by J B Cantwell
I listened as she started up the garbage disposal. Quickly, I took the last tray and ran to the bedroom with it, stashing it under the bed.
Would she notice?
Of course.
But I didn’t care. I would never give up their location, and I suspected her patience for searching would be nonexistent.
Little victories.
Carlos turned out to be quite wonderful, even with Janeen commenting from the sidelines. He taught me to waltz, a beginner’s dance which seemed easy in his arms.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
“You’ll need to know the steps. It seems easy with me because I’m a dancer, and I have experience. But not everyone you meet at these parties will. You need to be ready for that.”
“Okay. What do I do if he doesn’t know how to dance?”
“You can always just sway back and forth if things get really desperate. Here, follow me.”
He stood nearly still and slowly swayed to the music, barely moving back and forth.
“Just try to take it slow, and pray that he doesn’t step on your toes.”
My breath caught in my chest. So many things to remember.
But were there, really?
Carlos left after two hours. During that time I was dressed in a heavy gown that just grazed the bottoms of my shoes, and I was starting to feel pretty good. I couldn’t really feel my feet anymore; I chalked this up to numbness. Fine by me.
I was sad to see him go, but before he closed the door on the way out, he put two hands on my shoulders.
“You’ll be great. I’ll see you next week for another lesson.”
He leaned in and put his cheek to mine, making a kissing sound. Surprised, I did the same, only I actually kissed his cheek in return. He leaned back and laughed good-naturedly.
“One other thing, a little thing,” he said. “Never put your lips on anyone. Just the sound is the way it’s done.”
I looked down, blushing.
He put one finger under my chin and raised it up.
“You’re fantastic. Don’t forget it. Channel it. You can’t lose.”
I tried to smile, but I was having a hard time finding myself fantastic in that moment.
So I practiced.
“Thank you,” I said.
He winked, then strolled out the door.
“See you next week, Janeen?”
Janeen folded her arms.
“What do you think?”
He laughed and walked into the elevator.
And as I closed the door behind him, I couldn’t help but notice; Janeen hadn’t gotten an air-kiss of her own.
“That’s it for today,” Janeen said two hours later.
We’d spent the time working on my walk. I felt better the more I practiced in the shoes. And she’d let me pick out a couple of the more unusual pairs from the closet to practice with. I’d also cycled through several different gowns, from ball gowns to floaty, wispy things that fluttered around me.
“You should plan on having your nails done, top and bottom. You’ll have most of the day tomorrow on your own. Then, Albert will pick you up and take you to the ball. Do not go early. You should glide into the event halfway through, right around the time that the men start getting bored with the same women they’re used to seducing every time.
“Oh, Albert,” I began, then stopped myself. That was the name of the driver from the other night.
She raised one eyebrow, but didn’t respond to my comment. Maybe she even knew about my meeting with Chambers. I wouldn’t be surprised. Still, he’d delivered that handwritten card. Was it meant to be a secret from everyone? Even her?
Well, she certainly wasn’t completely in the dark. She knew what we were doing, though perhaps not whom I was targeting. As far as I was concerned, the less she knew, the better. She already had enough dirt on me to warrant a long, slow death. I would, all of us would, have to trust her.
“You may consider shopping tomorrow as well. You’ll have the day, and it would do you good to get used to shopping on the avenues. You may even be seen, which can only help the intrigue.”
“Shopping. Okay. For what?”
This time both eyebrows raised.
“Whatever you want, dear. Right now, you’re one of the wealthiest women in Manhattan. Don’t forget that.”
Suddenly, I was feeling quite lost. I was somehow expected to shop and get polished and dressed and transported to some unknown party, all on my own.
“Erica will meet you here at seven for hair and makeup. You should plan to arrive at the party at nine.”
She stood there, staring. What was she waiting for?
“Shall we practice?” she finally said.
She put her hands on my shoulders and moved in, air kissing my cheek. I tried to return the gesture, but it was too late and too little.
She moved back and gave a rare smile. “You can practice with Erica tomorrow.”
She was still holding onto my shoulders.
“Audrey, don’t forget who you are. You are above them all. You will be spectacular.”
Then, abruptly, she removed her hands from my shoulders and walked out the door.
I watched her go, but she didn’t make eye contact with me again.
Janeen. What made this woman tick? This trainer? She was a Green. Wealthy? Perhaps, but not too much so. Just enough to know all of this.
Her intention was to see me again. To keep up our training. To mentor me, even.
But when it came to my questions, I knew she would never answer a single one.
Who was she?
The thought occurred to me that I may never find out.
I slept long the next morning. The boy downstairs had brought up more ice cream as well as a large bag of take-out. I wasn’t sure what any of it was, exactly, but all of it was delicious. I made it a point to not eat a single vegetable, though. I focused instead on a creamy noodle dish with a pungent sauce. I only realized afterward that my breath might be a problem after eating it, so before I went to bed, I scrubbed my teeth and tongue clean and rinsed with a strange, green liquid that stung my mouth.
