Broadcast

by Liam Brown

  ‘I’m great,’ I say robotically. ‘Sure it’s an unfortunate situation, but whack-jobs tend to go with the territory once you reach a certain level of public recognition. Besides, Edward Corvin was no Mark David Chapman. He was an attention seeker, pure and simple. You know that gun wasn’t even loaded, right?’

  Alice wrinkles her nose at the memory. ‘I heard that. Still, some of the stuff he was saying about mass surveillance was pretty interesting. I mean he was clearly delusional, yet at the same time, some of it sounded like they were pretty valid concerns.’

  ‘Oh, so you’re siding with my attacker now? Thanks. That’s really sensitive of you.’

  ‘I’m not siding with him.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Because – and here’s a spoiler alert – he’s completely fucking insane. The guy is a fantasist. Worse, he’s a hypocrite. Do you know that before he turned up at my place he posted a two-and-a-half-hour video manifesto where he rambled nonsensically about the imminent offline revolution he was planning to lead? I mean, come on. For a guy who’s allegedly so passionate about privacy, he certainly doesn’t shy away from the spotlight. I’ll bet he’s already penning his own autobiography as we speak.

  ‘I doubt it. From what I hear, he still hasn’t woken up from his coma yet.’

  I shrug. ‘Whatever. He got what he wanted.’

  ‘A fractured skull and a shattered pelvis?’

  ‘Fame, Alice. A little nibble of the pie. Let’s face it, that’s why he came after me. It’s got nothing to do with some grand conspiracy and everything to do with me being high profile and easily accessible. He was hoping to get famous by association. That a little bit of my stardust would rub off on him. Well he certainly got his wish. His face on the front of every paper. His name trending globally.’ I laugh bitterly. ‘The irony is that, even if he does wake up, he’s going to spend the rest of his life being watched. He’ll be a specimen in a petri dish, locked up in a cell for twenty-three hours a day, psychologically profiled and prodded and poked, his every movement tagged and tracked and recorded on CCTV. How do you like that for mass surveillance?’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Alice says, looking uncomfortable. ‘I just hope he gets the help he so obviously needs. The main thing is, it doesn’t seem to have done you any lasting harm. Or your ratings for that matter.’

  It’s true. The extra publicity surrounding my would-be kidnapping had indeed boosted my viewing figures by a staggering amount, the red figures in the bottom corner of the screen now edging towards half a billion viewers. In fact, so popular was the siege that I’ve since heard the error screen I spotted during the attack was actually due to the sheer numbers of people attempting to log on, rather than an editorial decision to cut the feed. MindCast, it seems, has never been bigger.

  ‘Every cloud,’ I say, switching the subject as I lead her over to a corner of the hangar-like living room. ‘Anyway, we should probably get down to it? Would you like a drink first?’

  Even as I say it, I hear a tinkle in the kitchen as the fridge sends a shower of ice cubes crashing onto the marble floor.

  ‘What was that?’ Alice asks.

  ‘Ugh. Nothing. The appliances here are set up to respond to thought command. It’s pretty useful most of the time. Although on occasion the system is a little too eager to please.’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘So your apartment is what? Bugged?’

  ‘Jeez, Alice. Maybe you should go and hang out with Ed Corvin? You two can swap conspiracy theories via Morse code or something.’

  She forces a smile. ‘I’m fine for a drink, thanks. Actually, this shouldn’t take too long. I just need to run a few bits by you and then that will be that. I’ll be out of your hair for good.’

  As I watch her line up her notepad and pen on the coffee table, I feel an unexpected pang of loss. ‘Out of my hair? I didn’t realise you were so far along?’

  ‘Oh, come off it,’ she laughs. ‘You totally knew this was the last session. And you can knock off the wounded puppy eyes. You’ve hated every bloody minute of this process and you know it.’

  ‘I have not!’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you haven’t been deliberately ducking me for the last couple of months either?’

  I feel my ears start to burn. ‘Ducking you?’

  ‘David, you are many things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.’

  ‘I’ve just been so … so overwhelmed with everything lately.’

  ‘It’s fine. I get it. You’ve got a lot on your plate. The last thing you need is some nosy hack poking her nose into your life. And so, the quicker we get going on this, the quicker we can call it a day.’

  I watch as she reaches out for her dictaphone, her thumb hovering above the Record button.

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘What about our deal?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You know? I get to ask you a question before you ask me one.’

  She shakes her head. Sits back. ‘Fine. What’s your question?’

  I stammer. I haven’t thought this through. ‘Um … So … Will you miss me?’

  ‘Will I miss you?’

  ‘When the book’s done.’

  She shrugs. ‘I’ll be just glad to see the back of this whole thing, I guess.’

  ‘You will?’

  She sighs. Scrunches up her eyes. Pinches the bridge of her nose.

  ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong,’ she continues. ‘The book is going to sell millions. Knowing my luck, it’ll probably end up being the pinnacle of my career, etched on my Wikipedia page for all eternity. If I can finish it that is.’

