Flash Point

by Nancy Kress

  Amy blushed and looked down at her soup. She didn’t want it anymore.

  “Listen, One Two Three,” Violet said gently, “I think you’re a saint, taking care of your family like that.”

  Amy winced, hearing Kaylie’s sarcastic Saint Amy.

  “But this is television and you gotta look as good as you can to keep this job. Now, you probably think this top is expensive—”

  “A Carolina Herrera knockoff, three-ply cashmere although the original was six-ply.” Violet stared at her. Amy smiled faintly, feeling a little better. “I have an eye, just no money.”

  Violet hooted. “Who knew? But I’ll tell you what, you don’t need much money for what I have in mind. You think dancers have money? We’re the poorest of the poor. So we all know the thrift shops where rich women donate their castoffs and we all cultivate the shop clerks like we’re Farmer Jones and they’re prize pumpkins. Cathy at Jeu d’Esprit sets aside things for me. For you we’ll try to snag a—oh, hell, here come the spoilers.”

  Lynn, Cai, Tommy, and Waverly carried their trays to Amy’s table and plopped them down. Lynn said, “I told you Myra said that we lunch together! You should listen to me!”

  Cai said apologetically, “Myra called our cells.”

  Violet said, “She didn’t call mine,” just as it rang. Violet answered, listened, scowled, and moved her chair to make room for Tommy.

  Amy hadn’t had a cell when she’d interviewed, and she hadn’t told Myra that she had one now. She had to save her precious minutes for her family. Tommy sat down beside Violet, with Lynn on her other side. Cai sat between Amy and Waverly.

  Instantly every part of her was aware of him: his nearness, his scent, the heat of his body. He gave her a friendly smile, which she found herself incapable of returning. She could drown in the blue of his eyes. To say something, she blurted out, “Where’s Rafe?”

  “Rafe!” Lynn cried, so loud that a table of adults turned to look. “Rafe isn’t here! I’ll find him!” She jumped up and shot off.

  “What’s her issue?” Waverly said. “She stop taking her meds?”

  “Sweet Waverly,” Violet muttered. “Everybody’s friend.”

  Tommy said, “I don’t like waiting for something bad to happen. It upsets me.”

  Amy stopped chewing, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. So it wasn’t just her; the others were all nodding at what Tommy said. She hadn’t slept well last night, which had led to too much coffee this morning, which only made everything worse. She said, “It is upsetting, Tommy. You’re right.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “So quit,” Waverly said.

  “I don’t like it.”

  Waverly rolled her eyes and shifted closer to Cai. Her hand lay provocatively beside his on the table, their fingers almost brushing. Cai moved slightly away. This brought him closer to Amy, which made her take a deep breath. So Waverly wanted Cai, and it wasn’t mutual. But Amy got no vibes from him; his gorgeous body sat beside her as if she were Rafe or Tommy. Or another chair.

  Was he gay? No, Amy was good at picking up those particular signals. Cai just wasn’t attracted to her.

  She focused on Tommy. “Would you like to quit the show, Tommy?”

  “Yes. But I can’t.”

  “Why ever not?” Waverly said crossly; she had felt Cai shift away from her. “It’s not as if Taunton Life needs a halfwit on the show.”

  Amy said, “Shut up.”

  “The mousy one speaks!”

  Tommy looked down at the table, blinking back tears. Violet leaned toward Waverly. Her voice was pleasant and casual, as if offering a Tic Tac. “Leave Tommy alone, bitch, or I will cut out your liver and feed it to rabid dogs, who will then shit all over your lifeless corpse. Oh, here come our Rafe and Lynn. Hi, guys.”

  “Hi,” Rafe said. He squeezed in next to Amy, which shoved her even closer to Cai. “Myra decrees that at lunchtime we’re an indivisible unit.”

  “Myra and the Myettes,” Violet said.

  Amy said, “Or Caesar and the Praetorian Guard.”

  Rafe looked at her with sudden appreciation. “Dr. Ms. Frankenstein and a bunch of Igors.”

  Cai said, “I’m thinking Snow Gray and her seven dwarves.”

  Amy laughed, but not comfortably. Rafe and Cai were both funny, and both smart. It might actually have been easier if Cai had been dumb. Poor Tommy looked bewildered. Waverly gazed at them all with aloof superiority. Lynn chewed her sandwich with a ferocity that surely wasn’t normal, then abruptly flung it down, stood up, sat down again, and resumed eating.

