“You’d never stay with a woman?”
“I stayed with a girl for a few years once. We got on each other’s nerves after just a couple of months. I don’t see why it would be any different with anyone else.”
The man shuffled his papers again and then stood up. Behind Frank, the door opened. The man held out a hand.
“Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Tasset. I think you’ll be of great use to us here.”
“Yeah, what’s that about? Is it some kind of sex drug? Like the little blue pills? I don’t need that shit. I get hard on my own.” He considered for a moment. “But I’d try it.”
“All will be revealed in time.”
Another man in a lab coat stood at the door, gesturing for Frank to follow him out. Frank, sighing, exited the room and returned back to the holding area.
* * * * *
Hour -1
Rebecca entered the room with a smile on her face. Presenting. Always presenting. They would be interviewing her and she could really use the money, as her new independent law firm wasn’t quite where she wanted it yet. It was tough, gathering clients, and tougher still since those bastards at Locke & Powers had dragged her name through the mud for months now. And for what? Because she’d spoken her mind, because she’d told them that she was quitting because of the way they wouldn’t stop telling her to smile and dress nicer.
Pigs. She was better without them.
There was a woman at the table—older than Rebecca by about ten years, into her forties. Her hair was tied in a bun, and she wore a lab coat over a pair of faded slacks.
She spoke into a recorder on the table. “Rebecca Heberson. Age twenty-nine.” With a small smile, he looked up to Rebecca. “Have a seat.”
Rebecca sat. The chair was hard and uncomfortable. She shifted for a moment, finding her posture. Posture was important. Her shoulder blades flexed together, spreading her shoulders wide. The natural veer of her hands was to come together and cross against her modestly sized chest. She had spent many years convincing herself not to do just that—and instead to sit openly, relaxed but attentive, her body language ready for any discussion.
“I’m ready,” Rebecca said, smiling. “What is it you would like to know?”
The woman raised an eyebrow slightly and then read from the page in front of her. “What do you do, Miss Heberson?”
“I’m a lawyer. I practice law.”
“Civil? Criminal?”
“Real estate, mostly. It’s a growing business. We have a small clientele at the moment, but we’re gaining steam.”
“I see.” The woman ticked a mark or two. “And do you have any romantic involvements?”
“The application said that we had to consider ourselves single.”
She nodded. “Yes, but people lie. We’re offering a lot of money for very little time invested.”
That made sense enough. Rebecca shook her head. “No. I’m not romantically involved.”
“And your sex life? What’s that like?”
“Well, as I said, I’m not romantically involved, so...”
The woman gestured for her to go on. “So...?”
“I’m not the sort to just sleep around.” She laughed, as if the accusation—and that’s what it was, wasn’t it?—was ridiculous. Which it was. “I don’t go to bars and look around for men, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything.” The woman smiled. She set her papers down. “I apologize if I offended. We’re merely trying to get the full shape of you, that’s all. Many people are not romantically involved and still have sex with high frequency, and—”
“And many don’t, thank you very much.”
“Yes. And many don’t.” The woman nodded. “It’s all kosher here. We’re just trying to see what’s what before we move forward.”
They were quiet for a moment. Rebecca felt as if the woman was allowing her to cool down, which immediately she resented. She wasn’t upset. And anyway even if she was it was this horrible woman’s fault, asking her all those classless questions.
“I couldn’t sleep with someone who I didn’t know intimately already,” she explicated. If she said enough, surely the woman would concede the point and realize Rebecca was right. “I couldn’t possibly. It’s too...I just couldn’t.”
“That’s fine, Miss Heberson. That’s all very fine.”
“Thank you.”
She had won that little battle. She straightened in her chair, wiggling upward and pressing her butt outward so that she could push her chest forward more. Authoritative. In control. This little outfit was so uncomfortable. Why were they dressed in paper, anyway?
“Another question, if that’s all right?”
“Of course.”
“What’s your ideal mate like?”
This was an easy one. She had thought this through many times.
“He is tall. Taller than me. Wiry, though. Not too muscular. Like, not bulky or anything. Thin. Looks good in a suit. Wears a lot of suits. Rich. Funny. Loves commitment. Responsibilities. Wants a family some day—but not too soon! God, I’ve got my own career to worry about. And he should respect that. And love that, in fact. He should be something of a crusader for rights.”
“Whose rights?”
“Who have you got? There’s not enough going around. Anyone in the LGBT community. Minorities. Women. Everyone.”
“So, an outspoken man?”
“Very much so. Except, articulate too. A way with words. No crass language.” Her nose drew up. “I despise men who swear. Women too. It’s so classless.”
“I see. And sexually? Any preferences there?”
“How do you mean? He would be straight, of course.”
“No,” the woman shook her head. “I mean in bed. Is there any particular manner you are fond of there?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.” She raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you just get in there and do it, and that’s all. To be honest, that’s not all that important to me.”
“I see.”
