He hid his fears and shook Simon’s hand.
“Apartment 8-C. Take good care.” Simon said as he clicked the van locks open so Nathaniel could get out.
Nathaniel started to open the door, but Drew put his arm on Nathaniel’s, and he stopped.
“One more thing. You may hear rumors about the Underground. Unfavorable things. Unless you speak with someone who you know is a legitimate contact, ignore everything. There are a lot of crazy people out there,” Drew said, without any hint of a smile or lightness. His eyes were dark. Nathaniel heard a chill in his voice.
“How will I know who is real and who?”
“You’ll know,” Drew said, interrupting him before moving out of the way so Nathaniel could get out of the van.
Nathaniel walked across the driveway, feeling shaken by Drew’s last words until the warm July breeze enveloped him. He felt like a kid on the first day of school.
The air conditioned lobby felt nice, but he longed to go back outside, to feel the natural air, even if it was hot. He turned back to look out the front door, but the van was gone.
He entered his new home. The lobby looked like an old hotel, badly in need of at least a paint job. Walking to the elevator, he stopped in front of the mailboxes to see one with his new name. It fit in with all the others, printed in the same block style. It was as though he had been living there for a while. That’s me, he thought: Joe Merino.
The big, old-fashioned elevator had a wire gate he had to close before pushing the button to his floor. The slow creak made him wonder if he should have taken the stairs, but it slowly made its creaky way up to the eighth floor. Nathaniel tried to look nonchalant while the other person in the elevator – a woman - flipped through her mail. In theory, he knew how to survey women’s behaviors and signals. This training taught him to offer the perfect tailored greeting, but he was too scared. The Master Instructors would chastise him if they knew he had wasted this opportunity. Other than the Sexperts in the Underground, he hadn’t stood next to a woman since he left. When the elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the woman got off, Nathaniel breathed a little easier. It would take some time to acclimate to the new environment so he could apply all of his new knowledge.
Inside his apartment, there was a galley kitchen with white metal cabinets, tan Formica countertops and a white vinyl tile floor. The bathroom was small, with a shower stall but no tub. The apartment was furnished with a futon bed, and a tiny table with two chairs.
At least it was clean. Compared with his Underground cell, it felt like the Taj Mahal. The hodge-podge decoration was the result of an unnamed trail of Grounders who each left an imprint of some sort in the small efficiency. There was a wooden coffee table that caught his eye first, with inlaid mother-of-pearl elephants. It was beautiful, but it looked funny next to the puffy blue velvet couch that had seen better days, and the plastic cat clock on the wall that had eyes that moved back and forth as each second passed. It was kind of creepy.
He opened his backpack. Sure enough, an electronic tablet was on top. He turned it on and looked at his new files from the Underground. This included Joe Merino’s resume, which he would use at the state-sponsored Parties Of Availability. He would attend them until he was engaged. Next, his curiosity got hold of him and he Googled his real name, but there was nothing. It was as if he had never existed at all. He tried not to think about how strange that felt, knowing that he needed to move forward.
He logged onto his new email account and composed a message:
Dearest Shayla,
I missed you more than you’ll ever know. I’m sorry I disappeared. I’ll explain it to you and make it up to you, if you give me the opportunity. I completely understand if you’ve moved on or never want to see me again, but I hope that isn’t the case.
I love you Shayla Smith with all my heart and soul.
No matter what happens, I want you to know that.
-Nathaniel
He didn’t bother typing her email address in the “To” field, but quickly hit the Cancel button. The forced barrier of the Underground was gone. He hoped his willpower would be able to keep him away so he didn’t cause trouble for everyone who put their lives on the line so he could have a second chance.
As he prepared to leave his apartment to buy a few things, he reminded himself that there was nobody telling him what to do or where to go. Were cameras embedded in the walls of the apartment? Was every entry of his tablet being recorded too?
Chapter 22
“If I go on one date, then you promise to leave me alone?” Shayla said.
