Syrup

by Max Barry

  calamity

  “Oh my God,” I say weakly. I suddenly need very much to sit down. So I do. I sit on the stairs and hold my head in my hands.

  “Hi, Scat,” someone says, and ruffles my hair.

  I look up, startled, and see 6. She is balancing a stack of film cans. “6—”

  “I’m taking the film up to the projection room.” Her face is flushed with success. “We’re about to start. This is it, Scat!”

  “Wait—” I say, but Jamieson’s voice booms out across the lobby.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, a little too theatrically. “The Coca-Cola Company and Universal Pictures are proud to welcome you... to Backlash.”

  “Scat, get down there,” 6 says. “Here come your ideas. I’ll meet you in the cinema.” I open my mouth to protest, but at that moment the lights die and aliens burst into the lobby.

  get ready

  They look a little corny, I admit, but this is Hollywood. When a dozen guys in rubber alien suits from the movie pour inside, firing their fake laser guns, everyone cheers.

  A couple of the aliens set up atmosphere-inducing lamps, shedding filtered, complimentary light on the celebrities, and others zip through the crowd handing out cans of Coke. The rest of the aliens spend a few minutes shouting and firing, just long enough to keep everyone entertained while press photographers take shot after shot of film stars holding Cokes. This is one of my ideas, and I guess it’s worth maybe five to ten million in free advertising. But I’m having trouble feeling good about that right now.

  Before anyone can get cynical about the photographers, the aliens begin herding the crowd into the cinema. They overcome the inevitable objections about seating arrangements by leveling their rifles and shouting incomprehensible threats, and, amazingly, this seems to get people seated much more efficiently than trying to engage them in a reasonable dialogue.

  I find my way to the front of the theater, where the Coke entourage is gathered. Sneaky Pete, @, Jamieson, and California are all here, while key members of the board and the SMT are precisely seated throughout the theater next to key producers and potential business partners. I look around for 6 but can’t find her: maybe she’s having trouble tearing herself away from Harold’s fascinating opinions on the benefits of celluloid over digital video.

  Jamieson gives the crowd a few minutes to settle, then stands and brushes down his suit. “Okay,” he says, I think to himself. “Let’s do it.”

  He strides to the microphone, set up neatly in the middle of the floor between the front row and the screen. A spotlight springs onto him, and the entire theater, revved up to high pitch by the aliens, claps and cheers.

  I hunch miserably into my seat, searching for 6. Instead, my gaze stops on Sneaky Pete, sitting directly behind me. He is staring straight at me. I look away quickly, but not quickly enough: I see him nod slowly, and the grin starts to spread across his face.

  hollow

  “But enough from me,” Jamieson says. “I’d like to hand over to the man responsible for all this: our Vice President of Marketing, Mr. Sneaky Pete.”

  More cheers and applause, even a few whistles. I feel physically ill. The movie is going to be a roaring success, and I don’t think I’ve got the stomach to watch Sneaky Pete take the credit for it.

  He stands and strolls across to the microphone, @ trailing at one shoulder. “Thank you,” he tells the crowd softly.

  “Scat,” 6 whispers, dropping into the seat beside me. “How’s it going?”

  “6,” I say miserably. “I—I don’t know how to tell you this. He knows. He knows we’ve finished it.” I wait for realization to spread across 6’s face—for her to blast me off the face of the planet—but there’s nothing. Her expression doesn’t even change. “I mean,” I say, “he’s going to take credit for it. It’s all been for nothing.”

  “Mmm,” 6 says. “I don’t think so.”

  She doesn’t understand what’s going on, and suddenly I’m furious. “I told you not to leave me alone,” I hiss at her. “He cornered me and he got it out of me. He knows.”

  “Scat,” 6 says, looking at me oddly. “He’ll assume you lied to him.”

  I gape.

  “I mean, really,” she says. She shifts in her seat to get a better view. “As if he’d expect us to tell him the truth.”

  For long moments, I can’t speak. I stare at 6 and make pathetic little caw noises in my throat. Then, finally, I spit out, “You knew. You knew I’d tell the truth.” I can’t believe she’d do this. “You used me.”

  “Whatever,” 6 says, and she actually shoots me a quick grin.

  sneaky pete speaks

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Sneaky Pete says. He speaks softly, but his voice pours out of the speakers like syrup, spreading through the hall. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Beside him, Jamieson stiffens. “Unfortunately, I have just discovered that we will not be able to show you Backlash tonight after all.”

  A woman in the crowd gasps. I feel like hugging her.

  “This is extremely embarrassing,” Sneaky Pete says, and he actually hangs his head for a second. “And I extend my humblest apologies to all concerned. But it is beyond our control. Mr. Jamieson and myself spoke to the persons responsible for delivering the film to us just a few hours ago, and we were assured that it would be ready. However, I now discover that this is not the case.” His face darkens impressively. “I assure you that we will take action to reprimand the individuals concerned. In fact, I would like you to hear their apology in person.”

  He turns and points a long finger straight at us. “Ms. 6? Mr. Scat?”

  backlash

  The spotlight swings onto us immediately, so I guess Sneaky Pete prepped the operator. There is a long moment where we sit there in its magnesium glare, two hundred pairs of celebrity eyes on us.

  Then 6 says clearly, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She doesn’t have a microphone, but in the silent theater her voice is perfectly clear.

  Sneaky Pete answers quickly, as if he is expecting a response like this. “You are responsible for the final delivery of Backlash, are you not?” His voice is quiet and somber, as if he really doesn’t want to get us into trouble but there’s no other way.

