Chapter 23
Danny is at the Tokyo Summit today. I've gone out to do some charity work in the community center just to keep myself busy, anything to stay out of that giant, empty house. I love helping the people. So, I can try to put away my heartache, but it does make me feel as though I weight so much more.
For the past three weeks, Danny hasn't just been ignoring me, he’s been actively going out of his way to completely avoid me.
I am so unbelievably sad that I don't even feel the need to please myself.
Whenever Danny actually is home, which has probably been only three times since that horrible argument we had near the end of March, he just straight up pretends I don't exist.
I head into the Cherry Creek shopping district to go into one of my favorite stores. The luxury boutique is gorgeous, and I sit in a private, silk-lined lounge while a volumetric hologram projects different gown designs onto a digital avatar of my five-foot-five frame.
"Apply design three," I command out loud.
I get up so that the holographic gown is now projected directly onto my actual body, and I start looking at some of the other clothes.
To be honest, I absolutely hate gowns, but Danny used to love it when I wore something unique and pretty each day.
Now? I mostly just do it for myself. I take a sense of pride in my appearance.
Going through the shopping area, what I love about this specific boutique is that you can actually rent their 3D printers to fabricate certain trinket items right in front of you while you sip your chamomile tea.
Very small things, of course. The industry hasn't passed out full access to the rest of the public when it comes to 3D printing because people, like, forty-something years ago decided to use the tech to make deadly weapons.
But for your zippers, buttons, and accents for a dress, it's absolutely perfect.
It's extremely expensive, and only the boutiques for the rich and wealthy have access to them.
With me being such an artsy person, this is perfect for me. It's actually something to do.
As I'm looking around, I overhear a conversation close by.
“Yes, it's rough,” one woman whispers to another.
I pass by them quietly as I look at some shelves.
What's wonderful about this boutique is that things are mostly just on display.
When you want a dress or something for yourself, you look at the display item, and then you can take the barcode and type it in to see how it would fit on you.
At least you get to feel the fabric before buying it.
You also get some info about it too that you can read right on the display.
When you pull a dress from the rack or just touch it and press a button, the digital display comes up to tell you all about the piece and what it looks like on different body types based on height, bust size, and everything else.
The high-pitched chatter from a few racks over keeps catching my ears’ attention. I pretend to focus on the digital garment specs hovering over a display, but I slide a little closer, my ears perking up at the mention of the surrounding suburbs.
“There were some crimes down in Northglenn,” one of the women whispers with dramatic concern. “It's just so uncanny, because you don't usually see that kind of thing around that area.”
“That's why I want the drones incorporated,” another woman adds, her jewelry clinking as she gestures.
“Yeah, a woman was in her house alone, her husband was away on business, and apparently she has one of the new bodyguards,” the first woman murmurs.
The other women crowd in, whispering, “What do you mean? Like the ones that look human?”
“Yeah, they're rolling them out for people who can get access to them if you know the right people, but yeah.”
“Most people still have the Helion models, right?” the other woman asks.
“No, those are old news now,” the woman says, sounding completely smug about her inside info.
“These ones are the real deal. They actually almost look human, and apparently there is a very short list of really high-end ones that run the gamut of about 500 million for the lifelike ones. Apparently, there are only ten of them in the entire world. I think the government was using them as spies and stuff.”
The other girls gasp in unison.
“They are almost indistinguishable from humans,” the woman says.
I lean in just a fraction more, trying to catch the rest, when a sudden shadow blocks the light in front of me. I gasp, my heart jumping into my throat as an employee appears out of nowhere, offering a wide, polished boutique smile.
“Do you need anything else, or can I help you?” she asks.
“Oh my gosh, um… yes," I stammer, quickly fidget my hand over the fabric beneath my fingers to cover my embarrassment. "Do you have this in um… apricot?”
“Yes, absolutely,” the employee says, her smile strung like a fishing line as she taps her tablet. “We have it available in apricot, but we also have it in a beautiful crushed sage, a midnight slate, and a soft cream.”
