Madonna and the Starship (9781616961220) by Morrow James

Author:Morrow, James [Morrow, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781616961596
Amazon: 1616961597
Publisher: Perseus Book Group
Published: 2014-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

4.

ANYTHING FOR OVALTINE

he instant I beheld Eliot and the Qualimosans milling around on the steps of the American Museum of Natural History, the aliens still bedecked in their sandwich boards, I concluded that my roommate’s scheme had succeeded. Waving their subway maps around like pennants, the lobsters comported themselves with the glee of children who’d just seen an especially splendid performance by the Rockettes. Of course, it would be foolish to take Wulawand and Volavont themselves to see the famous Radio City Music Hall show—they were certain to become bored and flee into the metropolis at large, soon spotting evidence that Earthlings were more enamored of the metaphysical than they’d assumed—but luckily I had an ace named Saul Silver up my sleeve.

“Nowhere on Qualimosa can an aficionado of the arts visit anything as magnificent as your Interborough Rapid Transit,” Wulawand declared.

“Sorry we couldn’t join you,” I said, setting down my valise, its interior crammed with my award and the nine remaining teleplays. “At least Miss Osborne and I finished our script about Norwegian fisheries.”

“O Eliot Thornhill, you are a virtuoso tour guide,” said Volavont to my roommate.

“Not the first time an unemployed actor has worked as a docent,” said Eliot.

“We especially enjoyed the subterranean gallery called Times Square,” said Volavont.

“‘Come and meet those dancing feet,’” sang Connie, “‘on the avenue I’m takin’ you to, Forty-Second Street.’”

“Mr. Thornhill performed that same song for us,” said Volavont. “‘Little nifties from the Fifties, innocent and sweet,’” he sang. “‘Sexy ladies from the Eighties, who are indiscreet.’” A carillon of squonk, squonk, squonk laughter pealed from his throat. “‘They’re side by side, they’re glorified, where the underworld can meet the elite, naughty, bawdy, gaudy, sporty Forty-Second Street’!”

“Speaking of the Eighties, our next destination is just around the corner,” I said. “Saul Silver, editor of America’s premier science-fiction magazine, has invited you to dine with him on macaroni and cheese. Reading Andromeda as a teenager made me the atheist rationalist logical positivist I am today.”

“We shall happily accede to Mr. Silver’s request,” said Wulawand. “On Qualimosa we, too, have science-fiction periodicals, although Rocket Sagas and Comet Angst are surely inferior to your Andromeda.”

“Will you and Miss Osborne be joining the party?” asked Volavont.

“I’m afraid we’ve got an emergency conference at the studio,” I replied, shaking my head. “You’ll find Mr. Silver a little peculiar—he suffers from agoraphobia—but he’s got the finest mind in the business.”

Eliot announced that he must now “revisit the aesthetic pleasures of the IRT,” as he had a ticket to see Arthur Kennedy and E. G. Marshall in The Crucible that night at the Martin Beck and wanted “to grab some dinner first at a midtown automat.” Before Eliot strode away, the lobsters offered him their gratitude for “a visually munificent and acoustically nutritive afternoon.”

I decided to accompany my roommate on his one-block walk to the 81st Street Station, taking the opportunity to thank him for confining Wulawand and Volavont to a secular zone during the Chock Full O’ Nuts meeting.

“So how’s the big broadcast shaping up?” he asked.

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