The woman ticked a few more marks on her sheet and then stood up. The door behind Rebecca opened.
“That’s all?” asked Rebecca.
She had much more to say. She was a mine of valuable information about every sort of topic. Didn’t they want to know about her cats or her knitting? Wouldn’t they like to hear what she thought of that idiot senator in her home state? What if she had valuable ways of framing her pet peeves?
“Oh yes,” said the woman. “You’ve been very helpful. I think you’re going to be a perfect fit, Miss Heberson.”
Rebecca smiled at that. A little bounce joined her steps as she headed back to her holding area.
* * * * *
“These two? Really?” Pruitt shook his head.
“They’re perfect for each other.”
“What? Didn’t you hear the interviews? They’d hate one another.”
“Oh, they’ll definitely hate one another. That’s why they’re perfect for one another.”
“What do you mean? I thought—”
“How do you suppose, Pruitt, that we test this fuck drug without making sure it really, truly works? That’s what the personality test is for. We put opposites in the same room together. If they truly hate another, and they fuck, then the drug is working. It’s that simple.”
“Is that why the boys bet? Because if that’s why they bet, I want to put money down saying they’ll never fuck.”
Martinez snorted. “Man, you got it all wrong. Nobody makes that bet. Well, one guy did, but he lost all his damn money. They bet on how long it takes for them to start screwing. Smart money is around the three hour mark, like I told you. My bet is on minute one-sixty.”
* * * * *
Hour 1
A few hours after the interview a nurse arrived at his door and escorted Frank down through the hallways of the complex. They follow a bright teal line, the same color as his jumpsuit.
“What’s t
his about, now? Can you tell me?”
“Of course,” said the nurse. “You’ve been selected. You’re going to earn your money, Mister Tasset.”
“Oh.” He straightened slightly. “Well, that’s great.”
The nurse was pretty good looking, he thought. Nice red hair. Did they give him a red-haired nurse because he had said how he liked red hair?
“You know a good place to spend five thousand dollars on?”
She smiled. “I can think of a few.”
“How about I take you there?”
Her laugh was mild—the sort that meant she didn’t really mean it. They stopped in the middle of the hallway. The line had run out. She pressed a panel on the wall, and the wall opened.
“What’s this?” he asked.
It looked like a cell. As he looked in, the nurse poked him, hard, with some kind of syringe.
“Ah, jeezus, what’s the—”
Unceremoniously, she shoved him into the cell. He stumbled forward, off-balance. Moments later, the door shut behind him.
“Hey!”
He banged against the wall panel to no avail.
What had she stuck him with? He felt...he felt fine. Was that the experiment? They said it wouldn’t be anything dangerous, but how would they know? That’s why they were experimenting, right, to find out everything it did? God, what if he had a condition? What if it wasn’t okay?
He took a moment, breathing. Calming. Probably the nurse would have told him more if he hadn’t hit on her. Ah, well. Can’t say nothing to a broad these days.
It took him a few moments more, but he calmed down. They had guaranteed his safety. Everybody here was a professional. He wouldn’t be any good to them if nothing happened. And so, fear assuaged for the moment, he took a look around.
In every corner of the room was a camera. Two of them slowly whirred, following his movements. Overhead was a distant skylight, except it wasn’t natural light coming in. There was a difference in the frequency of the light waves, somehow. Frank had worked with enough lights to know the difference between almost sunlight and real sunlight.
At one side of the room, there was a small bed, featureless. It was just a plain white mattress on a plain white slab. It didn’t even have any sheets or pillows. He sat uneasily, waiting.
“Is this it?”
There was a small washbasin in the corner, two bottles, and an extra tap to fill up the bottles of water. At least he wouldn’t be thirsty. He was a little hungry, but not really. There had been a big steak lunch they brought to him. He had finished just before the nurse showed up.
The wall opened up again. A woman stepped inside to the room—the cell, really. She was on the tall side, a little gangly, with breasts that Frank measured at around a handful or so. Maybe a little less. Her body in shape. Not great, but nothing to ignore, neither. She had blond hair—the prettiest thing about her—and blue eyes that quickly scanned the room.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to the door panel—but it was already closed.
She wore the same outfit as him, only hers had shorts instead of the pants he had. Why was that? Did they want him to look at her legs? They were nice enough. Shaved. A nice natural color.
“Hey there,” said Frank. “Who are you?”
“I’m Rebecca,” she said, holding her arms against herself.
“Frank.”
It seemed like she felt overexposed in the small cell.
She approached him with a hand out. “I suppose we should tell each other it’s nice to meet one another?”
“Sure.”
Her handshake was firm—really firm. Trying-to-prove-something firm.
“I don’t know what we’re doing in here,” she said, stepping away and wiping her hand on her shorts. “It all seems so mysterious. Do you know?”
