Grey (8 page)

While the other men made cooing sounds, Kandi stepped forward and asked, "What are you doing here, honey?"

"I don't know," I said, glancing at her belt. The thing in the middle wasn't a button but a plastic lid attached to her stomach.

She noticed my eye-line. "You want it?" she asked, with a sly grin. "You have to wash, honey." She licked her lips and smiled.

It felt like the cooling system in Mr. Cedar's suit had given out. "No, thank you," I stammered, ashamed. I knew what it was: she had a vagina implanted where her bellybutton had been. Back when I danced, some women had it done, but it was terribly out of fashion in the cities now.

Meanwhile, the men were laughing at me again. Someone had said
virginity.
Another said
spilling Grandma's gravy
, whatever that meant.

"Can't you help me," I asked the woman. "Please?"

"You got money?" she asked. "You with Segu or Bunny or what?"

I glanced at the logo on the front of Bunny's shirt, but didn't know what she meant. And since I didn't carry any money, I didn't know what to offer. Touching my chest, I said, "What about my Mr. Cedar jacket?"

She curled a lip. "That thing?"

It was Bunny who touched the fabric. "Weird thing is," he said, "you're covered with shit, but the knit is all sweet and pretty."

While I wanted to tell him that it wasn't an awful knit, I thought better of it. "It's self-cleaning," I said, hoping it might impress them. "It also has a temperature control system. My tailor is famous. He's from outside Seattlehama. It's probably worth . . . " Since I had never directly paid, I had no idea. "Maybe seventy-five billion?"

I saw green and red bits of food on Bunny's tongue when he laughed. "You're a fucking round sugar pill. Stupid and blank."

"I'm not sure exactly," I said. "My family buys them."

His fist came at me in a blur and hit me in the gut. Next, I was on the ground trying to get air back into my lungs.

"Don't be stupid," he said, wiping the drip from his nose. "I'm intelligent, disease-boy! And your ugly, gray, sick jacket isn't even worth a good shit."

As the woman came to my side, she said, "You've got a bad testosterone imbalance!" to Bunny.

"Fuck you!" he screamed, then opened a small jar and tossed several tiny emerald tablets onto his tongue.

When the rest of the men teased Bunny, he hit the back of the woman's head and knocked her across me. As three others helped her up, I saw that the lid on her belly had fallen off. Inside was a wrinkled daffodil of purple and pink flesh. I turned away as she grabbed the lid and snapped it back on.

"No looking," said Kandi angrily. "That's ten right there!"

"You contaminated whore!" said Bunny. "I'm taking him in for recycling. You take all your fake cunts and get out!"

"Go have a cell storm!" she scoffed. From a beaded red bag, she got out a pill and popped it into her mouth. As though it gave her strength, she stood, and said, "Don't get near me." She grasped my arm, yanked me up, and nearly dislocated my shoulder. I tried not to cry out. "Come on," she said, tugging my hand, "we're going."

"No, you're not!" Bunny grasped my other arm and the two of them played tug-of-war with me. I lost my footing, and when she let go, fell face first in the mud.

Then I heard shouting and feet going in all directions. Pushing myself up, I saw three large men dressed in orange satin skiing down the sandy embankment where I had fallen. Family satins! I was saved.

The one in front, who wore a helmet with a gold visor, hoisted a clear fashion rifle to his shoulder. He fired. An orange streak zipped through the air. To my right, I heard a soft thud. Someone in the distance screamed. Then it was quiet.

"Michael Rivers?" asked the satin in the gold visor, as he stepped before me.

"Yes." I coughed. "Thank you."

Grasping me under the arms, he lifted me, and threw me over his shoulder. From there, I could see Kandi face up in the mud. Blood covered her implant. No! I thought, not her!

The Loop was blocked in both directions and an air-conditioned tent had been set up. To the left sat Ken, Xavid, and the film crew on folding chairs. On a puffy, orange, over-inflated marshmallow of a couch were Father and one of his women, like king and queen of the Loop. In his right hand he held a glass of his fermented carrot gunk. With his big pink straw, he idly poked at the stuff.