“Apricot is perfect, thank you,” I say, offering a polite smile as I hand over my card.
The woman takes it, but then she stops. Her eyes drop to the card, then dart up to look at me, lingering a second too long. It's a very slight look, almost as if she’s wondering if a card like this could actually belong to someone like me.
I suddenly feel very self-conscious about what I'm wearing. Today I just threw on a casual blouse, some checkered pants, and a cute coat. The coat is very plain, it actually used to belong to my mom, and though it might look a little grunge or dowdy to some of the high-society people in here, it’s completely clean.
It’s just a different style than what people around here are used to.
But regardless of how I'm dressed, I figure it shouldn't be a problem for the worker because the card in her hand is more than good for it.
“Ma'am…” the employee starts to say, shifting her weight as if she’s suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.
“Yes?”
“I apologize very much for the inconvenience, but would you mind providing identification?” she asks. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she sounds like she’s reading a strict script she has no choice but to follow.
I glance up at the ceiling, wondering if someone is in her ear through a headset, telling her to ID me.
“Yeah, um… of course,” I say, a burning blush creeping up my neck as I feel a tad bit embarrassed.
The three women who were gossiping a moment ago have completely stopped.
Now they're all staring at me, grilling me up and down.
It's not like they're particularly super pretty or anything.
One is a blonde who looks like she's in her mid-forties; another has a dyed brunette bob cut with blue eyes to match; and the third is a darker-skinned woman, maybe Indian, with beautiful long black curls that look like the world's most expensive silk press.
Regardless, they all look about a decade older than me, and right now, they are judging me hard.
The employee takes my ID, checks it against the screen, and then looks back up with an awkward expression.
"I apologize, Mrs. Akari, but the system is saying that you're not authorized to use this card," she says softly, keeping her volume low.
"That's not possible," I tell her, my voice hitching. "That's my husband Daniel's card."
The employee checks the screen again, shaking her head. "No, it just flagged."
I clench my jaw, a horrible pit forming in my stomach. Did Danny do this on purpose?
“I am so sorry, there's a huge misunderstanding. Let me call my husband,” I say.
The employee gives me another strange look up and down while trying to maintain her professional mask. I quickly pull out my phone and dial Daniel.
The phone picks up on the third ring.
“Hey, Danny?”
Nobody answers, but I can hear the heavy silence on the line. He’s clearly there. He’s probably just annoyed.
“I'm at the boutique—”
Click.
The line goes dead. Is he actually fucking serious?
“Ha,” I giggle nervously, looking up at the employee. The other women are staring directly at me now, whispering to each other. This is beyond humiliating.
I dial his number again. It rings out, and just when I think it's going to voicemail, the line clicks open.
"Danny?" I call out with quivering words. "Are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here. What's the problem?" he says. He sounds completely bored, almost like he can't even stand the sound of my voice.
I lean over the counter, trying to keep my voice down as I whisper into the receiver. "I'm standing at the register and the card is denied."
"The card is fine," Danny says flatly. He sounds so bored and annoyed that I'm actually confused as to whether or not he even knows what's going on.
“He said the card is fine,” I tell the employee, feeling a small surge of relief.
The woman nods and slides the card through the terminal again. Instantly, an annoying, mechanical squawk sound echoes from the register, flashing red.
“I'm sorry, it's denied again,” the employee says.
“Danny, the—”
Click.
The phone dies again. Did he fucking hang up on me twice? What the fuck is he doing?!
I stare at the blank screen, my hands starting to shake, when the worker clears her throat.
“Would you mind taking a seat over there until you get situated so I can serve the other patrons?” she asks, offering that kind, plastered-on smile that feels like a slap in the face.
“Yes, of course, I'm sorry,” I say, jerking myself to the right like a total idiot. I walk over to the lounge area, feeling completely out of place and exposed.
The other women all sneer at me as they step up to the counter, showing their devices to the woman so she can scan each of the things they want. Their cards go through with absolutely no problem.
I sit on the edge of the silk cushion, redialing Danny's number. He doesn't pick up. I call again. And again. It takes six times before the call finally connects.