A Calculated Life

by Anne Charnock

  “I don’t think any of our rubbish will get a label.”

  She smiled. “What I mean, Dave, is this: it’s not sustainable to keep the rubbish business within the family. They realized that eventually in the vineyards. But it’s a nice story.”

  He put his arm round her. “A nice story? You’re becoming quite a romantic.”

  Climbing the stairs to his flat, she still had the Burgundians in mind as she once again traced the wall’s history with her fingertips. History lends character, she thought as she reached the second floor. That’s the heart of my problem. I haven’t lived enough. My character is just the combination of my intellect and my faults. I haven’t had time to become more complex, more interesting. As she stepped inside the flat ahead of Dave, she turned to face him. “I’m not sure if you realize this but without my flaws I’d be pretty dull. You should know that.”

  He took her face in both hands. “That goes for everyone, you idiot.”

  One hour and seven minutes later, they dressed. They sat at Dave’s small table, which he had laid out with olives, misshapen tomatoes, and heavy unleavened bread. The heat had been so stifling that after their love-making, he’d led Jayna to stand in front of the shuttered windows to catch the breeze blowing through half-opened slats. He’d soaked a towel at his sink and wiped her down, and she’d reciprocated.

  He now watched her eating. “You know, I could cope with Mayhew McCline if we could come home to one another.”

  “Hmm, that would be lovely.”

  He guessed that the word lovely was addressed to the olives as much as his remark. “You’re a bit obsessive about food, aren’t you?”

  “This is the best meal I have ever had.” She sat back to give Dave her complete attention and added carefully: “I love knowing that you’ve shopped in the market and chosen this food especially for me, for us; that, when you bought the olives, you were thinking about me, and about what I might like.”

  “It’s true. That’s exactly how it was.”

  “And I was thinking of you when I bought this earlier today.” She set the tiny package on the table.

  “What’s this?”

  “A present. Or, more precisely, an investment.”

  He unwrapped the object. “Is it worth something?”

  “Worth forty times what I paid.” Dave inspected the label and maker’s mark on the back. “I decided you needed a fallback…if things unravel. I’m concerned…”

  “You don’t need to be, Jayna. All the same, thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “With the money you make on this you’ll have time to think. Maybe you can start a small business here in the enclave. If you want to.”

  “A second-hand book stall?”

  “Well, possibly. That would be fun. But don’t forget, Dave, people don’t need to buy books but they do need to buy food.”

  He reached for her hand.

  “Wait, give me a pen.” She flattened the discarded paper bag and took the pen from his hand. “You’ll need this, too.”

  “What?”

  “The maker and designer of the brooch, and the address of our safe house.”

  “Right. So…I’ll meet you there if…I mean when you disappear, when you don’t come to work.”

  “That’s right. Leave it a few days though.”

  He turned the brooch over. “They’d go ballistic at the office if they knew about you and me.”

  “I want you to remember something, Dave. I don’t blame Mayhew McCline for this mess I’m in. They didn’t know what to expect when I turned up.”

  “But if you were recalled, could Olivia refuse to hand you over?”

  “I think she’d try.”

  “I’m not convinced, Jayna. It’s business. They only fucking care about profits. They’d just accept a replacement.”

  “I’m sure Benjamin would want me back. He was lovely with his family. He seemed very caring.”

  “But if it all goes wrong and you are recalled, do you think Olivia and Benjamin could get you back from the Constructor?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  CHAPTER 15

  A dead stick insect in its shroud, a feather, a bare twig, and three olive stones; not a random collection at all. They were all part of the natural world, or they had been. She held them loosely in her pocket as she headed downtown from the shuttle terminus. A clear pattern, she thought. I suppose the first artifact was so…evocative, I was drawn to similar things; objects that pressed the same buttons. She made slight adjustments to the length of her stride so that every seventh footfall crossed a joint in the paving flags. A small stone lay on the ground just ahead of her and she stubbed it with her right foot, mimicking Dave’s skilful move in the car park. But instead of lifting in an arc towards the manhole cover she’d spotted a few meters away, it sliced sideways with considerable energy so that it came to rest in the middle of the road.

