Tenderloin

by LD Marr

  “Sure, sure. Don’t you always?” asked Claude. “So what do you think?”

  Brent leaned forward and pointed at the bruise forming on my arm.

  “Nice coloration there,” he said.

  “Yummy,” said Mattie.

  “I’m glad to see that this one has some meat on her bones,” said Brent. “Still needs some fattening, of course.”

  “She’s a bit on the old side, isn’t she?” asked Mattie.

  Did Claude bring me and the others here to be used for pedophile sex by these people? I wondered.

  The creepiness of the situation was getting to be too much. I spoke up.

  “I’m not old! I’m only eighteen! And I don’t do threesomes or foursomes or whatever! And I don’t need any fattening!” I said in my most confident voice, even though I was shaking on the inside.

  To my surprise, all three of them burst out laughing.

  “Amusing,” said Mattie in a flat voice that didn’t really sound amused.

  “Well, eighteen is a bit on the old side, but she looks like good breeding stock. Tall with a little meat on her bones,” said Brent. “Good job Claude.”

  My opened wide, and I looked from Claude to Brent and Mattie. But the two of them ignored me. They turned and walked away, heading toward one of the transparent elevators.

  My suspicions were confirmed that something beyond awful was going on here, but I still didn’t know exactly what.

  Now what should I do? I wondered.

  I could act as if I didn’t notice anything unusual, but that would be out of character. I had to say something.

  “What the heck was that about?” I asked Claude. “What did they mean by ‘breeding stock’? I’m not breeding stock!”

  “Relax! Relax!” said Claude.

  He reached over and gripped my arm tight again, which wasn’t very relaxing.

  “I’ll explain in a minute. My food is here,” he said.

  I looked up to see the server standing in front of us. He or she soundlessly placed a large steaming plate in front of Claude. A huge slab of meat dripped blood from its pink center. The smell of it sickened me, but I stayed cool and calm on the outside.

  Now I noticed a ghostly red form swirling in the air above our table. Young eyes etched in the smoky haze stared at me from a young face. I stared back, but I didn’t say anything.

  The server went away. Claude lifted a sharp knife and sliced into his meat. He lifted a dripping chunk into his mouth.

  “Umm, umm, hmm,” he said as he chewed and swallowed. “That’s the stuff!”

  “What were those people talking about?” I asked him again.

  “Like I told you on the tube ride here,” Claude spoke in between biting and chewing. “There’s a limited gene pool down here, so they need some people like yourself to supplement it. You’re lucky that Brent approved you for that. You don’t know how lucky you are—believe me.”

  “But it sounded like they expect to breed me to whomever they want. Like I won’t have any choice about it,” I said. “What if I don’t like that? What if I decide I want to leave and go back to the surface. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “No! No problem at all,” said Claude. “No one’s going to make you do anything against your will. But just give it a chance. You haven’t seen everything yet. I’m sure you’ll want to stay here after you get the tour. After that, if you still want to leave, that will be fine.”

  I knew without the slightest doubt that he was lying, but I made myself act reassured.

  “Great!” I said with a big smile.

  He smiled back at me and kept chewing. I looked around the room again, noticing more familiar faces. Famous people I’d seen on TV. Actors, musicians, and heads of corporations. Governors of US states and the elected presidents of other countries. But they all looked younger than I expected. I asked Claude about that.

  “Mattie and Brent looked so young for their age,” I said. “I thought Mattie was in her sixties when she was president four years ago. But now she looks like she’s in her thirties, and Brent too. Is that from plastic surgery or something? I’ve seen people who had face lifts, but they never looked that good—always stretched out. Do they have something more advanced down here?”

  Claude chuckled around his last mouthful of meat. He swallowed and then answered me.

  “Of course they have something better!” he said. “After a hundred years, don’t you think medical science would come up with something better than the old-style cutting and stretching you people have up on the surface?”

  “I’d think so, but they say there’s no money for medical research or expensive medical treatments. So that’s why there’s been no advancement,” I said.

  “Right. There’s no advanced medicine for you, but there’s state-of-the-art medical treatment for people who have the money,” said Claude. “The top medical researchers are down here working for the people who can pay for it. And they’ve come up with rejuvenation treatments you people have never dreamed of. Youth-restoring medical procedures that don’t just cut out fat and stretch out skin. Life-extending treatments that prevent death. We can live forever down here.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, truly shocked.

  “Sure I’m serious,” said Claude. “In fact, Mattie and Brent have been alive for nearly 200 years. Brent was a president back then. And the other two over there—your current president and your president before Mattie. There’s about twenty politicians who take turns running for office against each other using different names every fifty years or so. They change their skin color and facial features so none of you will recognize them, of course.”

  “No. That can’t be right about the elections,” I protested. “That’s not how it works. We the people choose who we’ll vote for. We don’t just take whomever someone rich and powerful tells us to. The people decide. I learned that in school.”