  Rafe said, “Just another joyous meal here in Point Paradise. Do you think our happy little family is being overheard? Filmed? Of course we are.” He picked up the saltshaker and pretended to speak into it. “Hey, Myra, come join us for lunch!”

  “Stop that!” Lynn snapped. She sounded almost hysterical.

  The weird thing was that at that moment Myra did join them, strolling across the cafeteria in an asymmetrical Karl Lagerfeld jacket. She handed each of them a white envelope.

  “A bonus is included for all of you.” Myra smiled her kind, motherly smile that by now drew a response from only Tommy. “You’ve all done well for your first week.”

  As she walked away, Rafe muttered, “Sweet syrup poured over pure ice.” No one replied. They all opened their envelopes, and Amy knew that hers wasn’t the only hand that trembled. Even a small bonus would mean so much to her.

  It was more than a small bonus. It dwarfed even the amount withheld from her salary against the advance she’d taken last week.

  She sat stunned, staring at the check that meant everything to her and nothing to the vast resources of Taunton Life Network. She knew that, but it didn’t affect her gratitude. Money for whatever medicine Gran might need, a new TV instead of an old pawned one, new jeans—

  Violet said, “It looks like that shopping expedition might be on after all, One Two Three.”

  Rafe said, “Golden handcuffs.”

  Cai said, “Cuff me more, please.”

  All at once the mood at the table lifted. They rose amiably to go back to their job assignments, and even Lynn was smiling. Amy and Violet made arrangements to meet at ten o’clock the next morning to go shopping. Amy spent the afternoon actually amused by the soap-opera shoot, whose plot now involved a long-lost brother who was possessed by the ghost of a man killed by the heroine’s cousin, with whom she had a child kidnapped by the hero’s first ex-wife, who had fled to Dubai with an Arab oil mogul. Shakespeare it ain’t, Amy thought, stepping carefully over snaking cables backstage to bring another order of coffee from Starbucks.

  On the street there was another protest march, two dozen tired people plodding in a circle, their homemade signs scarlet with TIMES BE TOUGH MAN. She avoided them, again squelching the impulse to tell someone, anyone, that the slogan needed a comma. Back inside, Amy stood around while the lighting was changed for the next shot. She planned six different ways to spend her bonus, until her cell rang.

  “All cells silenced on the set!” the director roared, glaring at her even though nobody else was silent during setups. Amy scurried into the corridor, her heart thudding. Nobody but Kaylie and Gran had this number. . . .

  She was wrong. “Mark Meyer here,” the caller said. The show’s tech guy, whom Amy had hardly seen. “Myra wants everybody in a meeting at five thirty in her office, 29-C. Be there.”

  “How did you get this—” But he had already disconnected.

  It was 4:50. Amy had hoped to leave work early. The All-City Youth Talent Show started at Bentley Arena at seven thirty, and Amy had to get home, order a taxi for Gran, and get to the arena early enough to get Gran settled in a safe place by six thirty, before any huge jostling mob could arrive. Amy had planned to bring sandwiches to eat while they waited, along with enough pillows and blankets to make her grandmother comfortable. It could all work because Gran had had a really good week. But now this meeting—

  She called back th
e number on her cell. “Mark? This is Amy Kent. I’m afraid I can’t make the—”

  “You don’t have any choice,” he said brusquely. “It’s a requirement. Be there or else.”

  Her temper rose. “Or else what?”

  He disconnected.

  At 5:20 Amy told the director she’d had a summons from her boss. He nodded, not caring. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything that mattered. Amy stomped from the studio to the elevators and took one to the twenty-ninth floor.

  She’d never been up here before. Under any other circumstances, she might have felt intimidated, but now she was too angry. Well, all right, maybe still a little intimidated. The elevator opened onto a big carpeted lobby. It had no windows, but the luxury more than compensated. Deep leather chairs and sofas, little marble tables, paintings on the wall in severe, elegant frames. One whole wall was taken up by five TVs, each turned to a different channel, all on mute. A receptionist sat behind a low marble counter. She was in the same glossy good taste as the room, and looked just as expensive. Amy wanted to hitch up her too-big jeans, but she resisted.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist said doubtfully.

