Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

Vera Gagarin held his face in her hands and made sure he looked the part.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Remy?”

“Why must I speak in English?”

“Because, son, most who watch will not understand Russian.”

She palmed his dark, gelled hair over his scalp, smartening his look. She took a step back and eyed him up and down, “There, that is much better.”

Remy held out his arms. Dressed in a very attractive suit and tie, he looked approximately a quarter of a million dollars.

It had been nearly two years since Space Opera Beta left on its mission to Saturn.

Remy looked at the marble mantelpiece as he pulled his shirt down. Pictures of him with various celebrities, including Maar Sheck, adorned the wall.

He’d become famous for a time – the handsome boy whose Russian Blue had won the Star Cat Project.

He missed Bisoubisou beyond all measure. His family’s new-found riches staved off the regret for large periods of time. The sickening feeling of giving her up for the sake of the good life crept back in. He’d grown up a lot in the past twenty-four months.

Vera didn’t much care about Bisoubisou. She and her son rarely spoke of her.

His mother had never been of a cat lover. It was her son’s cat as far as she was concerned – at least, that’s what she’d tell herself whenever she experienced the odd pang of regret.

The most fierce regret came in the form of the occasional sadness in her son’s eyes. He walked over to the Bisoubisou action figure perched next to the photos. A five-inch rendition of the cat he once had, which resulted in a brief, but Pyrrhic, smile of affection.

Vera’s forearm pulsated. She pushed the black ink around into a circle on her skin and looked at her son, “You still miss her, don’t you?”

“She is in space helping the American astronauts,” Remy was lost in his own naive contrition. He put the figure down on the ledge, “One day she will return.”

“Okay, she is ready,” Vera pulled an antique chair across the rug and set it beside their expensive couch. “Come, sit next to me.”

Remy sat next to his mother on the sofa. She removed her thumbnail and placed it on the Edwardian-style coffee table in front of their knees. “Now, remember. You speak with precision. No filling time with lessense .”

“Yes, mother.”

“You answer the questions she has with as few words as possible and be polite when you do it.”

“I will.”

“Very good,” she snapped her fingers, forcing a projected holographic image of a woman to appear in the middle of the room.

“Ah, I’m here!”

A life-size image of Dreenagh Remix pinged to life in the middle of the coffee table. Her shins were out of view as she stood within the coffee table. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she looked down and stepped out through the wooden slab.

“That is quite okay.”

“Ugh, I hate these live feeds sometimes,” Dreenagh chuckled. Her transparent visual representation shimmied up and down like a drunken ghost trying to maintain the strength of its connection from the ether.

“You know, one time, I appeared in my boyfriend’s toilet while he was brushing his teeth. So embarrassing!”

Dreenagh’s affable humor didn’t wash very well with the Gagarin family. She shrugged her shoulders, pulled up her left sleeve and pointed at the chair, “Is that for me?”

“Yes,” Vera pushed her long ponytail behind her neck and showed Dreenagh right side of her face. “I prefer if you show this side as it is better than my left.”

“You’re gorgeous, you have no bad sides, Vera,” Dreenagh held out her see-through hand. A tiny drone built itself from the surface of her skin. “How are you, Remy?”

“I am well, Dreenagh. Thank you.”

“You excited about the interview?”

“Yes. I think so.”

The drone whizzed from Dreenagh’s palm and zoomed twenty feet away. She angled her fist to the right, moving the holographic drone above the coffee table. “Okay, ready?”

“We are ready,” Vera held her posture steady for the drone.

“Amaziant, here we go…” Dreenagh turned to the drone. The light beaming from its iris blasted out and highlighted the contours on each of the three bodies.

“Hey, good people,” she smiled at the drone and jumped into professional-mode, “Dreenagh Remix here on Individimedia forty-four. As we approach the two-year anniversary of the Star Cat Project and Opera Beta’s mission to Saturn, I’m here , so to speak, with the Bisoubisou’s owners for an exclusive update.”

Dreenagh turned to Remy and gave him a media-strewn smile. “Remy Gagarin. You must be very excited?”

“Yes, I am. My cat is going to help people.”

Vera placed her hand on his knee. “Yes, we are most proud of Bisoubisou.”

“Now, Vera, as Remy’s mother, how has the past two years affected you?”

“Oh, we have been most fortunate. We have the satisfaction of knowing our beloved pet is helping USARIC on their vital mission,” she beamed, and eyeballed the interior of their expensive front room. “As you can see, the money has helped, too.”

“So I see,” Dreenagh’s holographic image sat forward, impressed by the no-expense-spared decor, “I gather the quarter of a million dollar prize money was just the beginning?”

“Indeed, it was very helpful,” Vera smiled at Remy, “Since then, Bisoubisou has become a hero and we have become like celebrities.”

“I guess the celebrity endorsements contributed to your wealth, too?”

“My mother had a small part in Star Jelly thirty-eight as a scientist.”

“Oh, yes,” Dreenagh chuckled politely, “The Star Jelly movie franchise. She was very good at acting, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Remy said, “And I appeared in cat food commercials.”

“Meow-nom-nom,” Dreenagh enacted the famous line from the commercial. “I’m sure people say that to you all the time, right?”

“Not really,” Remy said. “We try to stay away from poor people.”

“Oh.”

Vera rolled her shoulders and held her neck out, attempting to remove her double-chin from the drone’s feed. “Yes, it got very much bad after everyone found out where we lived. So we moved here. Remy is now home-schooled.”

“A very wise idea.”

“Yes.”

Dreenagh’s mood softened as she looked at her forearm, preparing herself for the next question. “Remy.”

“Yes?”

“Have you been missing Bisoubisou since she’s been away?”

Remy stared at his pristine-suited legs and considered the question. “Yes, I do. But she will be home soon.”

It was clear that Vera had no knowledge of recent events at Cape Claudius. She wondered why the aura in the interview was so chirpy. If Remy and his mother and known the truth they might not have been so forthcoming with their answers – or even agreed to the interview in the first place.

Jamie sat cross-legged on the floor of the front room watching Dreenagh’s Individimedia broadcast. His mother, Emily, sat on the couch keeping one eye on the floor.

Remy and Vera’s holographic representations sat in the middle of the front room awaiting Dreenagh’s next question.

A toddler crawled across the carpet, trying to grab at Vera’s sparkling shoes.

“No, Jolene,” Emily ran over to her and scooped her off the floor, “It’s not real, don’t touch it.”

“Ga-ga!” she burped and produced a messy grin.

“Mom, please. I’m trying to listen,” Jamie lifted his palm in the air and, along with it, the volume of the broadcast.

Emily lifted Jolene into her high chair, “Not too loud, poppet. You’ll upset your sister.”