by Wenner, Jody
Making friends, on the other hand, has never been my strongest suit. I've scoped the local stores and restaurants nearby, but as far as interjecting myself into other people's business, I have found I'm not good at it. The few friends I did have in North Sacto, well, I'm realizing, they chose me. It doesn't help that I'm scared I will say something wrong and blow my cover.
The orientation leader said I should come up with a job that I'm interested in and let my agent know at our first meeting. One of the big differences between the two cities is that people don't train for eighteen years here the way we do over there. Once they finish school, they just apply for employment at places of interest to them. They get points from me on that. If I had been able to make my own choice, I wouldn't be in this situation. It is surprising, though; if people get to choose what they want to do, then why do they all seem so miserable? Maybe North Sacto's equation for assignments was better than I thought.
The voices of the young couple sitting at the table next me begin to elevate as they
continue discussing their money troubles. "Listen, Lance, if it were up to me, you would take the second job and none of this would be an issue," the woman says. She can't be much older than I am, but she looks pretty beaten down by life already, with a rough face and dull eyes.
"If I do that, then we will never see each other. I'm starting to wonder if that isn't what you want anyway,” he replies, dejectedly.
"Oh, come on. Don't start with me!"
"Is there someone else, Paulette? I just want to know."
Paulette’s voice fills with sharp irritation,"No Lance, I'm not going to tell you again. This is simply about keeping the roof over our heads, okay? I'm so tired of this argument."
"I'm tired of you pushing me away!" I begin to feel sorry for poor Lance.
"If you would just man up and take the second job, I wouldn't be," Paulette says.
"Yeah, because you wouldn't see me enough to be pushing! God, Paul…"
Both of them sit quietly for about five minutes before the whole conversation starts all over again. I don't think I can listen to it one more time, so I close up my notebook and head back to my apartment.
Zane
I dress in my civilian clothes and stop at the shop on the corner, using several saved up water tickets, I get a bottle of alcohol before I head over to Fulton's apartment for dinner. I have no idea what to expect since I don't really know the real Fulton as much as I'd like, but I’m looking forward to having a bit more time in private with him. I have a bunch of questions about the Resistance and about my brother.
His apartment is on the top floor of one of the military dorms on base. I climb the stairs and begin to feel nervous for some reason. I'm noticing a theme where this guy is constantly leading me into situations in which I sweat profusely before each meeting.
I attempt to air my armpits out a little before I knock on his door. While I'm flapping my arms like a weird animal, a young girl of maybe three or four opens the door with a huge smile on her dirty face. I check the number on the door with the paper in my hand. Both display number 324.
"Hi, Zane!" the little girl with messy brown hair says in a high-pitched voice. She keeps the door open just enough for her tiny body to wedge into the open space.
"Um, hi." I try to look past her, but I only glimpse some movement from the kitchen area of the apartment. The little girl just stands, smiling at me, titling her little head from side to side rapidly.
Then I hear Fulton's voice yell from a room deeper in the apartment, "Come on in, Zane."
The little girl stays locked in her position, not offering clearance into the apartment. Unsure of what to do, I make a weird face at her. She giggles but keeps her body wedged in the door opening.
"Charlotte, let him in, please." This voice comes from the stranger in the kitchen.
"K, Mommy," she says and slams the door shut in my face.
I stand there for a minute trying to make heads or tails of this, when Fulton appears in front of me.
"Hey, sorry about that. Terrible fours are happening here. Come in."
"I didn't know you had kids," I stammer.
"Kid. Singular." Said kid is now hiding behind Fulton, grabbing onto his right leg. Pulling her from his limb, he says, "This is Char."
"Hi, Char," I say.
She repeats the same face which I made at her a second before, adds her tongue and some spit to it and runs out of the entry into the kitchen.
"Cute," I say to Fulton, handing him the bottle I brought.
"Yep."
I follow him to the small kitchen area where he introduces me to his wife, another person I had no idea existed.
"This is Samantha," he says. She keeps setting things on the table, but looks up and says warmly, "Nice to meet you, Zane. I've heard a lot about you."
"Are we ready to sit here, or should Zane and I have a drink first?" Fulton asks, holding up the bottle I brought.
"You go ahead. It will be a few minutes still."
"Sounds good," Fulton says, leading me to his couch. I sit while he pours us two glasses.
He hands me the drink and sits across from me on a chair. "So," he says, "Thanks for coming. How’s the new job going?"
"Still adjusting," I say.
"I understand. The underground is rough. I don’t envy you."
"I really can't get over the fact that you’re married. And have a kid. That is...wow!"
"Yeah. Well, listen, do me a favor. They don't know, you know, about the whole Resistance thing." he says quietly.
"Not even..." I glance toward his wife in the dining area.
"No. It's better this way. So, let's keep it casual."
"Okay," I say. I should be shocked he is keeping something so big from his wife, but nothing about this guy shocks me much anymore.
"One last thing, the next meeting is a week from today, Tunnel Five. Take the left path."
My mood is lifted at the thought. "Great," I say. I wish I could ask him a lot more questions, but his daughter comes zipping into the room wearing an oven mitt on her hand and starts hitting me with it.