I’ll do it again in the morning.
I lay back into the pillows after waking and turned on my lens. There was a channel of news stories flashing in the upper left corner. I’d never looked at the news before, and I soon found it was devastatingly ugly. War. Everywhere, war. For water. Fuel. Food. None of it singled out the States as being at fault. Instead, we were the underdogs. Starved by our neighbors, ruined by drought. Though there was war over fuel, I noticed that the story did not include anything about the burning plants being our current method of energy. It was too threatening. Too dirty.
I was increasingly fascinated as story after story layered on top of one another. Experts from the Department of Energy were interviewed, the questions dictated, the answers practiced.
Then, something got my attention. It was a story about the breach in the wall.
“Yes, Brian, you’re quite right,” An impeccably polished man said. Then, he turned and addressed the camera directly. “And now we have news about the ongoing construction at the Manhattan Wall. As you all know, it suffered a significant breach last year leading to the deaths of fifty-three people. Since then, the Department of Environmental Resources has overseen the repairs, and they are on schedule to be completed on schedule three months from now. But, even more interesting is the ongoing investigation that the Guard has carried out since that awful day.”
Images began flashing on the lens, and I sat up, my heart suddenly pounding.
“Here you can see several members of the infamous Volunteers terrorist organization being arrested in a raid in the early hours of this morning. They have all been charged with treason, and it’s likely they will receive the death penalty, which, of course, would be warranted in this particular situation.”
Flashing lights. Police vans. Blood on faces.
And there, hands behind their backs in cuffs, sho
ved unceremoniously into the vans, people I knew.
Jess.
Chambers.
I paused the show just as Chambers glanced at the camera, his face frozen, eyes boring into mine.
And in that moment I knew that, soon enough, my face, my name, would be talked about on a show like this one. I thought of everything Chambers had given in his life to try to reverse the damage he’d done to our country’s most vulnerable.
I wondered if he was dead already.
And I knew I would do right by him. I would enact the perfect revenge. I would do it the only way I knew how, the only way forward that was left to me. I would be exactly as Janeen had said.
I would be spectacular.
Chapter Eight
It took me a while to get a myself under control. I stepped from the bed, shaken, and went to the only place there was something I was familiar with. The shoe closet.
I chose the highest heels, the most painful shoes. Then, in my night gown, I practiced. Back and forth around the apartment, the gritty concrete balcony, the slippery kitchen floor. I briefly considered that I should eat some breakfast, but when I opened the freezer, I found that the thought of ice cream made me sort of ill. The only thing I was able to eat was a small handful of nutrition squares. It was enough. And familiar.
After a while, I tossed off the shoes and stepped into the shower. The blisters on my feet stung, but I ignored them. I lathered my hair, washed myself top to toe. Then, once I was done, I picked out an outfit for shopping. Long white pants. Light lilac blouse. And one of the stranger pairs of shoes, light blue with little swirls of purple and pink around the heels.
I didn’t bother picking up the phone by the door this time. I simply sent a location through my lens and asked for a car. Five minutes later, I was nodding to Albert, who was holding the door open for me.
I guess he’s mine.
“How are you doing today, Miss?” he asked.
I stepped into the car without a word, and he closed the door, then slid into the driver’s seat without missing a beat. I tried faking a smile when he glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but it didn’t work. I looked out the window instead of trying to pretend. I lifted my chin, just as Janeen had taught me to do. No tears. Never tears.
Albert didn’t deserve it, but he was the unwitting recipient of my anger. My fury. I tried to keep it to myself. I just kept my mouth shut and my eyes dry.
He didn’t bother me again. I hoped I hadn’t offended him, but only because I didn’t want him to rat me out to anyone; I needed to have him on my side.
I couldn’t just pretend, though.
He pulled up to an expensive shop on Fifth Avenue, parking in the red.
“Will this do, Miss?” he asked.
I sat, silent for a few long moments. He didn’t move a muscle, just waited patiently for my response.
“Albert,” I finally said. “Call me Audrey.”
I saw his skin crinkle around his eyes, a smile.
“Will this do, Audrey?”
I looked up at the towering buildings above, their first floors filled with the most high-end designers in the world.
“Yes, Albert.”
He hopped out and walked around to the other side of the car, opening the door for me. I took his hand and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Just ping me a message when you’re ready to go. I’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you,” I said. A few moments later, I was vaguely aware of the car driving away behind me.
I turned and, in a daze, made my way to the store windows that lined the avenue.
Jess. Just last night. The leader of the group.
“Welcome, Audrey,” a floaty voice whispered, the AI from the store I was standing in front of. Everything was delicate in this place. “Please do come in.”
Chambers. Shackled. Bleeding.
Snap out of it.
I couldn’t very well slap myself. Instead, I dug my fingernails into my forearm, just enough to leave a mark, but not so much that I drew blood.
