The Remaking

by J. T. O'Connell

  “Okay,” she replied, trying to mask the adrenalin that still made her jittery.

  She pushed through the curtain of tarps and looked around. It was already dark in the suite. Other tarps lined another wall, covering another broad balcony. Metal studs formed the skeletons of walls yet to be finished.

  Sela found a reasonably clean place to change. After kicking off her sneakers, she stripped off the harness and then the jumpsuit, which was baggy around her form. Tossing that on the dusty floor, she used it to keep off the grungy worksite.

  Then, opening up the bag, she drew out her dress. She had only tried it on once, when they’d gone back to Emory to pick it up. It had needed only twenty minutes’ of alterations, and only that because of how beautiful it was.

  And Sela knew it was beautiful. When she had first seen it, all of her concerns about Emory’s fashion sense evaporated. It was a gorgeous dress.

  Emory had put it together using the purple silk Sela had liked so much. The fabric was folded into upside-down ‘V’s with three or four folds for each point. Each crease ran from ‘V’ to ‘V’, never keeping its same position in the fold order. As they rose, the folds slipped perfectly in with her waist and out with her bust, all the while thinning just enough so that the chest area didn’t look bulky.

  The neckline was more modest than current fashion, though it was a little lower than Sela usually thought necessary. It was also sleeveless. As Sela worked on the concealed zipper in the back, she thought about Emory telling her she had nice arms.

  “I’m an artist, honey, and I know when I can’t outdo God,” he had said. It was a strange way of saying her arms would look slender without any sleeves at all, but Emory was right.

  It was an amazing dress and she looked amazing in it.

  “How’s it going in there, Sela?” Desmond called out.

  She answered, “Okay. I need your help with the zipper.”

  Desmond pulled the tarps aside and came toward her. He was wearing a suit, the classic sort, though it had a bow tie. She almost chuckled at that.

  He caught her smile before she turned around. “What?” he asked, zipping up the dress.

  She turned around again and laughed, “I just didn’t think of you as a bow tie sort of guy.”

  He shook his head, “Me either, but Emory thinks it looks good on me.” Desmond took a step back and held his arms out, “What do you think?”

  In all, he looked very handsome. His shoulders were wide and the suit coat angled sharply. It wasn’t a plain suit, on closer inspection. The angles of the shirt beneath were more eccentric. The pockets sloped downward toward the center.

  “You look very nice Desmond,” Sela answered. She noticed that the jitter was gone from her voice now.

  He shrugged, “I just hope people will believe I came with you.”

  She blushed and said, “They… They will.”

  “You look radiant Sela,” Desmond said, “even without any lights.”

  The blush deepened and she was happy no lights were there to expose her face. “Well, let me get my shoes on.”

  Tugging at the heels, she grimaced. They were about twenty degrees higher than she liked. Her feet would be in serious pain before the night was over. But Emory was right about that too. An extra inch on her height made her nearly as tall as Desmond, and all the more striking, slender as she was in the dress.

  “Okay, let me check my hair,” Sela drew a mirror out of the bag and looked over her face. She had applied extra makeup, the expensive type so that it wouldn’t run if she had sweat while rappelling.

  She refreshed her lipstick and brushed her hair a few times to clear away a tangle. “Okay, I think that should do it.”

  Desmond gathered up the sneakers and jumpsuit, as well as the makeup kit. He stuffed everything back into the bag and clipped it to the line.

  “Okay, we’re ready!” he called to Jericho.

  “I’m gettin’ outta here,” Jericho growled back. “Good luck!” Within a few seconds, he had pulled all of the roping up and set to undoing the rigging.

  Desmond led the way to the elevator. “Let’s go, Sela.”

  The elevator took several minutes to arrive, probably because it was ferrying other guests from the ground floor to Basil Davenport’s suite. After a wait, it opened. Even the elevator was spacious.

  The doors closed and the elevator waited. Sela had expected a screen to serve as the control pad. Even the worst areas of Megora had control screens, though they had thick glass to prevent breaking.

  But there were only two panels; Garage, 1; and a number pad. Desmond brought up an app on a card and pressed a black wand against the number pad. The screen read out a five number sequence, and Desmond typed it in.

  "Every suite is coded, because the elevators are direct. We will be using a temporary guest pass… the one… The one given to Gregory Williams."

  Gregory Williams was a social drinker, and being a socialite, that made him a heavy drinker, someone sure to bring extra people to the party. They had agreed on a back story for having met Williams. A spotter had reported seeing Williams leading his entourage into the building, and signaled Jericho to send them in as well.

  The elevator moved without a sound.

