Jack Wodham - Stormy Bellwether [ss]

"I don't care if it is a status symbol, I don't want one in my home."

"It's not just a status symbol," his wife countered firmly. "It is very useful and has a lot of desirable features."

"What desirable features?" Birk asked. "What the devil do you want to see for? It was bad enough before, being obliged to answer and listen. All it is is an extension to invite a greater invasion of our privacy."

"Really, Birk, you do make a fuss," she complained. "What's so exceptional in speaking face-to-face? It's the normal way, isn't it? We're doing it all the time. We're used to it. I like to see who I'm talking to."

"Oh, yes," he granted, "there are times when it might be nice to see the person at the other end - but that's not most of the time. I don't want to have to look at any Tom, Dick or Martha who may wish to draw solace from my harassed features. Not at home, Lena! A man should at least be able to relax in his own house."

She wriggled a little. "So how will it stop you from relaxing?" She sounded a trifle cross now. "You're being juvenile, Birk. You're behaving like they did when telephones first came in, an old-fashioned type who thought they might explode or something. For heaven's sake, it's only talking to somebody - surely you can handle that?"

"You don't understand, Lena," he tried to keep patient, but the effort was evident. "It's the getting no choice. Anybody can come right in here and see me whether I want them to or not. I close the connection and I'm trapped."

"You're exaggerating it out of all proportion." She clasped her hands in front of her. "You're meeting people every day, in the street, in shops, in business. You don't get excited then, do you? I can't understand you, Birk. Everybody's getting them put in, for their convenience and obvious advantages. You have to keep up with the times, and nearly all the people we know are getting them, or have got them already."

"I don't care about that!" he cried. "I don't want one. I don't want one in my house."

Lena became irritable. "Well, we've got them. And before you start thinking to get them thrown out, you'd better see what your boss, Mr. Flodrankle, has to say. He likes his employees to be ambitious, and he even helped us to get priority."

"Huh? Old Flo? Why - " Birk knew revelation. "So that was the cozy get-together at Cooky's retirement party. You fixed it then."

"I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you'd be pleased." Her stubborn chin trembled. "I didn't think it would upset you and make you start shouting at me."

"No? Well, I - " Then with the sure instinct of an accustomed loser, he read the signs and felt his resolution crumble. Lena crying he might cope with - but with Old Flo brought in - Yes, Old Flo would want to know why his forward-looking executive should want to reject such a happy favor. Damn!

At that moment there began an imperative ringing.

"You answer it."

"No, you answer it."

"No, you. You've got to get used to it. It's just childish to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid. But it was your idea, so you can get on with it. Unless you're frightened who it might be."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I've already used it a few times, before you came home. And what on earth is there to be frightened of? Are you scared someone might jump out at you?"

"I've used them too, at work," he said shortly. "It's just that I'd like to have some assurance of peace in my own house. I'd like to feel free from being gawked at behind my own front door."

Lena gave an exasperated snort and moved to terminate the summons of the bell. "I think you're being very silly about the whole business. In a few weeks," she prophesied, "you'll wonder how we ever did without it."

"Hah!" he jeered. But his heart wasn't in it.

Lena paused to fluff her hair in the mirror, to smooth an eyebrow with a finger. Quick check that everything was O.K., a smile to herself, just so, held, and she felt ready to switch on the vuphone.

"Hello?" and as the picture firmed, "Why, Mabel, darling! How good of you to call. How did you know that we ... ? Oh, Iris told you, did she? Yes, we had them put in today. Yes, we have two, the portable one's upstairs. Yes. It's the only way. And where are you calling from, Mabel? From the ... ? Oh, I thought I could hear traffic. Yes, the soundproofing leaves much to be desired. Still, it looks cozy enough in there - even if it is cramped.

"And when are you getting yours put in? What? Is he? What a terrible nuisance for you." Lena's smile became even more pleasant. "It's too bad having to have to dash down town every time you want to say a few words to your friends. Still, they're opening more public booths in the suburbs all the time, so I hear. Yes, I know dear, I understand perfectly. Some husbands are like that and make the biggest excuse out of what really is the most modest expense. Mabel, you have my entire sympathy, believe me. But, my dear, I must ask - is that a new hat you're wearing? I don't seem to remem ... It is? I thought so. Darling, it does suit you, it really does. It sets off your eyes quite ..."

And so on, and so on. Birk groaned. He recognized defeat when he saw it.

Birk was having a shower when Lena popped her head around the door. "There's a call for you," she said sweetly.

"Huh?" He hardly broke the rhythm of his soaping. "I can't come now. Tell them to call back."

"It's Mr. Flodrankle," she was pleased to persist. "He wants to speak to you urgently."

