by Guy Haley
The playmate made an uncertain smile, unsure if he was being laughed at. He reached out a well-manicured hand to touch Karl’s, and raised his other hand to his throat. He’d painted his nails green, matching his shift, and the décor. The guy had done his research on the restaurant. Karl’s smile tightened. That the Playmate had tailored his outfit to Portis but seemed to have done little to find out about Karl was unprofessional. Eduardo, or Ricardo, or whatever the fuck his name was, was probably so excited to be taken to Portis that professionalism had gone out of the window. Karl could just picture him bouncing around his tiny curtained space in a public dorm, squealing and clapping his hands and chattering excitedly about his date. Or maybe Eduardo or Ricardo was going for the big score, abandoning discretion in a bid to win over Karl into a relationship? Displaying himself, warts and all. Another, more permanent way to the money, marrying it. Yeah, there was that touch of desperation to his manner. Brave, to let the truth show, but a crass play if so. If this self-centredness carried over to the bedroom, Karl’d be making a complaint, and that’d get him fired. Let him see how cocky he felt when he was reduced to servicing reefers for pennies.
Karl was well within his rights to order the guy out of the restaurant right now, take him home and enjoy what he’d paid for, but that wasn’t his style.
He allowed the playmate to touch him. Let’s see where this goes. Karl only wanted sex and company. As soon as this guy realises that, he thought, he’ll give up the gabble and maybe he’ll get his game back on.
“You seem a little distracted.” Eduardo/Ricardo’s smile was polished, seductive, but vacant.
“It’s nothing,” said Karl. “Busy day at work. Got a lot on my mind. Please, carry on. Forgive me if I don’t speak much, I’m happy just to listen. It calms me,” he said drily. Eduardo/Ricardo did not see the lie.
The playmate’s smile grew warmer. Karl imagined kissing his lips. Unlike the man’s calculating eyes, they were full and generous. He felt a twinge in his groin. Not a total washout, then.
Karl smiled at the playmate, and it was only partly forced.
Eduardo/Ricardo opened his mouth to resume his endless prattle, but a female voice, soft Southern States accent, cut him off.
“Karl? Karl Njálsson?”
A woman in a clinging, shiny mood dress that covered very little of her body stood behind him.
“Karl! It is you!” she said. She bent forward, revealing a pretty, coffee-coloured face framed by tightly curled, dichromatic hair.
“Cassandra?”
She pouted. “Hey now, when did you ever call me that? Long time no see, Karl.”
Karl’s heart rose for the first time in the evening. “What, two years?” He turned to his date. “This is Cassandra De Mona, we studied advanced math together.”
Ricardo/Eduardo gave a pained smile.
“Sure did,” she said, her pale green eyes glittering with mischief. She nodded at the playmate. “Call me Sand. Pretty thing you got there,” she said to Karl. She smiled in a predatory way, exposing her very white teeth. “You still paying for them? I might take him for a spin myself.”
The playmate, threatened, gave her a sour look. “I’m off fish, dear,” he said.
“Charming,” said Sand. Her smile grew wider, although her dress belied it by turning an angry crimson. She had a broad mouth, upper lip slicked icy white, the lower graphite black, matching her hair. “I suppose I’d be an idiot to expect manners from a hired cocksucker.”
Karl winced. “Please forgive Sandy, she’s a little brusque.”
“I’m not brusque,” said Sand. “Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are gay” – she winked at Karl – “but I don’t like to be mouthed off at by those who should know their place.” Her face went hard. “If you’re too prejudiced to take my money, fine, but I bet you’re just scared I’d make a proper man out of you.”
Eduardo/Ricardo’s mouth gaped. He looked imploringly to Karl. Evidently he was used to being the one handing out the insults.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s goading you,” said Karl. A note of pleading entered his voice, making him angry. He gave Sand a warning glance. “She can’t help herself. She’s really about as judgmental as Buddha.” This was not entirely true, but Karl was keen to defuse the situation. It was difficult enough to get a table at Portis as it was.
