“By whom.”
“One of your clients. We shared a couple drinks and quite a few stories. He says you’re hot but cold.”
Fucker. This guy confuses me. Once again, I start to unplug from the session. I’m going to keep his damn money for the upset he’s caused me.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Unplug me.”
“Look. This is supposed to be a game. It’s all a fantasy. I don’t know who you are and how you came to find me but I don’t like you. We’re done.”
“You’ll come around.”
“No refund.”
“Suit yourself. This has been fun.”
“Take my pulse off your list.”
“You’ll want me to call.”
“I doubt it.”
His mood shifts and once again I’m filled with desire. It overwhelms me. It’s like a tidal wave of sensation that crashes through me and rocks me to and fro. I fall, I literally fall to my knees. “What do you want me to do?” I breathe. “How can I be of service?”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” he says. He sparks out of the room and I’m left wanting, yearning, desirous of more. I roll onto my back. I place my fingers between my legs and push apart the wet silk. I stroke. Excitement builds. I stroke some more. Pleasure intensifies. I push a finger up inside. This feels good. This feels great. And then that persistent little voice starts inside, reminding me why I never touch myself, never play with toys, have given up trying. You’ll never orgasm. You’re thirty years old. Haven’t done it yet and never will. You lost that ability when you…
I try to push that voice away but the more I push, the louder it gets until I can’t hear anything else. Finally, I get up, turn off the pulse-com and head to my bedroom to fall asleep, or at least try to. And I swear to myself that I’ll never accept a call from this Himeros guy again. Whatever his thing is, I’m not playing. Not in my Headspace.
Chapter 10
AFTER MY WEEK of non-orgasmic-as-usual action with my clients, I decide to take a few days off. My bank account is fat and I’m wiped out. Working in my Headspace is harder than it looks. It requires a lot of energy to merge minds with another. It’s a breathtaking autumn day and I need to get out. I pulse-com Jonas to hear what’s happening with him. They guy who answers is not the guy I know and love. It’s like an imposter has taken his place.
“Hey, V,” a weary voice greets me.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
“Not much. You?”
The conversation is so stilted, I falter. “Not much,” I finally manage to say. “I, um, I wondered if you wanted to go grab a bite with me. It’s a pretty day.”
A sigh lands in my ears. “I’m afraid not, V. We’re working on the Joner Restoration project over here.”
“Okay, so?”
“So, no on grabbing a bite.”
“Okay, maybe tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re trying to work things out.”
A burst of sudden rage pummels my gut. “What, so that means you don’t get to have any friends anymore?”
“Oh, I still get to retain a few.”
“Are you kidding me? Which few? Am I on the list?” A stiff silence cuts a hole in my ear. “Are you fucking shitting me, Jonas? Have I been booted from the list?” More stabbing silence. “I should be at the top!” Tears erupt from my eyes. I will never, ever in a thousand years understand a dysfunctional couple like Jonas and Jenner. “Seriously?” I say to the silence. “Jonas? Talk to me.”
“I’m sorry, V. This is over. I can’t do it. For now.”
The pulse-com echoes in my ear, letting me know Jonas has disconnected. Disconnected! My friend of umpty-ump years has disconnected from me! “Fuck him,” I yell into the room. “Fuck him and his ancestors.”
Nigel saunters into the room. Having a little upset? He parks his haunches and sets to grooming his paws. Keep it down, will you? I’m trying to digest.
“Grrr,” I respond. “Grrr, grrr, and double grrr.” I’m hurt, angry, and bewildered. I reconsider. It was just a moment. We can work this out. I pulse-com Jonas back. No one answers. He always answers me, even if he’s in a meeting. I wait a few and try again. Nothing. Impulsively, I pulse-com my new friend, Magicka.
“Hey, girl, what’s doing? I’m about to go out on a date.”
“Lucky you,” I grumble into the phone.