He wore white pants with little blinking blue dots all over them, a red shirt with RiverGroup logos and fornicating bunnies, and a tiny, frosty green vest that looked like it might properly fit an infant. His current girl had orange hair, blue lips, and the sort of haughty, upturned nose that he preferred. Her frilly, awful pink and green dress ended at her midriff so the whole world could see the orange-painted treats inside her translucent bloomers. I didn't see Joelene and figured he forbid her.

The satin had set me before them on a wooden crate. My whole body hurt. My right elbow throbbed as if it were shattered. When I wiped my mouth, I saw a brilliant smear of blood on the back of my hand. And even seated, I had trouble keeping myself upright. All I wanted was to be put out of my misery.

"So," said Father, "how's things?" He laughed, winked toward his ever-present film crew, and then nudged the girl who had become absorbed with a tiny golden robot that lived in her navel. Seemingly annoyed that he hadn't gotten a big laugh, he said, "Hold this, spaceship!" and thrust his glass at her. After glancing at the hole in the Loop wall, he asked, "What were you thinking? First, it's illegal to go into the slubs. They are the enemy. The families are gonna fine us big for this. And second, they're all drugged-up savages down there. It's hell. There's no system, and there's not one good satin."

Pointing at Gold Visor, I said, "He killed that woman!"

"He did not!" He stood and stretched his back. "Besides she's one of those stupid bellybutton whores anyway. That's like
so
old!" Then he turned to the right, held his chin with a hand, as if trying to look philosophical or letting the camera soak up his profile. "What we're doing—and I'm saying this because you don't seem to be catching on—is we're talking about family. And we
are
a family. I'm the dad; you're the son. It's a natural thing for us to be at odds at times. It's how it goes with fathers and sons." He glanced at the girl. She nodded weakly. "And as I see it, the funny thing is, we're the same in so many ways. I know you don't see it, but I do."

"Is she really ok?"

"You used a fuckin' tranquilizer?" he asked the satin.

"Sir!" Was he replied.

"There!" said Father. "Anyway, my dad, Alexander Rivers, built RiverGroup—"

"I've heard this a trillion times," I interrupted.

"A trillion and one!" he screamed. "Anyway, Dad was a fuckin' genius. He invented the little box; he programmed it so it kept things secret and secure and just right, and soon, everyone had to have one. And low and behold, RiverGroup becomes so big the controlling families have to let us in. We're part of the system: we vote on the rules and kick ass when necessary. We're lard. Hard lard." Shaking his head sadly, he added, "He was so completely super-super smart! Do you even understand what he did?"

I nodded, because I wanted him to stop. My head and spine were throbbing. "Where's my advisor?"

"You don't need her! Be a man for once." Squinting, he paused. Then his eyes shot back and forth. "Right!" he said, snapping his fingers, "anyway, Dad invented a way to completely cloak something. You could send it from A and it arrived at B, but in the middle, it was gone. It was vanished. It literally did not exist. Or you could put whatever you needed in the box and no one but you could get it. No one. Ever. Completely and totally secure because until you looked inside, it didn't exist." He laughed. "I think about how crazy genius that was every single day." He waved to Ken and Xavid and asked, "Right? Dad was a super genius?" Ken gave two thumbs up. Xavid nodded vigorously, then pushed up his huge amber glasses. "So, there's money and power, and more money, and more power and then . . . and then came me!" Holding up his arms as if to the gods above, he screamed,
"Then came Hiro Bruce Rivers!"

His arms flopped to his sides. His head fell onto his chest. "I had to come along and fuck it all up. Even before the freeboot shot you, I had done a pretty good job of ruining the whole damn thing." He shook his head. "I'm the biggest idiot in the world!"

"No, you're not!" said the girl, with her bottom lip sticking far out.

"Thanks," said Father, coochie-cooing the girl's chin.

Ken spoke up. "It's a difficult time. Very difficult time."

"You've done exceptionally!" added Xavid.

"You guys are too much," he said, exhaling a deep breath. "I wouldn't be here without you two!" He faced me and continued. "So anyway, Dad croaks. We have him cremated, sprinkle his ashes on a bunch of naked high school girls playing volleyball, and I take over. And since that instant—since that
exact
instant—everything went butt rocket." As an aside, he added, "All you can argue is how fast." Then he laughed at himself. "So, my fabulous, giant, and genius point is," he said, as if trying to regain his momentum, "I'm sorry. I screwed up. But I can't let the company turn into fuck water. I want you to have something when I die, and merging with Ribo-Kool is the only way."

