we tookwhat we wanted, and it turned to ashes in our hands. We made our menplaythings; we made them slaves. And after that they weren't men anymore. But what we stole isn't the sort of thing you can hand back on asilver platter; you men have to get enough courage to take it awayfrom us."
Her grip tightened on his arm. "There's a fire door at the end of thehall; if you push the emergency button, you'll close it. That willgive you a five or ten minute start. I can't help you any more...."
They were abreast of Jenny. She seized Jenny's hand and thrust it intohis. "Beat it, kids; there's a bachelor camp on the north ridge. Youcan make it.
"And from here on in, what he says goes," the old woman added. "Don'tforget that."
"She won't," George answered, supremely self-assured.
He took Jenny's arm and, turning abruptly, they made their break forfreedom. The Director managed to remain standing in the middle of thecorridor, making a dangerous target of herself so that none of theMorals Squad could risk a shot at the fugitives. As the fire doorclanged shut George looked back. He saw the old woman's lips moving insilent prayer.
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Love Story Page 4