Tenderloin

by LD Marr

“How can that be if there’s no money left in the world for new buildings and transportation? Or to repair the old stuff? We’re living in a time when we’re running out of everything, they say. There’s not enough food, and people can barely pay for housing. If they’re lucky enough to have housing. Like they say on the news. Like the politicians say,” I said.

  Claude looked down at me with a thick-lipped smile.

  “Sure there’s money, plenty of money, tons of resources,” he said. “The people who live down here are loaded. The corporation owners you people work for, property owners you pay rent to, food production company owners, politicians, all the people who collect money from the masses in one way or another. But like I said before, they keep it for themselves. Why should they spend it back on you when they go to all the trouble of getting it from you?”

  I wasn’t sure what answer to make to that question, so I stayed quiet for a long moment.

  Then I asked the million-dollar question. “If all this is a secret, then why are you taking me there?”

  Claude reached up a hand and rubbed his nose, moved the hand down to cup his chin and partly cover his mouth. Then he spoke.

  “Oh, well sometimes we bring in special people like yourself to check the place out, right? There’s a limited population down there, so sometimes we bring new people in to join us—even if they don’t have any money. Like yourself,” he said.

  “You mean you’re inviting me to live with all the rich people? I’m special?”

  I put a hand on my chest and tried to sound impressed and flattered.

  “But what if I see everything and decide I don’t want to stay? Aren’t you worried that I’ll tell people aboveground about it?” I asked.

  Claude took his hand off his chin and waved it dismissively at me.

  “Nah! We’re not worried about that. After you see where we’re going, you won’t want to go back up there ever. You won’t be going anywhere. Trust me,” he said.

  But of course, I didn’t.

  The tube car slowed. We were approaching our destination.

  Chapter 21

  At a leisurely pace, our tube car came out of the blackness of the enclosed tunnel into another light-filled station. Through their clear plastic walls, I could see more similar tube cars stretch endlessly smaller and smaller in the distance.

  The transparent door to our car slid open. Claude stood up and gripped my arm again. He strode out of the car, pulling me with him.

  Does he expect me to try to get away and go back? I wondered.

  But I went along without any resistance. My heels clicked on the polished marble aisle between two tube cars. The doors to the one we’d just rode in whispered shut, and the tube pulled away back in the direction we’d come from. I would have panicked, but I saw the sign in front of the car still parked there.

  “Bowery New York,” it said.

  Like the smaller hidden station we’d just left, this tube station was clean and more modern than anything I’d ever seen. But it was vast with high ceilings and a line of tube cars as far as my eyes could see.

  Claude, still clutching my arm, pulled me off the marble isle and led me down a soft-carpeted walkway that absorbed the sounds of our shoes.

  Exit signs shone at intervals along the wall that faced the tube cars. We reached one and walked through the open entrance beneath the sign.

  The enormous metal-walled elevator we stood in could have held a dozen people comfortably. About half the number of seats in the tube car. One wall was lined with labeled buttons.

  I stood next to Claude and watched him carefully. Time slowed again. Claude’s hand reached up slow, ever so slow, toward the rows of buttons. I scanned the titles above each column.

  Hub City was the heading on top of the entire list. Beneath Hub City, column headings over long rows of buttons included Residences, with subheadings Sectors 1 to 70, Sectors 71 to 140, and so on. Government, Food Production, Media Facilities, and Transportation Center, were some headings of the other columns.

  In stretched-out time, Claude’s hand reached a button in the column titled Shops and Restaurants. Patrons Inn, was printed next to the button he pressed. Door panels began to inch out from each side of the entrance we’d came in through, reaching to enclose us.

  Under Transportation Center, I noticed the long alphabetical list of destinations that included Alaska, Arab Kingdom, California, China, Japan, New York City, Russia, United Kingdom, and more.

  We must be at Transportation Center for New York City, I thought.

  And time sped back up.

  Without a sound, the elevator door shut all the way. Claude let go of my arm, and the compartment moved sideways. Then I felt the floor lower beneath my feet. We moved down and sideways at the same time. My stomach heaved in response to the compartment’s motion, but I kept steady.

  “Where are we going now?” I asked Claude as we rode along.

  “To the restaurant, of course,” he answered.

  “Great! The meal you promised me,” I said.

  “That’s right. A real meal,” said Claude.

  “That’s so nice of you,” I said.

  “Yeah. Well. It’s not really for your benefit. People always want to see the fresh meat I bring in here,” he said.

  Well, that would have spoiled the mood for me if I’d been in the mood, I thought.

  “Oh,” I said. “Is that what you do for them?”

  “Yes. I’m in procurement. It’s a great job. Great benefits,” said Claude. “And I get to live down here with the better people. It’s all good.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  The compartment’s movement leveled out to horizontal, and now it traveled in a curve.

  “Almost there,” said Claude.

  We were both silent for a minute—waiting. Then the car glided to a gentle stop, and its doors slid open.