  “I’m Amy Kent. I have a meeting with Myra Townsend. I’m a little early.”

  “Oh, yes! Go right in, Ms. Kent. Ms. Townsend will be with you shortly.”

  Myra’s vast office was even barer than the lobby, with an entire wall of glass that looked over the city to the bay. One end held a huge teak desk and a wall of TVs. At the other end a few leather chairs ringed a low glass table. That was it. The room was big enough to echo, Amy thought, if it hadn’t been for the thick beige carpeting. Lynn Demaris perched uneasily on the edge of one chair.

  “Hi, Lynn,” Amy said.

  Lynn sprang up as if shot, whirled around, and then relaxed. Marginally, anyway. “Oh, it’s you, Amy.”

  Who had she been expecting? Lynn’s sharp features all looked twitchy, like a nervous rabbit’s. She kept curling and uncurling her fingers, not quite making fists but close. Amy got a sudden phantom in her mind: a dark tornado, with tiny figures whirling endlessly inside.

  Chilled, Amy said, “I’m sorry I startled you. Do you know what this meeting is about?”

  “Why should they tell me? Or any of us? I just know it better be short.”

  Amy shared that sentiment. However, she couldn’t think of anything else to say to Lynn, so she walked over to the window and watched the traffic far below. Over the bay, clouds rose in the high, dark, anvil shape that promised thunder.

  Cai entered with Tommy. They spoke in low tones. Tommy seemed very upset, with Cai soothing him. Amy was glad for the excuse to not make chitchat with Cai. Even the sight of him with his sleeves rolled up, exposing muscular forearms, made her breath come faster.

  Violet’s explosion into the room, with Rafe in tow, was welcome. Both of them seemed to still be in a great mood.

  “You’re full of shit, Rafe,” Violet teased, “and what’s more, you know it. John Milsom!”

  “Milton,” Rafe corrected, grinning, “and if you ever read anything besides Dance magazine, you’d recognize the quote. Also its aptness to the current culture in this country.”

  “Rafey, nobody but you would recognize that quotation. Here, I’ll prove it! Amy, Cai, Lynn, listen to this! Did you ever hear such bullshit in your life?”

  Rafe struck a pose and declaimed dramatically:

  But what more oft, in nations gone corrupt,

  And by their vices brought to servitude,

  Than to love bondage more than liberty—

  Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty.

  Cai said, “Never heard it before. Do you really think our civilization is corrupt?”

  “Rotten at the core,” Rafe said. “Amy?”

  “I don’t know the quote. But—”

  “I have fallen in with uneducated idiots. Lynn?”

  “But,” Amy insisted, “I don’t think people have chosen bondage. It’s just that times be tough, man. With a comma.”

  Rafe laughed. “Shut up,” Lynn said, and at her tone they all did. Her fists were clenched for real now, and her eyes wild. Amy couldn’t imagine what was wrong with her.

  Cai said, “Lynn?”

  She didn’t answer, merely stomped over to the window and stared down at the traffic.

  Rafe and Violet’s exuberant alliance broke. Rafe slouched in a leather chair. Violet went to stand by Amy, but her gaze was on Lynn. She whispered, “Somebody needs a nap.”

  “Or something,” Amy whispered back.

  Waverly came in, spoke to nobody, and sat on an empty sofa. Envy of Waverly’s outfit swamped Amy. She didn’t recognize the designer, but Waverly’s high leather boots, asymmetrical skirt, and scoop-neck top in rich chocolate perfectly set off the blonde’s dramatic coloring, made more dramatic by gold eye makeup.

  Amy noticed a coffee stain on her jeans.

  By five forty-five, Amy’s concern had grown. Where was Myra? If she had trouble finding a cab for Gran, they might not make the arena before long lines formed. Gran couldn’t stay on her feet too long. Damn, Amy should have rented a wheelchair or something . . . except that until she got paid today, she’d had no money for a wheelchair. As it was, she was going to have to find the bank that TLN’s check was drawn on to cash it there, plus open a checking account. . . . No, that would mean fees. TLN was supposed to have opened an account for her, but somehow that hadn’t happened. Better to carry large amounts of cash home and hide it?

  Myra’s desk clock chimed six soft musical notes like a caress.

