by Lee Winter
“We can do it right now!”
“Say yes, Senator!”
“You’ll make history.”
“Even better! You’ll lead the news!”
Hickory coughed sharply, remembered an important engagement, and declared the press conference over. He strode off.
Pete wheezed with laughter. “Thanks, Ayers, that was perfect.” He flicked off his camera. “Christ, you’re always good for a bloodless evisceration. Did you see that choking expression he made? My boss will love you. Thanks again.” He gave an admiring mock-salute and started packing up.
Catherine turned to Lauren. “Hello. You’re a welcome sight after the world’s most idiotic press conference. Are you just passing by?”
“Nope, I saw your calendar at breakfast and knew you’d be here, so I wondered if you’ve got time for lunch?”
“Sure.” Catherine glanced around. “Where?”
“Not far. Walk with me. I have a surprise.”
As they walked, Catherine shot an appreciative gaze over Lauren’s rear-hugging khaki pants, pale blue button-up shirt, and smart brown boots. The sight of her in any outfit, though, never failed to improve her mood. Such a shame Lauren’s newspaper had moved ten blocks from Catherine’s office building. Their lunches together had been sporadic ever since.
“Did you have fun demanding my state’s senator get microchipped like a stray puppy?” Lauren gave Catherine’s sleeve a teasing flick.
“Probably,” Catherine admitted with a smile. “But he has a knack for endorsing atrocious ideas.”
Lauren nodded and then beamed at her.
“All right, spill. What has you in such a good mood?”
“You’ll see.” Lauren grinned even wider.
They crossed Washington Avenue and made their way into a small, immaculate triangle of garden.
“Bartholdi Park?” Catherine examined the sign. “There aren’t any food outlets here.”
“Nope. Not yet.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Patience.” Lauren led them to one of several heavy wooden tables dotted around a paved area that surrounded an enormous, ornate fountain.
They settled into the chairs, and Catherine’s gaze scanned the area with interest. The centerpiece featured lamps, cherubs, turtles, fish, and… “Nymphs?” Catherine’s eyebrows rose. “While I appreciate the admiration of statuesque women, can’t we just find a nice corner table at Mastro’s?”
“You missed the frogs.” Lauren pointed them out. “And it’ll be here soon.”
“What will?”
Lauren gave her a small smile and then turned to watch the park’s entrance. “Wait and see.”
A few minutes later, a low whirring noise reached her ears. A small, six-wheeled white robot appeared and rolled along the path. A long rubbery antenna was at the back of the unit, with a round camera on top, like the pouf on a poodle’s tail.
Catherine stared at it as it trundled around the far side of the fountain and then made a beeline for them. “What…?”
Lauren grinned as it stopped five feet away. “Not bad. Pretty accurate. I supplied the Google Maps coordinates of where we’d be.” She walked over and lifted the curved lid on top, tapped a code, and then flipped up a smaller inner lid. “Our lunch is served.”
“What is that thing?”
Lauren lifted some Italian-smelling dishes to the table. “This is an autonomous delivery unit. Cutting-edge, temperature-controlled, cheaper than hiring a driver, and it can shoot all around the streets delivering takeout. Customers just stand outside their home or office to wait for it when it’s due to arrive. The owner ordered a pair of them from Estonia. This is their first day in service for Antonio’s Pizzeria. It’s part of a story I’m working on.”
There was a rustle of plastic as Lauren tugged more bags out of the machine and sorted through their lunch. The moment she slapped both of the robot’s lids closed, the machine beeped, made a tight about-face, and whirred out of the area.
The feast involved several pasta dishes and one small pizza box. Delicious scents of garlic and tomato filled the air.
“So, a new delivery robot is your story?” Catherine asked in surprise. “Doesn’t sound like something for the Washington Post’s metro desk. Nothing crime-related about robo-takeout.”
“Ordinarily true.” Lauren handed her some plastic utensils. “Here’s what I know: Both robots each have a camera onboard which snaps 360-degree images of their journey and beams the photos back to the restaurant in real time. So, if anyone interferes with them, the owner, Antonio, knows pretty much immediately the where and the who.”
“Ah.” Catherine snared a foil container and peeled back its cardboard lid. Tomato penne with mozzarella. Promising. She eyed her fiancée. “Now, why do I think this is about to end badly? Since you’re on the case and all.”
“Nothing escapes you.” Lauren’s eyes twinkled. “And yes, despite all Antonio’s security efforts, one of his two robots was stolen. Simply disappeared. The thief might be any of the witnesses it filmed just before that. Which is where I come in. I’m on the case of the missing pizzeria bot.”
“How exciting,” Catherine drawled.
“Not exciting, but surprisingly funny.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled. “And here’s why. These are all the screen snaps from the footage sent back to the restaurant just before the robot vanished.” She laid her phone on the table.
Catherine swiped through the photos between bites, watching as image after image of curious people stopped, stared, waved, did bunny ears, and even mooned the passing robot’s camera. “I see it attracts a high class of tourists.”
“Yup. But this lady’s my favorite.” Lauren scrolled to a picture of a forty-something woman in a bright orange top peering into the camera as if it were a creature from outer space. In six of the photos, her long, painted-green fingernail was tapping the camera as though convinced it might start talking back.