“I promise,” the Queen said, trying to suppress the joy in her voice. “I’ll arrange it.”
Shayla said, “No, just send me his information and I’ll arrange it.”
“Whatever you prefer,” the Queen said, thinking that Shayla was finally coming to her senses. Having Shayla back in Washington was wonderful. It was a big step toward getting her to return to the Palace.
“He comes from a good family and is very handsome, and went to finishing school,” the Queen said.
“Oh, great. Sounds formal,” Shayla said, sounding deflated.
“You’re confusing formality with good manners,” the Queen defended. She tried to see where Shayla was coming from, but sometimes she just plain did not understand her daughter’s attitude. Shayla lived an extremely privileged life. Why did she have to be so negative?
“I’ll send you his contact information,” the Queen said. If Shayla agreed to go on a date, it meant she was, finally, starting to get over that derelict. The Queen periodically asked Gerald if there was any more news about Nathaniel DeLuca, but apparently the trail had dried up. He was probably living in a tent in the wilderness to avoid being forced to marry that wretched fiancée. In any case, Shayla seldom mentioned him anymore. Thank God.
“And how is Steelco?” her mother asked, taking a sip of tea, from the cup that boasted her crest. Now that she had Shayla’s commitment to date a suitable man, it was best to switch subjects before Shayla changed her mind.
“Not so great. I’m a little disappointed, honestly. Lorraine is back-peddling on promises she made when I signed on,” Shayla said, annoyed.
“Like what?” the Queen asked. She wasn’t really surprised, and figured she’d have to manage this relationship, but didn’t think it would be so soon.
“I’m trying to improve working conditions. Do you know there is no overtime pay for steel workers? They often work fourteen hour days, or longer, and get the same pay as if they worked eight. They don’t even get breaks. It’s not right,” Shayla said, shaking her head.
“Those steel workers are amongst the best paid laborers in the country. They have a steady job. Believe me, they are happy. Besides, men like to work hard,” the Queen said.
The Queen watched Shayla roll her eyes and wondered if Shayla would ever grow out of her pie in the sky idealism. She was 29. It was time to get real about the world.
“Better working conditions means better productivity. As it stands, there are costly accidents at the plant from exhausted, overworked men,” Shayla said with a sigh.
“Steelco’s system works,” the Queen said, thinking she would need to call Lorraine and insist that she throw Shayla a bone. Otherwise, she could tell Shayla was going to stir up trouble. That was the last thing the Queen needed. She hated to admit that the stress of the recent protests was bothering her, but it was true. She crossed her fingers that the protests were done. She hated keeping all those men locked up and wondered if she was making a mistake. Maybe she should have followed her instincts and killed them as soon as they were captured, but she really didn’t want to. She was not a murderer.
A knock on the door interrupted their dinner.
“Come in,” the Queen said. Gerald poked his head inside. “Your attention is needed,” he said. His even-keeled face gave away nothing, but she knew he wouldn’t have interrupted for something trivial.
“What is it?” she asked, fe
eling her heartbeat quicken. She detested the fear that entered her body lately.
“Maybe we should let Shayla tend to other things,” he said. The Queen thought about it a minute. She could tell he was trying to protect Shayla, but the Queen needed Shayla to begin to help out and partake in the job that would one day be hers.
“Shayla will stay. There is no reason she shouldn’t hear whatever you have to tell me,” the Queen said. “Unless you have somewhere to be?” she said, turning to Shayla.
“I can stay,” she said.
Gerald closed the door behind him before speaking.
“There’s another protest; this one is much bigger.”
——–
“Become a chosen man: Come to the Parties Of Availability!” Queen Amanda said. The Webavision was larger than life, in the heart of downtown Kansas City. He stopped to watch as the video continued. An upbeat music track blared as the picture panned to a ballroom filled with smiling men and women. “Won’t you try it?” the Queen’s voiceover continued, with the advertisement ending in a still shot of her face. Nathaniel had to admit the Queen’s photo looked like Shayla – from the generous smile to the clear olive complexion, but he knew the similarities ended at their skin.