  ⌛

  I looked out at a confusing sight. A vast area opened in front of us. I froze inside the compartment, trying to get my bearings, but Claude grabbed me again and pulled me out onto a wide curved walkway.

  The door closed behind us. More closed doors similar to the one we’d just exited lined the wall that circled the enormous area.

  A clear railing guarded the inner side of the walkway. Transparent elevator cars traveled up and down in tall clear tubes set at intervals between the railing. I turned back to look at the compartment we’d came out of. Letters above its door said Northeastern US. Then Claude squeezed my arm harder and pulled me away.

  We walked toward one of the clear elevators, and I looked down at the vast open space about fifty feet below us. One part of it appeared to be a park or garden. Bright chirping birds flew or perched in a variety of trees—some squat and leafy, some tall with leaves only at the top—arranged along a meandering trail. Among colorful flowers and a splashing fountain, a scattering of people rested on upholstered benches amid the pleasing scene.

  Another area off to one side of the garden was spotted with dozens of round white tables. Diners sat at the tables, and servers carried food and drinks to them. From above, I heard a muted chatter of voices mingle with a light tinkling of glass and china.

  In my new sense that I didn’t think was real but felt so real, something else appeared too. Just like in the Tenderloin Club, I saw the same waves of red etched with human faces and bodies form a mist around the diners. The mist swirled and rose up in the open space above them.

  I looked up. More clear railings circled level after level of the enormous round open area. Flocks of birds soared through the open air, some perched on the rails and some on the trees and bushes that decorated the upper levels.

  The top of the area was far in the distance. It appeared as gentle blue sky dotted with puffy clouds, but I knew that was impossible.

  “Is that the sky?” I asked Claude.

  He laughed at me again.

  “Of course not. That’s just a holograph. The sky outside never looks that good,” he said.
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  We reached an open elevator car. I went in without Claude having to drag me, but his grip stayed tight on my arm. He pressed a button in the car without letting go of me. I noticed the number 7 light up. And as the car sunk downward, each of the lower numbers lit up one by one until it reached number 1.

  My arm throbbed.

  It must have a huge bruise by now, I thought.

  “I’m not going to run away,” I said when the clear compartment reached the open level at the bottom, and its doors opened.

  “No. You’re not,” said Claude.

  But he didn’t loosen his grip on my arm.

  Claude walked fast along the path toward the dining area among the trees. I kept pace with him to avoid any additional gripping and pulling, but by now my arm was very tender.

  “You can let go of my arm now. It’s starting to hurt a bit,” I said, trying to be diplomatic.

  “We’re almost there,” he said without releasing me.

  A few more steps, and we were at the dining area. Without waiting for a server, Claude took me to an empty table and pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and sighed in relief when he finally let go of my arm. He took off his leather-looking jacket and draped it over his chair. Then he sat down too.

  I looked around. In truth, I’d never seen anything like this in my life. I was in awe. But at the same time, I was filled with deep nausea and a sense of choking dankness all around me.

  Up close, the swirling ghostly faces showed clear. Soft moaning mixed with the light sound of soothing music that came from an unseen audio source. The moaning and the music didn’t harmonize well in my ears.

  The faces of the other diners were real, I knew. And I felt the weight of their stares.

  Why are they all looking at me? I wondered.

  I looked around at them, and the metallic smell of blood and death filled my every breath, but I didn’t faint or retch. I knew the smells, sounds, and feelings were only as real as the faces I saw in the mist.

  Something kept me steady—the strange mental power, or whatever it was, that was still with me.

  Is this thing that’s making me think different and act different part of me, or is it something else? I wondered.

  But I didn’t have the answer to that question, and maybe it didn’t matter anyway.

  “So what do you think?” Claude asked me.

  “Beautiful place,” I said. “Fancy.”

  A server with a large full tray approached our table. Bald and dressed all in black, he or she placed glasses of water in front of us. Then plates, silverware, and napkins. Empty wine glasses and a basket of bread. No menus.

  Claude didn’t say anything.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  But the server looked only at Claude. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

  “Yes. I’ll have a bottle of red wine. And my usual. Tenderloin. Extra rare,” said Claude. “She’ll have the same.”

  “Actually, I don’t want that,” I said. “I’m not hungry right now. And did I mention that I’m a vegetarian?”

  I was worried that Claude would be angry when I said that, but he just laughed. He seemed to be in a great mood.

  “Everyone’s a vegetarian up there,” he said. “Because there’s no meat!”

  He laughed again as if that was a great joke.

  The part of me that knew how to handle this situation laughed too.

  “That’s right,” I said. “There’s no meat because all the livestock got toxic mutation from growth hormones and radiation. So how can you have meat down here? Wouldn’t everyone die from eating it?” I asked.

  Elbows down on the table, Claude leaned toward me as if imparting a secret. I noticed that the pale color of his tongue and the inside his mouth contrasted with the darker skin of his face and lips. And the thin edge around his dark brown irises suggested contact lenses.

  “We have our own special stock down here,” said Claude. “A different species that never got the growth hormones that destroyed all the livestock up on the surface. This meat is completely safe to eat. Look around you. All these people have been eating it for years. Look how heathy they are.”