  Claude guffawed long and loud between bites of meat. More heads turned to look our way. Finally he stopped laughing and spoke.

  “Right. You people think you make the decisions, but you vote for whomever these people with money and power tell you to. No one runs for president unless they have a ton of money to go on TV and run social media ads. So the people with the money decide, not you. We give you some choices, but they’re always working for us. They’re all actors. We reuse the same ones because they’re experienced, with a proven ability to convince you. And you always vote for one or the other you see on TV, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t vote in the last election,” I said. “I was too young.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway,” said Claude. “Whoever got elected would have represented the people down here. That’s the way it should be because they have all the power, not you. They have eternal youth and eternal life. Most of the people you see here have been alive for more than a hundred years. Me too.”

  He gestured around the room. I looked. Most of the diners were still staring at me, but I was used to that now.

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” I said. “These people will live forever while everyone else dies younger and younger because there’s less and less food, and the air and water are contaminated. The ozone layer is destroyed. The politicians tell us it has to be that way, and they’re lying to us!”

  “Yes. It’s fair because we’re privileged,” said Claude in a calm voice that one might use to explain things to a child. “Because we’re superior to the lowly mobs. We’re willing to do what has to be done to keep what we have and thrive. Survival of the fittest and all that. That’s why we live here in spacious apartments in the lap of luxury—he waved a forkful of meat up at the railed levels above our heads—while the rest of the world lives in the decaying slums.”

  I looked up where he gestured.

  “Do you live up there too?” I asked. “With all the politicians and rich people?”

  “Sure I do,” said Claude. “I’m valuable to the people down here, and my job
has great perks. I’ve got a two-bedroom spread up there.”

  “Wow!” I said.

  This information was a lot for me to take in. I had more questions for Claude, but he was wiping some bloody meat juice from his lips and chin with a linen napkin.

  “Time to get the show on the road,” he said.

  I recognized the expression an old movie I’d seen on TV.

  Maybe he is really old, I thought.

  Claude stood up and pulled out my chair. It felt strange to have someone moving my chair while I was sitting in it. Another ancient chivalrous gesture from days gone by.

  I stood up too, and Claude picked up both my coat and his jacket from the backs of our chairs. He draped them over one of his arms, and the chivalry ended there when he gripped my arm tight again in his free hand and yanked me out of my chair.

  As we walked together toward the elevator, we passed a few people walking in the opposite direction toward the dining area. Claude nodded at them, but he didn’t let go of my arm or stop to speak.

  But I wasn’t silent. I kept asking him questions, knowing that I might not have much time left to get answers after we reached wherever he was taking me.

  “Why don’t they tell people who live aboveground about this medical treatment, so they can stay young and live forever too?” I asked.

  “Well, for one thing, it’s expensive,” Claude answered me. “I told you the wealthy don’t want to waste their money on the masses. But the main reason is logistics. What would happen if everyone up there started to live forever? There’s already too many of you now. The population would swell and swell. It would be hard for the people down here to keep you under control. So they don’t use this procedure on less worthy people, only on the most deserving. But we know people up there would make a big stink about that if they found out, so we keep it a secret.”

  We reached the transparent elevator and walked inside. I watched Claude press one of many numbered buttons on the large panel, -147. I noticed it was positioned far below the number 3 level we were on.

  The elevator doors closed, and the floor sunk down under my feet. I felt the dip, then my body adjusted to the rapid speed of descent. I could tell we were speeding downward because the buttons were lighting up fast down numbers that grew increasingly negative: -20, -21, and so on.

  I asked Claude another question. “What about me? “If I stay here, will I be able to get the rejuvenation treatment too?”

  He looked at me and laughed. I stared back at him waiting for his answer.

  “No. You can’t get it if you’re being used for breeding,” he said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because we keep breeding stock free of any kind of hormones or chemicals to get the best results,” he answered.

  “Oh,” I said.

  I paused for a moment. Something was growing in my awareness. The feeling of Laz that had been with me since he left the Tenderloin Club with Claude was getting stronger.

  We’re heading toward Laz! I realized.

  Then I thought of another question for Claude. I noticed that he seemed to have no problem answering my questions in detail and mostly truthfully. I knew that must mean he thought I’d never leave here to tell anyone. But I kept asking more anyway.

  “Why are we going down in this elevator? I thought you said you lived in the apartments up above the restaurant.”

  “That’s right. I live up there,” he said. “But I don’t take people like you to my personal residence. I’m taking you down to where we keep all the breeding stock. You’ll love it there.”

  Chapter 22

  About a minute later, the elevator came to a stop. Its doors opened on a long bare hallway. Chill air wafted into the elevator. Claude pulled me out onto the scuffed vinyl floor.

  “Hey, what about the drugs you promised me?” I whined. “Don’t we have to go to your place for that?”

  Claude dragged me down the hallway.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get your drugs,” he said. “After you pay for them first. You can do that down here.”

  I didn’t say anything else.

