The electronics meeting was composed of a larger crowd than Sloane had expected. In addition to Jin and Deidre, Allison was there, and Jarod, and the slew of man-bros who had suggested the No Kidding filter for dating apps. Chaz and Darla were also there from their respective social media departments, and four other people Sloane didn’t recognize. And at the end of the table, the call-in version of Roman, his head framed in a screen.
It was eleven thirty, cranky time in offices worldwide. Accordingly, the conference table was laden with an assortment of fruit and nuts to help people keep their blood sugar—and spirits—up.
When Dax finally burst in from wherever he’d gone for his time-out, he positioned himself next to the food platter like a migrant bird, one hand on the conference table, the other shooting pellets of Marcona almonds up into his mouth.
Instinctively, everyone noticed that Dax was markedly off. There were the uncharacteristic under-eye circles, along with a prickly energy rolling off him. Irritation. Indecision. Sloane privately gloated: he hadn’t decided what to do about her yet.
Luckily for Dax, he had an object of affection to be distracted by.
“Roman!” he said, his attention on the screen. “Good to have you here! You can hear us all okay?”
“Yes, well!” Roman cried.
Dax circled the room with his wary smile, his eyes scaling over everyone but Sloane.
“Very good,” he said, some of his confidence returned. “This is an insane time of year, so let’s get right to it. We’ve got the Smart Blinds for the summit, but I’ve got Jonathan in account services telling me you all wanted to present something else?” Dax folded his hands and raised his steepled fingers to his mouth, the better to hide the unsettled expression on his face.
“Oh, it’s not that we wanted to present it,” said an itchy man Sloane didn’t recognize. “We just wanted to run through it, for our connected home suite? We just need you to sign off, is all.”
“Roman,” Dax said, turning to the computer. “This is Phillip. Project manager. Phildo, you’re on the clock.”
A visibly strained “Phildo” straightened to attention and opened up a manila folder from which he removed several pages. Out of nowhere, Sloane’s mind skipped to another Lao Tzu quote she used to advertise on her eighth-grade backpack: If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. It occurred to her, what with the renewed interest in penmanship she foresaw, that there could be a revitalized market for those golden metallic markers she used to use.
“So, as we all know, the benefits of home automation systems are convenience, accessibility, security, resale,” said Phillip, trying to keep his voice level. “What we’re seeing, though, in our competitive research, is that most home smart systems remain closed. That is, they are focused on the security and safety of one particular home rather than what is going on in the surrounding environment at large.”
“Okay, yes,” Dax said. “Go on.”
Sloane watched Phillip swallow. Hard. “Um, so what we’re looking at right now is domestic messaging panels,” he continued. “These would be intercom-inspired, voice-activated systems that basically allow you to text people in another room of the house. And for people who live alone, the panels could be a source of timely, bite-sized information: it’s hot, it’s raining, you need to dress a certain way for work. The panels would also be synched with the Department of Homeland Security’s terror alert system, so they could flash orange or red, for example, if there was an advisory in the area, the dweller could put the house on lockdown by touching the screen or their phone.”
“Okay . . .” said Daxter, severely unimpressed. “Let’s start with the obvious. How is this not superfluous? Why not just get such messages on your phones?”
“Our research shows that people are ignoring text messages, much like they do with voicemail,” said a clammy-looking man. “And I’m, um, Seth? From consumer engagement.” He waved at the computer screen where Roman was caged. Sloane’s heart went out immediately to this dedicated fellow. One of the buttons near the belly of his dress shirt was undone.
Phillip nodded at his colleague, grateful for the support. “There’s flexibility in the delivery system,” Phillip continued. “The messages could be synched with an irritating sound that would only dissipate once the message was read, especially in the case of emergency situations. Plus,” he continued, adjusting his collar, “panel messaging systems allow for greater flexibility between different devices. Aside from the sound, which can be disabled, people don’t have to be interrupted by push notifications when they’re doing something else on their phones.”
Sloane looked around the room to gauge the reaction of the other Mammothers to this ludicrous proposal. Allison was biting a cuticle. Deidre was stone-faced. Jin coughed.
“I don’t know.” Dax frowned. “This won’t work for ReProduction: it’s too general public. Like, I totally get the benefit of telling little Billy that it’s time for dinner without going up to get him. But as for the other applications?” He scratched his temple. “I need something better.”
Phillip’s color rose. “Our initial research shows that people would find this technology highly convenient.”
The ice inside her broke.
“More convenient than just talking to someone?” Sloane blurted out.
“I’m sorry?” went Phillip, as Jin started to laugh.
“I have to say,” said Jin, unable to contain himself. “Are we really done with windows?”
“Windows?” Phillip scowled. “No one uses that operating system, it’s—”
“I mean the architectural component that lets in light,” Jin said. “I mean, if I have a window, then—and this is really modern—I can just look through it and decide all by myself how to dress. I don’t need my home automation system to send me a text.”
Whether or not he was saying this for her benefit, or found domestic panels as unnecessary as she did, her gratitude was such that she felt heat rise through her chest.