Frank was still considering her looks. She was pretty enough, though she looked like a total bitch. Her hair all bunned up like that. Her nose was large—not gross or anything, but prominent. Her skin all freckled and pale. He wanted a tanned woman. A woman who spent real time on herself. Why didn’t this broad get a nose job or something. Didn’t she know what men liked?
Ah, whatever. No reason to be unpleasant.
“Couldn’t tell you, lady.” He shrugged. “I think it’s sex stuff, though.”
“Sex stuff?”
“They asked me all these questions. Didn’t they ask you questions about sex?”
“They did, yes. But I made it very clear that I only enter into that sort of entanglement with someone I feel very strongly about.”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know what to tell you. They injected you with something, right?”
She rubbed her arm. “Yes. A little roughly, too.”
Tinges of pity pushed onto his heart. “Me too.”
“That doesn’t make us alike, or anything.” She held her nose up. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to sleep together.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“You may think everything is about sex. Being a man. But I’m a serious woman, all right? Just because we both are here, and there’s a bed, and we’re just stuck together doesn’t mean anything outside of those facts, got it?”
She was in his face now, waving her finger up toward his nose.
“Sure, lady. Whatever. You asked what I thought this about. I told you.”
“Well.” She crossed her arms and walked to the other side of the room, huffing. “I didn’t know you would be so crude, that’s all. ”
Frank rolled his eyes and sat down, leaning slightly on the sink.
A few minutes passed.
“I'm sorry,” she said after a moment. “I was terse there. I can see that. I'm not used to this. Any of this. And it's...I don't talk about sex, often.”
Frank shrugged. “'S'okay.”
Another few moments passed, both of them idly kicking the floor.
“I’m cold,” she complained.
“You women,” he laughed. “Always cold. You should dress warmer.”
“How can you—that doesn’t even—you’re an idiot!”
“Already? Already, I’m an idiot?”
“I’m dressed in what you’re dressed in!”
“And I’m fine with it. I guess that means I’m winning, huh?”
She glared at him. She looked kinda hot when she was angry, Frank thought. Too bad she didn’t know how to act like a real woman.
“Listen,” she said finally, straightening up. “I don’t like you very much. I could tell straightaway I didn’t, and that comment just seals it. I tried to be civil to you, and now you've just continued being a dunce. So, for however long this goes on, you just stand over there and I’ll stand over here, and that’s that! We each get our half.”
She had given Frank the side with the bed. Fine by him. He walked over to it and kicked it slightly, as if it were the tire of a car.
“Do we have to stand? Is sitting allowed, your highness?”
“You know what I mean!” She let out a strangled cry. “You’re impossible.”
Frank didn’t know how much longer he would last in this tiny room with this lady. But it seemed they didn’t have any choice.
* * * * *
“Now they’re not even talking,” said Pruitt.
“They don’t need to talk out loud. Their bodies are doing all the talking now.”
“Did you see how they acted? They hate each other. Just like I said.”
“Just wait.”
“They hated each other right away, too. I don’t think I’ve seen people react like that.”
“It’s chemical.” Martinez tapped the monitor. “Those two? They’ll be fucking in no time. It’s just chemicals acting up right now. Out there in the real world, their own chemical dislike for one another would have kept them from ever being around each other. The injection accelerated that process. It has to burn them out, you see? So it gets them all out there and then starts its own stuff.”
�
�That’s the scientific term? ‘Starts its own stuff?’”
Martinez ruffled slightly.“Shut up.”
* * * * *
Hour 2
They continued to pass the time on opposite sides of the room. Rebecca had a hard time not pacing. What were they supposed to do here? Was this some kind of psychological experiment? To figure out how long two people could last in a room without killing each other? She wasn't sure it would go on much longer in that case.
The cold of the room had left her, which surprised her. She felt like they had turned the temperature up quite a bit—maybe she shouldn't have complained. Maybe she should stop pacing? She was sweating. Her entire body felt hot. It was getting hard to think with all the heat sweltering up in the room.
Taking a break, she slid against the wall. The wall was cold, somehow, even with the heat of the room.
Wait, though—if the room felt hot but the walls felt cold, didn't that mean that she was...oh god.
“What. The fuck. Is that?” she pointed to Frank's pants.
He snorted. “What are you, a dyke?”
“A dyke?”
“You don’t know what a boner is, you must be a dyke.”
“How is that...” she shuddered and stamped her foot. “That is not how the world works!”
“Whatever. It’s a boner, all right? Grade A. I’ve had it for like, I don’t know. An hour now.”
He gripped it for a second and shuddered. Then, as if slightly afraid, he let it go.
“From what?”
“What?”
“What did you get a boner from?”
“I don’t know. Where did you get tits from?”
“You were born with a boner, is that what you’re telling me?”
He started laughing, as if he thought it was funny that she kept saying “boner” over and over again. She herself didn't know why the semi-swear came so easily. Normally, she never would have used such a filthy term.
“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Sure. Born with it.”
Nadia Nightside's Best of 2015 Page 21
