Read Islands in the Net for Free Online

was to make your mood set the tone of the evening. Souring it was a foul.
    There were multiple levels of play. Both sides won big if you both reached the same mood quickly, through sheer infectious charisma. You won second-class if you got your own way without feeling guilty about it. Pyrrhic victory was when you got your own way but felt rotten. Then there were the various levels of giving in: Gracious, Resigned, and Martyr to the Cause.
    Fouls were easiest, and then you both lost. The longer the ritual lasted, the more chances there were to screw up. It was a hard game to play, even with eight years’ practice.
    Laura wondered if she should tell him about the Church of Ishtar. Thinking about the interview revived her sense of sexual repulsion, like the soiled feeling she got from seeing pornography. She decided not to mention it tonight. He was sure to take it all wrong if he thought his overtures made her feel like a hooker.
    She buried the idea and cast about for another one. The first twinge of guilt nibbled her resolve. Maybe she should give in. She looked down at her feet. “My leg hurts,” she said.
    â€œPoor babe.” He leaned over and had a closer look. His eyes widened. “Jesus.” Suddenly she had become an invalid. The mood shifted all at once, and the game was over. He kissed his fingertip and tapped it lightly on the bruise.
    â€œFeels better,” she said, smiling. He leaned back in bed and got under the sheet, looking resigned and peaceable. That was easy. Victory class one for the Poor Little Lame Girl.
    Now it was overkill, but she decided to mention her mother anyway. “I’ll be fine when things get back to normal. Mother leaves tomorrow.”
    â€œBack to Dallas, huh? Too bad, I was just getting used to the old gal.”
    Laura kicked her way under the sheet. “Well, at least she didn’t bring some obnoxious boyfriend.”
    David sighed. “You’re so hard on her, Laura. She’s a career woman of the old school, that’s all. There were millions like her—men, too. Her generation likes to get around. They live alone, they cut their ties, they stay fast and loose. Wherever they walk families crumble.” He shrugged. “So she had three husbands. With her looks she could have had twenty.”
    â€œYou always take her side. Just because she likes you.” Because you’re like Dad, she thought, and blocked the thought away.
    â€œBecause she has your eyes,” he said, and gave her a quick, snaky pinch.
    She jumped, shocked. “You rat!”
    â€œYou big rat,” he corrected, yawning.
    â€œBig rat,” she agreed. He’d broken her out of her mood. She felt better.
    â€œBig rat that I can’t live without.”
    â€œYou said it,” she said.
    â€œTurn out the light.” He turned onto his side, away from her.
    She reached out to give his hair a final ruffle. She killed the lights, touching her wrist. She put her arm over his sleeping body and slid up against him in darkness. It was good.

2
    After breakfast, Laura helped her mother pack. It surprised her to see the sheer bulk of bric-a-brac her mother hauled around: hat-boxes, bottles of hairspray and vitamins and contact-lens fluid, a video camera, a clothes steamer, a portable iron, hair curlers, a sleeping mask, six pairs of shoes with special wooden lasts to keep them from mashing down in her luggage. She even had a special intaglio box just for earrings.
    Laura held up a red leather-bound travel diary. “Mother, why do you need this? Can’t you just call up the Net?”
    â€œI don’t know, dear. I spend so much time on the road—it’s like home for me, all of these things.” She packed dresses with a swish of fabric. “Besides, I don’t like the Net. I never even liked cable television.” She hesitated. “Your father and I used to fight about that. He’d be a real Net-head now, if he was still