“You know,” went Chaz, with a note of condescension, “a lot of people actually don’t have windows, especially in New York. So this could save a lot of people time . . .”
“If I could jump in,” said Darla, thrumming her fingers on her coffee cup. “It’s true about people not reading text messages anymore. I mean, I know I don’t, and I work in social media.”
“Thank you,” Phillip said.
“Okay, okay, okay, listen. Jesus,” Daxter said. “It’s a concept that’s got legs. We just need to refine it.” Dax held his hand up. “Roman. Thoughts?”
“Yes, well, I do think, I do think,” Roman fumbled, as everyone swerved to him, “that this is very much on terror. It’s not so fun, non? Fear?”
Sloane experienced a brief flash of reassurance that Roman hadn’t completely lost his mind. He, too, thought domestic messaging panels were a bad idea.
“That’s all?” Dax asked Roman angrily.
“Yes?”
“Fine,” said Dax. “That’s fine. Just give me the next.”
“Actually, I’d like to add something,” said Sloane.
“You know what?” said Dax, whipping around in her direction. “How ’bout not?”
There was an audible intake of air from the staffers at the table. Sloane held her ground.
“I think what would be really radical in the field of communications,” she continued, regardless, “would be if you got people communicating again. Do you all remember the phone ad of the family streaming Star Wars from a camping tent in the middle of the mountains? It goes . . .” Sloane picked up her own phone and typed in something quickly.
“Do we still have bedtimes? Who gets to pick the movie? Who turned on the stars? Kids have a lot of questions, but wondering whether their network can handle video streaming shouldn’t be one. If you’re not on the largest, most reliable ne
twork, what are you giving up?”
Phillip looked confusedly around the room, unsure where to place his loyalty. Then his eyes met his boss’s glance, and he chose.
“That ad did really well, actually,” Phillip scoffed.
“Um, actually,” spoke up Seth from consumer engagement, “it didn’t. People were . . . offended. By the nature thing.”
“The nature thing?” asked Darla.
Seth reddened. “Well, you know, that nature should be pristine. And off the grid.”
“Well, that’s just not accurate,” said Chaz, the geo viralist. “Glamping has been a trend for years. I mean, it’s an across-the-nation thing.”
“Oh my goodness, people,” said Sloane, unable to listen to such middlings anymore. “It’s actually pretty subversive. The ad isn’t about glamping. Though they probably didn’t realize it, the company put out the essential question of what we’re giving up by prioritizing connectivity. And the answer is: ourselves. Our smart devices have been sculpting the way we think and act and love each other, we’re not fully ourselves without them anymore. That’s why this family can’t imagine camping without a reliable network. They’re terrified of their own thoughts.”
“In relation, in relation to this ad . . .” piped Roman from his screen. “I do think that people want universal connectivity. People must always be connected to their virtual lives, lest they suffer a splitting of the self—”
“Okay, okay, you two, enough of the Frenchy mumbo jumbo,” Dax said. “This isn’t some kind of existential crisis, this is about getting a kid to come down to dinner on fucking time for once. Or if you don’t have—Jesus, let’s just table the domestic messaging panels since they’re such a fucking problem for everyone. I swear to God. I should’ve stayed on the slopes.”
Furiously, Dax popped more almonds into his mouth, then he wiped the oil off his fingers using an entire fleet of napkins. She hoped Daxter Stevens liked those fancy snacks. Within three years, when the drought worsened on the southern Iberian Peninsula, Marcona almonds would be entirely wiped out. As would regular almonds. And pistachios. Really, when it came down to natural snacking, only insects would survive.
“Phildo, please. Please. Let’s just do Smart Blinds. Roman,” he said, turning to the computer, “this is what your team is going to present.”
Looking like he wanted to get back to the slopes himself, Phillip fumbled through the remaining sheets in his folder. “Of course. Of course. Deidre?” he said, calling her name without looking at her. “Can you pull the images up?”
When Deidre was feeling emotional, she reddened just a little bit behind her ears. This soft, sweet part of her neck was purple now.
“Okay, so Smart Blinds is the working name,” continued Phillip, directing his attention to the slide, “but other name candidates are going through verbal. This is just a placeholder. We were thinking of Libert-Eyze, or Freescreens, or Smokescreen . . . I don’t know,” said Phillip, cringing when he saw Dax’s response to the names he was suggesting.
“But the idea is that they’re like a . . . well, travel agent, actually,” Phillip continued, determined to impress. “A travel agent crossed with a light technician crossed with—”
“House arrest,” Jin said.
Dax swiveled in his direction. Phillip’s mouth was hanging open, his sentence left unfinished.
“Are you on the marketing team now, or what?” Dax asked Jin.
Jin shook his head at the images. “I just think we could do better.”
“And I just don’t care!” cried Dax, exasperated. “You’re paid to interpret market needs into ads, not . . . philosophize! Jesus!”
