by Anthony Puyo
“Come on, bud, we’re at Bing’s. It’s a killer crowd and the drinks are uh fulowing!” He mouths in elongated form.
I chortle. It always makes me laugh when Rob talks with his urban hip lingo.
“Who’s we’re?” I ask.
“Dave, Gino, Kyle, and we have a newbie here. And unlike us, she’s easy on the eyes.”
“Is that so? You schmucks actually convinced a girl to hang out with you? I don’t know if I should believe you, or just come out and ask you how much you paid.”
A laugh from Rob. “Wow! See how you are? Here we go trying to pry you away from that desk before you become a stiff, and you come hard and heavy with the insults. You do realize if you got Adamed, you’d probably would’ve been done hours ago.”
“Yeah yeah, save me the lecture.” I roll my neck, “So who’s the girl?”
“You sure you want to know? Because if I mention her name, you will leave your precious work behind in a heartbeat.”
I straighten my back by sitting up. A sudden emptiness comes over my torso.
“Myra’s with you guys?”
Rob’s voice shrinks as if he’s being watched as he speaks. “Bingo, man. She’s here. Now’s your chance to make an impression. Drop what you’re doing, and head over here—now!”
I've had my eye on Myra for a while. She's a beauty that works in sales. I don’t see her much, but when she's around I always notice her. Well, me and probably every other swinging dick at the office. I never approached her, figuring she's out of my league. The closest I ever got to her was in the copy room. I remember walking in and seeing the back of a thin but curvaceous figure standing by the copier. Her wavy, long red hair caught my attention. She dropped sheets of whatever she was copying and I immediately bent to pick them up. Well, so did she.
We were inches apart and all I heard was a “Thanks.” When I gazed up, my eyes met the sky. That’s how blue and soft her round eyes are. Her brows red, faded with small dotted freckles underneath them. Her lips—I think the invention of the heart shape came from an inspiration of lips like hers. She just far-out gorgeous. The most beautiful girl I ever laid my eyes on.
I said, “No problem,” in a weak faded tone. She just smiled, stood up, put her finger to her temple, and walked out talking to whoever was calling her on her chip.
Now it seems I’ve got a chance. If she's hanging with the boso crew, then maybe her standards are not as high as I thought.
“Hey, bud, are you there?” Rob asks, breaking me from my thought.
“I need to approve a few more payouts. I’ll head over after that.”
I’m lying. I’m barely halfway through payroll. I expect to be here another four hours, but I can’t risk not meeting Myra. I’ll get rid of the top branch; the ones who could complain and have the power to get me in hot water. After that, I’m out. I’ll just have to come in, drunk or not, seven hours from now get the rest done before 9 a.m.
“K, bro. I’ll entertain her while you’re gone. And no hard feelings if she ends up hooking up with me.” Rob replies jokingly.
The city lights are breathtaking from above. Large skyscrapers tower in the darkness, concealing the bustling lives in them and below on the streets. The mix of air and ground vehicles between blocks are like blood in the veins of the body; never stopping, even when we’re asleep. The sheer beauty of the city’s high rise also did well in concealing the heartache of the massive homelessness down on the ground. You would never know if from here that below ran dirty in exaggerated filth.
I stare into the mirror of the back seat. I run my fingers through my thick hair, giving some structure to it, adjust my glasses, then sigh. I think I’m ready.
I pull out my cell phone and check my messages as I feel the drift of the drone lowering down to my destination.
It seems Leonard, a friend and the leader of PAC, has texted me:
The word is your company and Congress have been
working on a bill for six months all hush hush. They
will be unveiling it in couple of weeks. It’s
something big that has to do with the
Thin Chip! Call me when you can.
“What?!” I yell from my mind, feeling my chin drop. That happens to be around the time of our big announcement from Henry, the owner. There’s a tie there. I know it. What could Matson and Congress be up to? This has the feeling of something very big. The rule of thumb in the corporate world is you don’t mix with government unless it’s something that needs government approval. The conspiracy flags on my brain’s surface rise sharply. Could this be something that will affect us all?
The drone lands down on the street smoothly. Like a wing from a bird, the door opens and I get out. I wrap my burgundy scarf around my neck and proceed to the front door of Bing’s.
“Reservations?” the slender, tall doorman asks, dressed in a red vest and white collar underneath.
“No, just meeting some friends.”
“Could you give me the name of your acquaintance, please?”
“Rob.”
The man touches his temple—a sign of being chipped.
“Make by the bar where the wine case is, then turn to your left and walk fifty feet. They’re under the sign that has a lobster on it. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Well, look what the 2010’s brought in!” Rob states, seeing me walk up.
“He’s a classic for sure,” Dave blurts, garnering laughs from the others.
I smile, taking notice of them all with a casual wave. They sit around a square, high table for six. Empty and half empty bottles of booze and wine glasses scatter about next to half eaten plates of food. But even with all that is going on, my eyes gravitate like a tractor beam towards Myra. Everything slows. Her white smile, soft burgundy lips, those eyes; they’re like a glimpse into a cloudless blue sky. Her laugh gives comfort to me. It lets me know she’s not a snob like she could be. She is regular; one of us. I gaze away before I draw too much attention on how I stare at her.