He stared longer than he should have, as he tried to push away the unrealistic thoughts of Shayla. He had only been out of the Underground for a couple of hours, and his self-control was already being tested. Maybe he could buy a disposable phone and call her using a fake name. Who would know?
POA, The Plaza Ballroom, Every other evening from 5 to 9! was posted next to the picture of the Queen, as though she would be the host or available to date.
He noted the date and time for the party that very evening, but all he could think of was Shayla. He didn’t want anyone else, but knew that seeing her was impossible.
He walked to Augustine’s clothing store where he was told to shop.
“Something to wear to the POAs?” said the salesman. “Follow me.”
All the clothes he tried on felt very un-Nathaniel, but they were perfect for Joe Merino.
“You’re going to do great tonight. I can feel it!” the salesman said with a smile after spending an hour helping Nathaniel invest in a small wardrobe.
“You should really check out our Salon-o-Rama,” the salesman said after wrapping Nathaniel’s purchases. “I think a little eyebrow waxing would do you wonders. Those baby blue eyes need to be properly framed. It’s right down the hall. Ask for Sammy,” he whispered to Nathaniel as he handed him the packages, along with a 10 percent off coupon.
“Thanks for the tip,” Nathaniel said. He timidly entered the Salon-o-Rama. A voice from behind the counter beckoned his response.
“What can we do for you today? Need a new doo? Manicure? Wax-o-rama?”
“I’ve never done this before. I’m getting ready to go to the POA this evening and really want to look my best. What do you suggest?”
“A facial and an eyebrow waxing. Why don’t you come here and Sammy will do you over.”
Nathaniel glanced at Sammy who looked a little overdone. He wore not-so-subtle eyeliner, and hair that spiked in all directions with various unnatural shades on different parts of his head. This was not the look that Nathaniel thought would get the Underground stamp of approval. His stomach knotted as Sammy put forth his hand, complete with black polished nails, for Nathaniel to shake.
“Hi, I’m Sammy. And you are?”
“I’m Joe Merino,” Nathaniel said.
“Nice to meet you Joe. Facial and an eyebrow waxing?” he said, leading Nathaniel through the salon with his bulky packages in tow.
While other men in the Underground had been required to get eyebrow waxing, back waxing, laser hair removal, and even Botox, Nathaniel had been spared. Maybe I shouldn’t do this, he thought, but his feet continued behind Sammy, walking ever deeper into the Salon-o-Rama. It reminded him of the maze-like hallways of the Underground.
He found the facial more pleasant that he would have imagined. With warm, lavender scented towels strewn on his face, he immediately relaxed. Cool cucumbers placed over his eyes followed, along with an incredible face massage that felt perfect with the beautiful classical music permeating the background. All the tension eased out of his temples and lower jaw when the fingers of Sammy-with-the-painted-nails performed their magic.
Once the facial was complete, Nathaniel felt mellow and happy.
“That felt good,” Nathaniel said, smiling.
“You sound surprised. What did you think? You’re in Sammy’s hands and now your skin is glowing. Your pores are opened which means the waxing will go well, too,” Sammy said. “It might sting a little,” he said, just before ripping the hot wax from Nathaniel’s brow. Nathaniel yelped like a kicked dog.
“What the?”
“It hurts to be beautiful!” Sammy sang.
Nathaniel felt new compassion for the poor men in the Underground who were forced to have their backs waxed on a regular basis.
“Oh, sorry. Guess you weren’t ready,” Sammy said while smoothing some sweet smelling lotion over the shocked area. “Just one more to go.”
Nathaniel didn’t yell when the other one was done, but it hurt just as much. He couldn’t believe that men subjected themselves to this all the time.