"Old Flo?" This froze him in mid-lather. "Blast! Why can't he ... Oh hell." Forgetfully, Birk cut the water, grabbed a towel and marched out.

Not until he was almost there did Birk remember that the old handset had been replaced by a vuphone. In one instant he glimpsed his boss's peering face, had flash recall, and had skipped numbly aside in unthinking reflex.

"Ocksen?" Flodrankle barked. "Is that you? Are you there?"

Birk pressed himself against the wall, out of the line of vision, he hoped. He clutched his towel and swore.

"Ocksen, where are you? Lena? Where have you got to? What's taking you so long? I haven't got all day," Flodrankle grumbled.

Birk risked a careful peek. Chest and head on screen, Flodrankle looked to be becoming fretful, bobbing, his eyes seeking in every corner available to him. "Ocksen? Lena?" Flodrankle looked at his watch, picked up a paper, pretended to absorbedly study it, only to shortly give it away to scowl at the screen once more. "What the devil's keeping the man?"

Birk wanted to race, to get dressed, dry. He gazed around in appeal for Lena, but she had disappeared. He had no time. He cursed mightily.

"Ocksen!" It was a bawl for attention, an authoritative demand from one who was unused to delay.

Birk had to answer. He cleared his throat. "Yes, sir?"

"Ocksen?" Flodrankle squinted. "Is that you, Ocksen? Are you there?"

"Yes, sir. This is Ocksen, sir." "Yes? Where the hell are you, man - hiding under the table?"

"No, sir. I ... I'm...I'm just around the corner, sir."

"Around the corner? Ocksen, what are you playing at? Come out where I can see you. I am not," he darkly hinted, "fond of such funny games."

"Uh ... I can't, sir."

"Can't? What do you mean, `can't'? Are you tied to a chair?"

"No sir, nothing like that. It's ... Ah, well, you see, sir, it's ... It was like this - I was having a shower when you called."

"A shower?" Flodrankle was puzzled. "What's that got to do with it? I've often been called from the tub. What's the matter with you, Ocksen?"

"It's ... I - "

"Great heavens, man, don't tell me that you're bashful? Vera's not here, and I don't give a hoot. I've been in more locker rooms than enough. It makes no difference to me." Flodrankle very audibly thumped his desk. "Enough of this nonsense, Ocksen, and come out where I can see you."

Birk hesitated. He wished now that he had been bold in the beginning. It was too late to be bold now. He fumed under his breath. With a last vain look about for clothing, curtains, anything, he surrendered to the inevitable and stepped forth with what careless dignity he could muster.

"He laughed. He thought it was a great joke."

"Well, so long as he was amused, why should you worry?" Lena said, calmly.

"You don't know what it felt like standing there soaking wet getting cold, and him blathering on as though he had nothing better to do. I felt utterly foolish. It wouldn't have happened with the old telephone."

"Don't start that again. You're not up to date, that's all." She smiled grimly. "You haven't been paying attention. You have to adapt, or perish. You just haven't got yourself organized."

"Oh, yes? What am I to do, wear tie and tails all the time in case there's a call? I'll brush my teeth every half hour, shall I? And get my own makeup kit to go beside yours - just so that I can be sure to look nice if anyone rings."

"It is a new medium," Lena responded staidly. "It's only common sense to take elementary precautions." She forestalled him, "How long does it take to run a comb through your hair, to slip on a jacket and cravat? Kept handy by the voop, how much trouble is that to go to?"

"Too damn much."

"Less than half a minute," she corrected, not in the least to be daunted. "Fresh and nice, and nobody need know any different."

"I ... don't ... want," he reiterated tautly, "to be forced to have to fix myself up every time I answer the phone. I don't want to have to pat my curls and dance about with a silly smirk on my face for the benefit of some other grinning got-up gig on the other end. I don't want to have to bother with what I look like."

"Well, don't then," she snapped, fraying off. "Just be a slob, wear a dirty singlet. If you don't care to provide some tiny preparation so that you can always make yourself presentable, then that's your affair. I'm not going to be your nursemaid. If you don't mind people seeing you as a whiskery hobo, then that's all right by me."

"It's an imposition," he bit back. "I'm entitled to dress how I like in my own home, to be at ease in my own home, to not have to jump to spruce myself every time that damn new phone rings."

"All right, then, all right, all right, don't," she yelped. "Do what you like, wear a towel, then, if you think it suits you. If you want to be a disgrace, I won't stop you ..."

