The Rage Room

by Lisa de Nikolits

  “There are ways around things,” Ava said. “A way into allowing direct advertising onto personal devices. Your Mr. Williamson is one of the masterminds behind it. I never knew he had that kind of legal savvy. I have to admit I’m even mildly impressed. He spotted a loophole and dove right through it, opening up a whole new world. Maybe he knew it was there all along and was saving it for an ICE situation, which, admittedly, this is.”

  “ICE?”

  “In Case of Emergency. But really, it’s IA. Intrusive Awareness, Sharps. Get it tattooed on the inside of your eyeballs. Although actually, you won’t have to because you’ll be seeing whatever we want you to see. We can’t market it like that, obviously. The trick is direct selling but not direct selling. Got it? You’ll still have to disguise the hard sell as entertainment, but that’s your sticky jam. You’ll have all kinds of brainiac ideas, won’t you, Sharps? I’ve got a stack of reading matter for you on the legalities of it, which you’ll need to distill and turn into cheery PR for advertisers. Going through the data will make you want to kill yourself if you don’t fall into a coma first. I bet that’s why they passed the law because no one actually read the full legislation to the very end.”

  She leaned forward, her sharp little foxy face intense, her big black eyes cold and dead. I shrugged, wishing I could grab her by the hair, yank her head back, and tell her to never talk to me that way again. “I’ll do my best, Ava. I always do.”

  Her eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s so you, Sharps. Your best had better be shit hot and shiny as diamonds. Your last big hit—or shall I say, miss—was the MDoggHotBody, which cost us a bundle. I know I wasn’t supposed to mention the elephant in the room, but screw that, the cards are on the table here.”

  “Fine,” I shouted. “I screwed up. I get it! I’m sorry.” I sank into my chair and stared at my wall of shame. FAIL. Was it really necessary for her to flog me like this?

  I looked at my initial pitch. When You’re Hot, You’re Hot! And Oh, Mama, You Are One Hot Diggety Dog! I’d thought the idea was genius. I figured women hated seeing themselves naked under the unforgiving stare of florescent lights while avatar shopping was such fun. Here was the hook: you looked like a million dollars in the virtual store, and when the suit was delivered, it fit like a glove. In your mind’s eye, you were that supermodel strutting the cat walk or lying on beach sands inside football-sized beach malls, complete with waves, surfer boys, coconut oil, and palm trees. The trouble was, when the suits arrived and no one looked fabulous but remained their lumpy dumpy selves, women were enraged. We had the highest returns in the history of Integratron.

  Jazza shared the loss and shouldered the blame, although he’d told me in no uncertain terms that the idea was a loser before it left the gate. He said that he knew he looked like a half-baked hairy dough ball that had rolled out from under the fridge and that even if he got to look like Mr. Gorgeous online, when it came to reality, one had to face the facts. He told me I was a pretty boy who’d never heard the fat lady sing. I brushed his objections aside, and, fortunately for me, the losses coincided with my marrying Celeste. Daddy told me not to worry, that no one’s record was spotless. He’d promised me he’d make it go away, a promise clearly unfulfilled.

  “I learned a lot from that one.” I stared Ava down. “Research dropped the ball. Which is why they ended up in the Sheds processing data for the rest of their lives. They should have caught the flaws. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

  “You’re right, you won’t. And how you even got the word ‘dog’ into the campaign is beyond me, but let’s not even go there. Is that what women are to you, Sharps? Dogs to come when you call them and play fetch, roll over, and have their tummies rubbed?”

  I shrugged.

  “This time,” Ava said, and her tone made my balls retract up my spine, “you’ll just do what we tell you to.”

  I looked at Jazza, but he was staring at a screen. I pressed my fingers to my temples. I was caught in the undertow of something I couldn’t control and could barely understand. Maybe, just maybe, if I could just keep my head above water, I’d come out of this okay. But it seemed like a long shot.