“Oh, my, honey, whatever’s the matter? It’s not a date date. Want to come along?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much company. I just got stood up by Mr. Inched-Away-from-the-Edge. We’ve been friends for years! Now, suddenly, I’m on a watch list, courtesy of jealous bitch girlfriends who go out on their man and then have the nerve to tell him who he can and can’t be friends with!” That came out stronger than I intended. “I’m sorry to burden you with my shit. Sorry. Go on your date. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re coming with me and Dean, darling. I insist. We’ve got two pairs of caring ears and need a little drama. Give me your address.”
I sheepishly mumble it into the com. I hate to appear weak or incompetent. I especially hate to appear weak.
“I’m there in fifteen.”
The pulse-com echoes in my ear. While I wait I decide to get to the task I’ve put off all week. I pulse the company that background-checks my clientele.
“Yes, this is Insight. How may I help you?”
“A client contacted me several times on October twenty-four. I haven’t vetted him. He appears as an avatar called Himeros. What can you tell me about him? Any psycho behavior?”
“One moment. Checking.”
I idly pet Nigel while I wait. A whirring sound comes through the pulse-com like a million tiny bees’ wings.
“We find no records of such a person.”
“Look deeper. He has to be in there. He got my number. He was persistent. He has loads of money.”
“One moment. Checking.”
You could just ask me, Nigel communicates, purring loudly.
Right.
Seriously. I’ve got great instincts. How could I be such a good hunter without good instincts? He stands up, arches his back, and settles back on the arm of the couch.
Thanks for the offer but I need to know about him before he enters my Headspace again, not after.
I’m just offering.
Thanks.
“We’ve traced the call. It came from an area outside of our jurisdiction.”
“What are you talking about? The world and beyond is in your jurisdiction. It says so on your marketing material.”
“This came from a remote location, outside of our jurisdiction.”
“How is that possible? You have access to everywhere.” The drone-like voice starts to repeat the same information, but I cut it off. “Never mind. Tell me what you found out.”
“The individual in question resides in a remote location outside of our jurisdiction.”
“Okay, okay with the ‘outside your jurisdiction’ bit. Can you tell me what you found out?”
“The individual in question resides in a remote location outside of our jurisdiction.”
I sigh. “Go on.”
“The location is known as the Shiver Strip.”
“Well, that’s provocative.”
“It’s a small chain of islands in the southern Indian Ocean. It is only accessible via remote boat echoing. The tides must be perfect to get there, so access is limited.”
“Remote boat echoing, huh? That’s not used much. That’s a pretty advanced technology.” If Himeros used RemBoats to find his home, he’d also have to be highly skilled to manage to get there. “I picked up that he has a few wives. Do you see that as well?”
“The individual in question has wives in other parts of the world.”
“How is that possible? If it’s so hard to get there, how can he get off the Shiver Strip?” Saying the phrase makes me smile.
“While we don’t have acc
ess to the person in question, due to his residing outside of our jurisdiction, we do show traces of his movement outside of the scope of the unreachable location.”
“And? Criminal record? History of psychosis? Anything?”
“Since the individual in question is outside of our jurisdiction, we show no records of such conduct but that may be because he resides—”
“Outside of your jurisdiction. I know, I know.” This is starting to feel like a fruitless endeavor. “Can you tell me anything more? Anything at all?”
“One moment. Checking.”
More whirrs and clicks greet my ears. I tap my fingernails on the sofa, staring out my sunshield window.
“The person in question is known to have a fondness for cattle.”
“Cattle? What does that have to do with anything? For what with cattle?”
“That’s all I can tell you. He’s restored an endangered species of cattle. The person in question is…”
I disconnect before I have to hear what jurisdiction he’s immune from. This is a mystery. The guy lives in a remote location. At least that explains one thing—he can’t know anything about me…can he? How can he even access Headspace? Where would he have received his headpiece? An island chain outside of the reach of Insight would hardly be able to get shipments—of anything. How does he live? Where does he get his food? From his interest in cattle? Areas severely ravaged by the destruction are seldom fit for even insect life.
