The Love Machine

by Nicholas Bruner

Monica spoke slowly. “I see. You needed a flat-chested girl.”

  “It’s not like that,” Tina said. “We only thought if we got him to fall in love with a girl who wasn’t his type, he might learn his lesson.”

  “Sure, I understand,” Monica said. “Someone with glasses. Kind of plain. Wouldn’t catch anybody’s eye. Do you treat all the new students this way?”

  It got quiet around the table. Alcie drummed her fingers and checked around the restaurant. “I wonder where the waitress went. I hope she’s not pissed. I’ve stiffed her on a tip like three times in a row.”

  Sandy cleared her throat. “Well, this has been interesting.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry we disturbed you two,” Tina said.

  “Don’t worry about us.” Sandy rose. “I was just leaving.” She picked up her purse and rounded the table, leaning over to speak in a low tone to Grunt. “Give me a call again sometime, if you can find a place with more privacy.” She pecked him on his cheek and strode out.

  Grunt looked around at the remaining girls. “Hey, thanks everybody.” He pushed his chair in and headed for the door.

  Monica rushed to walk next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare your friend off. Was that a date?”

  “It was supposed to be,” Grunt said. He waved his hand and sighed. “I guess it wasn’t going that great anyway.”

  “Well, I feel bad now. Can I get you something to eat?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Grunt said. He held the door open for her. As she headed into the parking lot, he reconsidered. “Wait! Actually, can you give me a ride? Sandy drove us over here.”

  “Oh, sure,” Monica said.

  “Can you maybe drop me off at Corn’s house?”

  “No problem. Let’s get out of here.”

  Tuesday, 5:15 p.m.

  Alva stepped out of the air conditioning and blinked in the humid sunshine outside the Radio Shack. He bounced the bag against his leg, jangling capacitors and resistors and cable assemblies together. The afternoons were turning hot now in the late spring. Almost the end of school. Wouldn’t be a lot to do in the summer if the band didn’t get back together.

  “Hey, you!” someone called.

  Alva jumped and spun around.

  “Sorry, kid, didn’t mean to scare ya.” A greasy man with long black hair wearing Oakley sunglasses and a ratty t-shirt stepped onto the sidewalk.

  “You caught me thinking, that’s all,” Alva said.

  “How much you want for the Love Machine?”

  Alva blinked and his eyes glazed for a moment. Surely he hadn’t heard right. “What did you say?”

  “The Love Machine,” the man repeated. “You’re the kid that invented it, right? I know you are. I remember seeing you around at Hillard High.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Recognition slowly gathered in Alva’s memory cells. “You graduated like two years ago.” He snapped his fingers. “Paul…”

  “Paul Zabonski.”

  “Zabonski, right.” Paul Zabonski had been one of the biggest burn-outs at school. Alva had heard he’d had to retake Algebra three times, and the teacher had only passed him the final year to get him out of class. “How do you know about the Love Machine?”

  The man laughed. “Word gets around, my man. How much you want for it?”

  Alva didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “It’s not for sale.” He walked off abruptly.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Paul ran after him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be like that. You don’t need money, okay, I got other things. Killer weed, dude. And girls. I can introduce you to chicks that go all night. You need the hook-up?”

  “If you know so many girls, why do you need the Love Machine?” Alva asked.

  “That’s, uh…that’s a good question.” Paul’s face fell. “C’mon, man, what do I have to do here?”

  “Look, the truth is, I don’t have the Love Machine right now.”

  “Right, you don’t have it.” Paul waved his hand dismissively. “I see how it is.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Listen kid, I’ll be back for it. And next time you see me, I won’t be asking nicely like I did this time. We understand each other?” He stepped off the curb without waiting for an answer and wandered into the parking lot.

  Alva shook his head and headed home. It was scary how out of control this was getting.

  Tuesday, 5:37 p.m.

  Grunt knocked on the door of Corn’s apartment. Corn answered the door in a white undershirt and athletic shorts.

  “Hey Grunt. Hey…Monica, right? What are y’all doing here?”