"Woah," I say.
"Play with me, Zane! Play with me!!!!"
Fulton just laughs and keeps sipping his drink. I look at him for help, but he just says, "You are on your own, buddy. If it's not you, it's me. I like this way better."
I hold up my hands and deflect a few of the tiny swats. Charlotte is laughing and jumping around me, continuing to pummel me from all directions. I get a momentary flashback of my beating with Harmond, but not in an RSS sort of way, just a reminder of what I did, how I reacted to the beating. I almost laugh at myself as I fall from the couch cushion onto the floor. I curl into a ball and close my eyes tight, not moving. Charlotte stops her attack and looks at me, then at Fulton. "What's he doing, Daddy?"
"I'm not sure," I hear Fulton say in a serious voice. “Zane? You okay, buddy?”
Char gets up closer to my face and I pop my eyes open and spray her full on with a forceful raspberry, the kind that sounds like “pzzzzt,” and I make sure to add an extra spray of tongue spit as I do it. She has an expression of pure shock on her face and for a minute I'm not sure if I should have done it, but then Fulton starts laughing like a wild hyena and Charlotte's confusion turns to giggles and soon we are all laughing.
"You're funny, Zane," she says and I know I’ve passed her initiation.
Chapter 17
Bekka
I meet my agent, Jameson, for the first time in an abandoned building in one of the worst neighborhoods I've ever been in, in either city. I was afraid I might not make it to the meeting at all, after a bum tripped me, then told me I should look where I'm going because I just walked into his bathroom. I nearly vomited when I looked closer toward the wall he was leaning up against and saw he wasn't joking. My hand had landed inches from his excrement. Unfortunately, my notebook, which I had been holding, didn't get as lucky. I hesitated, but I wasn't about to retrieve it. So I lef
t it, picked myself up, and mumbled an apology before breaking into a full sprint. Good thing I still wear my running shoes everywhere.
Now, dashing up the stairs, I'm worried, not only about not having notes, but about explaining that the notes I did take are now out there, free. Rule number twelve of the Spy code I've been studying: Never leak your info out into unknown hands. That is exactly what I had done. I scold myself. Great way to make a first impression.
The room is mostly dark at this point, with the daylight fading outside. The big concrete room is fairly empty and cold, with a few old office desks and chairs scattered about. I feel a foreboding chill as I make out the man sitting against a wall, looking similar to the bum I'd just stumbled across. He has on a layer of dirty clothing, which appears way too warm, even for a coolish night like this. It feels slightly damp and I'm not sure if it’s just the dankness of the room, my nerves, or if there's a slight chance of rain.
I attempt to regain my composure and straighten myself out as I approach.
"Tyler?" he says.
"Yeah." When I first saw it on the new ID I was given, I thought they had made a mistake, switching Tyson to Tyler, but Tyler is my new first name, which I haven't gotten used to yet.
"Sit down," he says. He hands me an envelope. "This has some new information for you to review." He is all business, with no lack of confidence in his voice. I sit with a good bit of space between us, also against the wall, and I tilt my body a little so I can see him. He is probably in his mid to late forties. He has dark facial stubble and a balding head. His jaw bone is very defined and his eyes are sunken which gives him a wiry look.
"How has your first month gone?" he says, in a drab tone, like he is already bored of the conversation.
"Good," I say trying to sound cheery, though it's a big lie.
"Good?" He kind of smirks as he says it. I start to sweat a little.
"I mean, I’m adjusting fine."
"Okay." He laughs. "What have you got for me?" I decide to skip telling him anything about losing the notebook. I'm going to just have to correct that error on my own. I think about the notes I took in the last few weeks. My mind is whirling.
"I don't think I have much. I've only just spent some time in my local cafe, and a few stores, and..."
He does one of those rude gestures with his hands which means I should get to the point. I don't have a point, so I freeze up.
"What do you think the mood is right now, Tyler?"
"Well, I did hear a young couple arguing about financial concerns."
"Uh huh. And?"
"I'm not sure. It's not something I've ever heard over on the other side. Money troubles. Not that I can think of, anyway." I think about Muma. We weren't rich at all, but I never remember her uttering a word about not being able to afford the basics, or talk about a second job, or anything like that. I’m not sure if it was just her protecting me or if it really wasn't an issue.
"A couple fighting? About money? A young couple, you said? That sounds exactly like something they would argue about." He kind of chuckles to himself. "You got a boyfriend, Tyler?"
"Um, no. But, I just mean...financial issues are sometimes a sign of bigger problems, with the population as a whole." My voice quivers.
He cuts me off with a sigh, "anything else?"
Trying to find something to satisfy him, I continue, "People are generally pretty angry here, don't you think?"
"How do you mean?"
"It just feels like things are more, I don't know, uncertain."
"Well, get me some facts about why you think so. I work in specifics," he says pointedly.
"I, um. I'll try."
"No, don't try. Do it."
My face flushes and I try to stay calm, but I want to melt. He must see it because he reaches out and places his hand on my knee. I shiver and I don’t think it has anything to do with the cool room.
"Did you get a job yet?" he asks. His hand still sits on my knee. I'm too distraught to answer.