“Except when it comes to judging who I don’t like, then I’m a little more Old Testament,” said Sand sweetly.
“She’s a pilot, a rockhopper spacer, you know what they’re like.”
“Oh, I bet he has a real good idea,” said Sand evilly.
“I had no idea you associated with people like –” said Eduardo/Ricardo.
“As if that’d bother you,” said Sand. “So long as you get paid, right? But you don’t want my money, so are you after something else? Gold digging? Marriage to Mr Billion-Dollar-Right? You’re shit out of luck here, you aren’t Karl’s type. You should think about getting a proper job, rather than selling your ass and hoping for a big princess wedding to come out of it. Ain’t never gonna happen.”
Karl could hear forks hitting plates, and angry mutters from the tables closest to them. The playmate was preparing to leave, packing his things into his clutch bag.
“Look, Ricardo...”
Ricardo’s face went hard. Karl inwardly cursed.
“Eduardo?” he guessed.
“My name is Donnie,” Donnie said frostily.
Karl drummed his fingers on the table. He gave Sand the kind of stare he used to give her; the one he saved for when she started bar fights. “Look, I don’t think this is going to work out, why don’t –” he said. He was interrupted by the playmate.
“You’re right there!” he said. How the hell could I forget Donnie? Karl thought. “You might look down on me, but I’m still a person, and I won’t sleep with just anyone.”
“Is that a fact?” said Sand.
“Fuck you,” said Donnie. He stood quickly, knocking into the table. Karl caught the wine bottle as it wobbled; he wasn’t so wealthy as to let it spill. People were staring. Karl saw a diner complaining to the maitre d’.
“Donnie, wait,” he called.
“Is it just me, or was that just a little half-hearted?” said Sand.
“You’re not helping, Sandy.”
She smiled. “Aren’t I, now? Is that a Chelon piece you’re wearing?” She nodded at his outfit, her corkscrew hair bobbing madly. Karl’s white jumpsuit flared out from the middle, cinched with a belt. A wide triple collar circled his neck. ‘Doesn’t seem like you. Way too fashionable.’
In truth, Karl felt ridiculous. He was conscious of his age and his spreading waist. He regretted the choice.
“Look who’s talking? You look like a Christmas tree, Cassandra.”
She punched him playfully on the shoulder, scowling in mock outrage. Her dress faded to blue.
“Shut it, you ridiculous man! I’m going all chic, aren’t I? Big day.” She did a little shimmy, and then her face changed, a flicker of insecurity under the bluster, mirrored in the shifting colours of the dress. “Tell me, honestly, what do you think? Do I look okay?”
Karl sipped his wine. Typical Sand: not seen her for two years, scares off his date, then acts like nothing happened. He looked her up and down. The top of her dress was a T-shape that covered her breasts and navel and not much else, and the skirt was a hobbling fishtail, with wide vents cut out of it down the outside of each leg. She was showing more flesh than cloth. “Honestly?”
“Yeah, come on, I blew three week’s pay renting this gear. Do I look okay?”
He smirked. “You look terrible.” He burst out laughing.
She deflated momentarily, then caught his expression and smiled. “Terrible? Check out your shock frock in the mirror, fashion boy, then call me terrible again.”
He stood up. It was good to see her. Karl did not have many real friends. “Give me a hug, Sand.”
They embraced, eyes
closed, happy.
“Long time, no see,” she whispered in his ear. “Too long.” She kissed his cheek, and gave him a hard squeeze.
“I think we’re causing a scene,” said Karl sardonically.
“You here for a drink?”
“A meal, only I think my date’s going, and I don’t like eating alone. So yeah, a drink.”
“Mine’s not here for another hour and a half.”
Karl raised his eyebrows. “Early, aren’t you?”
“It’s kind of a work thing,” said Sandy evasively, flapping his question away with her hand. “Unlike you, I don’t get to joints like this very often, so I figured I’d run up a bit of a tab first, because I’m sure as hell not paying. Want to join me?” She watched as Donnie was shown out. “Sorry about that, but I can’t have that anti-girly thing that he had going on there.”