“I see you’re all having a good time.”
“Hey, bud, this is Myra. She’s new to the casual crew. She works in sales.” Rob says with a slight slur in his speech.
Leave it up to Rob to rush things along.
“I have taken notice of that,” I extend my hand. She sips from a straw, a drink I’m not certain of.
“Have you now?” She replies, giving me a stare that’s waiting to see how I respond. I’m not sure if she’s flirting or just being playful. I should admit; I don’t have the experience when it comes to dating or even the opposite sex in general. I’m not suave, I should say.
She finally extends her hand. I concentrate to indulge on the feel of her skin in the quick second. It’s soft, and her hand is of perfect size to mine.
“I’m Jason.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you—Jason.”
I look over my shoulder to Rob. He sits on his stool, elbows up on the table. Sipping from a straw as well, he peers out into the room with loose eyes as if he’s not listening. He peeks back at me, giving me a grin. He’s so in trouble.
“Well, hope they didn’t tarnish my name too much.” I reply to her.
“I didn’t,” Dave blurts like a drunk surfer, “I told her you have a big cock!”
Myra spits out her drink, then quickly covers her mouth, holding in a laugh. “I’m so sorry,” she says, still fighting with amusement.
I grin, feeling a little embarrassed. I didn’t even know how to respond to that untrue accusation.
“I think I need to catch up. I’ll flag down a waiter.” I say, wanting to break the ice of the last comment.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” Myra touches her temple. “There. It should be on its way.”
How would we work? A guy like myself who doesn’t believe in this technology that is changing our species. And a girl who is emerged in the time. Even if we got to a point where we could care for one another, this would have to come out.
Could I look past my own beliefs and conform to what I despise? Most of me says I shouldn’t test myself.
The clinking of glass. The laughter from us and from the environment goes on for three hours. In that time, much was discussed. Most of the talk was meaningless; gab for entertainment. Expressing ourselves without the restraint of our work. A few rumors here and there, nothing of real value. I spent most of my time trying not to let the liquor to allow me to reveal who I really was. It was fairly easy, though. I tried and was successful in scooting my way to Myra, getting to know her a little bit.
“Is it true, Jason, you’re afraid of the tech of the chip?” Myra asks.
I take a strong sip of my beer, contemplating how to answer this. Myra just threw a rope. If I decide to grab on, more of me will definitely come out. Do I want that? Oh, God, yes. I want someone to share who I am with—to know me personally. But who I am is not for anybody. A leap of faith would be required if I want this to go further.
With a long I, I say, “I am.”
“May I ask why?”
Damn you’re unbelievably pretty. “I just think it’s—it’s not natural. And I’m scared where this is all leading.”
Myra nods, lips almost in a frown. “Interesting.”
“Yeah? Why so?”
“I don’t know. You sort of share the belief of those protesters. PAC, is it?”
“I heard of them. I guess I somewhat do. Is that a bad thing?”
“No. I think people are free to do what they want with their bodies. And I also agree with free speech. However, it seems more like paranoia with those people. I think chip technology is not only revolutionary, I think it’s a needed technology, like solar power, the phone, the syringe. It’s going to lead mankind to even greater things. It will link us all in a way that has never been done before.”
“Have you ever thought about what could happen if the wrong people took control of this tech. What if a terrorist group hacked into an individual's chip, or even worse, the wonder machine called the mainframe?”
“I understand your concern. But Matson has the brightest minds protecting the mainframe. I think it’s safe. And as for terrorist, we don’t live in that harsh of time anymore. Ever since the great war, I think those fears lie more with the poor homegrown than with anybody else. However, I do find it sexy that you are natural. People like you are becoming quite rare.”
“Thank you—I guess?”
“How about we move off the subject. Tell me about yourself, Jason? Tell me about your dreams, your childhood, your vision for world peace?”
We share a giggle.
We talked for another hour, even after everyone went home. But it is now after 2 a.m. Four hours before I should go to the office and finish up payroll. As tired as I am, I want to keep talking to her. It was nice learning about her. Myra was an only child growing up in very wealthy family. She talked about how her mother passed while she was a teen, and how her father became the dominating figure in her life, though recently their relationship has become more stiff and professional the last few years.
She told me of her teen years here in New York. I laughed when she said her prom dressed ripped on the bathroom stall’s lock. She tore it off at the knees, making it to a skirt, and everybody noticed because of the jagged edges. Her excuse was it was too hot on the dance floor. She laughed when she said at least four of her friends agreed and did the same.
I told Myra of my parent’s military background, and how both had died in the Great War of 2021 when I was nine. I let her know of my two sisters who live in California but rarely contact me. I also relayed my disdain of chip technology started with my grandmother from whom I was brought up by. She told me technology would eventually do us all in, and how many of the brightest minds of her time warned us so. Men like Hawking and Elon Musk.
