Free Entr'acte by Frank Juliano Page A

exploded…”
    “In 1937,” Bart answered. He leaned so that his face was very close to hers. “You ought to stop this stuff. They are calling you
    “Future Girl” and talking about sending you off to Creedmoor.”
    “I take it that’s not good,” Joyce said.
    “It’s the booby hatch,” Bart said. “You don’t want to end up there, so play along. I don’t think you can convince them anyway.”
    “Do you believe me?” she asked.
    The musician stroked his chin whiskers thoughtfully before answering. Joyce braced herself for a polite but negative answer.
    “I’ve been taking care of your dog,” he began. “A friend of mine who also saw the accident found her there, cowering under a crate, and brought her to me, figuring that I’d get her back to you.”
    “Is Amelia all right?” Joyce asked.
    “Yea. That dog sure sheds a lot,” Bart smiled. “My place is covered with hair.”
    “It’s spring. All dogs do that in spring,” Joyce said loyally. She had had to deal with this complaint before.
    “Anyway, I was playing with her and I noticed her tags,” Bart continued slowly. “She has a rabies tag and a license that expires in August, 2007. It struck me that if you were just having some kind of joke, that would be a lot of trouble to have gone through.
    Faking money, well anybody would have thought of that.”
    “So you do believe me!” Joyce almost shouted in her relief.
    “We still have to figure out how to get you out of here,” Bart said. “I still think it would be best if you played along with them for a few days.”
    He glanced down at the backgammon board and then up at Joyce. “I like them better the other way, there’s more chances to bump each other.”
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    She grinned at him and rearranged the pieces the way they’d had them. “Why can’t you just sign me out of here?”
    Bart looked embarrassed, and when Joyce caught the implication of what she’d said, she did too. “I just meant…”
    He held up a hand to cut her off. “I know,” he said quickly.
    “That wouldn’t be too good for your reputation. Anyway, it has to be a relative, and they know we’re not related. Why don’t you let them call your family?”
    “It’s 1939, they don’t have a phone yet,” she said. “I could get them to call Moody’s Diner. They know everyone in town and could get a message to—who? My grandfather is an unmarried farmer, and my grandmother is—somewhere in New York!
    “She’s here, your…grandmother?” Bart said, trying to get used to the idea.
    “Yes, but maybe that would screw up my family history or something for us to meet now,” Joyce mused. “Maybe it would be better for them to call Maine.”
    They called the nurse over and, pretending Joyce had suddenly become clear-headed, asked them to call the diner and get a message to the Pettits or the Waszlewskis. “Tell them Joyce is stranded in New York,” she instructed.
    While they played their game and waited, Joyce confided in Bart that until he came up with the dog-tag clue, she had begun to wonder herself if she was going crazy.
    “I do have a disorder, not exactly epilepsy but like it, and I have to take pills every day. Unfortunately, my pills were in my purse when it was stolen,” she told him.
    “Can you get more?” he asked.
    “I’m sure it hasn’t been invented yet,” she answered grimly.
    Backgammon took a lot longer under what they dubbed the McCauley rules, and they laughed while they played. “I have a car parked in a lot that charges $21.50 a day,” Joyce said.
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    Bart let out a long, low whistle.
    “So, I’m double-parked in another dimension. Do you figure they owe me money?” she laughed.
    Joyce explained how most people have medical insurance in 2007 that pays for most of the cost. “It’s incredibly expensive, but the way they try to control it is you have to get charges approved in advance, and your doctor has to authorize your going into the hospital.