  ‘If? But I thought you said …’

  ‘I know, I know. But it’s just so hard. I must be on my sixteenth bloody draft by now, and I still can’t seem to get it right. I’ve tried rewriting it in third person, first person, a mix of both. And I’ve totally scrapped pretty much everything before you met Xan, seeing as that’s all people are going to want to read about. No matter what though, I can’t get the angle right. I just can’t compete with MindCast.’

  ‘What do you mean, “compete” with it?’

  ‘Think about it, David. Why do you read books?’

  I stare blankly at her.

  ‘Okay, bad question. Why do other people read books then? Why do they continue to sell even though they’ve been surpassed by quicker and less demanding media, like TV and cinema and, dare I say it, vlogging?’

  ‘Um … For entertainment?’

  ‘Yes, okay. I’ll give you that. People read to be entertained. To pass the time on those rare occasions when their battery’s dead or they can’t get a WiFi signal. But the main reason, I believe, or at least the most important reason people still read, is because books are the only opportunity we ever get to experience true empathy with another human being. To see the world through their eyes. To walk in their shoes. Even celebrity crap like I churn out, when it’s done well, offers a unique insight, a new perspective. The chance to get inside someone else’s head. But with you, the whole world’s already seen inside your head. They know exactly what it looks like. What the hell could I possibly write that they can’t turn on the screen and instantly see for themselves? What, in other words, is the point of this fucking book?’

  I stare at her, speechless. Her eyes are shining way too brightly, and for a moment I think she’s going to burst into tears. At the last second though, she collapses into a fit of giggles. I exhale.

  ‘Sorry about that. I’m just freaking out. Don’t worry, it happens at this stage with everything I write. I’ll find a way to make it work. I always do. Anyway, I believe that more than answers your question?’

  I nod.

  She leans forward. Hits Record.

  ‘Great. So, if it’s okay with you I’m going to get straight into it. I know we spoke earlier about the Edward Corvin incident, but I just wanted to talk a little bit more about how you feel the whole experiment is going generally? The highs and lows. What has been the biggest surprise about fame, for example? A
nd what have been the toughest challenges you’ve had to overcome?’

  As ever, I’m amazed by Alice’s instant transformation, from friend to colleague, from casual to professional. Her pen is poised in anticipation. Her tone clipped and formal. I swallow hard.

  ‘My biggest challenge? I mean, I guess … You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe this is a waste of everyone’s time. I mean, you keep asking me how I am or how I feel or what I’m thinking. But you watch the show. You know how I am. You know what I’m thinking.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. I’m just stressed out about the deadline. The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel bad.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘It’s not you that’s making me feel bad. It’s everything. Not being able to go to the shops without a security detail. The constant fear that I’m going to be papped or attacked by mad men dressed as livestock.’

  Alice nods sympathetically. ‘Sudden fame can be a hard thing to adjust to. And you’ve undergone a major trauma lately. It’s hardly surprising you …’

  ‘It’s not just that though,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s constantly worrying about what I’m thinking the whole time, in case I accidentally offend or upset someone. Restauranteurs. Retailers. The other day I even got a text from Sarah saying Nadeem is suing me. Can you believe that? My own best friend, taking me to court. Apparently he felt that my opinion of his latest piece-of-shit cookery video was so bad that it constituted defamation. But don’t worry, he’s just the latest in a long line of litigious so-called friends and acquaintances. Including, surprise, surprise, my insane ex-girlfriend Ella, who is apparently in the process of issuing me with a restraining order that prevents me from thinking about her without giving her prior notification in writing. But what am I saying? You know all this already. The moment it pops into my head it’s there for the whole world to see. I mean, never mind you worrying about the book competing with the show, what’s the point of me? Why should I bother opening my mouth if everyone already knows what I’m going to say?’

  There is an awkward silence as I finally finish my outburst, punctuated only by the click of various lights flickering on and off around the apartment.

  Alice puts her pen down and waits, choosing her words carefully. ‘But what did you expect this would be like?’ she says at last. ‘I mean, the fame. The constant attention. That’s what you signed up for, right? I thought this was everything you wanted?’

  ‘And it is,’ I reply. ‘It’s just that I wish I could get …’

  ‘Some privacy?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. I just feel so powerless at the moment. At least when I was making videos, I had some control over what was going out. I could edit them, you know? But with this, there’s no filter. I’m just constantly vomiting up the undigested contents of my brain. It’s exhausting.’

  ‘Although to be fair, there is something you can do about that.’

  ‘Oh, right. Like go and live in a cave?’

  ‘Well, at the very least, you could slow down and start by paying some attention to your thoughts for once. After all, we all get a choice about what we do and don’t think about.’

  I blink a couple of times, still not following. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Oh come on, David. I’d have thought a clean-eating self-improver like you would have been all over the whole “mindfulness” thing. Don’t tell me you’ve never tried meditation?’

  ‘Um …?’

  With a laugh, Alice reaches for her phone. ‘Here. Let’s try a little experiment.’

  Before she can unlock it, the nearest display panel automatically blinks on, tuned to the muted chaos of MindCast. I watch for a second, the pictures coming thick and fast, a jumbled collage flashing in and out of focus.

  I’m thinking about what I am going to have for lunch.

  I’m thinking about going to the gym later.