  "You ready?" Desmond asked. "Alice?" he added, reminding her of the identity she asked to have ghosted. It was her art-major identity, and it hadn't been compromised. Alice Williams was as good as creating a new identity altogether.

  Desmond would be named David Talbot. Talbot was a student, major undecided, but he was taking classes in critical theory and cultural studies. To the party-goers that would mean he was everyone's first year college student.

  As for Alice, she wasn't meant to look like a graduate this time, and she would also be in college, second year, art major, looking at internships in the Agency of Vision.

  "Yeah," she answered quietly. And then she stretched her spine, and blinked, assuming her character. "Yes, David. I'm ready."

  "You should call me Dave," he suggested.

  "As Alice, I prefer to call you David," she responded curtly. And then she gave him a wry smile. "David is much more elegant."

  He grinned back, and the doors opened.

  The elevator released into a broad entryway, empty, though the noise of mingling guests and live music drifted in through four open doorways. Bookshelves lined one wall, but Sela couldn't read any of the titles as she and Desmond strolled through the nearest door to the left.

  At least fifty people were scattered throughout the broad room. It looked like a living room and dining room combination, except for the extra space that stretched between the dinner table and the semi-circle of couches. Furniture against the walls, antiques. Hanging chandelier, real crystal for all Sela could tell.

  The floor was a glossy tile, powdery white with white grout. Every inch of it was polished enough to reflect every detail in the gloss. Sela could sense her heels near to slipping on the tile. She would have to walk carefully.

  One side of the room had a makeshift stage, raising a three-piece band eight or ten inches off the floor. A pianist played an expensive keyboard made to sound and feel like a grand piano. The other two players worked away on an upright bass and a saxophone. Altogether, they were playing soft, jazzy riffs, improvising, since no one was paying them attention in any regard.

  Desmond smiled broadly and Sela followed suit. They drifted over to the bartender who greeted them with the bland forget-ability of a professional Nobody at a swanky event.

  "Hi," Desmond replied, and then he leaned in, over the bar. "My lady and I want to take it slow to start, so could you mix us up some extra light tea? We want to make a good impression."

  The bartender smiled and nodded, like this wasn't the first time he had heard the request tonight. "Of course, sir." He went to work and put together two iced teas that had only a shot of vodka between the two glasses.

  Desmond thanked the man and pitched a few bills into the tip jar, corralling his gl
ass into a ginger grip. He was playing the part of David Talbot, even holding his drink differently than Desmond Tine; not awkwardly, just differently.

  Sela picked up her own drink and tried to reinforce Alice Williams in her mind. She was cute, a bit snooty, sociable, but not annoying, knowledgeable about a few things, but attractive enough that no one cared what she didn't know.

  They moved through the room. Sela saw faces she recognized, even put names to quite a few of them.

  She saw Gregory Williams, surrounded by people, and not just those that came with him. He had already loosened his necktie, yet the drink in his hand was still full. Probably that was a second, but the man must have arrived drunk.

  Basil Davenport was immersed in another group, listening as someone else spoke with a verve and liveliness that flowed through his hands. Some listeners wore skepticism, some nodded in agreement. The man's voice was lost in the flurry of conversations closer to Desmond and Sela, though. Desmond narrowed his eyes in another direction, and then placed an arm around Sela's back to guide her gently.

  They slid into a group, smaller and quieter. A man with glasses was speaking to a woman dressed in a garish pantsuit, and a black man dressed almost as conservatively as Desmond.

  "…explained that the more you show the steps, the more willing people will be to take them," the man with glasses insisted.

  The woman replied, "Some might, yes. But others will be more resistant to the necessary changes, as we have seen."

  "Oh, there's been nothing like that, nothing like what I've been advocating," the man in glasses shook his head.

  The other man spoke up, his voice strong and confident, "Advocacy is what the Council hears all day, every day." Sela got a better look at him now. He had a mustache graying, and skin beginning to wrinkle with age. "Everyone who talks to a Councilman is an advocate."

  "Councilperson," the woman corrected. "There's no need to foist patriarchy onto the Provisional Council."

  Skepticism rumbled over the black man’s features, "A full third of the Council is female. If you think the rest of us have any control over who gets appointed to the Council, you're deluded."

  "I suppose that's true," the man with glasses mused, lifting his glass. "What was that you were saying about advocates?"

  "He was saying that Councilpersons," she fired a glance at the black man, "are constantly hearing recommendations."

  "That's right," he said, picking up his own idea. "If you want to get something changed, you'll need more than a few ideas to throw at them."

  "Well, as it happens, I have quite a bit more than that!" the man protested.

