Chapter 10 #2
Res6 chuckles, squeezing Electra’s hand. “It wasn’t a CHOICElover was it? Such terrible news would surely ruin my night.”
There is hissing outside in the garage, and Electra gathers they’re waiting on some process to finish, but she’s laser focused on the woman.
Blonde strands of hair fall into her face in an annoyingly sexy manner as she leans in, whispering, “If you want to recycle this one, I’d be happy to assist while you’re activating your next unit. ”
She winks, and Electra is certain the future is melting her brain or she’s come down with some sort of syndrome, because a flame of what feels dangerously close to jealousy flares like a blowtorch. More like one of those little crème br?lée torches, but still.
Before she can consider her actions, she reaches out, tearing the woman’s hand away from Res6’s chest. His eyes widen in response, but Electra ignores him, turning to the woman. “Res6 asked me to keep random women from pawing at him. He’s very successful, so it happens a lot. Please behave.”
He has no idea how extensively she’s researched the strange phenomenon of the modern-day manupartner. She turns to him, saying, “You wanted me to do it just like that, right?” Then she beams at him. Why waste such a glorious moment to revel? That’s what he gets for using her for advertising.
The woman gapes, so astonished that Electra doesn’t need to fake her glee.
She’s really only doing herself a favor.
The last thing she needs is for Res6 to screw this woman in their unit—well, his unit—while she sits there on the couch watching mind-numbing videos explaining late modern era government systems. Not that she would mind otherwise.
The jealousy thing is irrational. She’s misinterpreting her feelings since she’s been having so many lately.
The “outings” that are actually dates can’t be helping.
Res6’s brows pinch, and he’s quiet for a beat too long.
He seems to have an internal war with himself before finally coming to some determination, which makes her nervous.
He nods to himself before reaching behind her to grab the end of her sleek ponytail.
There’s a gentle tug as he repositions her so she’s staring up at him.
Then he steps into her space. It feels like a challenge, which makes her pulse race like it does every time he is this near.
It’s startling but also—umm. Other things not worth mentioning. Who is this man?
“Just like that,” he says, voice dropping an octave. Oh God. He leans down, and she has to swallow as his heat surrounds her. His nose brushes against hers and lingers there. “I adore her freckles. Otherwise, she’d be too polished. Too manufactured. And that would bore me.”
He says manufactured like a dirty word, and she isn’t sure whose benefit it’s for since it almost undermines the entire point of his company.
Her heart jumps to her throat, and things happen elsewhere in her body.
When she swears he’s about to kiss her—and she thinks she’s either going to slap him or lean into it—he places a peck on her nose.
She stands there stunned as he releases her hair.
The same arm snakes around her shoulders, and he commands, “Come, darling, or we’ll be late. ”
The woman lets out a swoony sigh as they walk away.
Well, that was something, wasn’t it? The spot on her nose that his lips brushed burns, and for some odd reason, she’s considering wearing a ponytail more often. How did he do that?
He leads her out of the glass box, tucks her into the humming SAT, and closes the door before going to his side.
A minute later, they’re in the smog-dense air, zipping between towering gray buildings past bright neon signs, and moving through MagTrack interchanges so fast her head is spinning.
The SATs really are wondrous, efficient machines.
She always thought they’d be more like hovercars, like in The Fifth Element.
It takes a moment for her to catch her bearings.
Then she notices Res6 is laughing. Like full belly-clutching, laughing.
“What?” she demands.
“The look on your face was priceless,” he says.
She huffs indignantly. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”
“I thought you were going to let me.” He’s still chuckling.
“God, no.” She’s only half lying. He doesn’t need to know that a crazy part of her thought the same thing. Not only because she’s pretending-ish to be a manupartner.
It’s odd how quickly his awkwardness disappears, replaced by that sudden, panty-melting confidence. Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But which one is the act, and which is the real man?
Refusing to join in his humor, definitely not pouting, she says, “I was trying not to slap you in front of that woman.”
His laughing fit recharges. The rich sound is unfairly appealing. If she weren’t a stupid romance author, she probably wouldn’t even notice. Now she’s thinking about how the next book boyfriend she crafts will have his exact laugh.
He wipes his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I found something so humorous. My brother is going to love you.” He reaches over and pats her thigh. “Thanks, Electra.”
She can only sigh before slumping back in her chair for the rest of the ride.
The play isn’t like anything she expected when Res6 explained it would be their evening outing.
An attendant welcomes them into a private, slightly cramped viewing box, giving them each a pair of virtual reality glasses.
There is a large empty black stage before them, and the theater is so dark she can barely make out the audience.
Wait. She leans forward, scanning as her eyes adjust. “Are we the only ones here?”
“Two Spiral Apples,” Res6 orders, seeming not to hear her question.