Since it’s not my problem or concern, I’ll let it go and focus on other things—like the elusive orgasm and how I can get my friend back. He can keep dating the bitch queen. He does not get to cast me aside without a fight.
Chapter 11
MAGICKA ALERTS THE door-pulse twenty minutes after he said he would be here.
“Girl, the traffic! I tell you what. I almost broke a nail getting here.”
I scan his attire up and down. “Turn around.”
He pivots in a slow circle.
Today he’s divided his hair into quarters. He’s got a section of dreads. A section of spike. A section of perky braids. Lastly, there’s a section of more of the sleek early-Hollywood glam actress. His clothing matches the hair—a quarter Rastafarian, a quarter future-punk, a quarter farm girl, and a quarter ball gown, complete with jewels.
“How do you do that? Keep all the segments connected, I mean. I’d think they’d fall off.”
“Do you like it?” he says, swirling again in a dramatic circle.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then, that’s all you need to know. Trade secrets and all that. Let’s roll.”
We head out to his mode of transportation, a classic Cadillac roadster from way back in the 1930s. Highly specialized trans-mode restoration teams have taken to putting current Super-Smart-Car technology in the shells of old cars. The name of the game these days is reuse, repurpose, and restore. No more claim and rape of resources. It’s not that the planetary inhabitants’ morals are improved. We just can’t afford to make any more mistakes. We all need to make do with what we’ve got.
“Nice wheels, Magicka!”
“Thanks. They’re Dean’s. He’s got bucks. I’ve got friends. I’m a mere waiter, don’t forget.” He opens the car door and says, “Dean, this is the wonderful woman I told you about—this is Vienna.”
Dean is another flamboyant gender bender. He sports a full-on Alexander Skarsgård vintage True Blood bad-boy look on one side, coupled with a futuristic female-model kind of makeup from the Nuevo trendzies, current news we can access if we have the right pulse-com subscription. You can see people riding public transportation, sitting in cafes, or even walking with Nuevo trendzies news displayed in front of their retinas. I peruse it from time to time, too. Dean’s full-bowed Kewpie-doll half-red lips dotted with jewels were popular last week.
“Hi, Dean. Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“No problem, sugar,” he says and winks at me. “Now huddle up and let’s zoom.”
I hop in between them, sandwiched between their two distinct fragrances and unique looks, and away we speed.
The Cadillac navigates us over to Capitol Hill. As a child, my mom told me that “the Hill” used to be fun, flamboyant, and full of color, mostly occupied by gays. Today the only color that exists is the two men next to me. The streets are in disrepair. Buildings are gone, vacant, or in a state of decay. “Why are we over here?” I ask. “This place is dead.”
“Not entirely,” Dean answers. “There’s a place here you’ll just die for when you see it. The owner, a guy named Kayos, got tired of waiting for a restoration team so he took matters into his own hands and built himself a gem.”
“What’s it called?”
He glances over at me and smirks. “Gem.”
“Oh. You set me up for that one.” I give him a wan smile.
“Just trying to cheer you up.”
“Thanks.” He looks ahead and frowns. “People are starting to find out about this place. Look. A line is forming.”
“Should we go somewhere else?”
“Oh, no,” Magicka responds. “Dean does enough favors for Kayos; we should manage to get something.”
“What kind of favors?”
Magicka arches his perfectly painted eyebrows. “A girl never kisses and tells.”
“Oh. That kind.”
After we find a parking place, we walk around to the back of the restaurant. Dean knocks at the door. It opens, words are quietly exchanged, and soon a bleached blond, statuesque guy I assume is Kayos, due to his exuberantly warm, full-lip contact greeting of Dean, ushers us inside. He leads us up a set of stairs and seats us in a private area overlooking the whole dining area.
