Free People Park by Pasha Malla Page A

needed his sleep, though who knew what he got up to in private, thought Olpert. There was something strange in his eyes — or, more, it seemed they weren’t there at all. The illustrationist had requested the A/C cranked, so the air was icy and brittle. While Starx fiddled with the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, Olpert shivered, blew into his hands, hugged himself.
    Starx looked him over from head to toe and said, You haven’t thanked me yet, Belly.
    Bailie, said Olpert. My name is Olpert Bailie.
    Sure, sure.
    You want me to thank you.
    I knocked that kid the fug out !
    A kid. You punched a kid.
    He spat on you. And you were just standing there. What’s wrong with you?
    Olpert had no idea what to do with this question.
    You got a lady, Bailie?
    A girlfriend.
    Starx nodded.
    Not currently.
    You go out a lot?
    Out?
    To meet ladies.
    Olpert thought about the last date he’d been on, nearly a year ago. His colleague Betty had set him up with her sister, Barbara, of the recent divorce and red leather pants. Things had been going fine, considering, until the nosebleed.
    He shrugged. Sometimes, I guess.
    Starx’s walkie-talkie crackled — Griggs, with instructions: at six p.m. they were to escort the illustrationist to the hotel’s banquet hall. The NFLM had taken the liberty of booking Olpert off work until Tuesday. So he’s all ours, said Griggs, all weekend. Then he recited the four pillars, traded Good lookin outs with Starx, and the radio went dead.
    Listen, let me buy you a cider, said Starx, turning to Olpert, when we’re done tonight.
    A cider.
    Or two. Or nine. You ever been to the Golden Barrel?
    In Upper Olde Towne ?
    You sound nervous.
    Nervous?
    You’ll be fine with me. That’s my hood, been out there since — a while. Tell you what, we’ll do our business, bust outta here say eightish, and be over there to make wing night. The Barrel’s got a killer wing special till nine.
    Wings.
    Holy shet, yes.
    Somewhere, the A/C came on with a whoosh. Olpert closed his eyes, shivered. Opened them.
    And standing there was the illustrationist.
    Olpert’s bowels slackened, but didn’t release.
    Gentlemen, said Raven.
    Starx took an elongated stride backward and stooped — more of a lunge than a bow.
    Raven said, You are my escorts to this dinner, I understand. This celebratory homage .
    We are, said Starx.
    Good. Your names?
    Starx.
    Olpert. I mean, Bailie.
    You attended my arrival this morning.
    We sure did, said Starx. Really amazing stuff, sir —
    Fine, yes. But may I ask how the morning’s events made you feel.
    Sorry, said Starx. Made us feel ?
    Yes. What emotions did you experience. When I touched down, or made the illustration involving the birds, or when I trunked away. How you — Raven’s hand twirled in an evocative gesture — felt. Please explain.
    His accent could be described only as foreign, something bad actors might adopt to suggest somewhere else , all rolling r’s and hacking k’s, but even then nothing was consistent — a sentence later the vowels might drawl and twang.
    Olpert said, I felt a bit nervous.
    I don’t think that’s what he was after, said Starx. He’s always a bit nervous, this guy.
    No, no, said the illustrationist. Nervous is good. What else.
    Um, scared.
    Scared, good.
    I was sort of hungry, said Starx.
    Raven’s eyes flicked briefly to Starx, back to Olpert. His gaze was vertiginous — like an undertow, that helpless sensation of being tugged under.
    Mr. Bailie, how else did you feel.
    Anxious. And frightened. And worried, uneasy.
    Starx elbowed him. Those are the same as nervous and scared.
    Perhaps they are, said Raven. But continue. Why, what made you feel this way.
    Something felt . . . wrong.
    God, Bailie, don’t tell him that.
    No, this is good, said Raven. This I can use. You see, as the one making these illustrations, the emotions they might evoke are alien, almost unimaginable, to me. Precisely because I am at their centre, I remain at an experiential