It was just after 1:00 a.m. "Come on," Lena urged, to the rear and applying lipstick in case it was someone for her, "answer it and see who it is." Birk tugged his polo-necked ski sweater over his head to successfully swallow his pajamas. "I'm going as fast as I can," he gritted. He picked up his brush from the voop-tray and scooped his spiky locks into reasonably smooth order. He shrugged, finished with a hand-wipe, and satisfied himself in the mirror that he had the attributes necessary to portray cool aplomb.

He stepped close to be sure that only the top half of him would show, and switched on the vuphone. "Yes?" he inquired calmly. "What is it?"

From her position behind the screen Lena could make not head nor tail of the reply. She adjusted her own cardigan, making faces at him in mouthing silently, "Who is it?"

Birk beamed. "That's quite all right," he said. "Don't mention it. It happens to us all. Goodnight." And he switched off.

Lena stopped in surprise. "Who was it?"

Savagely Birk started to remove his emergency sweater. "It was a wrong number," he snarled.

"Good morning, madam - and may I say how well turned-out you are this morning?"

"Why ... why, thank you." Lena was flattered. "There is something you require, Mr. er ... ?"

"Gyborne's the name, madam, and I'm not sure but what this call of mine will be wasted, as far as you're concerned, madam. No offense, and begging your pardon, but you seem a natural on the vuphone, madam. You're an old hand, you've had a lot of practice elsewhere, I dare say."

"Well ... no. We've only had it in for a few days."

"What?" There was incredulity in his tone. "You must do television work, then, or parts in films. You're used to being on camera, that's obvious."

"Why no, I ... I've never done anything like that. I'm, well, I'm just an ordinary housewife."

"Believe me, you're not ordinary," Gyborne told her. "You must have a natural flair in front of a lens. Yes, you're photogenic, no doubt about that."

"Do you think so?"

"You must be, you're so confident. See, a lot of women get these vu-phones and they get jittery. For the very bad cases I have to recommend tranquilizers, but for most others the voop-ball is sufficient."

"Voop-ball?"

"It's a tension easer. Out of sight under the table, you can work your toes and ankles on it - very good for the calves, too."

Lena wriggled her fingers together. "That sounds interesting."

"They're only eight twenty-five," the man said airily. "I could get one delivered to you this afternoon. It's a special this month. Of course, our best selling item is our new mobile voop-bar, with glad-eye mirror and accessories. But what you would like," Gyborne tacked in skillful instinct from infertile ground, "is an auramatic lighting frame that can be simply attuned to light your vuphone image - softly and gently light your face in a professional manner.

"Madam, if I may say so, letting any old light fall any old how upon a face such as yours is not doing justice to your cheekbones, or to that burnished tint that must be in your hair. This isn't being fair to the people who view you."

Lena put a hand to her ear. "I ... I hadn't thought of that."

"You want to be seen literally in the best light possible, don't you?" Gyborne inquired persuasively. "Lighting that blends and subtly accents your warm eyes, your firm but kind chin, your - "

"You don't know me, Mr. Ocksen," the sad man said, "but I had a fall and broke an arm and a leg, and it never mended properly. I lost my job and I got no insurance. I've got a wife and five kids, Mr. Ocksen, trying to live on Welfare, trying to live decently. It's hopeless. Two days ago we got evicted from our place. Rent was too high, Mr. Ocksen - how could I pay? Wife and five kids, we're on the street."

Birk got over his bewilderment to break into the flat monologue. "But what's that got to do with me? Why call me? I don't know you from Adam."

"No," the stranger admitted gloomily, "and you don't care. You can afford a fancy new vuphone, while I couldn't even rent one of the old ones for a week."

"Yes, maybe so," Birk said, "but why tell me? Why pick on me?"

"I got to tell somebody." The man presented a lugubrious drooping portrait. "I got to try and reach somebody. I don't know where to turn to next."

"Maybe not," Birk's hand moved, "but I'm not your man. I can't do anything for you."

"That's right," the man nodded in sunken fatalism, "switch off. Just forget. Just pretend I don't exist. It's easy for you. You've got a comfortable home, nice chairs to sit in, a fire to keep you warm." He stood, a pathetic martyr to indifference. "Just for somebody to care, just a little. Just to know that someone ... someone has a heart, will listen, will spare just a couple of minutes."

One tear welled and rolled. "It doesn't seem much to ask ... one human in despair ... needing - " the forlorn head shook, the sleeve of his ill-fitting jacket was brought to wipe a cheek, "only a little sympathy, some understanding. I - I - " the man's hands had no strength to do more than make tiny circles at his sides, "I'm at the end of my rope. I don't know where to turn. I can't get any more groceries till the bills are paid, and ... and - "

The man swallowed painfully. "Go ahead. I'm nothing to you. Just ... just switch off. Just put us out of your mind. I'm sorry for bothering you. A few dollars could tide us over, but what's that to you? Go ahead. I took a gamble with my last dime, but," he sagged in weary dejection, "it seems I'm ... doomed to lose."

