“Like he had a choice.”
“Of course he does. I told you, that’s part of the design’s verisimilitude.” We were sitting opposite each other. He shifted the stem vase with its single carnation to one side so he had a clear view of me. “Come on, boyfriend, pull up,” he said. “You’re losing altitude.”
“Sorry,” I said. “But you never said anything about the way he looks. And now I’m wondering why not.”
Jin sighed.
“A hell of a surprise.” I tried to grin. “I suppose I should be proud.”
“But you’re not.”
“I’m still processing.” I held up a hand. “But I don’t hate it.”
“Good, because I like his look.” He gave me his best leer. “Reminds me of a certain sexy someone.” He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. “But maybe we shouldn’t have surprised you. That was Aeri’s idea. The surprise, I mean.”
“Why should she care? She doesn’t know me.”
“She wants to.” He tapped the screen. “But she likes to be in control, Dak. You probably saw that. This is her pet project and I’m her pet designer.” I tried not to be annoyed as he flicked through messages. He knew my dining policy: phones and food don’t mix. “But I can handle her as long as I have you with me.”
I wanted to believe that. “Okay.”
“She presented me with this.” He passed the phone. “A bonus for my year of Partner Tate.”
Was the giddiness I felt coming from the golden dragon or all the zeroes? Jin had always made way more money than me; my income from the forum paid for my kitchen equipment and our groceries and not much else. But the amount on the screen represented almost a year’s rent for our apartment. Or a vacation for two on the moon. Or one of Motorman Corporation’s top-of-the-line playbots.
I set the phone screen facedown on the table. “Wow, Jin.” Then I flipped it over again to see if I’d read the numbers right. “Just wow.”
“I know.” He was nodding. “And a promotion, too. Director of Partner Development.” He beamed the same way as he had when he’d introduced Tate. But my pleasure at our good fortune turned when I realized what this meant. I’d heard horror stories of how the stars in Aeri’s inner circle slept under their desks or on daybeds in Motorman’s playroom. There would be all-day meetings and midnight phone calls. Was this the down payment for what remained of Jin’s scarce free time?
“So another project coming up?” I said. “Son of Tate?”
“Sure.” Jin came around the table to me. “Always something new.” I thought he meant to clear my empty bowl so I stood to fetch the chicken redang and coconut rice. But he put hands on my shoulders to sit me back down.
“I’ve been so worried that I’m losing you.” He brushed the back of his hand against my temple. Then he dropped to his knees.
“Jin, what the fuck?”
“I’ve been busy and I haven’t had time for you. For us.” He took one of my hands. “I know I live in my head too much and keep forgetting to compliment you for all the things you do. I snore and I’m finicky and I can’t tell a joke. Meanwhile you’re smart and sensitive and creative and a great cook and a star in bed and you’re the most important thing in my life and I . . .” He fumbled a box out of his pocket and thrust it at me.
His face was as big as the moon. How many feelings can a guy have at once? Did I believe him? Did I want him? Why did this have to happen when I was high? I opened the box with a thrill of joy and dread. Inside was a retro house key that appeared to be made of gold. It was an uncut blank: no notches or ridges.
Now I was officially confused.
“The key to the house we’re buying together,” he said. “That’s what the bonus is for. Aeri’s wedding present. Dakarai Delany, will you marry me?”
I didn’t have an answer. I needed to think, but all my thoughts had turned to steam. I couldn’t leave him on his knees, so I pulled him to his feet. We stared at each other and his expression froze.
“Jin . . .” I said.
“Oh god, I’ve fucked up again.” He took a step back. “I’m no good at this.” And another. “I’m better with bots than I am with my own boyfriend.”
“No, Jin. It’s fine.” I thought he was about to run out of the room. “Better than fine. I’m just surprised.” I took one of his hands. “Look, I would very much like to marry you. But who will I be marrying? Will it be workaholic Jin or the Jin I fell in love with?”
“The Jin you fell in love with was a pretty hard worker.”
“Yes he was.” I smiled. “Work is okay, but too much is too much.”