“I take it she never did figure out what she was poking?” Catherine asked.
“Doubt it. But her what-is-this-demon? expression is an Internet meme just waiting to happen.”
“I suppose so.”
“Oh yep, she’s about to be famous. See, Antonio says he’s already sent all these pics to the cops for them to follow up, so I get to keep these copies and run any I want with my story.”
“Well that’s nice.” Catherine paused. “But so far I’m seeing not much more than click bait. Where’s the story?”
“The story is what happened to Washington DC’s first automated food-delivery unit. The mystery. The theft.”
“Are you sure? Isn’t it the implications of a less personalized society? What if everyone uses robots and drones for everything? What’s next? What will we become in even five years?”
“Catherine, my paper doesn’t want me to write intellectual commentaries on society. They want me to do light, fun, factual, and engaging. I’m expected to stick to the basics of my beat and not drill too deep unless I somehow unearth a major scandal. But this is my job.” She tapped her phone screen. “They’d laugh me out of the bullpen if I turned in an analytical think piece on society’s woes based on a stolen food robot. My job is chasing…” She waved at the photos.
“People doing bunny ears,” Catherine finished.
Lauren nodded. “Yeah. And it’s not that tragic. We’re not all at the top of the mountain like you are. We don’t all cover the White House and get to write deep philosophical columns every week.”
“True.” Catherine dabbed her lips with a paper napkin she’d found in the food bag. “Sorry. I don’t mean to judge. I’m just used to looking for the layers in stories. It doesn’t help that the senator from Iowa is ruining my famously friendly disposition with this absurd campaign to shove tech into people’s bodies.”
“Well, hope
fully, lunch is helping your mood.”
“It’s pretty good. Thank you.”
“High praise.” Lauren grinned. She pulled a small pizza box toward herself and thunked her feet up on a low wall beside them. “By the way, the pizza’s totally lousy, so I won’t foist it on you,” she joked. “But I better have another piece, to be sure.”
Catherine eyed the elevated boots. “Ground…now. Or I call security about a wild animal loose in the gardens.”
Lauren’s boots plopped to the ground. “You don’t mind me being a wild animal sometimes. Last night ring a bell?”
Catherine packed the empty containers into one of the bags as she smirked. “That’s different. Liberties are allowed in certain situations.”
“Like when we’re naked in bed?” Lauren’s lips curled.
A flash of desire shot through Catherine. Her skin still felt heated from the memory of the many and varied places those taunting lips had been last night. She refused to blush. Clearing her throat, she quickly cast around for something else to discuss. “Are you feeling any better?”
“About?”
“Our trip to Iowa next week? To plan a certain wedding?”
“Oh. That.” Lauren hesitated and shot her a bright smile. “So, we’re getting married in three months. And I’m taking you home next week to meet the family. No big deal.” Her laugh was weak. Her gaze shifted away from Catherine.
“And yet you change the subject whenever I so much as mention the weather in Cedar Rapids.”
“Oh,” Lauren said again. “Actually, I think maybe work’s been on my mind. Distracting me.”
“Why? You can write lost robot stories in your sleep.”
“Well, yeah. It’s not that. Sometimes my boss looks at me like he can’t believe I’m the same reporter who helped get a world-famous scoop. The thing is, I only pulled off the first big story with you. But he hired me, not both of us. Besides, as long as I’m assigned to write metro briefs and puff pieces, where’s my opportunity for pulling another rabbit out of the hat anyway?”
Catherine stopped. “You really think I’m the only reason we got the SmartPay story? We each independently worked out something odd was going on at their business launch.”
“Yes, but we worked out what it all meant together. I haven’t had any major scoops since, and I’m wondering if I’ve already had my biggest story. Like, is this as good as it gets for me? What if it’s all downhill from here? So maybe that’s why I’m a little checked out.”
Catherine bit back her smile. “You’re not even thirty-five, and think you’ve peaked?”
Lauren gave a miserable shrug.
“Mm. Well, all right, let’s review: Together we won a national award for our exclusive. And then I oh-so cleverly lost my head and outed us to the world in my thank-you speech last year. Then, mystifyingly, given how much I loathe virtually everyone in DC, I invited the whole room to attend our wedding. In Iowa.”
Lauren exhaled. “Yeah.” She bit her lip. “That was unexpected. Especially for President Taylor.”
“You know, he did tell me later he was sorely tempted to say yes just to annoy his party’s conservatives.” Catherine still appreciated the devilish look he’d had in his eyes.
Lauren stared mournfully at her pizza. “Please just tell me the White House press corps isn’t going to invade our wedding? You know what reporters are like with the offer of free food and booze.”
“Is that’s what’s been stressing you? Lauren, our nation’s finest media would sooner drink bleach than voluntarily go to the Midwest.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Lauren’s attempt at humor morphed into a wan smile. “Hey? I’m sorry my fears are leaking all over you.”
“As is your pizza.”
The slice Lauren had set aside was starting to droop off the table. Her arm flashed out and she plucked it from thin air as it began to fall.