  “Yes, of course,” 6 says. She glances at me. “Scat and I are primarily responsible for the entire Backlash project.”

  Sneaky Pete hesitates. Obviously this isn’t quite what he was expecting : there’s no squirming denial of responsibility. “Then . . . please apologize to our guests for your failure to produce the film.”

  I stand up, slowly. The light is blinding, but I can see him perfectly. “But as I told you ... Backlash is ready.”

  oops

  Sneaky Pete opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. But before he can get a word out, Jamieson grabs the microphone. His face is purple. “Then let’s see it!”

  The spotlight dies immediately, and a few moments later the projector begins to whir. It is a beautiful, beautiful sound.

  Backlash begins.

  fallout

  Sneaky Pete is ashen-faced. Jamieson sits ramrod-straight beside him, refusing to look in his direction. I think it’s a fairly safe bet that, as of now, Sneaky Pete is only technically an employee of Coca-Cola.

  6 and I just enjoy the movie.

  ovation

  The applause begins even before the lights come up. It rolls up and down the theater like a bass drum, and when people start getting to their feet, it crashes around my ears.

  Jamieson stands slowly, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, and stares at the rows of Hollywood faces cheering our success. Then he reaches down and pulls 6 and me to our feet, and the applause becomes deafening.

  Sneaky Pete takes the opportunity to leave discreetly through a side exit. At least I assume he does: I don’t actually see him go. I just realize he’s not around anymore.

  schmooze

  The tide of celebrities flows aro
und us like a river, and en route to the lobby I get separated from 6. “Great stuff,” a man suddenly tells me, and I actually think it’s George Lucas. “Winona’s teeth at the end? I loved it. Let’s catch lunch sometime, okay?”

  “That would be great,” I say, but I’m distracted, scanning the crowd for 6. I catch a glimpse of her talking to someone who looks very much like Tom Hanks.

  “Mr. Scat,” Winona Ryder says, catching my arm. Her eyes are shining. “I never got a chance to speak to you on set, but—wow! That was fantastic! Those changes of yours—”

  “Great!” I say. “Hey, I need to catch up with 6 right now, but thanks very much for—”

  “You!” someone shouts and I turn just as Kline wraps his thick arms around me. He hugs me tight for just a little too long. “You are a big man,” Kline says. “I work with you again.”

  “Gee, I’d love to—”

  “Got time for your old friends anymore?” Tina says, snaring me from Kline. She breaks into a huge smile. “Look, I dressed up ’specially for your corporate buddies. No eye-rings!”

  “Hey, Tina,” I say, pleased. “Look, I need to talk to 6 right now. You understand?”

  “I think I do,” Tina says, flashing me a grin. “Go boy! Go!”

  I push forward, accepting slaps on the back, handshakes and congratulatory kisses, trying to get to 6. Then a tall, stunning blonde says, “Well, hello,” and I abruptly realize it’s Cindy. “Looks like you’re quite the success.”

  “Cindy, hi,” I say awkwardly. “Uh, I—”

  “I was just telling Brad about you,” she says, gesturing to the man beside her. I blink, and it’s still Brad Pitt. “How much you helped me.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well—”

  “I won’t keep you,” Cindy says. “I’m sure you’ve got important people to hobnob with. But congratulations, sweetheart.” I open my mouth to thank her, but she’s already deep in conversation with Brad. “It’s the never-ending schedule that kills me,” she is saying.

  I turn and take a deep breath, ready for a final plunge into the mass for 6, and suddenly, terrifyingly, I’m face-to-face with Sneaky Pete. I take an involuntary step backward.

  “You.” He stares at me for a second, then shakes his head. “You told me the truth.”

  I don’t know what to say. “Yeah.”

  “Scat,” he says, a pained expression on his face, “haven’t you learned anything?’

  finding reality

  I blink, but someone bumps into me from behind. I turn and it’s 6. “Hello,” she says.

  “Hi!” Suddenly she’s here and I have no idea what to do. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she says, nodding. “Yes, I’m good.” She pauses. “We did well.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “Yeah, we did.”

  She nods again, looking at the floor.

  “So,” I say.

  She looks up. “Yes?”

  I take a breath. “I think that now is a good time for us to be straight with each other. So I want to tell you . . .”

  “ Yes? ”

  “I think you’re sensational. I’m completely, utterly in love with you.”

  “Mmm,” 6 says. She considers. “This is good to know.”

  I wait.

  “Very good to know,” 6 says.

  “6,” I say sternly.

  She looks up. “Yes?”

  “Well,” I say, a little exasperated, “I just think that, you know, if you wanted to tell me something, now would be a good time.”

  “Tell you?” 6 says, smirking.

  “Oh, forget it,” I tell her. “You’re obviously in love with me but just can’t admit it.”

  6 shakes her head, and just for a moment I have the terrible feeling that maybe I’m on completely the wrong track. Then she looks up, and I see that she is smiling. She is actually, physically smiling at me.

  “You moron,” she tells me. “I’ve been in love with you from the start.”

  epilogue

  “You know,” I tell her that night, “I always suspected that.” I kindly pull the covers over her exposed shoulder.

  “Yeah,” 6 says. “Whatever.”

  variety

  This Issue’s Star Bio

  Scat

  Born 1977. Graduated from California State University with marketing major. Produced “Backlash,” considered the first successful feature cinema advertisement. Later produced and starred in sequel, “Backlash II,” followed by “Diet Life.” Co-owns Synergy, global marketing consultancy firm, with partner, 6 (see Star Bio 34-2). Upcoming film rumored to be “Soda,” starring Brad and Cindy Pitt.