“Just a few strays I’ve gotta fish out,” Sammy said, leaning in close with tweezers as he pulled a goose-neck lamp close to Nathaniel’s face. Nathaniel closed his eyes and sucked in his breath as he waited for the plucking to end.
“Here you go. You’re perfect!” Sammy said, handing Nathaniel a mirror.
“It looks great,” Nathaniel said, thinking it looked a little too clean for his taste. Maybe it was something he just needed to get used to, along with everything else. Maybe it would help him meet a decent woman who could potentially be his future spouse. He also hoped it would help steer his mind from the inevitable thoughts of Shayla that he couldn’t shake.
——–
Nathaniel stood in the short line outside the POA waiting to check in. Would they know his identification card was fake? Nathaniel held his breath as he waited for the scanned card to go through.
Peering into the party, he saw a Taser whispering to a man whose color drained from his face. Nathaniel wondered what was going on. Was the Taser threatening him for some reason? Nathaniel couldn’t understand why they had to be that way, but remembered his mission and looked away.
“Your card?” the hostess said. It had gone through the computer without a problem. That meant that Joe Merino existed, according to the United States.
“Thank you,” he said, as he took the coveted identification and put it back in his wallet before entering the ballroom. There had to be at least 500 people. He glanced at the men who were mingling with a carefree air. He studied their stances, their laughs, and wondered if they were graduates of the Underground with more POA experience under their belts. He tried to look relaxed. It appeared that the ratio of men to women was two to one. He tried not to look desperate. The Underground gave him the tools to beat the odds, but he needed to create the opportunities to use his new skills.
“Hi Joe. I’m Mandy,” said a voice that reminded him of those ancient Betty Boop cartoons. She sounded much too young for someone at the POA. “I just checked out your resume,” she said, pointing to her electronic tablet. It was hard to believe that this petite woman in a fruity printed dress was actually 18, the required age for attendance. “Is there anything else I can tell you about myself?” he asked, knowing she had the advantage of knowing all about him. His knowledge of her was limited to what he saw and she chose to tell. He was also hoping that other women might become interested, now that he was talking with someone. Mandy wasn’t exactly what he or the Underground were looking for.
“Well, it says here your mom is dead. I was wondering how she died,” she said. This was not the type of interview he expected. Certainly not the type of question he figured would be first.
&nb
sp; “Both my parents died in a car crash when I was 18,” he said, his eyes sincerely welling up, as he forced himself to think of losing Shayla. “I try not to dwell on it. You’ve got to be strong and move on,” he said, hoping her sympathies would kick in, but all she did was stare at her electronic tablet, which made him feel even more awkward.
“Why do you ask?” he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
“Do you like cats?” she asked. “I have five cats, and I just love them. Being with someone who appreciates cats is very important to me.” Her eyes grew wide, eager for an answer. He wondered whether she chose not to answer his question or whether she had simply not heard. Wisely, he knew better than to ask a second time, even though her next question seemed just as strange.
“I adore cats! I grew up with them, and this is actually the first time I haven’t had one. I miss them terribly. What are your cats’ names?” he asked. In reality, Nathaniel was indifferent to pets. He didn’t really understand people who put so much into the lives of their animals, but he suspected he could learn to tolerate them. He heard the strong voice of his motivational Master Instructor coaching him from behind: “Every opportunity must be followed through. Take an interest in whatever they talk about.”
“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Joe. I may be back for you later,” she said. With that, she sauntered across the room and immediately began chatting with another man.
“How many times have you been here?” said another woman who approached a few minutes later. Her tone was almost suspicious.
“Actually, this is my first time,” he said to the woman who was attractive, but looked to be 15 years his senior. She was well-dressed and amply made-up to temper her wrinkles. At least she offered a more standard ice-breaker than asking how his mother had met her ultimate fate.
“I thought I hadn’t seen you before. I’m Claire Jameson,” she said, holding out her hand.
The Underground Page 12