“Do I have to leave Motorman? Is that it? If I have to, I will. Absolutely I will.”
I loved this man and I knew everything depended on my saying the right thing. Whatever that was. “I don’t know if you have to.” My throat closed to the size of a straw. “Do you think you do?”
“If I answer that question, will you answer my question?”
“Fair enough. All things being equal, which they aren’t because you’re the best, yes. I will.” I kissed him. “Marry you. And your question?”
“I think . . .” A shadow passed over his face. “Yes, maybe I do need to quit.”
Not exactly what I wanted to hear. Did I really want to make him give up his career at Motorman?
“Let’s talk about that later.” I caught him in an embrace. “Right now we need to celebrate. Come to bed with me, you crazy, lovely boy. The stew can wait, but I can’t.”
I didn’t know what to expect from my evening with Tate, since my dating resume would have fit on a lottery ticket. I’d met Jonoh, my last boyfriend, in college and we’d lived together on and off for eight years. A couple of times I’d left, but I always came back to him. The one time he walked out, he kept going. I was teaching social studies in middle school then. At the end of the school year, I realized that I was done, gave my notice on an impulse, and worked retail for a couple of years. I was the sorrowfully celibate assistant manager at the Cook With Us franchise at the White Rose Mall and had just started my forum when I met Jin. He’d come into the store shopping for measuring cups.
So I’d been out of the game for a while. But then again how many dates had Tate been on?
“Four,” Tate said. “One each with Aeri, Jin, Gunter Kruger, and now you.”
We were strolling down Washington Street toward Union Tower. “Did you enjoy them?”
“Sure. But I’m still working on my style.”
I wanted to ask about his date with Jin, but decided to work up to it slowly. “So, you went out with Aeri Dashima. Were you nervous? I mean, is there even an algorithm for that?” I felt like I was nattering.
“Software for all occasions. Aeri likes to say that her bots are nothing but windup toys; the algorithms and memory are who we are.” He gave me an ironic salute. “Why, are you nervous, Dakarai?”
“Nervous?” I thought about it. “I was.”
“Was. But not now?”
The light changed and we stepped into the crosswalk. I’d left Jin at home for the evening so I didn’t have to pretend for his sake. I could say what came to mind. “The kiss of the golden dragon.” I reached into my pocket and showed Tate the vial.
“Ah,” he said. “Jin mentioned you were a THC fan.”
What else had he discussed with his playbot? “We both are.”
“Should I get high, too?”
“What?” I was so astonished that I stopped in the middle of the street. “How?”
“Like I said, I’m made of algorithms.” He tapped his head. “A switch in the code and I’m your neighbor in Fun Town.”
“Okay.” We continued walking. “Knock yourself out. That way when I catch myself jabbering I won’t feel self-conscious.”
Stage Left was on the top floor of Union Tower with a view of the river. An express elevator opened onto a long interior hallway. On one wall were windows overlooking the busy kitchen stations. The maître d’hotel stood at the
far end. We kept him waiting because I held Tate to a slow walk. In the kinds of restaurants I could afford, bots did prep and cleanup, but as I browsed the window wall, I saw only human staff. I watched the line chefs and kitchen hands at work. They had some of the same microplanes, Jaccards, and frothers I used in my own kitchen. But the cultured meat processors and carb brewing tanks were beyond anything I could afford.
“I don’t see Sofia Vasquez,” I murmured.
“Who’s that?”
“The chef de cuisine. Also the food host on Stylelife. Looks like her sous-chef is running the kitchen tonight.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, but she’s the brand name here.” I glanced at him and laughed. “Go ahead and judge,” I said. “I’m not ashamed of my celebrity crushes.”
“Crushes? How many do you have?”
“Slow down, pal,” I said. “It’s only the first date.” I nodded at the maître d’. “Reservation for Delany.”
“Welcome to Stage Left, gentlemen.” His eyes flicked from me to Tate. Could he tell that Tate was a playbot? “This way.”