  “I told her I was going to check out your comics and she said she wanted to see too,” Grunt said.

  “Oh, okay.” Corn seemed a little uncertain, but opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

  They passed through the living room where Corn’s mother was watching TV. She picked up the remote and muted the channel.

  “Hey, Mama, just going to my room with some friends.”

  She held up her hand. “Stop right there. Okay, Cornelius, I know Grunt, but you’re going to have to introduce me to your other friend.”

  “Mama, this is Monica,” Corn said. “Monica, this is Mama. You can call her Ms. Cobb.”

  “Monica, how do you do?” Corn’s mom said.

  “Fine, thank you.” Monica gave her a little wave.

  “So y’all need to tell me something,” Ms. Cobb said. “Because I tried to drag this information out of Cornelius, and he just blew me off.”

  “What do you need to know, Ms. Cobb?” Grunt asked.

  “How come I don’t see y’all hanging out with Barrow and Alva anymore? Y’all used to be thick as thieves.”

  “Mama—”

  “Shush now, boy. I’m talking.”

  “Oh, we had a…fight with them,” Grunt said.

  “A fight?” Corn’s mom said. “A fist fight?”

  “No, just a quarrel.” Grunt smiled self-consciously.

  “What, did Barrow try to steal Cornelius’s girl or something?”

  “Ha!” Grunt said.

  “No, Mama,” Corn said. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “So Alva tried to shoot your dog, then.”

  “You know he didn’t, Mama,” Corn said. “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Then whatever the problem is, you need to work it out with them. They your boys, right?”

  Corn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they are.”

  “Don’t ‘yeah’ me, Cornelius.”

  “Yes, ma’am, they’re my boys.”

  “Okay then. Next time I see you with your little friends up in here, I want to see Alva and Barrow too. Now y’all run up to your room so I can watch Oprah. And leave the door open. I ain’t ready for any grandbabies to be runnin’ around.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  In Corn’s bedroom he and Monica sat on the bed and Grunt sprawled across the floor with his hands folded under the back of his head. “Why aren’t you out with Sandy?” Corn asked him.

  “Long story,” Grunt said. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I had to ask Monica for a ride.”

  “How bad does a date have to be that you can’t even get a ride home?” Corn asked.

  “Yeah, exactly,” Grunt said. “But on the way, I was telling Monica how you have those Green Arrow comics and she wanted to see them.”

  Corn shrugged his shoulders and opened his closet to pull out several long white comic boxes. “Let’s see, the Green Arrows are in this one.” He removed the top and pulled out several comics. He handed them to Monica with his eyebrows raised. “You like Green Arrow?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Monica said. “I love the way Mike Grell draws Oliver. So sexy, with that beard.”

  “You know who Mike Grell is?” Corn snorted in disbelief.

  Monica examined their covers, setting one aside. “You mind if I take this out of its sleeve?”

  Corn gestured for her to go ahea
d. She carefully pulled the tape back and removed the comic from its plastic cover. Resting the spine of the comic in her hand, she slowly turned the pages. “Amazing. His line work is incredible.” She closed the book and put it away. “What else do you have? Mind if I look through the boxes?” Without waiting for an answer she sat on the floor and started thumbing through. “Oh, cool, Doom Patrol. Grant Morrison’s the best.”

  Corn and Grunt exchanged glances.

  She thumbed through another box. “Ooh, you have the Simonson Thors. Can I get these out?”

  “Shit. You know Walt Simonson, too?” Corn said.

  “He’s awesome, right?” Grunt’s voice came up from the floor.

  “My absolute favorite,” Monica said. “The way he draws Thor all rugged. Not clean-cut, like the other artists do.”

  Corn rubbed his jawline. “Got a thing for beards, huh?”

  “Oh, definitely,” Monica said. “Of course, it helps if the guy is built like a Thunder God.” She flipped through several issues. “Hey, what time is it?”

  Grunt glanced at his watch. “Almost six.”

  “Oh, I gotta go,” she said. “I hope I can look through your comics sometime again, Corn.”