  She walked alongside the park where, for the past three months, every Monday afternoon, she’d fed the pigeons. An innocent routine but she now wondered if it marked something else, maybe an unconscious fall-out in her behavior. She put her hand to her forehead as though checking her temperature. Dozens of questions vied for attention. But one question beat all others into submission. Was anyone else planning to escape? Because the tipping point was grossly apparent: as soon as one of her generation made a run for it, they would all be recalled. The pavement became crowded as several main streets converged on the Entertainment Quarter. She looked down as though sensing that people could read her thoughts: she and Sunjin had to be the first runaways. Involuntarily, nerve endings activated and shimmered in her arms, back, neck, and the sides of her face, lingering on her cheekbones. A few strides on, she jaywalked the final junction. No, she decided, it wasn’t fear she was feeling. It was simply the uncertainty, not knowing. It came down to this: there would be a passage of time from this point until the final outcome, and there was no knowing how it would turn out. It simply wasn’t decided yet. She would make certain moves but only the end result would decide whether her moves were well judged. She murmured, “Everything will come to pass.”

  Jayna approached the Repertory Domes and sighed heavily; the Domes demanded enthusiasm. On reaching the entrance she fixed a smile and swiped her season ticket. There ought to be a warning: No Inhibitions Tolerated. On Sunday afternoons, the two smaller Repertory Domes sucked in child starlets while adult wannabees headed for the giant Dome at the far end of the complex. She skirted the piazza, stopped at a popcorn vendor, and reluctantly exchanged half her remaining funds for their smallest offering. She wasn’t hungry in the least; she simply wanted a prop.

  The Dome was already abuzz with the warm-up entertainment—a fairly shambolic line-up of have-a-go lesser talents. This was Jayna’s favorite part of the event, less serious, more of a backdrop, making it easier to chat while lounging around. However, Jayna’s friends did not lounge as convincingly as neighboring groups; they couldn’t sit cock-eyed. There was no flailing of arms or legs over the arms of chairs or sofas. Equally, though, they never looked with envy, as their neighbors did, at those lucky people on the balconies around the dome’s inner circumference, closer to the stars twinkling in the planetarium overhead.

  Jayna paused inside the Dome’s entrance. The grandeur of the auditorium had always appealed to her and now she realized why. The structure dwarfed the audience, dominated them, so that any differences between individuals seemed to diminish to insignificance. Even so, she thought, she wouldn’t mind if she never saw this place again. She spotted her friends and waved. She had to be convincing. Several hands shot up in response. A waiter was setting drinks down on their table.

  “Get your drink order in, Jayna,” said Lucas.

  “Orange juice, please. No ice.” She handed the popcorn to Harry. “Help yourselves.” He took a single piece and passed the carton along.

  “How was your trip, then?” said Harry, as she dropped into the sofa.

  “Interesting, I sup
pose. Glad to get back really. I’m exhausted.”

  “Well…tell us later. It can wait.” The popcorn went full circle and she regained possession.

  “So what’s happening here?” she said.

  “We’re trying to persuade Julie to get up and sing before the competition starts,” said Lucas.

  “Okay, okay,” said Julie. “I will, now that Jayna’s here.” As Julie stood and straightened her clothes, Jayna started to smile but her mouth distorted into a small grimace. Julie picked her way through the early arrivals to the center of the Dome where she joined the performers’ queue. She looked back towards her friends who waved in support.

  “They’ll think the competition has begun once Julie starts to sing,” said Lucas.

  But Jayna wasn’t listening. That sickly feeling had returned and she placed the flat of her hand against her gut and swallowed her saliva. She gazed across at Julie standing patiently in line. Jayna credited her nausea to a single fact: she didn’t need Julie as much as Julie seemed to need her. It wasn’t exactly a feeling of disdain, she admitted to herself; she felt faintly…repelled by her friend’s keen attachment. Am I corrupted? I used to be a good person.