"Now wait a minute," Birk said, "things - It can't be as bad as all that - " And maddeningly hooked. helplessly he got himself trapped.

"Brought to your very home, madam, this sale of exclusively tailored day- and sports-wear by Lorette is being conducted right now in our city store. Now here" - the scene cut to a stiff-faced model contorting extremely to demonstrate the elasticity of the garment, or something - "is Roberta in a simple but stylish playsuit in crimptex. Note the double-slash in the bosom and the scalloped back when the bolero is removed. This ensemble has been reduced from a projected $23.00 to a low $15.95, and is available in all fractional sizes, and custom-dyed to your own requirements. This is a genuine bargain for those who wisely are preparing for summer. The outfit lends itself very well to personal trimming, additions and accessories.

"Next we have Belinda in this stunning cross-cut beach-shift - " Lena was fascinated.

"Why, er, hello," Birk said. "Urn, you must be wanting Lena, I guess, but, ah, she's out right now. She won't be back for another hour. Could I, uh - ?"

The luscious redhead twinkled at him from the vuphone screen. "No, it's you I wanted to speak to." She looked him over. "You look very nice." Her robe slipped as she crossed her legs; she didn't seem to notice. "My name is Susanah, and I live in apartment 11-D in the Laminex Building, you know it? It's not far. Why don't you come over and see me sometime?"

"Me? Why, I, uh - "

"You can make an appointment any time," she suggested. "I'll always be glad to see you. All you need bring is twenty dollars and your smile." She winked. "Why don't you write down my number? It's 59-06- 38 ..."

"I, uh - "

"Susanah, 11-D. Don't you have a pen?"

"Hm-m-m? Oh. Oh sure, yes." "Good. Have you got it down? 5906-38 ..."

"Uh," Birk scribbled, "yes."

"Great." She leaned forward to blow him a kiss. "You look awfully yummy. Don't hesitate to call - "

"I tried to get through to you twice this morning, and again in the afternoon. Were you talking to people all day?"

"It's not I," Lena protested. "All sorts of people call up during the day. I don't ask them, they just do."

"And do you have to listen to them?" Birk growled.

"Some of them are very interesting," she said defensively.

"They're just TV commercials on a private line," Birk declared. "We didn't get anything like this with the old phone. It's like I said in the first place, it's an invasion of privacy. There ought to be a law against it, but how can they stop it? All you've got to have is enough willpower to hang up."

"I don't see that it's all that bad," Lena said. "The people are always nice, and the things they talk about are always up to date. They keep a person informed. And it's not as if we have to buy anything - in fact I rarely do. It's a service and a real convenience."

"And I share the bill, oh yes, ha-ha. And how about the house, huh? In front of the viewer it's spotless, and here you are done up like Duchess Spunregal waiting to perform just as soon as the bell rings. You're waiting for your curtain call even at breakfast. How can you get any work done if you're going to wear a tiara all day?"

"I manage," she replied sharply. "You don't want people to think you're married to a mess, do you? How would you like Mr. Flodrankle to call and see me all scraggly with suds up to my elbows? What would he think?"

"He might think you were a sensible housewife instead of some bit player for a ballroom scene just come from dressing room 99." And as she pouted, "Those half dozen colored light bulbs that cost me fifty-five bucks don't turn you into a Rossor a Redgrave, you know. The make-believe is all yours."

She was needled. "Is it? What about you? Who paid extra to have the monitor fitted?"

"It's a checking device that I thought might help."

"Yes? Oh, yes. So who always presents his left-quarter profile now, and makes sure the combination is set to make him look tanned and show up his white teeth?" And as he sparked to warm, "And who was it got suckered for twenty-five dollars by a no-hoper bum, hey? Why didn't you hang up on that? He saw you coming. I suppose he made you feel like the Ford Foundation for a minute. Acting like a playboy tycoon, I suppose you thought you couldn't do anything else."

"I felt sorry for him."

"I can believe it. He's probably worth more than any ten of us put together. Birk, it's not as if we don't have enough bills of our own, you're always complaining."

"All right, it was a mistake. I thought it was the least I could do. It was too late afterwards."

"You could have stopped the check," she pointed out reasonably. "Yes," he averted his eyes, "but he would only have called up again. I gave my word. Look, what's done is done. I'll know better next time." His jaw set. "The thing is right now. I've had enough of this business. It's intruding too much into our daily lives. It's a disruptive element. It has to go."