  14. A TERRIBLE LOW

  CELESTE GOT SOBER. LILA MOVED IN with us so I could keep an eye on her pregnancy. Without Christine egging her on, she wasn’t too awful to be around. Soon my little angel, Sophie, was born. Lila pocketed her cash and quietly vanished, and our little family of four was complete. Daddy couldn’t have been more proud of me. The PeachDiamondDelux Program seemed to be going according to plan, and the Board even gave us another few years grace. They realized that the deadline they had given us was unrealistic, but to our credit, we nearly hit the target.

  Mother reappeared from wherever it was that she had gone. She surprised me by coming to see Sophie, but there was a distance between us and I had no idea why she’d made the effort. Was she watching me, waiting to catch the pieces when I finally fell apart? I, in turn, visited her a few times, and her home was spotless, with no signs of gardening or mention of her writing. When I asked about Ava, she changed the subject.

  Jazza and Ava channelled their passion into a mutual working fury that saw them in the office twenty-four seven. To my discomfort, not that they cared, they practically sat on top of one another while they worked, whispering in a huddle. I was spared from seeing it too often as I was on the road a lot. I’d always believed that selling needed to be done face-to-face. Holograms didn’t cut it. Virtual me just didn’t have the fire power of real me, and I felt euphoric after a great sales pitch. Good days on the road even made Celeste bearable when I got home, and she, in turn, clearly enjoyed the sight of me in my charcoal pinstriped, double-breasted Yves McGaultier power suit, making a killing. Her sex drive had fallen off, much to my relief, and we seemed almost like a normal family. All my dreams had come true. Nanny Flo was a gem, and I trusted her with the kids in a way I’d never thought possible.

  The years went by, and I began to relax, increasingly confident that things would work out in the long run. Of course, that’s when it all fell apart.

  It began with Celeste’s gentle yet insistent increase in vodka consumption. Then Daddy told me that some of his investments hadn’t worked out and I had to take care of his share of Celeste’s expenses. Right, like that was even possible. I poured every cent I earned into my family, blowing up one credit card after another. At four, Bax was a quiet, distant little boy while Sophie stole my heart. Sophie was so happy. I had no idea what fuelled her easy-going grin, but right from the start, Sophie was a shining, delightful angel. At least Nanny Flo stayed loyal, and we had a round of babysitters helping out, neighbourhood kids from what I could gather.

  But sales slowed down. I had fewer pitches, and interest in our program waned. Jazza and Ava continued to pour good work after bad, but the results for the PeachDiamondDelux Program fell off. The kiss of death came when a hacker figured out a way to block the broadcasts. I had to spend more time at the office, and the tension of being around Jazza and Ava sucked me dry. I knew they were contravening the Geneva convention as mandated by the Board and were humping each other like rabbits every moment they could. Although it was more like a squirrel humping a grizzly. I walked in on them one time—sweet Jesus, it scarred me for life, the sight of tiny Ava attached to big old Jazza, her legs wrapped around his waist, both of them howling away. I’ll tell you this for nothing, orgasms when not artistically directed are not attractive. Even then, I find the whole thing embarrassing. I backed out and flashed Jazza.

  Next time, lock the door, buddy, for Pete’s sake.

  I wished I could play hooky, showing up only to sign whatever documentation Jazza told me to, but Daddy said I was office bound to keep an eye on things.

  Only Bax and Sophie brought me any joy, but I was so worn out by the end of the day that I couldn’t even bring myself to give them the love and attention they deserved. Besides, they
had all those kids looking after them, as well as Nanny Flo. It wasn’t like they were neglected.

  Tired as I was, I still cleaned. Polishing and spraying soothed me. I often found myself—clean wipes in one hand, BleachBuddy in the other—staring into space, forgetting what it was I wanted to clean. I punctuated my life with visits to the rage room, but even within the plastic walls of my haven, I was often too tired to do anything except lie on the floor, baseball bat in hand, listening to the soundtrack of my life and wondering how I was going to drag myself home. And slowly but surely, I started to sink even further.