“Trust your softballer’s reflexes to kick in to save a pizza.”
“No better cause,” Lauren said earnestly.
Catherine laughed. “Now, although I’d love to admire your athletic skills some more, I have to turn Senator Hickory’s weird addiction for terrible ideas into a news column.”
“No probs.” Lauren began packing up their leftovers.
“And I somehow have to do it without resorting to citing Brave New World about the destruction of humanity as we know it. For some reason my editor doesn’t appreciate my end-is-nigh societal autopsies nearly as much as I do. He thinks it’s a downer.”
“Shocker. I’m with Neil.”
Catherine huffed out a breath. “Even so, it’s important. This is an invasion of our bodily integrity. I don’t understand why everyone’s asleep on the implications.” She paused. “What will you do with the rest of your day?”
“I’m backgrounding food-delivery robots around the world for a sidebar. You should see the freaky-cool shit Japan does.”
“Fascinating.”
“Well, smarty-Ayers, it will be to my readers. Never underestimate people’s interest in new ways to get food.”
“I suppose there is that. And on that note, I definitely appreciated my food delivery today.”
“Good.” Lauren leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. “See you at home tonight. Oh, and the best part is, I’m cooking.” She waggled the bag of leftovers. “And by cooking, I mean reheating.” She offered Catherine a stunning smile, then spun on her heel and walked away.
Catherine inhaled deeply. She still wasn’t used to the sight of all that love directed at her. She let out the breath and marveled at how so much had changed for her in such little time.
With a final glance at Lauren, Catherine rose and turned in the opposite direction. She had to get back to her office. She still had a story to write about the idiot from Iowa. And he most definitely wouldn’t like it.
Chapter 2 –
Evil Twins
Two days later, Lauren put down the phone and dropped her pen to her notepad. She glanced at her work calendar. Damn. Still Thursday. Only one more day and they were officially on vacation. A week and a bit in Iowa. Lauren exhaled. Her usual insecurities floated up and marched a circuit around her brain.
Dying for a distraction, she peered at the surly bear of a man working at the desk facing her. Bob Grimes was stuffed into an old brown suit and typing up his usual two-fingered storm. She could see only his forehead and furry eyebrows above the frosted-glass divider.
“Has it happened?” she asked. “Has the judgment been handed down in the Charlton case?”
He didn’t answer immediately, so she glanced up to one of the twenty-one monitors that encircled the walls above the news hub inside One Franklin Square’s east tower. She paused when she spotted her story on the food-robot abduction. It was still trending strongly, according to the live analytics.
She got a pleased jolt every time she saw it doing well. Even so, Lauren was pretty sure that the hilarious photos of all the curious onlookers had a lot more to do with the story’s viral success than her reporting. Especially Orange Shirt Lady, as she’d come to think of the most hilarious witness.
Her smile faded. Catherine wasn’t entirely wrong. This was barely news. Not exactly the White House beat she’d always dreamed of doing.
Bob Grimes grunted a belated affirmation to her question.
Lauren looked at him. He wasn’t the most talkative colleague, although he wasn’t that much worse than the others.
The truth Catherine didn’t know was that her outing of them had cost Lauren a lot of respect. Catherine had been so delighted that she’d overcome her fear of revealing their relationship that Lauren didn’t have the heart to reveal the downside.
Lauren had returned to work after the awards night to a much chillier newsroom. Not because her colleagues were homophobic—far from it
—but they’d looked at Lauren with fresh eyes. And they’d seen someone with a limited news background, whose most immediate reporting beat had been the LA party circuit. Put alongside Catherine’s exhaustive, in-depth CV that stretched back two decades, despite a brief fall from grace, they’d reached a certain conclusion. They clearly assumed Catherine had given Lauren credit on their scoop because she was sleeping with her.
One photographer had even elbowed her the day after her national outing, winked, and said, “It’s not what you know, but who, am I right?”
The fact Lauren hadn’t been pulling out huge scoops since starting at The Washington Post just convinced colleagues like Grimes that their assumptions were right. She glanced back to the analytics monitor. Stories about stolen food robots, no matter how viral or funny, wouldn’t change their view, either. Lauren still had to prove herself.
A familiar despondency settled over her. It had been building for a while. It wasn’t just work. Not just next week’s Iowa trip, either. It was everything.
She chewed her lip and thought back to the call she’d just finished to select an Iowan wedding planner. Time would be tight. They only had ten days in Iowa to book the venue, catering, and order outfits, so it made sense to use a professional. Even just choosing a planner, though, made it all feel so immediate.
Her work phone jangled, and she recognized the internal number.
“King.”
“Front desk security here. I have a Fiona Fisher demanding to speak to you. She appears…agitated.”
“Oh?”
“Something about a story you wrote?”
Lauren grimaced. “I’ll be right down.”
She hung up, grabbed her notebook, and headed down to the foyer. She passed through the low glass security barriers and looked around. A large, dark-skinned woman was pacing the front area. She was in her forties, with piercing brown eyes, and seemed sort of familiar.
Oh. Orange Shirt Lady.
The security guard cleared his throat and pointed the woman in Lauren’s direction.
