Will McIntosh - Love Minus Eighty

Suddenly, they had company. Lorelei had popped into the room via screen, unannounced.

“Sorry, I thought you’d be alone,” Lorelei said. In a downbeat tone, she added, “Hi, Nathan.”

“No, I actually have friends,” Veronika said. She had to admire how incredibly adept Lorelei was at the subtle insult. “What can I do for you, Lorelei?”

“Nothing, just popped in to say hello.” Without her entourage? Unlikely.

“So how you doing, Nathan?” Lorelei said. “Good to see you again.”

“You, too.”

Veronika guessed Nathan’s heart was hammering. He was holding a big grin in place, overdoing it a little.

“I wanted to apologize for springing everything on you so suddenly. I didn’t give you much warning.”

“No, I appreciate you being direct. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

Lorelei smiled brightly. “Thank you. Not everyone appreciates that quality.”

Somehow Veronika got the sense that comment was a swipe at her, but she didn’t see how it applied. Maybe it was her innate paranoia—a trait almost no one appreciated.

“I wanted to congratulate you,” Nathan said. “Your idea brought the mighty Cryomed to its knees. Very impressive. Creativity—there’s another of your admirable traits.”

You’re laying it on a little thick , Veronika sent to Nathan.

I’m not laying it on at all , he shot back.

Poor Nathan. It was hard to believe that a few minutes earlier he’d been professing his love for Veronika.

Then Lorelei pinged her privately. This is all very awkward. Can you get rid of him? We need to talk.

What about? Veronika sent, as Lorelei and Nathan continued to chat.

Parsons and I broke up. We had a dazzling view of the city as a backdrop. Close to a quarter of a million viewers.

That surprised Veronika, although it probably shouldn’t have. Congratulations , she sent.

The thing is, I’m not sure if the argument was real or not. If it’s just for drama, and we’re going to get back together, that’s skintight, because it played well. If it’s real-real, then, I liked him, you know? Plus, I lost my director.

Another surprise. Lorelei could be hurt by someone. I’m sorry. What do you need from me? It was also hard to believe Parsons would bail at this point. Lorelei’s star was rising; she was doing interviews on the macros, taking all the credit she could for bringing down the bridesicle program. Not that she didn’t deserve some of the credit.

I want to talk about employing you, full-time.

Veronika stifled a laugh. Nathan glanced her way, puzzled, before refocusing his attention on Lorelei.

Full-time? Veronika could be the new puppet master, steering Lorelei to even greater heights. She could build on Lorelei’s notoriety as one of the architects of Bridesicle Watch’s victory, create a new, more socially conscious persona, use Lorelei’s fame to do good things in the world.

Sorry, not interested , Veronika sent. Can’t drop my clients like that, plus, it’s outside my area of expertise.

Across the table Nathan was laughing, his eyes bright, probably thinking he had most of Lorelei’s attention, hoping he was winning her back, unaware that his rival wasn’t Parsons, it was Lorelei’s lifestyle. Nathan had no chance with Lorelei because getting back together with him would be a rerun. Lorelei had to keep her material fresh.

A black corrugated-steel grate rattled as he stepped on it and passed back onto the gum-stained sidewalk. Old-fashioned storefronts lined the streets, with doors and windows instead of the wide-open look of the modern stores in High Town, where invisible containment barriers kept the heat and cold out.

Moving kept the anguish at bay. Moving among old, solid things was especially therapeutic. Seeing Winter occasionally was better than the hopelessness of thinking he’d never see her again, but it was more painful than he’d thought. He’d never been the affair type, had never even gone out with a woman who was supposed to be exclusive with someone else.

He lived for any word from Winter, though they were few, because Redmond might get suspicious if he checked her communications and found a bunch of text messages or screen visits to Rob. They’d risked going to a virtual movie together the night before, in an old 1920s-art-deco setup to see a flat black-and-white film from that time, but it wasn’t the same. Moving those silly avatars around, pretending the squeeze he felt inside his glove was Winter’s fingers on his.

God, he hated Redmond, hated his entire family for how they treated Winter. He recalled the story Winter had told him last night, how Red’s son Lloyd made her sit down and finish a berry wrap she’d left half-eaten, because she had no right to waste their food.

Rob cut down a cobbled side street. He needed to get out of his head. All day, he thought the same pointless, repetitive thoughts. He couldn’t banish them even for ten minutes, couldn’t drive them out with music or conversation or drugs—

He jolted to a stop as Winter popped up in a screen directly in front of him. She was crying.

“Red found out about us. He’s going to have me interred in a debt camp.”

Of course he found out. At some level Rob knew he would. He suspected Winter had as well. “Run. I’ll meet you—”

Winter shook her head. “I’m trapped. There’s no way off this fucking island-on-stilts. I’m a hundred feet above the water.”

Rob headed toward the Christopher Street Pier a block away, with Winter’s screen gliding beside him. He could steal a boat.

“How did he find out?”

“He got suspicious, so he had a winged camera the size of a fly following me. It was in your apartment with us.” Winter looked behind her, as if she was afraid someone might be eavesdropping. “I begged Red to release me from my contract. I told him I loved you, that I could never love him. He recorded it all as evidence.”

Heart pounding, Rob slowed to a jog as he reached the wharf. He leaned over the railing separating the walk from black water. There were dozens of old wooden boats creaking in the shallow waves, moored with rotting ropes or plastic cord. He trotted down corroded concrete steps, unmoored one of the boats that had oars.

“What are you doing?” Winter asked.

“Tell me how to get to you.” He climbed into the boat, grasped the oars, then paused. The boat was probably some poor guy’s livelihood. He pulled off his High Town shoes and tied them to the mooring rope, as compensation.

“Rob, stop. There’s no way down to the water. I just wanted to say good-bye, to tell you I love you.”

“There must be a maintenance ladder. Something.”

“There’s no ladder.”

Rob was swinging the boat around, aiming the nose toward open water.

“Rob, listen to me, there’s no way down. I’d have to jump—”

She went silent. Rob stopped rowing. He worked his system.

“How high up are you?”

“Rob, even if it’s possible, we can’t do this. You’d never be able to live in the city again. Any city. You’d never see your father again, or Veronika, or any of your friends.”

His face would be in the criminal database. Any time his likeness was caught by a public camera, the authorities would be alerted automatically.

“I knew what I was getting myself into when I came to your apartment that night,” Winter said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Debt camp will probably be an improvement.”

“Just tell me how high up the estate is.”

Pause. “It’s a hundred eighteen feet.”