Cadigan, Pat - Icy You... Juicy Me

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Pat Cadigan - Icy You... Juicy Me

ICY YOU... JUICY ME

by PAT CADIGAN

First published in New English Library Book of Internet Stories, edited by Maxim Jakubowski, 2000.

The crazy man was dancing around the public telephones on the northeast corner of 45th and

Broadway in Times Square. Across the street, by contrast, everything was uneventful. Yellow cabs

appeared and disappeared; people materialized in the crosswalk and then vanished, which meant they

were walking awfully fast. Darcy wondered where they had to go in such a hurry at 5:38 in the morning.

Maybe they were just trying to get out of the vicinity of the crazy man performing his ritual morning

boogie. He was a pretty talented dancer for a crazy guy. Some of the people crossing at the opposite

corner seemed to be watching him, or at least taking a look as they hurried to work or wherever. It was

hard to tell exactly what was going on sometimes, with the choppiness of the image progression. Even

weather conditions could be hard to determine. Rain or snow was easy, but it wasn't always easy to see if

it was cold or not, not even by the way the crazy guy was dressed. Especially that. Even the frequency of

his appearances wasn't necessarily a key -- being crazy, he wouldn't always make the logical decision to

stay inside when it was cold. Darcy didn't even know if he had any place to be inside. There wasn't a

shopping cart full of worldly goods and chattels, but maybe he always parked it off-camera, or stashed it

somewhere.

Darcy smiled to herself. Keeping tabs on a crazy guy -- yeah, just another day in the life of the forty-

year-old agoraphobe. The thing was, he was obviously aware of the camera; you could tell the way he

performed. He always faced the camera straight on, even though the camera itself was placed at an angle

meant to give the longest view down the street. You could see all the way down to the south island in

Times Square with all the big screens on it, just like you could see all the way in the other direction to the

north island on the other camera. Good morning, midtown Manhattan.

Darcy leaned closer to the screen, watching people flash in and out of the crosswalk, lone pedestrians

giving way to groups of three, sometimes four, buses moving in and out of the frame, and, in the other

window, the crazy guy still dancing around the payphones while pedestrians gave him a wide berth. She

tried to imagine herself in the crosswalk, caught on camera, looking nonchalant and unaware in a dark

blue parka or ski jacket or -- what did they call them now? Anoraks, that was it. Herself in a dark blue

anorak and white scarf, knit hat pulled down over her lank, colorless hair, hands stuffed in her pockets.

On her way to... well, somewhere. All those people outside had some place they were on their way to.

Even the crazy guy.

She wondered what he would have thought if he'd known she was watching him and thinking of him

as the crazy guy. He would probably think that was a heavy case of the pot calling the kettle a very dark

color. Depending, of course, on how crazy he was.

But the problem was that she wasn't crazy... technically. Agoraphobia was not a true psychosis. It did

not qualify as R.D. Laing's sane response to an insane world. It was simply an unreasoning fear,

specifically of the marketplace, in this instance.

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