Dip the pen of a Frank Belknap Long into a bottle of ink and the result is always bound to be a scintillating piece of brilliant imaginative science fiction. And he's done it again in the tortured story of Sally.
by ... Frank Belknap Long
Sally watched the molten gold glow in the sky. Then knew she would not see her son and her husband ever again on Earth.
Sally Anders had never really thought of herself as a wallflower. A girl could be shy, couldn't she, and still be pretty enough to attract and hold men?
Only this morning she had drawn an admiring look from the milkman and a wolf cry from Jimmy on the corner, with his newspapers and shiny new bike. What if the milkman was crowding sixty and wore thick-lensed glasses? What if Jimmy was only seventeen?
A male was a male, and a glance was a glance. Why, if I just primp a little more, Sally told herself, I'll be irresistible.
Hair ribbons and perfume, a mirror tilted at just the right angle, an invitation to a party on the dresser—what more did a girl need?
"Dinner, Sally!" came echoing up from the kitchen. "Do you want to be late, child?"
Sally had no intention of being late. Tonight she'd see him across a crowded room and her heart would skip a beat. He'd look at her and smile, and come straight toward her with his shoulders squared.
There was always one night in a girl's life that stands above all other nights. One night when the moon shone bright and clear and the clock on the wall went tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. One night when each tick said, "You're beautiful! Really beautiful!"
Giving her hair a final pat Sally smiled at herself in the mirror.
In the bathroom the water was still running and the perfumed bath soap still spread its aromatic sweet odor through the room. Sally went into the bathroom and turned off the tap before going downstairs to the kitchen.
"My girl looks radiant tonight!" Uncle Ben said, smiling at her over his corned beef and cabbage.
Sally blushed and lowered her eyes.
"Ben, you're making her nervous," Sally's mother said, laughing.
Sally looked up and met her uncle's stare, her eyes defiant. "I'm not bad-looking whatever you may think," she said.
"Oh, now, Sally," Uncle Ben protested. "No sense in getting on a high horse. Tonight you may find a man who just won't be able to resist you."
"Maybe I will and maybe I won't," Sally said. "You'd be surprised if I did, wouldn't you?"
It was Uncle Ben's turn to lower his eyes.
"I'll tell the world you've inherited your mother's looks, Sally," he said. "But a man has to pride himself on something. My defects of character are pretty bad. But no one has ever accused me of dishonesty."
Sally folded her napkin and rose stiffly from the table.
"Good night, Uncle," she said.
When Sally arrived at the party every foot of floor space was taken up by dancing couples and the reception room was so crowded that, as each new guest was announced, a little ripple of displeasure went through the men in midnight blue and the women in Nile green and lavender.
For a moment Sally did not move, just stood staring at the dancing couples, half-hidden by one of the potted palms that framed the sides of the long room.
Moonlight silvered her hair and touched her white throat and arms with a caress so gentle that simply by closing her eyes she could fancy herself already in his arms.
Moonlight from tall windows flooding down, turning the dancing guests into pirouetting ghosts in diaphanous blue and green, scarlet and gold.
Close your eyes, Sally, close them tight! Now open them! That's it ... Slowly, slowly ...
He came out of nothingness into the light and was right beside her suddenly.