  “There they are,” called Lucas. The C6 simulants entered the Dome and Jayna realized they would bring news of Veronica. Julie would be the last to find out. Sunjin maneuvered within the group as they approached. He aimed to be on her side of the gathering when the two groups met. Harry and Lucas set about reorganizing sofas and chairs so they could all sit around two low tables. And, in the hesitancy and politeness of their arrival, Jayna stepped towards Sunjin so they could sit together at the end of arrangement. Once settled, the news about Veronica came out, not in a burst, or in the furtive manner of Sunjin’s announcement to Jayna on Friday. In fact, they seemed to small-talk their way through Veronica’s disappearance.

  “Have you heard anything at all about the reason?” said Harry.

  “Well, it only happened on Friday,” said Sunjin. “Maybe we’ll hear something tomorrow when we all get back to work.”

  “She might be back at work herself,” said Jayna.

  “I suppose we shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” said Harry.

  “No, we shouldn’t,” said Jayna. “There’s no point speculating.”

  Nevertheless a few tentative suggestions were put forward and she took the opportunity, when the conversation was concentrated at the far end of the group, to speak to Sunjin. She held a piece of popcorn close to her face to obscure her mouth from the others. And she delivered a précis on the subject of Dave including his address, his possession of specific information. Evidently, Sunjin was beyond being shocked. He, in turn, took a piece of popcorn and spoke in staccato. He’d been into police headquarters both mornings. The bio data was pretty much sorted. There ought to be pre-existing supplies at the safe house—food, clothes, and a little cash.

  A birdsong impressionist stepped on stage and seized everyone’s attention, except Jayna’s and Sunjin’s.

  “Does anyone at headquarters know about the house?” said Jayna.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone’s been there. I faked a demolition order when I heard about Veronica, and the building details were struck from our files. Don’t think anyone will notice.”

  When the impressionist stopped chirruping, Harry caught Jayna’s eye. “What do you think, Jayna? Veronica seemed perfectly fine last Sunday.”

  She shrugged. “Yes she did. It’s all a mystery to me. Veronica’s a perfect employee as far as I can tell. But I suppose in her kind of work, results are difficult to quantify.”

  “You have a point there. Maybe they couldn’t justify the cost,” said Harry. This neatly deflected their concern since, if Harry were correct, Veronica might well reappear, if not in her current post then elsewhere in the city with a new employer.

  Ahead of them, Julie took center stage—a small figure, a child standing forlorn at the center of a playground, arms by her side. Few people took notice. As the music struck up, Jayna leaned closer to Sunjin and they continued their dark murmurings. And Julie sang a poetic ballad well known to the audience, a song usually belted out carelessly. So her measured rendition, perfectly pitched, tickled the crowd’s curiosity. At the end of the first verse, with a flick of a switch backstage, Julie’s face appeared on the battery of giant screens around the Dome. The audience applauded, concurring with the management’s decision. Her singing was surely as sweet as anything they would hear that afternoon.

  At the start of the second verse, Julie was still abandoned in the playground, almost unmoving. But slowly, just perceptibly, her body started to sway and as she hit the chorus for a second time she allowed her head to tip back as she mimicked the facial contortions of some great diva. She hiked the volume. The crowds cheered and whistled as they recognized the transformation, one they all craved in their own karaoke. They all wanted to be as good as this nobody.

  Even Jayna was dragged out of conversation. “This should be Julie’s life,” she said under her breath. How could one of her friends be so appealing to all these people? She surveyed the punters sitting nearby—their eyes flicked from one screen to another. The performance could be genuine, she thought. Had Julie stretched her emotions by faking them? Or was her fakery only a part of it? Perhaps she physically experienced something when she sang. The two elements might have combined. At the final chorus, the crowd became raucous. Their shout-singing threatened to drown Julie’s perfect delivery. But her rich and textured voice prevailed and wrapped the crooners in a warm and generous sensuality.

