Riva’s voice sounds raspy and hoarse.
—Okay.
Zarnee lowers his hand. Riva looks past him through the open apartment door and into the corridor.
—Where’s my room? Zarnee asks.
—The studio is next door.
—And I sleep in the studio?
—What?
Riva now seems to actually see him for the first time, looks him straight in the eye.
—You want me to move in to the studio? Zarnee asks.
—Aren’t you one of Aston’s models?
—I’m moving in with you. I was promoted from the peripheries. You agreed to the terms, didn’t you?
Riva turns away from him. With her left index finger she draws shapes into the condensation on the outer edge of the drink she’s holding.
—Sorry, Zarnee says. I thought you knew. I can come back later, but I still have to report the move in today.
Riva takes a step back to allow him into the apartment. She doesn’t look at Zarnee as he enters. Her eyes are lowered, her shoulders hunched forward.
Zarnee walks past her and puts his suitcase in the middle of the room.
—Where should I put my things?
Riva just shrugs and goes to the kitchen. She kneels down on the floor in front of the counter, runs her hand under it, and pulls out the plastic top that she had been playing with for days at the beginning of the observation. She sits with her back to the counter and spins the top on the floor in front of her.
Regressive behavior, I note. My gut churns with the fear that Masters will end the intervention as soon as it starts.
Zarnee watches Riva attentively. Then he tilts his suitcase to the side and opens it. Riva doesn’t react, she is focused on the top. Zarnee digs into his suitcase, unfolded clothes spilling out over the sides, and then pulls something out. A strange object made of various pieces of wood of all different types and sizes, as if it were crudely glued together by a child’s hands. My image search for similar objects doesn’t yield any results. I send my assistant a close-up screenshot with a request for identification.
Riva keeps spinning her top as if she were alone in the room. When Zarnee goes over to her, she doesn’t look up.
He imitates her posture with his legs outstretched to either side so that their feet almost touch. Then he presses on one of the pieces of wood with his thumb. With a crunch, it disappears inside the object and the other elements shift to create a new, more elongated constellation.
Riva looks up. Her top falls to the side. She doesn’t pick it up.
Zarnee presses on the wood again, it makes the same noise again, the object changes shape again. It must have some sort of mechanism inside.
My assistant responds to my request, explaining that he could not identify the object.
—What is that? Riva asks.
—See for yourself.
—What’s it for?
—It changes its shape. You never know exactly how it’s going to come out.
—And what do you do with it?
—You press on it somewhere and it changes.
—No, I mean, what’s it for?
—You press on it somewhere and it changes, Zarnee repeats slowly.
They look at each other. Something seems to be happening between them that I can’t quite classify. A sort of silent understanding.
Zarnee holds out the object to Riva. She takes it and presses on it. When she hears the crunching sound and the elements shift in her hand, she smiles. I’ve only seen her smile twice since the beginning of the assignment. I can hardly keep up with my notes on the transformation of her gestures, facial expressions, posture.
—Where did you get it? Riva asks.
Her upper body is leaning forward. She’s abandoned all gestures of refusal.
—My biofather made it for me, Zarnee says.
—You know your biofather?
Zarnee nods.
They sit opposite each other on the living-room floor, as if they’d been sitting like that for years, mirroring their postures down to the smallest detail. The effect of the encounter is already undeniable. I can feel my breathing begin to get calmer.
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21
Aston is standing in a backstage area at the casting halls. He’s deep in conversation with a woman. Without having to change the camera perspective, I can already tell from behind that it’s Roma. Her assistants and bodyguards are standing in a cluster around them. Aston laughs and then I hear Roma join in. They give the impression of having a close bond. Breaking news flashes on the Casting Queens™ website: Roma is a surprise judge today. The comment area grows every millisecond, overflowing with excited messages from fans in the peripheries who have decided to drive over to the casting halls as fast as they can to at least catch a glimpse of her. Opportunities like this rarely arise for fans whose travel permissions are limited to the peripheries.
The cluster of assistants moves towards the artists’ dressing rooms with Roma and Aston in the center, still deeply engrossed in conversation. A VJ comes running out of a side entrance and plants himself in front of them. Because of the crew’s slow reaction time, he manages to get a clear shot of them together, which turns up shortly afterwards in the news alerts on the most important gossip portals. Is Riva’s Old Lover Roma’s New Lover?
Roma and Aston. That would be a surprising development if it were real. It’s been a long time since I’ve bothered reading the fact-checking websites that verify whether or not certain rumors are true.
I forward the alerts to Zarnee to test how Riva responds to the news. He’s sitting next to her on the sofa in the apartment. The leftovers from lunch are on the coffee table in front of them. A domestic scene. As if they had already been living together for a long time.