Karl shrugged. “I prefer the strong silent type, personally, and he was a real talker. You know, the ‘OMG Girlfriend!’ type.” He put his hands up to either side of his face by way of demonstration, and smiled ruefully. “A real goof with the agency. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Their goof, or yours? I mean, you’re paying, right? Why are you taking him out to a place like this? You’re not still looking for love, are you, Karl? Why not use the datesites like everyone else? You live in a damn computer all day, surely you can trust one to find you a lay that’s not going to piss you off.”
And that was kind of the point. He thought about explaining, but she knew it all already. He said, “I guess I’m an incurable romantic.” Pat, cliché, and untrue. He’d been cured of romance long ago.
“That’s you through and through, Karl.” She looked him up and down. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Maybe on the outside. A lot has happened in the last two years.” He kept his eye on the maitre d’. Most of the diners had gone back to their own conversations, casting looks at them ranging from the scandalised to the amused, but the complaining couple were still angry, and the maitre d’ was struggling to calm them. Karl sighed inwardly.
Sand smiled warmly. “Come and tell me about it, then. Company’s paying.”
Karl took a moment to make up his mind. He hadn’t seen Sand in over two years; sure, he’d kept tabs on her via the usual social networks, and they’d flashed a few messages back and forth, but she’d been busy with her life, and he’d been busy with his. The odd message was no substitute for a body meeting. She was volatile, she was unpredictable. Hell, someone like her was dangerous to him, now.
She was a lot of fun.
“Sure,” he said. “Looks like my date’s not coming back. I just have to deal with this.”
Karl took the arm of the maitre d’ and apologised directly and quietly into his ear. A little something pushed into his personal account smoothed away his frown.
Sand and Karl retired to Portis’ bar, a darker space lit by glowing water. Within an hour, they were getting drunk.
“What’s it like?” said Sand. “Being so close to it?” She giggled, and stuck her tongue out slightly, touching her top lip. Her lipstick rippled graphics in response. She had become languid in her gestures. Flirtatious, Karl thought. Not that it had any effect on him. Why did she always try? “Is it true what they say?”
Karl took another slug of wine. He’d stopped sipping it some time ago. They’d drunk three bottles, a small fortune’s worth. “What do they say, Sandy?”
She rolled her eyes mockingly. “That the Market’s alive! Wooo! Spooky!” She rotated her glass in one hand, causing the wine to slide up the bulb.
“It’s not alive, Sand. It’s just a machine.”
“That’s not what they say,” she said. Her eyes sparkled. “All those brains in all those bottles, thinking, thinking, thinking. They say it’s alive. It is alive.”
“You just said that.”
“Yeah! But, you know, it knows... Is it alive?” She gestured vaguely. “All that stuff!”
“Are all pilots so articulate?”
“You should meet my colleagues. Some of them just grunt.”
“The Market doesn’t know anything, Sandy. How can it know anything? Okay, so some of its components are alive, but it’s not aware, it’s not sentient.”
“The brains are.” She pulled a face.
“No, they’re not. They’re not people. The architecture’s organic, but it doesn’t think, it’s a tool. It’s all just math and behavioural economics, you know that. You studied the principles in class with me.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t mean I understood it, now.” She sloshed her wine from side to side. Hiding embarrassment? Well, well.
Karl sighed. “All it does is what people used to do, only it does it better. It stops things getting out of hand. It eliminates negative human heuristics, irrational behaviour, bandwagons, that sort of thing.”
“Then it dictates what is successful,” said Sand.
“No, it only anticipates human action, and eliminates inconsistent variables.”
“Then what are you for?” she said.
“I’m just a check, Sand.”
She smiled lazily at him. “A fine way to use your education; a financial doorstop.”
“I could trade – some people do – but there’s no point, the Market outperforms us all.”
“Right, and only the rich can afford to use it, so they get richer. The delicate balance, the old and the new hands, the protection of the self interest of the hierarchy, the furthering of greed... Blah, blah, blah.” She hunched lower and stared into the wine glass. “That’s why we’re all so damn poor.”
