Drug of Choice

“It’s a resort,” Harmon said. “A brand new resort of a type previously unknown. We’re in the middle of an age, you know. The resort age. Travel is greater than ever before in history, and resorts are booming as never before. The Aga Khan is developing Sardinia. The Costa Brava is booming. South America is just beginning; the Caribbean is expanding fantastically. But all of these places offer basically the same thing — sun, a new environment, a little action….”

“So?”

“So once in a great while, a new thing comes along. Something different. Really different And that has just happened.”

“What has?”

“A new resort which is really new and different. Really exciting, really special. I’ve just been to this resort: they invited all the travel agents out there for a week, to see what it was like. I must tell you: it’s the place to go.”

“It is?”

“No question,” Ron Harmon said. “No question about it. You’ll have a fantastic time. I did.”

“Where is this resort? What’s it like?”

“It’s on an island” Harmon said, “called San Cristobal.”

Clark said nothing. He was feeling very peculiar, as if he had eaten something raw, and it was now disagreeing with his stomach.

“San Cristobal?”

“It’s in the Caribbean,” Ron said. “A brand new island — not really, of course — but brand new in the sense of development. It’s been built up quietly by a group of Americans, to make it into the finest resort in the world. And they’ve succeeded.”

“How do you mean?”

“This island,” Ron Harmon said, “is about five square miles. It’s mostly bare coral and scrubby trees, and vegetation. But it’s been bought up, and modernized, and now….” He sighed. His eyes were staring off into space.

“And now?”

“Beautiful.”

“What’s it like?”

“Beautiful.”

“What do you do there?”

“It’s marvelous. I’ve never had a better time. I was there for a week; I could have stayed a century. I could have stayed for the rest of my life. It was beautiful.”

“What did you do there?”

“Listen, this is a place where they pay attention to detail. Everything is perfect, down to the smallest detail. The little things, like shower curtains and water faucets and silverware and headboards on the beds. Every minor detail is flawless. You’ll just adore it.”

Clark paused. “Why will I adore it?”

“Because it’s perfect. Because you can do anything and everything there. Name it, and there are the most modern, up to date—”

“Such as?”

“Anything,” Ron Harmon said, “just anything. Listen, this resort is great. It’s a whole new departure in travel and entertainment. You’ll love it”

“Why?”

Harmon frowned. “Name something?”

“Coprophagia.”

“Done!” Harmon said. “The finest, most complete facilities—”

“But coprophagia is eating fec—”

“Doesn’t matter! If human beings do it, this resort is set up to permit the most advanced, the most—”

“What?”

“Let me begin at the beginning,” Harmon said. “This resort is located in the Caribbean, right? Okay. The first thing is, nobody knows exactly where it is. It’s a huge secret. You fly to Miami, and then stop over in Nassau, and from there you take an airplane with no windows to this island. Everyone assumes it’s one of the Exeumas of the Bahamas, but nobody knows for sure. It’s a seaplane, and when you land—”

“At San Cristobal?”

“Yes. At San Cristobal, once you land there, you find yourself in the most superb, fully equipped, fantastic resort. You’ll adore it. You’ll love every minute of it.”

“But what do you do there? Tennis? Swimming? Golf? What?”

“Everything,” Ron Harmon said. “It’s just fabulous.”

Clark sat down. He stared at Harmon for a long time.

“Confirm my flight to Mexico City,” he said.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Harmon said.

“I want to go to Mexico.”

“Mexico is nothing.”

“I want to go there.”

“You’re crazy,” Harmon said, digging into his desk for the files once more.

9. THE BEST

At eight, Clark met Janice Connor at Orloff’s. She wore a black dress scooped as low as the brassiere engineers would allow; her hair was piled high as the hairdresser could manage; she looked very elegant, and rather precarious.

“Smashing,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

Orloff’s was not a restaurant Clark frequently visited. For one thing, it was expensive. For another, it was Hollywood. Looking around, he saw several noted stars. Clark disliked Hollywood heartily. He thought it unworldly, foolish, vain and self-centered. But it was also glamorous, and Janice was drinking in the glamour.

While they waited for a table, Janice told him that she had once been a UCLA cheerleader, and that she had majored in psychology; that was how she had started working for Dr. Shine. He was really an interesting man, with his theories of hypnosis and so forth. Did Clark know that he treated a lot of witches?

No, Clark said, he hadn’t known.

“Well, he does,” Janice Connor said.

They ordered dinner. The wine came; when it was poured Janice reached into her purse, took out a pill, and gulped it back, swallowing it with wine.

“What was that?”

“Headache pill. I have a headache.”

“But what was it?”