“Josh! I’m your number one fan!”
“Pick me!!!”
Reyma wrinkled her nose. “Dogs on heat. We’re leavin’.”
Claire looked between her friends. Mel was clambering up the Head to see better. “Josh!” she bellowed, “over here!” Reyma stood with her hands on her hips, hissing, “Get down now!”
“I’m stayin’ with Mel.”
“What?”
“I don’t want her to make a prat of herself.”
“ If you end up Robbie the Robot’s love slave, don’t come cryin’ to me.”
Reyma flounced across the green. Claire didn’t worry. They fell out twice a week; she’d be round for their movie night same as usual.
“Come on, Melly. Joke’s over.”
She held out her hand. Mel went to take it, then flailed around.
“Ha ha. Get your butt here.”
“I would if I could -”
“Stop messin’ about!”
It wasn’t a trick, she really seemed to be stuck. Mel liked to wear her laces trailing loose and they’d got caught. She tried pulling on the shoe.
“Just take it off.”
“These cost ninety C!”
“They’ll chop your foot off. You could bleed to death.”
“Losin’ these is death.”
“You’re a piece of work. I’m comin’ up.”
Claire slid from her tights and shoes, setting them at the foot of the Head. She’d always been good at climbing. Thea’s shoulder, her chin, the widow’s peak - she needed a stylist, Goddess or not. Soon she was next to Mel, her foot twisted at an unnatural angle.
“How the flip did you do this?”
“If I knew that I wouldn’t’ve done it, would I?”
“You’re a git, Mel Maloney.”
“You love me really.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
She seized her leg and pulled. Mel howled.
“It’s caught on some kind of hook. If you’d keep still -”
The shoe flew off her foot and into space.
“Where’s it gone?”
“Is it me or is it very quiet all of a sudden?”
They peeked over Thea’s forehead. One of the Daves lay in the grass, froth pouring out of his mouth. The crowd stepped back, horrified.
“What was it?” someone asked.
“Looks like a shoe -”
Mel flattened herself against the Head.“We broke a bot, we’re goin’ to be in so much trouble -”
“We? It’s your shoe!”
“You’re the one who wrenched it off!”
“Somebody’s there!” Though she hadn’t heard her speak, Claire knew it was the blonde woman. “Let’s see what this joker has to say for themselves.”
“We’re so dead!” she whispered.
Her stomach shrivelled. Somehow, while she was freaking out, Mel had wriggled free. Leaving her to face the music.
“Uh - hello -” She slithered down the side. A thousand unsmiling faces turned towards her. “My friend’s shoe got stuck. She -”
The woman looked her up and down. “Where’s she gone? Flown away?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Oh, we’ve got all day. Dave here’s particularly interested.”
“Dave” was seven feet of aggressive metal, his hands laden with machine guns. She’d never seen such soulless eyes. Claire’s knees buckled.
“She doesn’t have to explain anything,” a quiet voice said.
It was him. Josh Foster. Only you couldn’t believe he was an artificial: the way he stood, put his head on one side. The rise and fall of his voice, how he bit his lip.
“We’ve found our contestant,” he went on.
Babble broke out. Cheers, bitching, the blonde woman goggling. Josh was walking away, signalling Claire should follow.
“You can’t be serious. I knocked out your mate -”
“This is your punishment. Do you like milkshakes?”
Half an hour later she was in need of a reality check. She, Claire Howey, the girl who had never done anything, was on a date with an artie. Yes, they were having fudge milkshakes with chips, but he was paying.
“Everything okay?”
Other than passersby gawping? “Fine. I’m - well, I’m not used to this.”
“It’s new to me too.”
“Good.” What was she saying? “I mean ... Oh, crap. Sorry.”
He laughed. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
“There’s not much. I’m a beautician. I would’ve been at work today but the machines went kablooie.”
“What about your family?”
“Isn’t that boring?”
“Not to me.”
“There’s me, my mum and my sisters, Zoe and Mouse. Zoe got married last month; between you and me, he’s a dick. Mouse is great. She’ll love you. She likes anything robotty ... Shit, am I allowed to say that? Sorry.”