  My plan had been to take a look at whatever drugs he offered and then say something like, “That’s not really what I need, but I have some of my own.”

  Then I’d pull out a needle and inject him instead of myself.

  Maybe it wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was all I’d thought of. If Claude wasn’t going to give me drugs right away, I’d have to play this different. I hoped that whatever it was that had been in my mind lately—directing my actions—wouldn’t abandon me now.

  “I don’t think I want to live in this place,” I said. “I don’t like it. It looks just like the rundown hospitals we have up there. Why would I want to stay here?”

  “This is just the hallway,” said Claude. “You’ll love it inside the room you’ll be staying in. Believe me.”

  I shivered in the cold, but he didn’t offer to return my coat, and I didn’t ask for it.

  I didn’t think he could grip my arm any tighter, but he did. I’d run out of questions. I looked from side to side as we strode along at a fast pace. Except for some wheeled gurneys with straps parked at intervals along it, the hallway was empty. Some open waste bins. Others that were closed. Not much else.

  Even the ghostly swirls I’d seen up above seemed to be absent from this place. But my awareness of Laz was strong and growing stronger.

  He’s down here! I thought.

  The sound of my heels echoed in the emptiness along with heavy thumps from Claude’s boots.

  We passed windowless doors, all with keypads. Most were double doors wide enough for a gurney to fit through.

  “This place is creepy,” I complained again. “If people live down here, where is everyone?”

  “No one’s here at this time of night,” said Claude. “They’ll show up for work in a few hours.”

  What work? I thought, but I didn’t ask that question.

  Claude stopped in front of a set of two blank doors. Without loosening his grip on me, he lifted his other arm that held my coat and his jacket and began typing numbers into the door’s keypad.

  Time slowed again as I watched his thick forefinger press each number in turn. The sequence was the same twelve numbers I’d memorized when we came in the door from the subway.

  After Claude had pressed the last number, time sped up again.

  The door made a buzzing sound. Claude pushed down on its metal handle and then pushed the door inward and open a few feet. He shoved me inside roughly, almost throwing me, but I was relieved that he let go of my arm.

  I stumbled on my spike heels and landed against something hard and metallic. One of four gurneys lined up on the side of the room. I looked down at the gurney’s bare metal—no mattress or sheets but lots of complicated straps. The metal rim around its sides dipped to form a gully similar to the edges of an autopsy table.

  There was nothing else on this side of the room except some locked cabinets built into the wall above the gurneys.

  I turned and saw that Claude had followed me in. The double doors shut automatically behind him. They made a click sound as if locking, and I saw another keypad on this side of them.

  I looked around the room. It wasn’t much of a room, more like a short hallway. A long counter spanned the wall across from me. A few metal stools and a waste bin sat under the counter. More locked cabinets on the wall above the counter. That was about it.

  Another double door at the far end of this short hallway-like room also had a keypad.

  I turned back to look at Claude. He tossed our outerwear on the counter and sat down on one of the stools facing me with a smirk on his fleshy face. He spread his legs open and reached to unbuckle his belt.

  “It’s time for your payment,” he said.

  It’s time! I told myself.

  “Right,” I said out loud.

  Now would be a good time for whatever’s been helping me to help again, I thought.r />
  I waited for whatever it was that had been guiding my actions and even slowing time—for other people—to do something. But nothing happened except that Claude’s zipper was all the way down.

  “Come over here,” he said.

  Can you help please? I mentally asked the unknown power.

  There was no answer, and I felt like nothing was there except me.

  Was there ever anything else there? I wondered. Was it me all along? Have I just been crazy like people have suggested?

  “Now!” Claude ordered.

  I forced myself to walk toward him.

  I’ll just have to inject him however I can, I thought.

  But I looked at him and knew how hard that would be. He could easily overpower me when he saw me pull out a needle. He was many times stronger than me, and he was probably fast too.

  The room was cold, but I dripped sweat when I stood in front of Claude. And still no sign of whatever had been helping me up to this point. He reached up a hand to grab me again.

  Time! Slow down! I said with insistence in my mind.

  I felt foolish to be ordering time, but I was grasping at straws.

  Claude’s hand seemed to stop in mid air, left open in a partial grip around my arm. The grip was closing ever so slowly. I pulled my arm away and stepped back.

  While Claude’s other hand moved super slow in the act of pulling down his underwear, I whipped off my pink crop top and dropped it on the counter behind him. I pulled out the needle from the left side of my bra. Then I shoved it into Claude’s thigh and pushed in the plunger with practiced care.

  In his state of slow motion compared to mine, he didn’t have time feel the effects or make a noise by the time I’d injected the second needle into his tight t-shirt-covered chest.

  I stood for a moment—fast to him but slow to me—and considered whether I should use the last two needles.

  I decided not to. Pierre had assured me that two would be more than enough, and I didn’t want to kill him, even though he’d probably killed so many people.

  Still in slow time, Claude started to make a long, drawn-out grunting noise and begin to sway toward me. I jumped back.