  At six fifteen Violet said, “Well, it’s been very nice but I have to run along. But do let’s stay in touch and do this waiting-in-silence thing again real soon.”

  “Violet, you can’t,” Amy said. “It’s your job!”

  “And Myra’s rudeness. Ciao.”

  Violet waved two fingers and walked to the office door. She said, “It’s locked!”

  “What?” said Cai, sounding more startled than alarmed. He tried the door, rattling it hard, then turned to face the rest of them. “Locked. It’s a scenario.”

  Panic swept Amy. How long were they going to be kept in here? Doing what? She pulled out her cell. “I have the number for building security!”

  Rafe said, “If it’s a scenario, do you really think they’ll answer?”

  They didn’t. All of them had Myra’s number; she didn’t answer either. Violet blew a raspberry into Myra’s voice mail.

  “Well,” Cai said, “we better—” Before he could finish, Lynn went batshit.

  There was no cell in her hand. She raced to the door, rattled the knob, and started screaming. There were no words in the scream, which made it all the more horrible, like the high-pitched shrieks of an animal with its leg broken by an iron-clawed trap. Lynn kicked the door, pounded on it, threw her small body against it, all the while screaming.

  Amy ran toward her. “Lynn, don’t, it won’t help, you’ll only hurt yourself or—”

  Lynn whirled around and slugged her.

  Amy’s jaw, still slightly swollen and more than slightly discolored from the pickpocket’s blow on Tuesday, exploded into fresh pain. She staggered backward. Cai caught her before she fell. Despite the pain in her jaw, an electric jolt ran through Amy as Cai’s arms closed to support her. So strong was the feeling that Amy hardly noticed what was happening to the room until Violet cried, “Oh my God!”

  Trees were growing from the carpet in Myra’s office.

  Brown trunks, as thick around as laundry hampers, pushed up from the carpet. Halfway to the high ceiling, branches sprouted, bearing dense green leaves. Cai released Amy, who put one hand to her sore face and extended the other at full arm’s length to touch one of the trees. Her hand went through it. “A hologram!”

  But like the dog in the maple and the rats in the shopping mall, these trees looked completely solid and totally real. Amy could no longer see Violet or Rafe or Waverly through the dense forest. T
he lights went out.

  Immediately a glow from the ceiling replaced them—stars. The ceiling shone with stars so realistic that for a crazy second Amy thought they had somehow been transported to a mythical forest—she could hear leaves rustling in the breeze! She could smell the night air! But no, it was only special effects in Myra Townsend’s office.

  “Wow,” Violet said, inadequately.

  Cai said to Amy, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she lied. Her jaw ached where Lynn had hit her. Worse, her knees trembled; that was due to Cai. It was both relief and desolation when he moved away from her and said, “Tommy?”

  “Don’t come near me!” Lynn shrieked.

  “Where is Tommy?” Cai said. “He gets frightened. . . . Tommy!”

  A howl came from somewhere in the darkness, a cry of pure fear: Tommy. He came barreling toward Cai through—literally—the dark, rustling trees. Amy, now slumped against the door, fully recognized for the first time the extent of Tommy’s mental disability. Why had Myra and Alex put him on the show? Anything new to him was upsetting.

  Tommy was also six-foot-three and 250 pounds. As he ran toward the safety of Cai’s voice, he was running in Lynn’s direction. Her shriek rose to inhuman levels. “Stay away from me!”

  Cai led Tommy away. Lynn, muttering, subsided and disappeared among the trees. Amy tried to call Kaylie and then Gran, but both calls failed. So did every call from Violet’s and Rafe’s cells. “Locked in electronically as well as literally,” Rafe said. “I guess we wait for whatever comes next.”

  But for a long while, nothing did. The three of them wandered between the trees. Unease gripped Amy: Would real animals run through the fake forest? But nothing happened, and eventually she, Violet, Rafe, and Waverly settled into the leather chairs around the glass table, which now sat in a forest clearing. Cai and Tommy had camped near the door, where Tommy seemed to feel more secure. Cai was engaged in calming him down.

  “Cai had a brother like Tommy,” Waverly volunteered. “He died.”

  “How do you know?” Amy wondered why Waverly was bothering to talk to them. Then she realized: this must all be being filmed. She sat up straighter.