Riva has begun to eat more regularly since Zarnee moved in. Her vital score index™ seems to rise daily. In the tracking tool, Masters has highlighted these changes positively. My project progress is finally in the green. I’ve been able to book more than five hundred credits as a performance fee. The investors are growing more and more confident. On the second night after Zarnee moved in, I felt so relieved that I almost slept an entire eight hours and, for the first time since the beginning of the project, I got an achievement star in my activity tracker log. Neither Riva nor Andorra appeared in any of my dreams that night. Instead, colorful Escher-style houses, falsely constructed, but still habitable. People whose faces didn’t remind me of anyone in particular and who actually smiled as they moved towards me. I woke up with a feeling of lightness and carelessness that I hadn’t felt in years.
Zarnee reads the forwarded headlines and, just as I requested, holds out his tablet for Riva to read them.
Riva laughs.
—What’s so funny?
—He’ll be happy, Riva says.
—Aston?
—That he’s finally making headlines without me again. It would be nice for him to find someone with a higher credit score.
—That’s cold, girl.
I see Riva’s grin freeze. She looks at Zarnee, her head slightly tilted.
—Do you think there’s anything to it? she finally asks.
—I don’t know. Are you even still together?
Frozen in suspense, I await her answer. Finally Riva is being asked the questions that I’ve wanted to ask her since the project began. Before Zarnee’s assignment, I loaded a list of questions onto his tablet using our protected communication channel. I’ve been adding to it daily. So far, I haven’t been directly involved in his conversations with Riva. He should gain confidence in interacting with her. I want him to feel like he can act autonomously. His own initiative is crucial to the success of the intervention.
—No idea, Riva says.
Both burst out laughing at the same time. They remind me of Andorr
a and me. At some point, our classmates gave up asking us what was so funny.
—Maybe you should straighten that out, Zarnee says, giggling. Riva shrugs. Riva’s one hundred and twenty-fourth shrug, according to my notes. A passive-aggressive gesture that makes the other person feel provoked when repeated.
Zarnee grabs Riva by the shoulders and shakes her.
—What are you doing? Riva says.
—I’m shaking the tension out of your neck.
It’s almost uncanny how well the intervention is working. Within a few days, Riva looks like a different person. More relaxed. More open. Almost talkative. Now Zarnee is even leaning against her a little. I highlight it bright yellow. This is the first time since the beginning of the project that Riva has tolerated physical closeness.
—Can I ask you a personal question? Zarnee asks.
Riva nods.
—Why did you stop diving?
The muscles in my neck tighten, I turn up the volume. I hope Masters is logged into the live feed, so that he witnesses the crucial moment.
Riva turns away from Zarnee and looks out the window.
She shrugs.
—I don’t know.
—Of course you know.
—It’s hard to explain.
—Try me.
Zarnee doesn’t look directly at Riva, but his body is turned towards her. He gives her space, while creating a basic sense of closeness at the same time. His behavior is exemplary. After this project, I should offer him a steady collaboration. Why don’t you move in yourself? Masters asked when I presented Zarnee as a candidate.
I don’t have the right profile, I replied. And there would be the risk of her finding out who I am.
The truth is that it never occurred to me to go into the field myself. I prefer media-based client conversations via talk, chat, or video app. Direct encounters contain the risk of not being able to control my facial expressions or gestures. I would also prefer to use video chat instead of meeting with Masters in person, but he likes direct communication with his staff. Probably because it gives him a sense of power to summon subordinates into his office.
—It’s okay, Zarnee says into Riva’s silence, you don’t have to.
You’re almost there, I write to him, dig deeper.
I see Zarnee pick up the tablet and read my message, but he doesn’t react.
Instead, he starts checking his blog and dictating short messages to his fans. The response rate on his blog is very high.
For a while, Riva sits silently next to him and watches.
—Doesn’t it bother you? she then asks.
She bends over to look at his display. Their cheeks almost touch.
—What?
—Answering all those stupid questions. Always the same questions, all day long.
—For stupid questions, there are stupid answers, Zarnee says.
Riva looks at him and grins. Her face has changed since Zarnee’s arrival. It’s less stiff, more elastic. I make a note of it and see that Masters is logged into my document. I wonder if he’s really reading the logs or just checking on my efficiency. My focus when developing an intervention. The constant notifications I receive about Masters’s document changes and updates in the tracking tool make my heart rate rise to unhealthy levels and my tracker starts beeping. From time to time I temporarily mute the notification windows at moments like this, even though it’s not permitted by my contract.
—Pound five three seven, but that only applies to Fridays, Zarnee says into his tablet.
Riva leans against him, watches his fingers move across the touch screen, her eyes wander along his thin, boyish arm. Suddenly, she pushes up his T-shirt sleeve.
—What’s that?
She runs her index finger over a bulge on the inside of his upper arm, just under his armpit. I can’t really zoom in to see because Riva’s hand is blocking it. It could be a subdermal implant.
—That depends on who you ask, Zarnee says.
His expression is impossible to read, but seems to be enough for Riva. She doesn’t ask any more questions, just concentrates on the bulge, the long, narrow foreign object under his skin. Zarnee continues typing, undisturbed by the interruption, dictating blog commentary into his tablet.