"Well, I may have a hook up. Go apply at The Food Bar. Talk to Rhonda. They will probably hire you. Let's hope so."
"Okay," I say meekly. I want to get up and run, but he moves his hand and stands up first.
"Same time next month," he says and then walks out of the room, without so much as a glance back.
I sit, trying to compose myself, waiting until I assume he is far away before I sniffle loudly. The room is now completely dark and feels even more sinister than when I entered a short while ago. A rumble of thunder shakes the whole building, preceded closely by a bolt of lightning, illuminating the creepy space.
As I walk back in the steady rain, I'm actually glad for the cleansing, but am reminded of my notebook, which was also in need of a good washing. I need to get it back, I determine, even if what’s inside isn't all that important, at least according to Jameson. My spirits couldn't be broken anymore than they already have been today, so I march over to where the bum is sitting and demand the notebook back.
"What notebook are you referring to, Legs?" he grunts, looking up at me from his slumped position.
I muster my toughest voice and say, "The one I dropped earlier. You know, over by your bathroom."
We both look down at the spot, which is cleaned of both of the items which had been there when I bolted from the scene less than an hour prior.
"Are you trying to rob a homeless man?" he says, laughing through his toothless grin.
"Rob? No! That notebook is mine! Give it back!"
"Okay, okay," he says, still laughing. He pulls something from what looks like a rubble heap next to him and hands me the notebook.
I take it carefully, remembering where it had been the last time I saw it, and say, "Thanks."
"Enjoy," he says, oddly.
I walk off, feeling relieved that I did it. I regained possession of the notebook, thus solving one of my problems. My other problem is that I am clearly a terrible spy and need to figure out what to do about it before my next meeting with Jameson. The thought of seeing that man again makes me ill and it's not only because of his disturbing hand placement. He doesn't seem like someone who's going to help guide me through this mess. I have a month to figure it out myself.
Zane
The meal is relaxed and I'm enjoying being in the company of people again. I almost feel like a normal person for the first time in a long, long time. Sam is a very nice woman, with wavy dark brown hair and a warm smile. If I'd have known Fulton was a family man I would have bought fake flowers instead of the booze. I've barely sipped mine but Fulton has just poured himself a third. Sam's on the quiet side but since that's my side too, it feels like a point of connection.
And little Char is a devil in a cute, tiny disguise, but I would expect nothing less from an offspring of Fulton. Everytime I look at her, she is shoving food up her nostrils or taking other things out of them. Sam scolds her under her breath every so often and Fulton ignores it completely. It's odd seeing him as a family man, and one who doesn't scream at that. People can be very surprising.
"So, what have you been doing on your days off?" he asks, sitting across the small table from me.
"I dunno. Mostly sleeping," I admit, though I don't know why.
"Well, you shouldn't do that. You gotta try to get out, you know." He casts an intensely deep look at me. "Go to the club over on the edge of the base. Some nights there might even be a girl or two there. Some of them aren’t even runners." I understand from the look and the seriousness of his tone that he is giving me a direct order, but at the word runner, I look down at my plate and get lost in it.
"Oh, sorry," he says.
"It's okay. No big deal. You’re right, actually. I need to start socializing."
"What's no big deal? Did I miss something?" Sam asks.
"Oh, Zane had a girl who was supposed to be a runner, but she got a different assignment. Off base."
"She wasn't my girl," I protest, probably too strongly. Quieter, I say, "Just a friend."
"It's true! Besides, she wrote me off in her last letter."
"All the more reason to get out there, then," Sam adds, smiling at me.
She's probably right. It's time to move on.
"How did you two meet?" I ask.
"Well," Samantha says, "I worked at the laundry facility where Devin drops his uniform each week." She eyes him across the table. Char is arranging the food on her plate into a smiley face and humming under her breath. "One day there was a note in the pocket of his pants. I pulled it out before putting them through the machine. It was letter in which he was professing his love for the lovely brown haired laundry worker."
"Smooth," I say, looking at Fulton curiously.
Sam laughs. Fulton's cheeks go slightly red. "Yeah, you could really learn something from me," he says.
"I already have," I say, but leave it at that.
I help Sam clear the dishes, then I load them in the sanitizer while she takes Charlotte to bed. It's pretty obvious that Fulton is hammered. He's getting chatty and is slurring his words some while he talks to me from the table while I clean up. I decide it's time to make my exit.
"Thank you for the meal, Sam," I say, readying myself at the apartment door.
"You are welcome here anytime, Zane," she says.
"What about me?" Fulton says loudly. "I'm the one who invited you."
"Devin," Samantha says, embarrassed. "Lower your voice."
"Sorry," he grovels.
"Thanks, sir. It was very nice to meet your family."
Just as I turn to go, Char comes running out of her bedroom in pink footed pajamas. Her eyes are filled with sleep and she has dried toothpaste on her chin. I bend down to give her the only goodbye I think appropriate: a scary, monster face with fingers wiggling around from my ears and nose, as I make sounds like a cat puking. She looks at me and cocks her tiny head to the side. Then she dives into me and hugs me.
"Come over and play with me again soon," she whispers as her tiny hands pulled away from me.