  Claude straightened up and waved a hand to indicate the diners at other tables set at a discrete distance from ours. I looked around and was disturbed to see most of them staring directly back at me. Their smiles chilled me.

  The red-tinged ghost images flowed among them, moaning softly. I cringed inside but didn’t let it show. I smiled right back at the other diners and then turned to Claude.

  “I’ve been eating this meat for years and look at me,” he was saying.

  I looked while he flexed a powerful bicep.

  “Nice,” I said.

  A wolf whistle was heard from somewhere in the crowd. Claude smiled.

  The server was back with a bottle of wine. She or he opened it and filled Claude’s glass.

  “Do you want some wine?” Claude asked me.

  I knew he’d notice if I didn’t drink it here in this brightly lit restaurant. But I knew I had to stay sharp. I couldn’t get drunk or even a little buzzed. I looked at the water glass.

  Could that be drugged? I wondered. I might be paranoid, but I’m not going to eat or drink anything down here, I decided.

  “No thanks,” I said. “I’m not hungry, and I don’t feel like drinking either. I just need drugs. When it’s like that, I can’t eat or drink. Remember you said you had some for me?”

  I didn’t have any intention of taking drugs from him, but I was sure he wouldn’t pull out a needle or other drugs in the middle of this restaurant, and he didn’t.

  Claude just laughed at me.

  “Junkies!” he said.

  “You can leave,” he told the server.

  The server turned and walked away. Claude took a sip of wine before he answered me.

  “Yeah. I’ve got drugs for you,” he said. “But not here. In private. And I don’t just hand them out for free. You’ll have to pay for them. You know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” I said. “That works for me.”

  I reached up a hand to the side of my bra and felt the needle hidden there.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.

  Claude smiled and took another sip of wine.

  I settled back on my chair to wait. Despite my discomfort under their stares, I looked around at the other people in the room.

  A group of five diners at a nearby table looked familiar. Very familiar. Three men and two women. Two Caucasians, a tan-skinned man, and a dark brown-skinned couple. I recognized them from TV, but could it really be them?

  “Those people!” I said in a loud whisper to Claude. “At the table over there.”

  I tried to point discretely while they were all staring our way.

  “That looks like the president!” I said. “Sitting with the former president and her husband! And the president before that!”

  “Yep. That’s right. That’s who they are. They’re super wealthy, so of course they’re going to live down here.”

  I was too young to vote in the past elections, but I’d seen them all on TV. Talking about what bad people the others were—greedy people who cared only about the rich. People who didn’t share one side or the other of the country’s equally divided values. And why we should vote for them instead of the others. Because they were the ones who cared about us—whoever was doing the talking.

  “But they’re all sitting together like they’re friends,” I said. “And everyone knows they hate each other.”

  Claude laughed. “That’s what they want you to think, so you’ll keep supporting them instead of revolting against the government. You people are fooled so easily. Each election, you think the new people are going to help you. They never do, but you keep believing whatever you hear on TV. So gullible!”

  He looked at me and smirked. A dark, sick wave washed over me, but I stayed firm against it.

  “The funniest part is that everyone knew the last two presiden
ts were friends before the election. Best friends. Shown on television hanging out together at parties all the time. Now you people all believe they’re the worst of enemies. That they’ve always hated each other, and they’re totally different kinds of people. It’s like you forgot what you saw with your own eyes just because you heard a new story on TV,” said Claude.

  Wow! He’s right, I thought. I did forget all about that. Of course I’m young, and I wasn’t that interested in politics, but still. Everyone forgot the two opposing candidates used to be friends. Everyone thinks these people have completely different values, but the new president used to talk just like the old one, and he even told people to vote for her.

  Claude drank his wine while I mulled over this new information. I studied the people we’d been talking about. They sat at the table nearest to ours. By now, I didn’t feel rude because they were staring right back.

  Then two of them stood up. The Caucasian former president and her husband. And they started walking in our direction. The sense of oppressive darkness I felt in this place grew stronger. Claude’s smile was welcoming.

  I hoped they’d walk past us, but they stopped in front of our table. They smiled down at us. I felt their smiles as amused but not friendly. Powerful people next to whom I was nothing. A part of me was terrified. Another part smiled vacantly back at them.

  Up close, I was shocked to see how young the former president and her husband looked. They’d both been in their sixties when she held office. That was four years ago. But this woman looked as if she were in her thirties, and her husband looked about the same age.

  Have they had expensive plastic surgery? I wondered.

  “Hey there, Claude,” the ex-president greeted him.

  “Mattie. Brent. Hey,” said Claude. “How’s it going?”

  “Tip top as always. Even better now that you’re here,” said Brent with a wink at me.

  “We came over to inspect the new meat,” said Mattie.

  I resented being called that, but I didn’t say anything.

  I need to keep a hold of my emotions, I told myself.

  Mattie looked me up and down with the fixed smile that now felt feral.