One brochure, bound in velvet, caught his attention. A small leather backed volume was sticking out. He should have put it away but its position - wedged in the back of the drawer - intrigued him.
At first he didn’t know what he was looking at. Two men, both naked, were - wrestling? It was only when he brought the magnifying glass closer he saw one of the men was inside the other, like he’d been inside Alfred -
He shuffled through the pages. So many positions! Somebody, Nanny probably, had written: ‘Hasn’t got much to boast about, has he?’ and drawn moustaches.
“Well. That doesn’t look very comfortable.”
He wanted to close the thing and pretend he’d never seen it. But the slippery secret side he couldn’t deny made him keep turning the pages. When he reached the last one he started again.
He’d let Alfred do this to him, if he wanted to. Yet whenever he was close to it, it had seemed so big. Would it fit? Would it hurt? And - considering his friend must have had men from all over the place - would he satisfy Alfred?
He opened the leather book, slowly this time. Lewdness, moths, he was prepared for anything. Instead it was a sort of diary. The earliest entry was a few months after they met, the most recent the day he received the letter. He read the whole thing within an hour, staring stupidly at it once he had finished.
Two years of ungrudging devotion and trying to do the right thing. Of pain, sacrifice - but above all, love. Even when Josh had been his most thoughtless and hurtful, Alfred had loved him. If he could have cried, he would have.
His mind was made up. They’d been kept apart too long. Fisk had said a marriage could be dissolved if it wasn’t working; there was no use pretending his was anything other than a sham. Claire had to be as unhappy as he was.
He had a lot to learn about humans, and pride.
Claire had only flirted with the butler as a diversion. She’d come to Chimera to save her marriage.
Langton was both more and less than she’d expected. The red that earned him the nickname Lord Rusty held good in his hair and beard, he was muscular without an ounce of fat, but the blue eyes were framed by wrinkles, and he was so - daddyish. This was the man Josh moaned about in his sleep? He walked with a stick! He told corny jokes!
She started as they tiptoed around the lion in the hallway. She cringed when the housekeeper, a batty old hag with a beehive, called the butler Gwyneth - it was a woman? She was so attractive!
Most of all, she watched Langton with her husband. He sought his opinion constantly, kept referring to past adventures, led him by his elbow and handed him everything first at dinner. One time he passed him more potatoes and their wrists brushed. Josh stifled a gasp. Langton bit his lip. The butler tried to cover it up by asking about the new flat but everybody saw.
Dinner over, Langton cast around for something to do next. She had to get him alone. Difficult, seeing as Josh was the main draw, but she’d manage. A pity her mum wasn’t there. She loved going around stately homes, looking at all the old china and furniture ... That was it!
“Lord Langton, would you mind showing me around?”
“Of course I wouldn’t. Josh?”
“No thanks, I’m dog tired,” he said.
She followed her host around Chimera. Evidently the house was his other love. It had a lively history, a tale attached to every room, but it was wasted on her. She wanted to get him outside.
They left the building an hour later, Langton waving his stick and pouring out anecdotes. She looked back at Josh in the library, engrossed in a book, and promptly forgot him. A gang of young scallies stamped out the remains of a bonfire, perking up when they noticed Langton and Claire. “Afternoon, m’lud!” they chorused. One grimy, ratty creature whistled.
“That’s no way to treat a lady,” Langton said. He held the stick like a spear. “If you aren’t gone by the time I count three -”
They scattered, slamming the garden door behind them.
“Local boys,” he explained. “They’re not bad, just a bit wild. Company for Gwynnie.”
He looked as though he would say more, but squared his jaw and carried on. He was growing tired and the limp was more pronounced. Not long afterwards it began to rain. It was too far to go back for an umbrella. What looked like a shelter lay ahead.
“We could always stop here - this funny temple -” Claire said.
“It’s falling to pieces. It wouldn’t be safe.”
Wet, breathless and dismal, she wasn’t surprised when the next turn took them to a cemetery. “Is this your family?”
“Of a sort. It’s our dogs and cats. When Puss goes I’ll pop her in here.”
It seemed sacrilegious, putting a tombstone on top of a lion. Did they hold funerals too?
“I don’t buy this nonsense animals don’t have souls.” He might have been reading her thoughts. “Lots of people don’t and we bury them.”
“What about bots?”
“Varies, like people. Josh definitely has.”
They passed down the rows of Tigers, Rexes and Kings, and sat on a bench overlooking the grounds. Langton lit his pipe.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? My life’s work. Thank goodness we’re a tenacious family - though there still isn’t enough time. You’ll realise that when you get to my age. Josh doesn’t have that problem, lucky devil.”
Josh again. “You’re good friends, aren’t you?”
He took his pipe out of his mouth. “I suppose so.”
“Do you know him better than me?”
“You are his wife.”
“Don’t beat about the bush, Lord Langton.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar.”
He banged his stick against his leg. “I’ll not be insulted on my property. I don’t care if you’re married to him.”
The words were torn from her. “Are you in love with my husband?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“He loves me as a friend, that’s all.”