“You don’t need to try so hard. I’m having a nice time.”
Now he’d put her at ease it was alright. She stopped wincing whenever something dumb came out of her mouth. He genuinely wanted to hear more, didn’t use it as a springboard to talk about himself. She warned herself to be sensible, they probably had the place bugged, but it was the most relaxed date she’d been on.
“Do you want a sing off?” he asked.
“I can’t sing!”
He shrugged. “Neither can I.”
They leapt onto the podium. They were half way through Cora Keel’s Hate to Love You when they realised the diner was deserted.
“Whoops.”
Claire giggled, covering her mouth. “Told you I was bad.”
“Cora would slaughter me if she knew.”
“You know Cora Keel?”
“Of course. I was there the night she shot Nick Cole.” His expression darkened. “We’re going to get her out.”
That was it. She’d had doubts before, but when she heard him speak of Cora, his loyalty and sincerity, something went pitter-pat. She stared into the smooth golden face, prettier than most girls’. She should have been unnerved by the green eyes, cat-like and unblinking, but she only saw their beauty.
Holy crap. I’m in love with a robot.
I’ll win this contest if it kills me.
Competition
The next few days were such a depressing return to normality, Claire wondered if it had been a dream. The one good thing was that Shauna had returned the booth to the manufacturer - “Last time I bother with foreign rubbish.” Otherwise it was back to dying, frizzing and straightening, the odd pip from Gaz. She ignored him.
The only break in her routine was five days later. Shauna gave her the pick of the clients; she’d selected an adorable little girl with fluffy hair in ringlets. It was only when she skipped up to the stool and Claire slung the cloak over her shoulders that she nearly retched.
“Shit!”
Her hair was crawling. Nauseated, Claire pushed her away. Shauna wandered in with a mug of coffee.
“Claire, what’s the idea? Shit!” she echoed, as she caught sight of the infested head. She dug a bottle of treatment out of the cupboard - “Get your mam to cut it off”- and shoved the girl outside. She turned to Claire. “Go home. You’re contaminated.”
Great. Even though she’d spent the past ten minutes scrubbing her hands raw, that wasn’t enough. She grabbed her coat and banged out, not saying goodbye.
The universe had it in for her that afternoon. First, taking the short cut across the wasteland, she saw Simon’s vix. The last thing she wanted was to see her motor mouth brother in law, so she deliberately slowed her steps. She breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed into the vix and drove away.
As she left herself in through the back garden, Mouse stopped hanging upside down from the swing and sidled over. “Mum’s on the warpath.”
“Is that Claire?” Joyce Howey’s voice could blast through stone. “You’ve got some explainin’ to
do, young lady!”
“Mum, I haven’t time -”
“Make time!”
Claire edged across the garden and into the kitchen. Joyce had embarked upon one of her epic clean ups. Every surface had a stack of plates teetering, anything resembling a hook had a jumper or pair of shorts drying. Mouse’s toy koala was pegged up by her ears. It took a moment to find Joyce. She was sitting at the table, gnawing a curried chicken leg. Nominally vegetarian, she turned to meat whenever something upset her.
“What’d you call this?” She jabbed a letter beside her, the CER insignia on top.
“They’re runnin’ a contest..” Was there any way she could sugar the pill? “It’s to marry Josh Foster.”
“Josh Foster? The Josh Foster?”
She hadn’t known who Josh was a week ago. That was reckoning without her mum’s encyclopaedic knowledge of all things Celebrity: who was doing what or who. “There’s only one.”
“Clairebear.” The curry smeared face was concerned. “If this is some way of gettin’ back at Gaz, think again. You could be anythin’ you want to be.”
Claire’s thoughts were in chaos. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, she loved Josh. She was equally sure that if she told her mum, she would forbid it. Best to put it in terms she could understand.
“Even if I don’t win, I’ll get 50,000. I can’t work at Glamour forever.”
Joyce still had to barter. “What if you do, though?”
Claire pretend to be engrossed in a tin of shortbreads. “Hmm?”