Karl shook his head. “No, it’s not. We’re so damn poor because there’s isn’t enough to go around. Not for everyone. There are twelve billion people on the Earth, Sandy. There have to be checks and balances. Without the Pointers, who’d provide jobs? They’re as stuck as we are, we struggle, they have their...” He waved his hand around and smiled, a feral smirk, tinged with bitterness. There was a lot of bitterness in the NYC archipelago in those days. “Noblesse oblige.”
“You and your damn French. You sure are a romantic at heart.”
“Ah, gay Paris!”
They both tittered. Karl became serious again. “It’s a kind of evil, Sandy, but a necessary evil. Wealth doesn’t create itself. And wherever there is wealth, there is inequity. It’s a sad corollary, but I can deal with that.”
Sand made a point of looking around Portis. “You are sure on the breadline, aren’t you? Poor little Icelander. Accessing the Market through middlemen like you costs, Karl. The people who pay your wages are the only ones with the money to do so. They’ve locked the rest of us out.”
“Please. Anyone can be rich. You just have to work at it. And everyone can work hard, if they choose. Okay, I’m comfortable, but I worked hard, you worked hard. Look at us now. You’re an astronaut, I’m a quant. We didn’t get that by sitting around whining.”
“We had opportunity, Karl. Not many do,” countered Sand. “And we’ll neither of us ever be rich as the Pointers, no matter what we do, and they don’t work for it, they’re born to it.” She met his eyes. “That’s not fair. Or does that count as whining?”
Karl sighed. They’d had this argument many times before. Their opinions would diverge further the more they drank. “Yes, yes,” he said irritably. “No one but the Pointers will ever be super-rich, but it’s a consequence of wealth creation, Sandy. Some people are always going to have more. Now can we please talk about something else?”
“They don’t have more, they have everything, Karl.”
“Who ever said life was fair?” said Karl. “It never has been, and trying to give everyone lifestyles we simply can’t sustain has exhausted the Earth,” he said. “The Pointers can be massively wealthy, keep millions of us in jobs, and spend money on forest reserves and social projects when they feel guilty. Enough of them do philanthropic work to make them all worthwhile.”
“Ah, a megayacht and a fleet of matchi
ng airplanes... Philanthropy at its finest!”
“Sand, it’s that, or every man woman and child can be ten dollars richer each. How long would ten dollars last you, Sandy? Where’s the sense in that?”
Sand pushed herself up off the table and lounged back in her chair. “Tell that to the no-jobbers I passed on the way here, Karl. Tell that to the shantymen and the reefers in their shacks out on the Jersey bars. They’ll be lucky to see ten dollars in a year.”
“You know it’s not so simple.” He leaned forward. “You’re richer than most; you need to deal with that, or envy and guilt will hollow you out from the inside.”
She shrugged. “No I don’t. It doesn’t matter. I’m getting away from it all. I’m blasting off, baby, for good.”
“Oh, yeah?” he said. “How? You going to live on the Moon? It’s no different up there, Sand.”
She smiled knowingly and shook her head.
“Mars?” he ventured. “The belt?”
She looked about cautiously. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Not even close. You ever hear of the Gateway Project?”
“No,” he said. “Should I have?”
“It’ll be announced soon. I think I can talk about it without getting assassinated.” She pushed a well-manicured finger down onto the rim of her glass. Like her hair and lips, her fingernails were tinted alternately black and white with active paint. “Not a word to anyone else, though, okay?”
Karl nodded.
Her voice dropped further. “It’s a colony effort. Interstellar.”
Karl nearly spilled his wine. “What?” The idea was preposterous.
“Shush! Keep your voice down.”
He leaned forward. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly. I’ve signed on as a pilot. Got the contract, the works. It’s a big play, Karl.”
Karl began to speak, then stopped. Sand teased all the time, she was infuriating in as many ways as she was charming, but when it came to it she didn’t like to lie, not outright. “Really?” he said hesitantly. He felt suddenly sad.
“Really.”
“How the hell has this not been made public?”