"Oh, has it? And what about my opinion? Don't I get a say in the matter? It stays," she said obstinately. "You're not stuck at home all day like I am. It makes a lot of difference meeting people, actually seeing them live, face to face. It makes me feel part of things."

"Well, it doesn't make me feel part of things," Birk said, "especially when I can't even get a simple call through to my own home because the line is engaged by appliance retailers. God help us come election. The old phone was less subject to abuse, and was an efficient means of communication."

"And so is this," Lena averred stoutly. "For a woman this is better, she can see who she's dealing with. I'm the one who has to use it mostly," she argued, "and I like it, and I want it, and I say we're keeping it. And don't try to call home tomorrow afternoon," she warned, "because I've joined the voop Scrabble club, and I've got a game scheduled for one o'clock - "

"Please take a seat. Mr. Ocksen. That's it. Good. Now then, what can we do for you?"

"It's my wife," Birk said.

"Ah." Mr. Mortlake of the G.S. Mortlake Inquiry Service was immediately the sad, but wise, old sage with vast experience of receipt of such confidence. "Misbehaving herself, eh? Tut-tut. What are the grounds for your suspicions? Do you know who the other man is? How long do you think it's been going on? Is it a conclusion you've reached from your own observations, or do you already have some supportive evidence from independent witnesses?"

"What, what?" Birk was taken aback. "My wife? Misbehaving herself? No, I don't think so. Not that I know of, at least, not in the way I think you mean."

"Ah," Mortlake said again. His shrewd deductive powers could visibly be seen to move into action as he received this negative response. "She's not, eh? Not that you know of. But you suspect, do you?"

"Suspect? Suspect what?"

"That she might be thinking of going off with another man."

"Lena? Good grief, I don't think so. She's not thinking of something like that, I don't think."

"Hm-m-m. I see." Mortlake frowned to evidence his sobriety. "So you would like us to arrange something perhaps, eh?"

Birk was nonplussed. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't want you to arrange anything. All I want you to do is advise me how I might get rid of my vuphone."

"Ah." This was a clue to cue a glimmer of understanding into the solemn meditation. "You don't want a divorce?"

"Great Scot, I hope we won't have to go as far as that."

"No, no, sir, of course not," Mortlake said quickly. "Now then, let me get this straight, sir. Am I to gather that your problem centers upon a vuphone and its irremovable fixation in your domicile due to an exorbitant attachment by your chosen female of the species?"

"Uh," Birk thought it out, "yes. I didn't want it put in in the first place, but Lena ... that's my wife ... she insisted that we give it a trial. Now it's like opening night at the Crud-puddle Rep all the time."

" 'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, saith the preacher,' " Mortlake misquoted. He mused. "Oddly enough, I had a vuphone divorce only recently. By appropriately leaving the receiver `off the hook', as it were, it can act as an excellent instrument for surveillance. Suitably aimed, of course. Do you have a recorder on yours, to take down messages, or to make note of usage?"

"No, I haven't."

"Oh well, I should, sir, if I were you. For a small extra cost, it pays for itself time and again in the peace of mind it can bring. And, of course, it can provide very convincing evidence in a divorce court."

"But I don't want a divorce!" Birk shouted.

"Ah, yes, sir, I was forgetting. Still, you never know your luck, you might one day. Yes, now," he turned his hawk-eyed professional attention up to full, "you are, it would appear, having some difficulty convincing your dear spouse of the pernicious factors attendant to the possession of such an electronic marvel within the household. Tell me, sir, please, of your problem, and how it might be that I may be of assistance."

"Well it must be legal, and it must be discreet." And Birk told the detective of his objections and of the obstacles.

Birk did not like it, but the advice was not free and, despite his distaste, he thought that the maneuver just might work very well. But he had to confess later to G.S. Mortlake, detective, that his application had been a failure.

"You couldn't have been raw enough," Mortlake opined. "You couldn't have been sufficiently revolting and disgusting."

"She made me feel like an idiot. Even wearing a mask and speaking through that thing I got the idea that she could recognize me."

"But how did she react to your filthy remarks? Wasn't she shocked at all?"

"She didn't seem to be. She seemed to enjoy it, if anything. She even asked me if I'd call again."

Mortlake wagged his head. "You couldn't have done it properly. You were too gentle, probably. You should have been vile, dirty, let yourself go, made prurient remarks and obscene gestures and suggestions."

"I'm not really cut out for that sort of thing," Birk answered somewhat stiffly. "I did my best. Apparently it wasn't good enough."

"What you need, sir, is an expert, if I may say so," Mortlake ventured judiciously, "someone with the hair-curling turn of phrase, and with no inhibitions whatsoever."