“I want my marriage to work. I promised in front of the Mayor, my family, the networks. I couldn’t stand the shame. If you don’t help me I’ll out you as a Transgressor.”
“Claire -”
“Ms Howey to you. I’ll die before anyone takes him from me.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
They shook on it. Both felt as though they’d made a pact.
“Best to go back,” he said. “They’ll wonder where we are.”
They splashed up the driveway, heads bent against the wind and rain. “Finally!” Gwyn said. “We were going to send out a search party.”
She didn’t say Nanny had hissed, “Handbags at dawn,” or Bill was running a book about whether they’d killed each other. Alfred was wearing his most wooden expression, Claire a glassy smile. Josh appeared, a feverish look in his eyes. As he opened his mouth to speak, Claire hooked her arm through his. “We ought to get goin’,” she said. “It was nice meetin’ you.”
Alfred and Josh shared a distraught glance before she marched him out of the door.
It was a week since Claire’s ultimatum. Half finished projects were scattered around Chimera. Alfred had been reprimanded at the Assizes for inattention. He’d stopped eating, barely slept. His hipflask called.
Claire was the one who could make Josh happy? Who would hold him when he had nightmares? Alfred didn’t believe in Thea, all the bowing and mummery, but he believed in marriage. Yes, this was a dumb show, legalised prostitution, but still marriage in the eyes of the law. More than he could give Josh.
Never mind that as he’d met Josh on the steps, as their wrists brushed at lunch, he’d seen the artificial watching him, wanting him. The urge to pull him into a corner and make up for lost time was overwhelming. Instead Claire confronted him, as she had every right to. It was having to deny it that hurt him most - claiming they were just friends. Friends who
held hands. And kissed. And made love.
He read the question in Josh’s eyes. If he’d touched him, if he’d kissed him, he would have returned it. It would have been sweet, easy, and pure - if it hadn’t been for Claire. We’re going to be miserable for the rest of our lives.
Even then, that hadn’t been the clincher. He’d always had problems with addiction, and Josh was the last and greatest. He’d still believed they could be friends. He’d hate it, Josh would hate it, but they’d get used to it.
He was summoned to Lux for the annual conference. Normally he found it a ball ache, but it was a relief to escape his gloomy thoughts. He paid closer attention to taxes and other folderol than he had for many a year. He kept the wisecracks to a minimum. Perhaps he’d drawn too much attention to himself. The third and last day, the Prime Minister asked to see him.
The Yellow Room was empty when he let himself in. There was none of the casual mess of last time. This was a stateswoman’s office, with an oppressive smell of beeswax. There was no sign of Colin the lizard. Perhaps she’d had him stuffed.
He prepared himself for a long wait. He leafed through a magazine, drummed his fingers. The clock chimed a quarter past seventeen as she came in, talking on her beebo. Her smile faded as she saw him. She snapped the organiser shut.
A year in office had changed her. Her hair was threaded with grey, worry lines seemed etched into her face. She wore a sharp indigo dress touched up by a string of pearls.
“Langton.” No smile, no handshake.
“You really put down the rabble today -”
“This isn’t a social call. Keep to the subject in hand.”
“You haven’t said what it is.” Though he could guess.
“Do you remember our last talk?”
“In the main part -”
“I’m not asking for a summary. You’ve completely ignored -”
“Your remonstrance?”
“Last time we spoke, I said certain influences were swaying your judgement. Now I have every reason to believe your affection -” the word made her gag - “has become inappropriate.”
He was playing with the dragon lighter - an involuntary action, though he was pleased to see it annoyed her. “Well?”
“I didn’t hear a question.”
“You know my feelings. I blocked that farcical marriage every step of the way. To think how we fought for equal rights, only to grant them to this freak show!”
“I quite agree.”
It wasn’t going the way she wanted. Bristling, she reached into a nearby bureau and brought out a dossier.
“My sources inform me that despite the S20’s marriage, you’re still paying it foolish attentions. You’ve refused to listen to reason. Perhaps this might persuade you.”
She slit the file with a letter opener and laid buff sheets on the table before them. “A pardon.”
“I haven’t -”
“Read it and see.”
His eyes travelled down the document. He put it aside. “Why now?”
“Call it the right psychological moment.”
“You mean, if I stop seeing Josh -”
“Clever boy.” She had the distant, ironic smile of a ship’s figurehead. “There are forces you can’t dream of, Langton. Even your dubious fame can’t save you.”
He was never sure afterwards if it was a conscious action or not. All he knew was he sparked his lighter and slashed it through the document, leaving it to smoulder.
Olive was apoplectic, aiming a further file at him. It grazed his cheek but he carried on walking. If that was how they were going to play it, there was only one thing he could do.
Alfred went to the speakertube in his library. “Lux 2937.”
His voice travelled through the air, over the countryside, across the city. It shot down the tube to Azalea Heights. He pictured Josh sitting in the flat, brooding out of the window.
“Alfred?” He hadn’t spoken. “I was thinking about you.”
“I’ve been thinking too.”
“Oh?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, but -” Alfred closed his eyes. “I can’t see you anymore.”