My first impression of the dining room was of a vast and empty space filled with pastel light. But it wasn’t empty; twenty or so tables were set against the two side walls, little stages lit by an array of spotlights. The back wall was a single window that looked at the glimmering city and its black river. The décor was all sharp edges and hard surfaces: tables of brushed aluminum, chairs made of rectangular slabs of glass. The tables were extravagantly spaced—the restaurant could have accommodated three times as many diners. Those who’d arrived before us were scattered so far apart that we heard none of the usual dining gabble. Or maybe they were hushed out of reverence for the conspicuous privilege on display. At the center of the space was a low dais on which plates of exotic food and glasses of mysterious drink appeared as if beamed in from the twenty-third century.
We were shown to our table. “I’ve chosen Kylie to be your server tonight,” said the maître d’, beckoning to the line of waitstaff standing at attention.
“Excuse me,” said Tate, “but will the boss be in at some point?”
I grimaced. It was a question I might’ve asked myself had I been bold enough. But where was the respect? Sofia Vasquez was the chef de cuisine of the finest restaurant in the city.
“It is the chef’s custom to arrive around eight.” The maître d’ made no attempt to hide his disdain for Tate’s word choice. “So yes, sir. Momentarily.”
Tate grinned at me. “I only ask because Mr. Delany is a fan.”
“Ah.” The maître d’ tugged at his lab coat, although it didn’t need adjusting. “As so many are. Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.” He returned to his station.
“The boss?” I said. “Where did that come from, your drug algorithm?”
He snickered. “That’s what she is.”
“This isn’t some pizza joint.” I wagged a finger at him. “It’s culinary theater. We all need to act our parts.”
“In that case, that guy is a ham. Even worse than last time.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You’ve been here before?”
“With Aeri.” He unfolded his napkin.
Before I could digest this, our server arrived, all grins and goodwill in her sky blue lab coat. “Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Kylie and I’ll be your guide to the gastronomical arts of Sofia Vasquez.”
Tate covered a laugh with a cough.
“Is this your first visit to Stage Left?”
“Yes,” I said.
Tate gave her a sly finger wave. “Second.”
She seemed taken aback, before apparently recognizing him. “Your meal tonight will be presented in seven acts.” She offered us the famous edible menus. They were as advertised: thick and brittle as melba toast. On their smooth upper surfaces, they looked like programs for a play. “You’ll have difficult decisions to make on the middle three acts and the finale. May I bring you something from our vapor bar?”
“Can you make an espresso martini?” I asked.
“Absolutely.” She beamed approval. “Something for you, sir? Mr. Tate, am I right?”
“Water will be fine.”
“An amuse-bouche then, in celebration of your visit.” She stepped aside. A follow spotlight tracked a new server, wearing a full Tyvek clean room suit, including face mask and gloves, from the central dais. “A beetroot and horseradish macaron,” announced Kylie. “Sofia recommends that you eat them all at once.”
The overhead lights washed our table in a ruby glow. The macaron was exquisite. Round and the size of a Ping-Pong ball, it was so light it might have floated off the plate. Deep red aerated beet halves sandwiched a creamy horseradish filling. It was tricky picking it up with a fork but worth the effort. Spicy and sweet with a mustardlike finish. It was heaven’s own appetizer.
“Good?” Tate watched for my reaction. “Want mine?” He held up his plate. “It stains my tongue purple.”
I didn’t want anyone to see a stack of plates in front of me, so I passed him mine. “What did Aeri think of this place?”
“I don’t think she cared for the food, but she was impressed by the bill.”
I chased Tate’s macaron around the plate.
“You know, I tried to get Jin to come here,” Tate continued, “but he said he was waiting until he could bring you. We found a Fujian cart in Little Harbor instead and ate in the park.”
I set my fork down and the macaron escaped. “So what did you two talk about on your date?”
“You, mostly.” Tate broke off a corner of the menu and showed it to me. “I understand this is made from cassava. Printed with soy ink.” He popped it into his mouth and crunched. “Tastes like stale potato chips.”