  I started sleeping more, having naps as soon as I got home. I just couldn’t seem to rally. Celeste told me I should play with Baxie, that he missed his dada, but I was too tired. I was happy to kiss a fragrant little Sophie and ruffle Bax’s hair, but I was smothered by a thick dark cloud. I wanted to float down to the bottom of a pond and close my eyes. Even the upcoming prospect of the annual Christmas lights war with Strawberry Merv failed to excite me. I slept like the dead, plagued by nightmares of a relentless Ava gnawing at me with her sharp teeth and Jazza, hating me because it was my fault he’d lost her even though she couldn’t stop herself from banging him.

  Daddy stopped by the office for a board meeting now and then. I tried to tell him I was struggling, but he just looked off into the distance as if he was seeing a future that had nothing to do with him. He was getting on in years, and I got the impression that the Board had found ways to sideline him after he’d failed to react with immediate action and appropriate force after learning of Ava’s manifesto.

  He responded by packing up Mummy and running off to Real Life Florida. I’d have thought they’d want to stick around for their grandkids, particularly after all the expense and work it took us to get them, but they lost interest after Sophie was born. They’d taken up real life golfing and were addicts. Daddy didn’t even seem to care about Celeste any more.

  One night, struck by inertia, I was late getting home. Nanny Flo was nowhere to be seen. Celeste was passed out cold on the sofa, with Bax playing quietly in the corner. Toys were everywhere, and the smell of burnt toast filled the air.

  Sophie was in her playpen, wailing, covered in snot and I reached in and picked her up. Her diaper was full and dripping.

  “Oh no, you’re all wet. How did you get so wet, baby girl? Where’s Nana Flo?”

  I changed her and soothed her and made her and Bax supper, and then I cleaned up and put them both to bed.

  Celeste slept through it all. I flashed a bunch of messages to Nanny Flo, with no reply.

  I finally shook Celeste awake, and she sat up, drool covering one side of her face. Deep sleep creases lined her cheeks, and her one eye was droopy and weird.

  “Where’s Flo?” I shook her and she was like a rag doll. “Cee, are you high? What’s going on?”

  She noticed that it was dark, and she stood up and pulled down her blouse which was twisted around her belly. A fleshy doughnut circled her like a water tire. She must be eating as well as drinking.

  “Honestly Cee, what’s going on? Where’s Flo?”

  “I think she left.”

  “Left? What do you mean, left?”

  “Gone. Home. To wherever she’s from. I’ve got no idea. An emergency. Or something. I couldn’t cope. I had one drink, then another. I know I had too much, Sharps. You don’t have to look at me that way. It’s very tough, being a stay-at-home mother—you’ve got no idea. You’ve got your career and your sense of purpose, and it’s so easy for you.”

  Easy for me? A sense of purpose? I wanted to hit her. “What I’ve got is a drunk for a wife who does nothing but spend, spend, spend. And you just expect me to pay. I’m not your father! I’ve never had that kind of money, Cee, you know that. My career? I’m struggling to keep my job. I have ALWAYS STRUGGLED!”

  “And you know I had EXPECTATIONS!” she shouted at me. “You were supposed to have my back, Sharps. You knew the deliverables. Daddy TOLD YOU!”

  That was when I slapped her. “Fuck you, Celeste, fuck you.”

  She held her hand to her face, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the little face watching me through the bannister.

  I sank down to the floor. I wanted to die.

  “Good job, Sharps,” Celeste said. “Well done, big guy. Nice.”

  I buried my face in my hands, and I heard her go up the stairs. I heard her pick up Baxter and murmur things to him that she should never have needed to say.

  I lay on the carpet, surrounded by mess and filth and chaos.

  And then a message flashed across my visuals, overriding accept or decline.

  WTF? Hundreds of K missing. UR dead. TMR. 9am.

  Ava. I sat up.

  What r u talking about?

  TMR. YOU SHIT. U are SO burned.

  WTF do u mean?

  Right. Play dumb. U thought we wouldn’t find it?

  Find what?

  TMR.

  And that was that.

  I sat there, staring into space when a second comm shot across my visual space. It was Jazza.

  Sorry buddy. My bad.

  Jazza? WTF? What happened? Ava flashed me a comm. What’s going on?

  Jazza? Jazza?

  Nothing. Radio silence.