  I’m also, to my intense embarrassment, thinking about Alice.

  We both watch in silence as she dances onto the screen, dressed in the same tight black dress she was wearing when she visited a few months back, rather than the jeans-and-cardigan combo she’s in today.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Alice says. ‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Everything just crashing around your skull at a hundred and twenty miles a second. You need to slow it down. Take back control. Here, try closing your eyes for a moment.’

  I do as she says.

  ‘Okay now, take a couple of deep breaths. Try and clear your mind.’

  I keep my eyes closed and fill my lungs. It’s hard though. It feels like my brain is buzzing, new thoughts appearing like bubbles in a glass of Champagne, millions forming at once, rising to the top of my consciousness before popping.

  ‘This is stupid,’ I snap.

  ‘You’re going to have to try a little harder. People take years to master this.’

  ‘Fine. But I’m warning you, this is a waste of time.’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘This isn’t working. I can’t just stop thinking.’

  ‘Stop trying to fight it then. Just relax and let the thoughts come and go. But at the same time, try and hold one thing in focus.’

  ‘What?’ I whine. ‘Think but don’t think? You’re not making any sense.’

  ‘Fine then. A cloud. Picture a cloud, floating through a summer sky.’

  ‘Sure.’

  With my eyes closed tight, a white cloud gradually draws into focus, rising and falling in the void in time with my breath.

  In … Out …

  In … Out …

  Up … Down …

  Up … Down …

  ‘That’s it. You’re doing it, David. Keep it going.’

  Very slowly I open my eyes a fraction. There on the wall, just as I’d pictured it, is the cloud, quivering slightly as it floats across a blue sky. I let my eyes fall shut again, not ready to let it go yet.

  ‘You see?’ Alice whispers. ‘You can do it when you try. Just think. If you can actually learn to regulate and manage your thinking like this, you’ll be able to decide what appears on the screen. Rather than just streaming whatever pops into your head, you’ll actually have the chance to create content. It’ll be like making videos again, only on a bigger scale. But first you need to keep practising so that … Oh. I guess I was boring you?’

  I open my eyes. There on the screen is a sleek red convertible BMW, tearing across a desert highway. The image cuts to me behind the wheel, a pair of Ray-Ban’s wrapped around my face, the wind in my hair, a smile on my lips.

  ‘Really, what is it with you and sports cars? Every twenty minutes and it’s the same, stupid fantasy. You’re like a child.’

  I keep staring at the screen, the glimmering BMW badge framed for a second, before the car accelerates into the distance. Almost imperceptibly, the room seems to shudder, the floor tilting underneath me, before righting itself.

  ‘Alice, I’m not thinking this.’

  ‘Okay. Whatever you say, car-boy.’

  ‘No. Seriously. These are not my thoughts. I mean, now that I’m watching it they probably are. But before that, I don’t know. It’s weird …’

  ‘Hey, relax. It’s probably just your subconscious throwing stuff out. You said it happens all the time, didn’t you? Anyway, you spend half your life fantasising about that bloody car. It must be the third or fourth time I’ve watched that sequence this week alone. I would have thought someone of your status would be in the position to go ahead and buy the damn thing and put us all out of our misery …’

  ‘Third or fourth time this week?’

  Around me, the room once again begins to shudder. This time it doesn’t stop. It continues to vibrate slightly, as somewhere twenty-four floors below a faint, high-pitched wail begins to sound. A car alarm. A baby crying. An air raid siren.

  ‘Screen off,’ I say, though even as the words are forming on my lips, the screen fades to nothing, the hateful image of the car disappearing with it.

  ‘Hey, are you okay? You look
pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I croak. ‘I didn’t sleep well. I’m just tired.’

  A silence stretches between us. A second. A minute.

  ‘Okay. Well, honestly we’re probably just about finished here anyway.’

  The high-pitched sound grows louder. I push a finger in my ear, twist it.

  Tinnitus.

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  I nod.

  ‘Cool.’ She gathers her things, stands.

  I stay seated, clear my throat. ‘How does it end?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The book, I mean. You said earlier you’d cut everything before MindCast. But what happens next? Where does it end?’

  ‘Oh gosh, I don’t know. To be honest, most of these books tend to follow a formula. I normally conclude with the subject looking ahead to the future, to new challenges ahead. They’ve won the battle but there’s still a war. That sort of thing. You never want to wrap things up in too neat a bow, so that you leave room for a sequel. Most big stars have three or four autobiographies these days. As far as your ending though, who knows? I mean, I’ve got a couple of ideas, but I don’t want to say anything yet. Besides, you still might surprise me.’ She smiles, reaches into her bag and produces a wad of printed A4 pages. ‘Here, you can have these. It’s the first half. Let me know if there’s anything you’re not happy with.’

  I scan the first few lines:

  From below, the entire structure appears to be made of glass.

  Ceiling, walls, floor.

  A giant bubble suspended a few hundred feet above the courtyard, supported by a complicated arrangement of stainless steel beams and high-tensile wires.

  A teardrop caught in a spider’s web.

  ‘It looks fine,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You think? I’m not sure. When I read it back the other day I worried the symbolism might be a little … on the nose.’