“What if you win, and you end up with what’s his face? Married to an artie, you’d never have a normal marriage -”
“It’s not like I’m going to suddenly grow a womb.” She glanced at her mum. Sure enough, Joyce’s lip had begun to wobble.
“I’m sorry, Clairebear. You know how bad my mornin’ sickness was -”
“He won’t go on about kids. Or expect me to be something I’m not.”
She felt like a heel, but it was an uncappable argument. Joyce had taken an untested morning sickness drug while she was expecting Claire; she hadn’t developed a womb as a result. Most of her boyfriends had dumped her when they found out. Only Gaz took it in his stride.
“Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”
Joyce wiped the gubbins from around her mouth. “He’s got to be better than Si, right?”
Joyce had gone from tears to flinging herself wholeheartedly behind the scheme. She helped Claire pick a brand new wardrobe and hand luggage - “More than you did for my weddin’,” Zoe sniped.
She was leaving at four in the morning. Despite the early hour, everyone was there: Mouse jigging up and down, Zoe predicting it’d go tits up, Reyma disapproving but unable to stay away. Mel made so many dirty jokes, Joyce begged her to stop. Claire thought she glimpsed Gaz amongst the trees but she probably imagined it.
Five past, then ten. Just as she thought the whole thing was a wind up, a svelte platinum Golem came purring down the tracks. Huge! Window after window, glossy panels and pistons whirring. Nobody was driving - it was one of the new solo machines.
“Ooh!”everyone exclaimed. Even Reyma goggled.
Claire hugged everybody. “Love you. Promise I’ll write.” Last was Mouse, shoving a pad in her hand. “Could you get Josh’s autograph?”
The doors steamed open. She swallowed, expecting Josh, but it was the leathery blonde woman from the audition.
“Hello, sweetie! Don’t worry, I haven’t brought any Daves. If anything, they should be scared of you!”
Claire smiled uncertainly, but it was obviously a joke. A little fat man introduced himself as Jay Cee Ng and gathered her bags.
“Is Josh here?” She tried not to sound desperate.
The woman peered into her face. “He’s on the island, getting everything ready.” She held out a gnarled hand. “Sienna Jones, head of Public Relations at CER.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“We won’t be there till midnight. You can catch up on some zeds and meet the others later.”
“I’ll meet them now.”
Sienna grinned. Yes, she looked like a piranha, but Claire knew she was going to like her. “Atta girl.”
Meeting the others, Claire had two thoughts. One: who is my main rival? Who is the public going to like? Two: who was Josh going to like?
The first girl to come forward reminded her of a thoroughbred horse, with mahogany hair and cold grey eyes. “Mona Herbert, writer,” she said. She offered Claire the tips of her fingers.
A noise like a gas escape. Mona wheeled around. “Did you say something?”
A plump girl with dreadlocks bit her lip. “Carry on.” She waved at Claire. “Dot Morris.”
The carriage had been mocked up to look like a classy rec room with laser lamps and fat leather sofas. One girl was surrounded by buttons and beads, her messy blonde hair spilling down. “Ash Simmons,” she said. Another wore a hat with feelers; she prepared shots at the bar. “Yumi Seguchi.” Last but not least, a big beautiful blonde practised ballet steps. “Bunty Frobisher,” she gasped, in the poshest accent Claire had ever heard.
Now she felt small, plain and common. “Claire Howey,” she stuttered. A chorus of “Hi, Claire!”, followed by guilty silence. It occurred to them that no matter how much they liked each other, they were technically enemies.
Yumi reached inside her rucksack and pulled out the biggest bag of hash. “Any of you guys play I Have Never?”
Whatever you think of I Have Never, it’s a guaranteed way to break the ice. Yumi had been a rich man’s plaything, Bunty’s uncle was Jerry Etruscus (“Owed me a favour”), Ash had gone with the wrong brother in a set of twins (“I was like, hey, when did you get a tattoo?”). Dot hadn’t had a boyfriend yet - not for lack of opportunity, she just didn’t feel like it. (“I want him to be MAGIC”). Mona was tight lipped at the seamier revelations, but going by how often she drank, no angel. “I see myself as polysexual,” she declared.