I conversed about a time grandmother showed me through film, an era where people were more connected with each other through family gatherings and talk. The people in those films seemed so happy, cooking meats outside, having drinks in shorts while the sun was centered in a clean blue sky. The city areas were vibrant with nice people walking their animals, riding bikes, even people tanning at the parks. The smiles were all so genuine.
It would be totally different if I filmed today. The sky is usually a charcoal haze. The air is cold. Rain is abundant enough. The streets are now filled with many homeless, much of them with defects of the skin and limbs due to the high consumptions of modified rations, or fake foods; plagues that hinder them from living a normal life. The expenses of today have taken a toll on many of our time.
I explained to Myra how Grandmother always said that everything bad in society’s culture comes about because moral decline. That in her day, money meant too much for the rich. The poor felt they deserved rather than earn. And the middle broke their backs for the entire country.
Grandmother told me the young of her day could’ve made a difference. They just had to take the good of generations before them and dispose of the bad lineage that had overtaken. But she said she didn’t see it in the youth. It was as if humanity had gone too far down the dark road that even their offspring would not even find the light of the way out. To grandma, we were a species dying a slow death.
I explained how she talked of the good traditions, things that made us connected disappearing from our culture. I remember her pointing when we went out to a restaurant, at people of young age sitting across from one another, staring into the six-inch screen of their mobile phones. They seemed to notice very little of each other. And conversations almost nonexistent. She would explain to me that a man should always notice their date. Always say kind words, like you look lovely this evening, and pull out the chair for them. She believed the cellphone was the worst invention. It single handedly destroyed what was left of human interaction and love. No one cared to know anyone anymore. They were more self-centered people, turning into rude, lifeless introverts. I told Myra I saw the videos, researched what she had talked about. And it was plainly obvious—everything she had told me was true.
Elbow on the table, chin resting on the back of her fingers, “Your nana was a very interesting person. I would have loved to have met her,” Myra says.
I take the last sip of my drink. “She was the best. I think she would have liked you, too. Or at least liked to disagree with you.”
A sigh of a laugh from Myra.
“We should go, I have to be at work in few hours. Would you like to share a cab?” I ask her.
“I live on Fifth Avenue and Fourteenth Street.” She says.
“That will work, I live in Midtown.”
“Why do you have to be at work so early?”
“I have payroll to complete.”
She grins. “It pays to have a chip sometimes.”
“I’ve heard that . . . about a million times.”
As we fly up high in the early morning, the dark still around us, blinking lights of the city below, some fog rolling in the distance behind the skyscrapers of the far, I peer out the window to my left, thinking if I should ask for her number, or let our meeting be, and wait and hope for something more to come of this. I can’t say if this was a pleasant experience for her. I know she wasn’t bored, she never asked to go home. But I still can’t distinguish whether our unity was more of a friendly one or was it a lead to something more. I hope for the latter.
I was about to turn and say something but then I felt it. Her fingers touching mine which lie on the leather of the seat. Her reflection becomes clear in the window. We grin in that way. I turn—as does she. Overcome by passionate instinct, I lean in and kiss her. The soft and the moist of her lips and mouth—we never stopped at her place.
I lie on my back, her head rests on my chest. The sheets cover halfway on our mingled body. We can hear the choppers. A reminder of the manhunt for Casper.
Myra hums a melody; a childhood nursery rhyme. I stare out the large window. Being twenty-five stories up has its advantages. I can se
e other large buildings, and the lights from the many rooms. If I were standing there which I sometimes do, the view of the city is profound. So many buildings, so many people. Drones with their blinking yellows, blues, reds. The blimp overhead, spreading messages of all sorts from ads of products to events to breaking news. Lately, David Casper’s face has taken priority.
“I don’t ever do this you know?” Myra says softly.
Feeling the warmth of her cheek and the waves of her hair on my chest, I reply. “What that?”
“Sleep with someone I just met.”
“Oh that.”
“You say that like it never crossed your mind.”
“Well, it didn’t.”
We don’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Would you like to know why I did it?” She asks, kissing the center of my chest.
“Um . . . It’s up to you. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t think of you any less or anything.”
“You are different. I did it because something about you is very comforting. There’s a quality about you that I can’t explain, but I feel right with you. I know, it’s weird, and I’m not making any sense.”
I play with her hair, stretching it between my fingers. “No, no I get you. I understand. You feel a certain connection. Connections are good. Rare sometimes. And I’m not arguing your decision, believe me.” I say with a bit of pleasured sarcasm.
She turns to look at me, “I bet!” She kisses my chin. I kiss her forehead.
She rests back in place on my chest.
“There’s something I should tell you, Jason.”
I yawn. “Sure.”
“I feel when I tell you this, it will change the path where we could go.”
I’m happy to know we have a path. She may not know it, but I’m still in a state of euphoria. She’s the one girl I had my eye. And we just made love. This is the kind of stuff that happens in cinema, not to people like me. Not to the odd or the so called strange.