"Yes? And do you know of such a person?"

"With your permission, yes, sir, I do. He is a merchant seaman, a Mr. Tiger O'Toole, sir, a person of highly diverse accomplishment. But in an unusual case such as this, I'm not at all sure what fee he might expect."

"As long as it is not too outrageous," Birk said, "and he is good - "

"Never," and Birk was genuinely and thoroughly astounded, "have I ever seen such a filthy, such a lewd and perverted exhibition in my life." He broke from the profane spell cast by their leering, jibing, odiously gyrating caller, and leaped to break the connection.

"What?" Lena was startled. "What did you do that for?"

"What for?" Birk was amazed. "You can't be serious? That ... That coarse, ugly, despicable swine!" He shivered. "A stranger. Just like that in our own home. It's ... I'm going to call the police."

"Oh, really, you do carry on," Lena groused. "What harm was he doing? He didn't bother me. He was quite amusing in an unbalanced kind of way. At least he had more originality than the one who called a couple days ago."

Birk halted in his reach for thedial. "Uh. Er, people like that have called you before?"

"Darling, you do seem stuffy at times. Why get excited about such cranks? I suppose that they will get caught in time, but mostly they're just acting out their frustrations."

"I see." Birk was wide-eyed. "They can voice their crude innuendos in our parlor, can they? Can call you names and make disgusting invitations right here in our own home? Oh yes, I can see myself allowing that."

"Birk, really," she shook her head, "it's just an isolated incident, and it does add the spice of variety. He was even better than some of the movies."

"The movies?" Birk queried. "What movies?"

"Oh," Lena paused, shrugged, "one or two of the girls have these interesting tapes and, well, we cheat a little, make a sort of party-line, and all look in while they get played over."

"A voop-club affair," he noted coldly.

"Darling, it's only one small item on the agenda: Tomorrow, for instance, we're all going to help Janet pick out her trousseau, and also discuss flower arrangement."

Birk was staggered by the nonchalance, the casual impartiality displayed towards such contrasting subject matter. Just for the moment he could find no words.

"I'm stuck with that voop-talker, Mr. Mortlake, stuck with it. The thing is supposed to be a utility, but all it's doing, I am convinced, is shredding nerves and promoting insincerity. Everybody smiles and tries to come on like an m.c. of a quiz contest. And by no means is it an aid to speed communication. People spend more time looking at each other and beating around the bush than they ever did with the old simple sound-transmitter."

"I find this case very intriguing," Mortlake conceded. "Sounding around, I have learned that yours is not entirely a singular reaction. In fact I have become encouraged to think that discovery of a combative element could provide a fruitful condition for enterprise."

"Other men have the same problem?"

"I couldn't have phrased it better myself, sir. The system has drawbacks in business, mainly in the reciprocal stress occasioned by the need for complete role-playing by both juniors and seniors. The protection of invisibility has been stripped away. But mainly it is in the home, sir, as in your case, with the wife. It would appear that the vuphone strikes a responsive chord, an irresistible challenge, we might say, sir, to the female mentality."

"You think so?" Birk fidgeted. "Why do we put up with it? Why are all the business houses so eager to have them put in to make everybody jumpy? Even the bosses don't really like it."

"It's the latest thing, sir, and modern people cannot afford to lag in adopting an 'improvement', can they? If one firm has them and is suffering the innovation, a less progressive firm stands to earn the unenviable label of being a piker."

"There seems to be no resistance at all," Birk grouched. "They can't seem to get the new viewers installed fast enough."

"Once the trend is set by the prestige-conscious ultra-moderns, sir, the rest feel obliged to follow suit, whether they like it or not. And, of course, the vuphone people didn't spend millions to invent their toy for nothing, and their promotion is not stinted. No. sir, it would be unwise to underestimate the latent power of this instrument. It is fast becoming the accepted and established form of contact over distance. Very soon the plain sound device will be an anachronism."

"Surely there's something we can do? After having to make faces all day in all sorts of unavoidable confrontations, a man doesn't want to have to go through the same thing when he gets home. It's a bit too much of a good thing."

"I have been giving my mind to the subject, sir," and from Mortlake this was a grave submission that such applied rumination was not at all to be despised, "and I can anticipate how formidable the task of retaliation may be. However, the rate of change is being conducted almost with unseemly haste by its operators, as though they might sense, perhaps, that if they do not reach the point of no return quickly, then they might start meeting subscriber opposition." "Point of no return?"

"Yes, sir. At present there is overlap and interchange with sound-only calls, and everybody understands this. But unless a solid case can be made for the retention of the sound-only phone, it will be forced to go the way of saddles and harness - a possession for poverty, or refined for special occasions."