“This is quite a place. I’m Vienna, by the way.”
He gives me what seems like a vapid “blond handshake,” bats his blond lashes, and says, “Kayos. My pleasure. And thanks.” He waves a hand toward the downstairs. “Well. As you can see my fans are waiting. Chantel will be by in a bit to take your orders.” He leers at Dean. “I’ll give you my order before you leave. I’ve got some junk that needs sorting. A field that needs plowing. And a hole that needs to be plugged.” He laughs and saunters off, swishing his hips side to side.
“No subtlety there,” I say.
“None whatsoever,” Dean says.
“You guys have it easy.”
“In what way?” Magicka picks up his napkin, opens it with a shake and drapes it in his lap.
“Oh, you know. Sex for you is easy.”
“It’s got to be hard before it gets easy.” He flashes me a wicked, knowing smile. “And I am never easy, girl, I guarantee you that.” He snaps his fingers at me and smiles.
“Funny.” I roll my eyes. “I just meant that you…you know…you’re not all complicated like women. You can…”
“We can what, darling?” Magicka turns the tiny vase of flowers on the table so that the flowers lean their heads in my direction.
“You know…you can orgasm easily. Ka-blam. Like that.”
“We can indeed. Ka-blam!” He turns to Dean and the two men laugh. “Not so easy for you?”
He says it innocently enough, but a warm flush creeps up my face, as if he has read into my secret. “Not really.” I hope what passes for nonchalance has worked. “I kind of have to work at it.” Move it along, Vienna, move it along. “Have you ever done it with a woman?”
“Me? No,” Dean says. “Never had the interest. You’ve had a few confused moments, right, Magicka?”
“I wouldn’t call them confused. More like healthy exploration of possibilities. And what I learned was that it wasn’t possible to be with a chick.”
“Why not?”
“No wood to build a fire. It just could not, would not happen. I tried.” He shrugs. “I even used my tongue.” He waggles his tongue suggestively at me. “But the taste is not to my liking. I prefer something a little muskier…a little manlier.” He glances at Dean and winks. “But why all this talk about the complexity o
f the female body? Yours looks fine to me.”
“Oh, no reason,” I say quickly. “I was simply musing.”
“Well, let’s muse about your heart. Yours sounded pretty broken when you called.”
“Yeah. Can you believe it? Jonas is miserable in his relationship. But he lets her yank him around by the short hairs. And to take me off of the friend list!” I quickly turn away as tears flood my eyes.
“Ouch,” Dean commiserates.
“Super ouch,” Magicka adds. “You’ll work it out. This could be his confused phase.”
“What’s there to be confused about? He told me he was getting fed up. He caught her red-handed with another man. Doesn’t sound that complex to me.”
Magicka pushes his spoon to the edge of the table. He nudges it off the edge where it falls with a clatter. “Sometimes it seems like a long fall when you’re standing at the edge.”
“But he wouldn’t have to fall that far!” I protest. “What are friends for? To catch you when you fall!”
“Uh huh,” Magicka says knowingly. He and Dean exchange a look.
“What?” I scowl at them before glancing around the room. “Where’s our waitress?”
“She’ll be along. Don’t fret.” He gives me a searing look. “I think you have more than friendly feelings for your boy.”
“He’s not my boy. He made that clear. He was my friend. My friend! We did things together. We confided in each other. We’ve always been there for each other. We’ve consoled and comforted. Laughed and joked around. And then, at the end of the day, we go home to our respective lives. It’s been a perfect friendship.”
“Sounds like a bit more than that to me,” Magicka says gently.
I meet his gaze. His eyes are almost lavender in hue. They’re a bluish-purplish blend of softness right now, peering out of his colorful, made-up face. They appear deep and wise and kind. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”
“Thank you,” he says, and he doesn’t look away. “Yours are beautiful. As is all of you.”
I look away. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that.”
“Surely you know that, girl.”
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