No more talking, laughing, putting the world to rights, sleeping in his arms - him inside me - never again -
“You can’t - there’s got to be a reason -”
His hair, his body, his walk, his smile, those eyes, his dimples, his hands, his kisses, his voice, his laugh -
“You can’t be so dependent on me. You need other friends.”
“I don’t want other friends. Is it Claire? We can still -”
Never told, never shared, never thought, never did -
“We can’t lie to her. It’ll be wrong.”
“I don’t care about Claire!” Josh cried. “Don’t you get it? I want you. Please don’t leave me.”
“I have to. I’m sorry.”
Goodbye, my love.
Josh knelt by the tube, his shoulders shaking. That couldn’t be it, he couldn’t have gone. He kept pressing the number, hearing the pitiless voice: This tube is not receiving calls.
“I love you,” he whispered.
That’s what it meant. It wasn’t a cheap song or one of Claire’s forgettable movies. It wasn’t roses drooping on a newsstand, a ploy to sell perfume. It wasn’t being tied with red string to a girl you barely knew. It was wanting someone to never change, never leave, never die.
“I won’t give you up.”
Passing Through
Freedom. No more looking over your shoulder for that backsliding son of a bitch. No more hearing doors clang, sleazy comments about road testing a bot. This was the life: sprawling in a hot pink vix, goading the driver to jump the lights.
Cora was in a good place.
It was four months since the landmark ruling. Nick’s behaviour had amounted to provocation; her actions were justified as self defence. She’d run into Esteban’s arms, eager to make up for the time she had lost.
She was swamped with offers. Talk shows, miniseries, book deals - it seemed murder only pepped her persona. She shrugged them off. Nothing meant more to her than her music - she had to get a new album out before the fans moved on. She was in the recording studio twenty two out of twenty four hours, writing and fine tuning and throwing away.
Esteban had to be stern. “Chica, you’re wearing yourself out. Take a holiday - I’ll look after things. Is there anywhere you want to go, see?”
There was only one answer. “It’s time I saw Alfred and Josh. I owe them.”
It was her first time in Lila. The reduction in scale was startling: the sky seemed to have shrunk and the buildings were like toys. The people were uglier, more harassed; robots were scarcely tolerated. She had a rude awakening when she tried to flag down a fly. It shot past, splashing her from head to foot.
“Asshole!”
“Don’ take bots,” the driver roared, unrepentant.
Fortunately the next driver had no such issue. “Cora Keel?” he stammered.
“Uh-huh. Azalea Heights, please.” That was the address on her last letter from Josh. She wondered why he wasn’t at that pile of Alfred’s, there was more than enough room, but CER probably wanted to hush it up.
The man drove in star struck silence, constantly peeking in the mirror. When they reached their destination he fell over himself to help her with her luggage.
“Thanks, babe.” She raised her shades and winked. “Calling on an old friend.”
“I’m a huge fan, Ms Keel. Are you working on anything?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve a bevy load of new material.” She swung her legs out of the vix, adjusted the strap on her handbag. He saw the gun’s handle and gulped.
“That’s what happens when guys are mean to me.”
She knew his eyes were glued to her butt as she strutted up the walkway. Capitalise on your assets. It wasn’t a crime.
Twenty, twenty one, twenty two - they’d missed twenty three, she hadn’t realised Lilans were so supersti
tious. Twenty four. She stabbed at the button and when nobody showed up, held it down.
“Keep your knickers on!” somebody groused. The door swung open. A small brunette was towelling her hair dry.
“Wrong house. Sorry to disturb you -”
“Are you Cora Keel?”
“Uh, yeah -”
“This is amazin’! Josh has told me so much about you!” The girl launched herself at her. “I have to call everyone I know - ”
“Freaking out here -”
“I can’t believe it. Cora Keel in my flat!”
Cora was stumped. The girl had mentioned Josh, so she couldn’t be a stranger, but who the flip was she? Another artie? She had the big vacant eyes and twittering voice, but her smell gave her away - human. She sat down on the sofa while her host continued to fuss.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but you are -?”
“Oh, sorry! I’m Claire. Josh’s wife.”
Wife???? “How long -”
“Five months,” she preened.
Josh had a wife. Cora cooed, it was what you did, but inwardly she was pissed. More than pissed. Fuming. She knew what she’d seen. Famously broad minded, she hadn’t broken a sweat when she saw the boys going at it on the table. About goddamn time. Pity that dickwad had shown up, but then Nick had never had a sense of timing.
Justice demanded they had a happy ending. Their relationship was the sweetest thing she’d seen, a love story for the new age. He’d traded that in for this? Playing house with a silly little girl? She’d neuter him when she saw him. As the talk dried up and she found herself examining a crystal fish in distaste, Claire sprang to her feet.
“He’s back!” Roguish wink. “Let’s make it a surprise.”
“Sure.” Cora folded her arms and waited.
Josh’s voice wafted across the room. “Claire, I’ve lost my card -”
“The third this month,” she scolded. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” Her hand shot to her mouth. “Sorry!”
Love and Robotics Page 51