“You’re not supposed to eat it until after you read it.”
“Why bother?” he said. “I’m having what you’re having.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Your company? Yes.” He didn’t bother to hide his delight. “Things are going very well, don’t you think?”
Maybe it was the golden dragon, but I had to laugh. Of course he was flirting; he was a playbot. “Look, Tate, you can’t say you talked about me and then change the subject.”
“I realize that, Dakarai.” He bowed. “You have only to ask.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Delany.” Kylie was back already. “Your sniff.” She offered me the straw, and Tate settled back in his chair to watch the ritual. The overhead lights turned a misty blue as she poured the martini into the sniffer and picked up a dry ice cube with silver tongs.
When I gave her the sign, she dropped it into my drink. Jin didn’t like me to smoke cocktails, because he said it made me silly. But I was with Tate tonight so I poked my straw deep into the roiling cloud of alcohol and sucked up vapor for a good ten count. A magical fog of vodka, vermouth, olive brine, and coffee oils coursed straight from my lungs to my bloodstream and right to my brain. It felt like an ice cream headache, except warm and fizzy.
“Very good,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Kylie poured water for both of us. “Take as long as you want with the menu,” she said, pointedly ignoring the crumbs on Tate’s bread plate.
When she was gone, Tate said, “You’re ahead of me again. Should I keep up?”
“Keep up?”
“I can match you drink for drink.” He tilted his head toward the sniffer. “Only in software.” A last wisp of vapor curled in the spotlight. “And Aeri won’t have to pay for it.”
I grinned. “If we’re both tipsy, who’ll be the responsible party?”
“Ha!” He lifted his water glass. “Responsibility is overrated!”
Was I charmed? I was. This was like no other date I’d ever been on. Tate was nothing like Jin, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the difference. Except hadn’t he helped create Tate? Was this playbot my boyfriend’s ideal self? “So,” I said, “what do you know about Jin and me that I don’t k
now?”
He gave a lifelike twitch, as if in reaction to his virtual shot. “He loves you,” he said at last.
“Okay.” I forced myself to stay cautious.
“He claims that he tells you a lot. Every day, says he.” Tate seemed to be doing a difficult calculation. “But not sure you believe him. Or even hear.”
The truth raised a burn of embarrassment on my cheeks. “And?”
“Convinced you’ll leave when he screws up.”
“That’s not true.” I blurted this, and then thought better. “I suppose it depends on the level of screwing up.”
“Point, yes. He can’t tell his best move from his worst. I mean, thinks you want him quitting Motorman, but then will lose the bonus. Which means no Jinny and Dakarai dream house.”
“He told you about that?”
“And getting married.” Tate was doleful. “Except not, maybe, since you two have to work all kinds of issues.”
“Issues.” The word seemed to twist in my mouth. “Right.”
He was fidgeting. “I love the engagement present, though. That key thing? Not sounding to me like something himself thought of, but maybe he looks to the internet. Shows he’s trying, no?”
Tate wasn’t slurring his words, but his speech sounded compromised. “You’re on his side,” I said.
In reply, he pushed his chair back and bent to peer under the table. He stayed down for a good thirty seconds.
“What?” I leaned over too, but saw nothing.
“His side, your side.” Tate straightened. “All sides same me.” The fingers of his right hand began to drum on the table. “I love Jin and Jin loves Dakarai. Logic is Tate must love Dakarai.” His fingertips hit hard; they sounded like rain spattering on a windshield.
“What are you talking about?” I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his odd behavior. “Tate, are you okay?”
“I know, I know, I know, I know.” He was looking at his hand as if it had wandered over from another table. “I hear myself saying things that aren’t true. How love I anybody? No I, here. Not even conscious. Just a mess of algorithms, enhance your boyfriend experience experience. Your next tasteful but tasty sexual encounter, brought you by Motorman. Only no sex with Jin.” When he made a keening sound, like servos under extreme load, the man at the next table turned. “Doesn’t want to sex with me because. Just because.” In the silence, his voice carried and the line of servers rippled.
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