  “Sure, anytime.” Corn stared after her as she walked out.

  Grunt scratched his crotch. “You ever meet a girl who likes comics like that?” he called up.

  “Never,” Corn said. He stepped over Grunt to the window and opened the blinds, watching her on her way to her car. “Damn.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday, May 15th, 10:32 a.m.

  Barrow slid a book from his locker into his backpack and flipped the door closed. He started when he saw Alva standing behind it, holding the twinkling LML in one hand, clicking at a steady rate.

  “Dude, do you mind not sneaking up on me?”

  “Sorry,” Alva said. “It got a hit. A big one. Let’s go.”

  They pushed through the crowded halls and up the stairs, ignoring the curious stares at the LML’s blinking lights. The bell rang and people disappeared into classrooms.

  Barrow grabbed Alva’s elbow and faced him. “Man, I’m gonna be late for class.”

  “As soon as we check this out I’ll let you go,” Alva said.

  At that moment a pack of basketball players led by Taffy Lauter and Jason Burman came around the corner like a foaming mad dog was on their tails. “Out of the way nerds!” Taffy shouted, gratuitously giving Barrow a shove as he scooted past. “Late for class!”

  One of them, a tall blond-headed kid, slowed down a step with a little smile and a shrug. “Sorry about that.”

  “Never seen basketball players in such a hurry to learn,” Barrow muttered.

  The LML stepped up its clicking as they took the corner. Monica stood outside the girls’ restroom. “Hey, Alva, watch out for—”

  “No time to talk!” Alva called as they ran by. “Checking something out!”

  They came to an abrupt stop as the LML’s clicking accelerated into a regular buzz at a closed door. The lettering in the frosted glass read, “Teachers’ Lounge.” A yell came from the other side of the door, followed by another voice shouting. Somebody was having a heated argument.

  Barrow shook his head. “No. No frickin’ way. Think again, Alva.”

  “We have to,” Alva said. “We have to find the Love Machine before something really bad happens. Listen to that argument in there, it could be happening right now.”

  “Fine.” Barrow spoke through clenched teeth. “Listen to me good, Alva. If this is another false alarm, I swear to God, our friendship will be over right here.”

  Alva nodded at him and reached slowly towards the door handle.

  Before he could turn it, the door flew off its hinges, landing in the hallway in a starburst of shattering glass. Two grown men fell to the floor, hands at each other’s throats.

  Alva and Barrow jumped back instinctively. Alva felt as if he were floating, acutely aware of his own body and time passing in slow motion. What was happening? His urge was to turn and run. This wasn’t something he wanted to be involved in. But he knew it was his fault, somehow, a result of the Love Machine, and he had to take care of it.

  He stepped forward and pulled ineffectually at the man on top with one hand, still holding the LML in the other. “Help me,” he breathed to Barrow.

  He and Barrow each took an arm. Only when they had pulled the man up to a standing position did they recognize him.

  “Mr. Snocker?” Alva said. Mr. Snocker, the calculus teacher, pushing sixty, and normally the mildest and most rational of men, but his features now contorted with rage.

  Meanwhile, Barrow had started helping the other man to his feet. “Mr. Evers, are you okay?” Mr. Evers, the order-loving assistant principal, but now with his face ruddy and eyes wild.

  Mr. Evers spat his reply “I’m fine, son, except for that son of a bitch over there.”

  “Jim, don’t think for a second I won’t knock your block off!” Mr. Snocker’s guttural growl hardly seemed like the same voice that so calmly talked students through differentiating a derivative. He raised his fists and took a step towards Mr. Evers.

  “One step closer and see if I don’t kick your teeth down your throat, Snocker,” Mr. Evers said, the name unintentionally emphasized with a fleck of spittle out of his mouth.

  Alva stepped between them and held out his arms. “Calm down. Both of you, please, calm down. I think something’s happened to you, but take some deep breaths and I’ll try to explain it.”

  By now students were gathering in the hallway. A couple teachers came over to assist Alva, hauling Mr. Snocker and Mr. Evers away from each other and talking them down.