—My favorite animal, he says, what a creative question! My favorite animal today is the water bear, tardigrade, master of false death.
-
22
Over a hundred notifications appear on my screen at once. News alerts for Aston Lieberman. An accident occurred while shooting Casting Queens™. Aston himself doesn’t appear to have been hurt. Most of the news articles contain the same video footage from the live feed on the Casting Queens™ website: a raw recording from the filming of a recurring segment called Discoveries in which a VIP spends several days in the peripheries as a talent scout. It’s not a conventional casting, but instead the VIP surprises talented children while they train. The host sneaks from gym to gym, to sports fields or classrooms. Particularly popular are the street scoutings, where candidates are selected for modeling and acting careers. Anyone who’s chosen gets an LCM™ and is accepted directly into a city academy or talent agency without any further casting requirements. After three months, the VIP then visits her protégés on site and decides whether they’re allowed to stay or are sent back to the peripheries.
In this video, the VIP is Roma. Aston is there with his camera to accompany her.
—And where are we going now, Roma? you can hear Aston ask from offstage.
Conversations with the VJs or other crew members are edited out for the official broadcast, but they are also the exact reason why the live feed has so many subscribers.
—I’d say it’s about time to head to a high-rise diving™ practice site, don’t you think? A little birdie told me that there are some great talents near here.
Roma winks in the direction of Aston’s camera.
—Is this the first dive you’ve filmed since …?
Aston’s answer seems rehearsed. He maintains the good-humored, slightly overexcited tone used by all of the show’s presenters and crew.
—Since my girlfriend took some time off, you mean? Yup, the first time. Just for you, Roma.
The camera zooms in on Roma’s flattered face and then suddenly pulls back to a medium long shot and pans across the surroundings.
—I think we’re lost.
A few seconds later, they’ve reached a guerrilla training area, a facility typically run by amateurs in the peripheries. It’s in bad condition. The trainees have to climb a ladder up the diving tower. It looks rusty and it sways in the wind. There are no safety nets or other safety precautions like in the city academies. Aston’s camera zooms in on a boy who has climbed halfway, but is now taking a break to catch his breath. A girl in an outdated flysuit™ is already standing on the platform; her suit is too big and doesn’t conform to her body or sit tightly against her skin. She takes a step towards the edge of the platform, but doesn’t dare to jump.
—You can do it, the boy calls out from the ladder.
No coaches or other adults are anywhere to be seen. From afar, you can make out a tall figure at the entrance of the building complex, probably a security officer from Casting Queens™. A group of about ten children has gathered at the bottom of the tower to watch and is now chanting: Jump, jump, jump …
When Roma, Aston, and the crew approach the tower, the children start to cheer. They wave into the camera and try to go up to Roma, who is shielded by several security guards. Aston reminds the children that Roma is ill and shouldn’t be touched.
The girl on the tower steps back, gets a running start, and then stops just before the jump. She begins to tremble and crouches down in the middle of the platform. When the boy makes it to the top, he encourages her. In Aston’s close-up, you can see him stroking her back and p
ointing down towards the camera. He reaches out his hand to help her get up. She shakes her head.
The boy shrugs, checks the fabric on his outdated suit, does a few warm-up exercises. Then he takes a running jump and dives without hesitation. His first form is a challenging double somersault, his movements are fluid and precise. He fumbles a little when twisting left and loses his balance, but recovers. Everything goes so fast that my mind can barely follow. He’s already approaching the fall spot™ when he starts on another form; he seems to have completely overestimated the distance. You only hear the bang seconds after he’s already lying on the ground, his body twisted, his head bleeding. Aston holds the wide shot.
—Zoom! Zoom! a crew member shouts from the background.
Roma is screaming. Aston turns to her. She has her hands up in front of her face, but when she sees the camera she lowers them.
—What a tragedy, she says.
At that moment, you first hear the girl screaming from the platform. Aston’s camera follows the noise and zooms in. The girl is leaning over the edge and flailing her arms wildly.
—Hey, you hear Aston calling, watch out, you’re going to fall!
Although the girl probably can’t hear him at all, I’m reassured by Aston’s voice.
A crew member mumbles in the background, Roma makes noises that suggest she agrees with something. The camera pans back to her. She looks controlled and professional.
—What a tragedy, she says again. It’s clear that we’ll have to cancel the rest of Discoveries for today. Please send your condolences to his loved ones. We’ve set up a mourning forum on our website. I’ve already posted the first entry. The boy’s name was Win, Win Miller.
At this point, the live feed cuts off. The forum on the Casting Queens™ website already has over three hundred thousand entries with condolences and inspirational pictures.
When Aston comes home, Zarnee intercepts him at the door, just as I’d requested. The shock of the accident offers an opportunity to deepen his relationship with Aston, to increase his influence. To encourage them to work together more closely.
The High-Rise Diver Page 13