"I'm doomed then." Despondency sat upon Birk. "Unless I become a hermit. I have to tolerate it or become an outcast. If the threat of being subjected to the most flagrant obscenities fails to distress and cause fear of repetition, what else is there?"

"It's the moving picture, sir," Mortlake pronounced, "and TV and films have inured us to such things. Also the witnessing is private, not public, which can eliminate much source for personal embarrassment. It's only a machine, sir, and we control it, don't we? We can always switch it off, can't we?"

Birk sighed. "Then you can offer no solution, Mr. Mortlake?"

"Ah, now, I didn't say that, sir." Mortlake was modestly buoyant. "You have my sympathy, sir, and as I remarked earlier, there is distinct prospect for gaining further clients if a successful combative technique could be contrived."

"If it was legal, yes," Birk said, "It could become a very profitable sideline for you. Are you regarding me as a guinea pig?"

"If you'll pardon me, in a way, yes, sir. You see, as I see it, sir, what is required is the awakening of the sense of inadequacy and discomfort. An unhappy experience, repeated perhaps, when using the vu-phone - ?"

"Something different from filth? Are you thinking maybe an electric shock every time she switches on?"

"Er, no, not quite - but you're on the right track. Don't you think, sir, that medical therapy used to help smokers stop smoking and drinkers stop drinking, might be employed to discourage vuphoners from vuphoning?"

The circles went around and around working towards the middle, in easy rhythm, endlessly, being constantly replenished from the sides.

Mrs. Ocksen watched, her head slowly tilting, her eyes widening to glaze as she tried to follow the whorling. And the voice droned, "Watch closely, closely now, to see if you can spot the clue that can win you a brand-new luxurious Sleepy-time bedroom suite. Sleepytime, beautiful sleep mattresses, soft, soft, sleepy pillows, wonderful Sleepy-time, sleepy, sleepy, so sleepy, you want to sleep, you just love to sleep, sleepy now, so-o-o sleepy - "

And Lena quite soon succumbed to the gentle hypnotic suggestion.

"Honey, gee, you look terrible," Birk said sincerely. "Are you ill?"

"Yes. No. I feel awful. Oh, Birk." She put a wrist to her hair. "I've had a stinking day, stinking. You ... You don't know, you just don't know."

"Yes? What happened, sweetheart?"

"Everything." He could see that she was near to tears. "You don't know. Everything went wrong, everything. I ... I ... I tried - "

"There, there, sit down. Would you like to tell me all about it?"

"Birk, I ... I don't understand it. I just seem to be cockeyed all day. Alicia Baitland called, and I had my hands full of cake-mix. It's like glue. But I have to stir it, I have to, otherwise - Alicia must have thought I was mad. I couldn't get rid of it. It seemed to stick everywhere."

"So I see." Birk eyed blobs and smears of evidence.

"That's how it started. I wanted to make a cake. All day," her lip quivered, "all day I've been trying to make a cake. But every time I got it ready, the ... the phone would ring. Birk," her fingers agitatedly kneaded the mixture in the bowl on her lap, "why can't people let me finish making it?"

"Uh, well, they didn't know, I guess."

Lena scraped her fingers on the bowl-rim, knuckled her eye and sniffed. "They thought I was peculiar, I could tell. And then there were three of them. Birk!" she cried, "you don't know! They pointed at me and laughed!" Her face crumpled. She wailed. "I couldn't help it. I was only trying to make a c-cake, B-Birk - "

Birk felt keen piercings of guilt. He ignored the effect that scattered sticky substances might have upon his suit, and he sat to place a comforting arm about her. Her beige cocktail dress was as daubed as a painter's smock, and beads and droplets hung in her battered upswept coiffure, offsetting her earrings and three-rope pearl necklace.

Birk quelled recoil from the heavily-coated hands and forearms. "Easy, honey, easy."

"But it shouldn't be so hard to make one l-lousy cake. Look - Look at the state I'm in! But I had to, and ... and everybody - " She surrendered to misery and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Birk!"

"I'll get it."

"No. No, I have to, I - " Lena struggled up, clutching her bowl. She faltered. "Always in the middle - "

Birk gripped her shoulders. "O.K., you go in the kitchen and finish making the cake while I see who it is."

"But I ... if ... if it's someone for me, I should - "

"I'll let you know. Forget it, now." He turned to step to the compelling ringing. A prisoner to her unwanted planted drive, she trailed in his wake.

At the vuphone Birk paused.

Much goo had transferred itself to his person. The mirror showed him blotched up to his ears. With no time for repair, for expediency he plucked a larger lump of cake-mix from his lapel, divided it, and stuck the two balls to block the pick-up lenses.