  Alcie stepped out from the growing circle of people. Alva narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Alcie said. “Look in the teachers’ lounge.”

  Alva craned his head for a peek. Two adults were making out on a couch by the back window. Alva grabbed Barrow’s arm and pulled him along. “C’mon, we’re not done yet.”

  They pushed their way into the lounge and stepped up to the lip-locked teachers. It was Ms. Silva, the guidance counselor, and the ninth-grade English teacher, Mr. Harris.

  “Dude, Mr. Harris is like ninety years old,” Barrow whispered to Alva.

  Alva whispered back, “And Ms. Silva’s the hottest teacher at school.”

  “Impressive,” Barrow said.

  Alva cleared his throat, but Ms. Silva and Mr. Harris ignored him, Ms. Silva unbuttoning Mr. Harris’s shirt with one hand while the other brushed through his silver hair. Alva cleared his throat again, louder.

  Barrow picked up a ruler from a table and slapped it against the arm of the couch. “Excuse me!”

  Ms. Silva and Mr. Harris looked up at the two students dazedly. Barrow pushed himself onto the couch between them. “You two have had enough.”

  “Pardon me, young man,” Mr. Harris said, his voice turning stern.

  “Not this time,” Alva said. “Ms. Silva, Mr. Harris, what you’re experiencing now are not natural feelings. You two are under the influence of a machine that’s charging your emotions.”

  Mr. Harris blinked a few times. His eyes cleared and his wrinkled cheeks turned pink. He stood and straightened his tie, brushed the folds out of his brown suit jacket. “Karen, I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what came over me.”

  Ms. Silva too stood and averted her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Yes. Well.” Mr. Harris snapped his fingers. “I actually have a class right now.”

  Alva spoke up. “Can either of you tell me if you saw any students in here right before the…occurrence? Maybe a couple girls?”

  “I…I don’t know,” Mr. Harris said. “I don’t think it was girls. The door opened, and somebody had some sort of flashing telephone. They waved it around the room. But as soon as they pointed it at me everyth
ing blurred. I can’t remember anything after that at all.”

  Wednesday, 10:48 a.m.

  On the uncomfortable chairs near the secretary in the school office, Alva sat writing notes in his composition notebook. He glanced at Barrow. “How long do you think it’d been since the Love Machine had been used when we got there?”

  Barrow shrugged. “Couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figure too.” Alva scribbled some more.

  “But it didn’t just work as a Love Machine on the teachers,” Barrow said. “It made them angry too.”

  “I have a few hypotheses about that,” Alva said, shutting the notebook and replacing his pen in his pocket.

  “I knew you would,” Barrow said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “So the effect area is getting wider each time the machine’s used. It’s not just focused on the left amygdala, but is hitting both the left and the right, so it’s unpredictable. Plus, whoever used it didn’t even know to aim it at the right part of the brain. It sounds like they just held it in the room and pressed the button.”

  “Wait,” Barrow said. “Why is the effect getting wider?”

  “It’s just a quirk. The machine’s a prototype and I have to readjust it to baseline after each use. Once I knew it worked for sure I planned to refine the design. It never occurred to me I wouldn’t have it back.”

  Barrow put his hand to his forehead. “Great. So it’s already able to affect a whole roomful of people. A couple more times, could it affect the whole cafeteria? Or gymnasium?”

  “Maybe,” Alva said.

  “And how do you know if the people will become angry or fall in love?”

  Alva shrugged. “Might just be random. Or maybe it depends on the mood they were already in when it happened.” He mused a moment. “Those aren’t even the only possible reactions. Could turn out to be fear, or sadness, or everything all mixed together.”

  “Another thing,” Barrow said. “When Corn used it, the effect lasted the whole day. But the teachers have already recovered.”

  “Right,” Alva said. “As the affected area gets wider, it probably attenuates the duration impact.”

  “So more people, but the effect doesn’t last as long,” Barrow mused. “Here’s another idea. It might also be because they’re adults. Fewer hormones, right? Makes them harder to rile up.”