The Time Exchange

She was half his age, a cool young woman whose green eyes he could not read. He had never known anyone remotely like her.

His name was Bryce Cromartin--Bryce Cromartin III, in fact, though he had dropped the Roman numeral, as too ostentatious, years ago. He had a house in Marblehead, a condominium on Beacon Hill and a summer place on the Cape. Her name was Vicki Mahoney; they had met in his lawyer's office, where she was a typist.

She would never allow him to take her home; she said she lived with her invalid mother. They met once a week, on Fridays, for an hour: It was the only time she could get away, she said. He gave her little presents, nothing in bad taste--a slim gold chain with a ruby, a diamond clip. Then somewhat larger presents, but she refused to meet him more often.

In his usual foursome on Wednesday, Jack and Larry were talking about a new place called The Time Exchange. "It seems they can really make the time go by faster or slower," said Jack. "Ed Vandermeer told me he tried it for a dentist's appointment. A root canal. He said it was all over before he knew it."

"But can they really give you more time?" Cromartin asked.

"Yes, they bottle it somehow."

The image that rose in Cromartin's mind was that of Vicki, sprawled in delicious abandon. He looked up the place in the phone book and went there the next day.

The Time Exchange was in a seedy part of town, but the establishment itself looked modern and new. Around the corner, at another entrance, a line of derelicts stood waiting.

Inside, it was like a doctor's office--potted shrubs in redwood boxes, chrome and brass. A young man came forward alertly. "May I help you?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure. Those men I saw around the corner--are they----"

They were time donors, the young man said, but that was not for Cromartin. The best plan for him, he thought, would be the deposit-and-withdrawal system: Cromartin would deposit unwanted time by means of a little canister taped behind his ear, which he would bring back to The Time Exchange for processing; then, when he wanted time, he could withdraw it from his own account.

"No--well, perhaps later--but I was thinking of, ah, having it for tomorrow."

In that case, said the young man with an understanding smile, the Exchange had certain clients, perfectly respectable people, who left time on deposit for sale to others, and that time, which was of the highest quality, could be purchased at a very reasonable rate.

He spread out a schedule for Cromartin's inspection. The fees were graduated according to a factor system that Cromartin at first found confusing.

"Then you mean," he said, "that if I spend an hour somewhere and the factor is five, it will actually seem like five hours?"

Exactly so, said the young man. The fee was a little stiff, as a matter of fact, but Cromartin paid it. Thereupon, a smiling young woman in a nurse's uniform took him into a back room and showed him how to attach the gleaming little canister behind his ear and how to work the little slide that turned it on. Another employee wrapped the canister for him and the young man bowed him out.

All day Friday, Cromartin was in a sweat of anticipation. Evening came at last; he picked Vicki up at the usual place and drove her to his condominium. While she undressed, he went into the bathroom with the canister. He attached it behind his ear, as he had been instructed, and carefully pressed the slide to the on position before he brushed his hair over it.

Vicki was lying on the black-satin sheet, arms and legs spread, looking at him with her green eyes in the dimness as he approached. And it was just as the young man had promised; his delight went on and on, and when her body convulsed, the waves of pleasure rippled through him as if they would never stop.

Afterward, as they lay together, he ran his finger tips up the side of her neck, then behind her ear, and his heart swelled with sudden joy when he encountered a little canister there. What sacrifices she must have made to buy this time with him! How could he ever repay her?

Cromartin put his trousers on. Vicki, on the edge of the bed, yawned delicately as she picked up her watch. "Is it nine o'clock already?" she said. "How time flies."