Sloane watched Jin set his jaw hard against Dax’s tirade. Sloane had been concerned with Dax’s rejection of her own forecasts, but she saw now that he’d also been holding Jin back—and down. Jin who realized before other people that consumers were ready to see the elderly in advertising again. Jin who shared the same, almost allergic sensitivity to color as she did. Jin who was publicly standing up for her now when no one else would risk it. Jin who had given her her first vaginal orgasm in ten years.
“A staycation is the way we’re framing it,” said Phillip, visibly rattled, trying to get back into the swing of his presentation. “Deidre?”
With her lips pressed hard together, Deidre pulled up the first slide. In the first image, a family of four was situated around a kitchen island. It was morning. They were eating breakfast. There was a pristine view of a mountain and a lake through an oversized window behind the kitchen island.
In the second slide, the same family was shown joined by friends—stylish adults in black denim and loose sweaters. It was evening. A wooden table was decorated with olives, crackers, wine. The same kitchen was just visible in the rear of the image, but this time, the oversized window was showing a series of city lights off in the distance, as if the house were on a cliff. In the third scene, same window, but this time with a first-class view of the Grand Canyon. In the fourth slide, the window situated the house in the middle of a vivid rainforest, monkeys, birds of paradise, huge fronds in the backyard.
“Now this,” said Dax, his inner glow renewed, “is genius. I’ll forgive you the inclusion of the kid thing—we can spin this how we need to at ReProduction. Smart Blinds: Live anywhere you want.”
“Without changing homes,” said Phillip, beaming. “Or tax brackets.”
“Effing genius,” Dax exclaimed. “I love this. Love it all.”
“They’re all sensor-activated, of course,” Phillip gloated. “And eventually, they’ll be holographic. You can incorporate the Smart Blinds into the rest of the Denizen home system so that your house is attuned to the kind of natural environment you desire before you even arrive.”
“This, this is very good!” screen Roman cried. “And this can sync up perfectly with augmented sex so that the home experience is more than virtual, but totally interactive.”
“Yes, yes,” said Daxter, nodding distractedly. “I don’t think everything has to do with VR porn, but it could have applications in the cybersex world, yes.”
Sloane stared dejectedly at the vibrantly colored parrots and the lush, exotic trees. A still life of the ex-wonders of the natural world.
“But this is like the polar bears,” she said, half to herself.
“Huh?” went Chaz.
“That image everyone’s been sharing,” Sloane said, louder now, “of the dying polar bear. People clicked on it and shared it and sad-faced it and came away feeling like they did something about it when they’re not doing a fucking thing at all. These—these Smart Blinds, or whatever you want to call them—they’re literally blinders. This is encouraging people to give even less of a shit about the environment than they already do. Are the rainforests really disappearing if you can see them in your backyard?”
“I have to say,” said Allison, who’d been mostly quiet, “it is a little spooky.” She looked pinched with discomfort to have spoken out against her team.
“Spooky?” countered Chaz.
“Well, it does seem kind of closed off,” added Seth, a noticeable shake to his voice.
“I won’t endeavor to understand what you mean by ‘closed,’” snapped Dax. “This is not about taking responsibility for global warming. This is about creating a flattering, soothing, sexy environment in the home. It is about”—he stood up abruptly and pointed to the evening shot with the olive-eating friends—“living in some shitty condo in Hartford and feeling like you have a bungalow in L.A. It’s about taking a vacation to Belize even if you can’t afford it. It’s about being a citizen of the world.”
“Or it’s an encouragement to never leave the house,” said Sloane.
“You!” he shouted. “Do you like anything we do? God, I should have hired your husband from the get-go!”
Dax turned back to the presentation on the sc
reen. The boiling point of blood is two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit. Sloane had about two degrees to go.
Dax, too, was clearly thrown by the vitriol of his reaction. When he turned back to face the room, defensively reaching for more snacks, he was visibly flushed. Sloane, meanwhile, had used the pause to find the burning core of her instinct under the disgust for this person who had damped her ability to act on her convictions from the moment she’d been hired.
“You know, you don’t have to agree with me,” Sloane said, her voice bringing her outside of the caged room. “None of you do. You can continue manufacturing and marketing your products as if there’s no tomorrow. As if what is happening in the world—to the world—isn’t under way.” She shrugged. Everyone was staring at her. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t. It was going to be a goddamn revelation to make her feelings clear.
“It’s fine,” she continued, looking from Dax to Phillip. “Don’t listen to me. Take me for a reactionary. Take me for a forty-year-old woman and all that that calls forth. Except that if you don’t listen to me, there won’t be any people left to sell your products to.”
Jin could barely contain the grin that was rising up inside of him. Deidre’s eyes were huge. Dax looked like he was going to jump out of his navy suit, but before he could say a word there was a knock on the glass door of the conference room.
Dax snapped his head up angrily and waved in a terrified-looking intern with a note fluttering in her hand.
“Yes?” went Dax, further enraged by the girl’s apparent nervousness.
“Um,” the intern said, her shoulders scrunched with the psychosomatic distress of having interrupted Dax. “I’m sorry. It’s for, uh, Ms. Jacobsen. I couldn’t get to Deidre, because, um, Deidre’s here?”
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