As the server leaves to get their cocktails, she turns the VR headset over in her hands. “I thought you said this was a play, like with a set and actors.”
“It’s a private production. Just wait.”
Great, another weird rich-people thing, like the private flying excursion.
The seats suspended from sturdy-looking cables could only swing them in a circle like a children’s carnival ride, though the simulation made it seem as if they were flying in a turbojet.
Between the sparkling Vine and the turbulence, it was disorienting.
Considering the government video claimed the future is more egalitarian, she thought there’d be less of this. Not more.
A moment later, the drinks show up and Res6 takes them, arranging them on little tables attached to their chairs.
A chime goes off in the box. “That’s the one-minute warning,” he says.
“You’ll see the actors and the virtual set combined through your VR set.
Here.” He takes the glasses and helps her fit them comfortably.
He must push a button because a sound test sequence takes place. “Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” she replies, though at this point she’s only along for the ride.
“Okay, good. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
Another set of chimes sounds, this time in her headset.
“It’s starting,” he says.
As she settles back into her seat, an announcer begins to speak, giving the typical opening welcomes.
The screen goes dark. Slowly, out of the right corner of her vision, a man emerges from a building like a medieval cottage that comes into view from a mist. He follows a forest trail, and soon she, the viewer, can sense he’s following the soft, wordless singing she begins to hear.
Stage left opens with a kelp-haired siren diving off a rock into the water.
At first, nothing she’s witnessing is extraordinary.
It’s almost like watching a movie being shot in real life, but with the CGI already imposed onto it.
But then it occurs to her that these people don’t have a set with streams and cottages or nature scenes.
She lowers the VR set to peer at the stage.
Res6 was right. On stage, two actors wearing flesh-toned bodysuits navigate various black boxes and platforms. When she replaces the VR set, she sees the same thing, but with a computer-generated setting and costumes superimposed.
The siren swims until she comes to a larger body of water.
Behind her, the man, now in a little rowboat, follows her.
The clouds overhead turn gray as the siren glances back at her pursuer.
Then she dives into the water, disappearing.
The sound of the man frantically splashing as he fights the waves to get to her fills the space.
The wind picks up, blowing the loose tendrils of her hair—her being Electra, not the siren who’s still underwater.
“Not this again,” she mutters, as very real water sounds surround her.
Their little box quickly fills with water, so she’s now sitting in a small tank.
Her poor dress. The chair jolts, then falls into a gentle rocking pattern as if it too is in the water.
She shakes her head, re-settling into her wet seat.
Finally, the siren pops back up, climbing into the man’s boat.
“Don’t do it!” Res6 shouts, startling her.
She can’t help but laugh. He must be really into this; it’s kind of endearing.
She lingers on the man’s face, trying to determine whether he’s afraid yet, as he should be.
The VR camera pans in automatically to give her a better view.
She glances at the woman to see if the headset will do the same thing or if it was just a coincidence.
Sure enough, as she holds steady on the woman, it zooms in so she can see tears streaming down the siren’s face .
. . or possibly leftover water droplets?
She peeks outside her headset to see if the actors are wet too—she gasps, grabbing Res6’s forearm. He peels off his headset.
The system says, “Pausing Program.” The actors halt their motion.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Where’s the water?” She gestures to the completely dry box.
He chuckles. “It’s the HoloChair’s electrotactile array.” He puts his VR headset back on, saying, “Let’s keep watching,” like he’s engrossed.
“Okay,” she says, putting hers back on too.
She reaches out, running her hand through the “water.” It feels real.
No wonder these future people can’t perceive what is fake—nearly everything they experience is some type of imitation of the real thing.
Yet, she’s stuck in the future now, so she should keep an open mind.
The play ends with the original siren triumphantly climbing back out of the water in the same spot she entered, as if to signify her journey has come full circle.
The narrative arc isn’t the traditional hero’s journey—the siren brutally sucked out the man’s soul then threw him overboard, where a horde of hungry piranhas devoured his body, for no other reason than she’s a siren and that’s what sirens do.
It adds another layer to the challenge of storytelling in the future.
There’s already so much she’ll have to learn if she wants to publish again.
It’s daunting. Perhaps for now her Dear Electra advice column idea is the way to go.
Another benefit would be the opportunity for her to get to know today’s readers and develop an audience.
Electra is so consumed with her thoughts that she doesn’t notice when he leads her into an empty room within the same complex of the theater.
She glances around, taking in the 360-degree view of the New York City skyline.
An artificial breeze lifts the lock of hair that’s fallen across his brow as he steps toward her, holding out a blanket.
“Here, let me,” he says, wrapping it around her shoulders.
She blinks, instantly recalling the scene from Sleepless in Seattle. This confirms it. He thinks they’re dating. Still, for confirmation, she asks, “Is this the Empire State Building?”