  Jayna turned away from Julie and finalized her dealings with Sunjin: “So, we’re ready?”

  He nodded. “I’ll sort out the loose ends tomorrow.” The crowds hurled their applause towards the screens and Jayna marveled at the understated pleasure in her friends’ faces.

  “It’s definitely Saturday?” he asked.

  She hesitated, then, “Yes, immediately after breakfast. No one will notice until the evening.”

  Julie was walking back and Sunjin stood to applaud her arrival. “Did you like it?” she said looking directly at Sunjin.

  “Your best effort yet,” he said. Julie approached him and reached out. She slipped her hands around Sunjin’s waist. Jayna leapt forward and pulled her by the arm. “You were completely brilliant.” And twisted her away from Sunjin, pushing her towards an empty sofa. The next performance was starting and attention was diverted. “What in heaven’s name are you doing, Julie?”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Just don’t.”

  As she rinsed her hands at the basin in her room, Jayna realized she’d taken far longer over her pre-dining ablutions than necessary. But slowly, in turn, she continued to pull each hand through the clutch of the other and she felt soothed by the running water and the feel of skin on skin. So much had happened today. She wanted to slow her mind and this rhythmic movement steadied her thoughts. Was it possible to comfort oneself, she wondered? Jayna recalled a small fiction she’d created while lying with Dave earlier in the day. Jayna had faced away from him without any part of their bodies touching. And he’d stroked her hair. For a moment she’d imagined the soft pressure on her hair being applied by another hand, not Dave’s. She didn’t know who she wanted that other person to be.

  She dropped the coarse hand towel, sat on the edge of her bed, and massaged her forehead with her fingertips. Soothing, but not comforting. She tried something else; she leaned the side of her face into her left palm, as though nursing a toothache, and stroked above her right eyebrow, slowly, from the bridge of her nose around to her temple, with the fingertips of her free hand.

  Footsteps in the corridor; they jolted her. And a knock.

  “Mind if I catch you before dinner?” It was Julie. She looked at the discarded towel on the floor. Jayna hastily picked it up. “Sure, there’s no rush.”

  Julie leaned back against the door. Her face looked flushed. “I was excited…about the singing
. It went so well, I thought. I just wanted to…I don’t know. Sunjin looked so happy for me.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone realized what you were doing.”

  “You won’t mention anything over dinner?”

  “Of course I won’t, Julie.”

  And with that, Julie turned to leave. She hesitated and appeared to speak to the door. “I’m not going to sing any more. I’ll keep away from the karaoke.”

  “I’m beginning to feel like a human guinea pig with all these menu changes,” said Lucas over dinner.

  “They don’t use guinea pigs anymore,” said Jayna tersely, “but the phrase has stuck.”

  “If you said that in parts of South America, Lucas, they might misunderstand. Guinea pigs are a delicacy. They would think you were making some reference to cannibalism,” said Harry. The small group of friends threw glances at one another but appeared unable to propel the conversation on guinea pigs any further. They returned to their meals.

  Why had Lucas used such an archaic phrase in the first place? Jayna was frustrated with him. And what exactly did he imagine he was if he wasn’t a human guinea pig? He just didn’t see it. But maybe he could be pushed from the straight path, she thought, if he stumbled across a set of circumstances, if he found himself in a certain place at a certain time, if someone said a particular something or if he was subjected to a specific physical experience. It was feasible that a combination of such incidents could launch an uncharacteristic and original thought. All her friends might come to their senses, eventually. Maybe the revelation, if she could call it that, had simply come to her sooner rather than later.

  The subject of Veronica had been exhausted on the way home from the Repertory Domes and no one was eager to resurrect the discussion. Julie kept her head down. It was Harry who opened a new conversation: “Jayna, what about the enclave. How did it go?”