He had admitted that he was an idiot before, but it never prevented him from being an idiot again. "Let's go back to mkg."

"Nooo!"
he screeched like a baby. "Don't say those three letters! I hate them. And you know what the new rumor is? They're gonna make a big announcement soon, like they think they have a big booger on their finger and want to show the world!" He turned to his girl, "Right, my little pünta?"

She giggled obliviously and then pouted. "It's stinky out here."

"Yeah . . . stinky!" he said inhaling deeply and appreciatively, as if odor were his own invention. A second later, he dropped to his knees. "Look here, son, I'm begging you. The company really needs your help." He smiled a big phony smile. "You'll do it?

"No."

"Do you see my knees on the ground? That means I'm begging you. I'm really begging you!" After a beat, his shoulders sank and he sat back on his haunches. "Fine. I grant you, it's not
real
begging. There is a difference. In real begging, I'm just on my knees . . . you know . . . begging." He scrunched up his mouth as if he thought he was being clever. "Here, if you don't do what I want, I'll throw you over the wall and let those slubbers slice you into hors d'oeuvres."

My head hurt so much and felt so heavy I could barely keep upright, but I did my best to stare back at him.

"But technically, with the knees on ground, it is begging. And you can tell people I begged you if you want. Right, guys?"

"Tell them your father begged you, Master Rivers! Big deal, that!"

"Extra-extraordinary," said Xavid.

"Anyway," he said, "we've got an agreement, right? You go on your publicity date with Elle—pretend to like the bitch if you have to—but be nice, and at the product show you say good things, and smile for the cameras. Do that and I'm not going to dump you back into slub hell. That's our full agreement."

I glanced toward the hole in the Loop wall. I wouldn't last for more than minutes there, but I didn't want to go back. I couldn't betray Nora and our dreams.

"You hear me?" he screamed.

I wished a Loop car would run him over—or both of us.

"You hear what I'm fucking saying?" The veins on his forehead and neck bulged. "Say something! Open your fucking mouth and push some air over your vocal chords."

"No!"

Father snapped his fingers. In an instant, Gold Visor picked me up by my ankles and held me over the Loop wall. At first, the rush of blood to my head felt good, but soon the pressure made my eyeballs feel like they were going to burst. Then my stomach felt like it was going to slide down my throat.

"Which is it?" asked Father. "Are you going on the date, or should I have him drop your ass?"

Beneath me, I could see the sandy embankment, the rank water, the dirty square where the slubbers had been, and the body of the prostitute, where swarms of black flies now crawled over her face and bloody abdomen.

Strolling down the long spiral hallway leading to Mr. Cedar's showroom had always been a cleansing and meditative retreat. Usually, I spent an hour or two meandering down the polished glass path, stopping along the way to push the buttons on the wooden booths and observe motorized fabric strength or abrasion tests, or to study mannequins dressed with his latest designs, treasures from his design past, or selections from his burgeoning historical collection.

That day, however, I did not walk as the doctors had advised me to let my leg heal. So, I rode atop an annoyingly bright green frog scooter—a single steady-wheel chair and handlebars—that the medical staff had given me. Motoring straight to the sugar maple and hammered palladium doors, I arrived in one minute flat.

His assistant, Pheff, in a charcoal suit, textured white shirt, and a cream tie, said, "Welcome, Mr. Rivers. He's expecting you." Usually I met with my tailor in his gallery, where currently a dozen black robot mannequins, each impeccably dressed in his latest creations, mimed the actions of daily life—drinking coffee, strolling through indoor parks, and posing for cameras, but this time, Pheff led me to a black door in back. After entering a long code into a lock, he released several bolts and pulled it back slowly.

I had not been in Mr. Cedar's design studio before and felt honored. The air had the tangy aroma of new fabric and starch. Down the center were a dozen wide, flat worktables piled with bundles of material, projects in various stages, boxes of notions, and all manner of tools. Along the interior wall, I saw sewing machines, de-weavers, and other muscular-looking equipment, some with large knobs, lit dials, and levers. The exterior wall was some sort of a translucent material from floor to ceiling and through it was a view of a hundred buildings. In the hazy morning sun, the closest tower was indigo, the rest of the edifices faded to sapphire in the distance.