He switched on. "Hullo?"

"Huh, what? Ocksen? Ocksen, are you there? Are - "

"Who's that?" Birk asked, grinning at the face of Mr. Flodrankle straining to make out some impression on his screen. "Is that you, Mr. Flodrankle?"

"Yes, it is." Flodrankle's finger flicked. "What's wrong with your set, Ocksen? I'm not getting your picture."

"No, sir. It seems to have blanked out." Birk put his thumbs to his temples and waggled his fingers. "I guess there must be a fault in the circuit somewhere. All I'm getting here is a foggy night, sir. Sir - you are there?" And he stuck out his tongue as far as it would go.

"I'm here, Ocksen." Flodrankle sounded peeved. "I wanted to show you this ..." he held up a diagram. "I wanted your opinion. But if you can't see - Get it fixed, Ocksen, as soon as you can."

"I'll try, sir."

Birk was frozen in his lip-flipping when his boss made a very rude motion in his direction before hanging up.

"I suppose you've done quite well, judging by the fall-off and retraction in vuphone use. Some of it will no doubt be due to your efforts, eh?"

"Very little, sir, I'm sorry to say," the head of the G.S. Mortlake Inquiry Service confessed. "There was a spasm of hypnotic competition, but the reversal comes, I fancy, from much more natural and mundane causes. Do take a seat, Mr. er ...Ockser, isn't it?"

"Ocksen," Birk corrected, seating himself. "I have been curious whether you have had many other cases. Humiliation is rather a drastic weapon, but it can prove effective." He was just a touch wistful. "It seems nice when the opponent swings around to being the one pressing for removal."

"Yes, sir, reprehensible but satisfying. Could it have been retained for special employment in certain individual cases, the method could have been a useful means for continuing profit for years to come. Unfortunately the rot has set in and is already depriving us of the abundant situation."

"I see. That seems strange. I thought the trend was here to stay, keeping up with the Joneses."

"Abuse, sir, vandalism. Not enough allowance was made for tampering, and for the psychological effects of gross one-sidedness, sir."

"I'm not sure I get what you're driving at, Mr. Mortlake. I know there seems to be creeping disenchantment with the vuphone, they seem to be definitely going out of favor, but I really don't see why."

"It's the blackout, sir. People who plug the transmitting eyes with gum, or sticky-tape, or paint, they're the cause, sir. People soon learn that it's not a breakdown, and that their picture is going to the other end while giving them nothing in return. To be seen while not to see is not a pleasant sensation, sir. One gets a feeling of being unfairly exposed. It's all right if the light says the call is coming from an old sound-only phone, but in any other instance, an unreceived image can only breed the suspicion that one is purposely being placed at a disadvantage. Not nice."

"No, you're right. I've had that happen to me at the office. The feeling of being watched, but unable to do anything about it."

"Exactly, sir. It is a circumstance difficult for sensitive persons to endure. And it is a tactic apt to become more common than not, public services being so vulnerable."

"Yes, indeed." Birk was reflective. "Who would have thought it, eh? Tearing away one day, and so soon going into decline in the next. Nothing seems to last long these days."

"Except perhaps the sound-only phone, sir," Mortlake observed.

"Do you think the vuphone is finished, Mr. Mortlake?"

"Oh, never completely, sir, I should say. It should retain its place in institutions and for special groups, I don't doubt. It's just that its general universality is not proving such a good proposition.

"But, sir." Mortlake bent deferentially in his chair, "you did not come here to discuss my problems, did you sir? Of course not. There is perhaps some little trouble of your own where I might be of help? A vu-phone matter, is it? Your wife has had a relapse, and wants a hookup to closed-circuit, eh, sir? She's been invited to be a member of the High-borough Ladies Unlisted, perhaps? Or some such voop-club? We are hopeful to get an anxious husband out of things like that. What group does she want to join? You realize that this will call for tapping?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Sir?" Mortlake was momentarily ruffled. "My apologies, sir. From your conversation, I thought I caught intimations that you were undergoing onslaught from revived vu-phone enthusiasm. My mistake, sir. Apparently."

"I begin to think that you have a one-track mind, Mr. Mortlake. No, my domestic relations have- become strained of late, maybe because ... Look, you're an inquiry agent, aren't you? Well, then, I want you to inquire. I want a divorce, Mr. Mortlake. I'm pretty sure that my wife is running around with some other fellow, and I've more than a hunch that he's a certain Tiger O'Toole. You see, I think she might have started adding things together, and then things really went bad when she found Susanah's number. That is, I only wrote it down, that was all, but she wouldn't believe me, see Mr. Mortlake? And so - "