  I threw up. I threw up on our cream carpet, the one I’d kept so pristine all these years.

  The next morning, Celeste, clearly hungover, was downstairs making breakfast. The mess made me cringe, but I went up to her.

  “Cee…” I was lost for words. “I’m so sorry. That will never happen again.”

  “I know, sweetie. It’s okay. Listen, you’re under a lot of stress, I know that. And I know I haven’t been supportive or even aware in the way I should have been.”

  She’d covered the bruise with concealer, but I could still see it.

  Bax eyed me cautiously from the table.

  “Baxie, give Dada a big kiss,” Celeste said, but Bax just looked me and then at his piece of toast.

  “Daddy lost his temper last night,” I said to my child, and I got down on my knees next to his chair. “And he is very, very sorry. Isn’t that right, Mommy?”

  “Quite right,” Celeste said cheerfully. “Life is hard for adults too, Baxie, you’ll see. Daddy’s said he’s sorry and he is. When people are sorry, we forgive them and we say it’s okay.”

  But Baxter stared at his toast, and I wanted to throw up the bile in my belly.

  “He’ll be fine, sweetie,” Celeste said. “Kids are resilient. Don’t worry about it. You go and do your day.”

  I stood up. I wanted to touch my son, but I knew it would only make things worse so I reached for my man bag instead.

  “Good luck, sweetie,” Celeste said. “Flash me later. Listen, Sharps, we’ll be okay. You know that, right? We’ll fix this. The kiddies and I will finish decorating. Don’t you just love our tree, sweetie? We’ll do the rest of the room to match. It’s Christmas Eve. Our special night. When you come home, everything will be perfect.

  “Okay.” I pecked her on the cheek, filled with gratitude for her kindness, and then I rushed headlong into the day I dreaded.

  I sat in traffic and tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t be so bad. I waited for the car in front of me to move, and I felt numb and terrified at the same time. It took a while for me to hear the angry horns behind me, and I swiped the car into drive.

  And I was right. When I got to work, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was a thousand times worse.

  15. THIEVERY

  “I’VE GOT ALL THE PROOF I NEED.” Ava was smug. “I haven’t told anyone yet in case you’ve miraculously got an explanation, but you don’t, do you?”

  We were in the Aurora boardroom and I wondered where Jazza was. I’d sent him dozens of texts.

  Where r u? What do u
mean? Help me out buddy, what’s going on? Come on Jazza, talk to me. Fuck u Jazza, wtf?

  I looked at Ava. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  It was nine thirty. I was late for the meeting. I walked into the Aurora boardroom and sat down gingerly across from Ava, who had spreadsheets displayed on the crystal screens. She led me through half an hour of torture, flicking through spreadsheets and documents. I had no idea what I was looking at. “You see the discrepancies?” she kept asking. “Which, when added up over three years, equal millions of dollars. And you signed off on them. You got lucky banging Celeste and popping out a couple of kids, but your goose is so cooked, it’s not even funny. What do you have to say?”

  I had no idea what to say. “Does Daddy, I mean Mr. Williamson, does he know?”

  She smirked. “Daddy does not know. I’ve called a meeting of the Board for later this afternoon. All shall be revealed there. And you’ll be at my side, telling everyone what you did with the money and explaining yourself. What do you know, Sharps? I’m psychic! I see an arrest in your near future. You may not even make it home for dinner. Christmas for you, Sharps, might be cancelled this year!”

  I looked at her and opened my mouth to speak, to tell her that I had no idea what she was talking about. Just as I did, the fire alarm went off. At first I thought it was the cops coming to arrest me, and my heart nearly burst, but it was the fire alarm. Whoop, whoop, whoop! Thank god. All two hundred floors had to evacuate. The building was so safe that fires and fire drills hardly ever happened, and I thanked all of my lucky stars. The thought occurred to me that Jazza had started a fire to save my ass, but either way I didn’t care. I grabbed my man bag and started to shove my portable comm into it, but Ava waved at me to stay where I was. “It’s just a drill,” she said. “Sit. Ignore it. I’m not leaving until you admit what you did.” Whoop, whoop, whoop!