I looked around. The avenue was relatively quiet, and those who passed me by looked at me strangely. I didn’t belong. My nervousness, or maybe even my beauty, singled me out.
I watched them as they walked by. On each wrist, shoulder, designer bags. That’s where I would start.
I pulled up the listing on my lens, and headed toward the first store that seemed fancy enough for me to shop at. I had promised I would only buy the best, and in this world, that meant the most expensive.
I walked into the store, trying to remain calm. In the window was a brown bag with designer symbols arranged as a pattern. The bag cost 100,000 credits. I picked it up without asking and automatically transferred the money to the store. The saleswoman approached me as I headed for the door, but I didn’t look back.
“Excuse me, Miss. Miss!”
Then, she stopped, clearly having been sent a message that I had paid the bill.
I kept walking, empty bag over my arm. It didn’t occur to me that I should put anything into the bag. I supposed women put make up and womanly-related items. Little mirrors. Cigarettes. Maybe chocolates.
No. Not chocolates. Too fattening.
Little bottles of vodka, maybe.
I would have to ask Erica later on.
I floated around from store to store. I didn’t try anything on until I found a gown I was interested in. Soon, I stood on a podium that rivaled the one I had in my apartment, though, I secretly thought, mine was superior.
The dress was a light, silvery blue, the fabric layered in such a way that it gave the material an iridescent quality. I turned on the pedestal. The saleswoman talked at me. I didn’t pay attention.
“Please go,” I simply said, rude, impatient. And she did. No questions.
I changed out of the gown and requested a garment bag, which she quietly, discreetly gave me. No hard feelings.
As I exited the store, I pulled up a recommendation for a day spa and automatically made an appointment for hands and feet. I didn’t need a facial; my face was already perfect. And the thought of a massage was strange.
As I entered the building, I was greeted by a woman with impeccable makeup. I wondered how long it had taken her to apply it.
“Hello,” she said. “You’re Audrey.”
I tried to smile. I’d once read somewhere that forcing your face into a smile raised some sort of happy hormone in your body, which would in turn make you happier than you were before.
I think mine came out as more of a smirk.
“Yes,” I said. “Audrey Page.”
“Can I take your things Miss Page?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
I handed over the garment bag and purse, and the second attendant beckoned to me.
“Follow me, Miss Page,” she said.
Audrey would’ve been okay, but I was growing tired. I followed her without a word.
The whole place was painted a very light shade of peach, which gave the rooms a warm feeling. Tinkling music played softly in the background.
She led me into a small room with four separate pedicure stations. Two next to each other were occupied, and the women were talking animatedly.
“Please sit,” the attendant said, directing me to the chair two seats over.
I sat and leaned back in the chair. She began filling the foot tub with water and herbs and flower petals. I was going to have the best smelling feet at the party.
“Misha will be right with you,” she said, ducking out of the room.
I took a brief look over at the women, who had fallen silent. I was surprised to find that they were staring at me. I looked at their feet in the bubbly water, their pants folded up, and I took the cue to do the same.
I turned away and rolled up my cuffs. It was then that I realized my legs were covered in hair. I blushed crimson and wished desperately that the women would leave.
One of them sat back as her attendant scrubbed the bottoms of her feet, making
her giggle with ticklishness. But the other one kept staring.
I put my feet into the water, which was hot and stung my blisters. I made a hissing sound, and the one still staring at me spoke.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said. “Why have I never seen you before? I know I wouldn’t have missed you.”
I smiled nervously.
“I’m new in town.”
“Ooh. Where did you come from?”
“Philadelphia,” I lied. I had been to Philadelphia once, and I tried hard to remember what I had experienced there. I remembered rain, but that was about it. Was there anything good left in Philadelphia?
The woman crinkled her nose at my words.
“Oh, don’t be so quick to dismiss it,” I said, trying to remember my place in this extravagant society. “There are plenty of designer stores like here, luxury buildings, and a handful of high-end restaurants. We do get a bit more rain than Manhattan, but it turns everything green. We don’t get the acid that pours into the streets here.”
I lifted my chin, then turned to look down at my feet. I was glad for the suds in the water, which covered my painfully blistered toes.
A moment later, a woman entered.
“Hello, Miss,” Misha said. “Have you chosen a color?”
A color?
“What polish would you like?”
I pretended I had planned it this way all along.
“Something neutral. The event this evening is formal, but my dress is blue. Red on the toes won’t do.”
I briefly glanced over at the women and noticed that the one closest to me was still staring.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked, my voice irritated, expected.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “But where did you have your work done?”
“My work?”
She paused, but then couldn’t seem to control herself.
“Your work.” She lifted one hand and gestured to her face. “I’ve only had lips and forehead lately, but it’s nothing so pretty as yours. Who is your doctor?”
Doctor Chambers.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never had any ‘work.’”