Even once they’d run out of alcohol it carried on.
“I want to be a foreign correspondent. You know, war zones and stuff.”
“I’m in my second year at the Fiore School of Fashion.”
“I want to start a kids’ party company. I make a mean magician.”
“I’ve published two collections: one short stories, one poetry.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Yumi grinned. “I like puppets, though.”
“I want to open a boutique,” Claire mumbled.
Although they’d tiptoed around the topic, it was finally thrust into the open. “Josh, huh?”
“Hoo, boy.” Yumi fanned herself. “That’s one sexy bit of clockwork.”
“He’s got lovely eyes,” Ash said dreamily.
“Who cares about his eyes?”
“Would you go there, though?” Claire tried to sound casual.
“You’ll have to if you win,” Bunty pointed out. “Won’t catch me complaining.”
“I don’t see why not,” Mona said. “I’m open minded.”
“Back home you get a robot boyfriend for your eighteenth.” Yumi allowed this to sink in.
“No!”
“You’re pulling our legs!”
“I had one,” she went on. “His name was Hiroki. Best boyfriend I’ve had. No rows, no sulks - and the sex was phenomenal.” Seeing their sceptical faces, she pulled out her wallet. Pride of place was a picture of Yumi and a cute boy in sunglasses. “That’s Hiro.”
“That’s an artie? He looks real!”
“You’ve had a robot romance?” Ash gasped.
“Way better than that mush. Floella Flotsam can’t write for shit.”
Claire blushed, remembering the copy of Our Robotic Romance: Rapture at the bottom of her suitcase.
“I always thought that’s why Lilans are so prudish,” Yumi said. “Once you realise relationships with bots are better -”
“- humanity is doomed,” Dot finished in sepulchral tones. “Probably no
t what Lady A had in mind, eh?”
“Who’s Lady A?”
As soon as the words had left her mouth Claire realised she had made an irretrievable blunder. Bunty whinnied, Yumi cocked her head on one side. Even Ash’s mouth hung open. Mona’s reaction was the worst, as if she hadn’t expected any better.
Dot patted her arm. “Lady Augusta Wilding. She made the first robots.”
Claire was mortified. What if this got back to Josh, and he thought she was stupid?
Dot seemed to read her mind. “I only know ‘cause my mum made a documentary about her and that weird brother of hers -”
“Don’t say you haven’t heard of him.” If you looked up ‘patronising’ in the dictionary, you’d see Mona with her smug half smile. “Lord Langton -”
“No, I’ve heard of him.”
“Who hasn’t?” Losing interest, Mona drifted to a table and struck what was presumably a poetic pose.
“Him and Josh’ve got a bit of a bromance going on,” Yumi said.
“Really?” Josh went up even further in her estimation. Funny he’d never mentioned it.
The clock chimed seven. One by one they made excuses.
“Need to be fresh in the morning -”
“I’ll have a killer hangover -”
“Haven’t slept for thirty six hours -”
The girls were sleeping three to a room: Bunty, Mona and Ash in one, Claire, Dot and Yumi in the other. There were two bathrooms in between. Bunty was holed up in one, throwing up.
“I didn’t think she’d had that much,” Claire said.
“She does it whenever she gets drunk,” Dot explained. “Says she feels better in the morning.”
“That’s horrible!”
Claire shut herself in the other bathroom, washing her face and brushing her teeth. She was tying her hair back when Mona’s voice filtered through the vent.
“I can’t imagine how she got on. The oik sympathy vote, I suppose.”
Ash’s voice was so faint Claire had to press her ear to the wall. “I think she’s nice.”
“Nice?” You’d think it was a disgusting swearword. “What’s nice got to do with it? And she doesn’t know who Lady A is.”
The puking had stopped on the other side of the wall. Claire wondered if Bunty was eavesdropping too. She grabbed her toiletry bag and returned to the bedroom.
Love and Robotics Page 42