  "No doubt, however," the woman gestured toward another group of people, "I see someone I have been meaning to catch up with. If you'll excuse me," she hadn't even finished speaking before she strode away.

  With a sigh, the man pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I have quite a bit more than just some ideas." He turned to Desmond and Sela, "Hi, my name is Terry Baxter. I don't think we've met before."

  Desmond reached forward and shook his hand, "Dave Talbot, and this is Alice."

  Sela shook Terry's hand, "Alice Williams." Terry was thin and his suit hung loosely on his shoulders. His hair was receding and his eyes looked small behind the glasses.

  "Pleased to meet you!" Terry smiled generously. "And this is Ellis Kincaid."

  They both shook hands with the older man. He was strong and tall, with a chest that might've once been suited for football.

  "Dave," "Alice," he said, shaking their hands in turn.

  "I've been developing some new ways to increase participation in Remaking initiatives. Ellis is on an advisory committee that makes formal recommendations to the Provisional Council, so naturally…" Terry grinned.

  Ellis took a deep breath and sighed, "Even I get inundated with suggestions of all sorts. Almost all of them are completely worthless."

  "Be that as it may," Terry started slowly, "how would an idea with merit get some hearing?"

  Why are we bothering with these two? Sela thought. Terry wasn't talking about insider information. He wanted to be an insider and was looking for clues how to make it happen.

  "Ideas get heard by other members on the Council. You'll get nowhere until you move high enough to present your ideas yourself." Ellis spoke gruffly, mercilessly.

  "O—Okay," Terry stammered, looking utterly deflated. "Well, uh... I guess I should… mingle around a little bit." He moved off toward the bar, setting down his glass and pointing at the wood for another.

  "Sometimes people don't quite know how unimportant they are," Ellis grunted, looking at them both.

  "And some few people out there don't realize how important they are." Desmond responded.

  Ellis grunted again, "That may be." He cleared his throat, sounding like a smoker who quit, but had smoked for so many years, he'd never really be over it. "Tell me Alice. What do you do?"

  Sela realized she had been almost completely silent, had let Desmond do all the talking. She started, automatically speaking coolly, "I'm a student at Megora U. Art history major."

  "And you, Dave?"

  "Same, but undecided," Desmond smiled.

  Taking the opportunity, Sela spoke up, "David excels wherever he applies himself."

  "Ah," Ellis nodded, "polymath then, David?"

  "Nah," Desmond grinned, "I was never good at mathematics."

  Sela slapped his arm playfully, and Ellis actually laughed enough to wheeze and then cough.

  Desmond added, "No, I'm a freshman, so I'm knocking out a bunch of pre-reqs right now."

  "Undecided, and Art," Ellis nodded to each of them.

  "Art history actually," she almost called him Mr. Kincaid, "Ellis. Where did you go to school?"

  "Purdue, actually, and then George Mason for my Masters. Both of those don't exist any longer, of course."

  Sela asked, "What was your Masters in?"

  "Economics, Alice." Sela could see the broad smile behind his mustache. It was a genuine smile, nostalgic in some ways.

  "Is that what your committee focuses on? The economy?" Sela inquired.

  "In a sense," he answered. "We don't make recommendations to the Council, though everyone thinks we do. We study productive efficiency. Our job is to give the Council the most accurate and up-to-date information there is on production, distribution, and consumption."

  "Sounds boring," Desmond quipped, taking a sip from his drink.

  Sela almost shivered, hearing him take such a careless swipe at one of the more important people at the party.

  But Ellis laughed heartily, and then cleared his throat again. "Dave, you're undecided, but I have a feeling economics is already off the table."

  "What can I say?" Desmond grinned.

  "Let me introduce you two to some folks," Ellis directed them toward another group, six people.

  Sela knew four faces, and remembered three names. Ellis introduced everyone around, and the discussion resumed.

  A woman with olive skin nearly lectured on the Conference of the Remaking. There was an extensive program for those who would be attending, but even more importantly, she openly acknowledged that the Councilmembers would be sampling the atmosphere offered in Megora. They would be trying out the culture, and getting a taste for Megora's particular arrangement of society.

  That of course meant some attention might be paid to the districts that were not yet conformed to Remaking policy. No hint that the Remaking itself was mistaken would be broached. Instead, only a barrage of new ideas would be discussed, ideas of how to grind and sculpt the rest of Megora to fit the abstract mold the Provisional Council had in mind.

  Some of those listening made comments of their own, and Sela realized just how little context she had for the discussion. That would make it difficult to remember much, and already she was overwhelmed, just trying to dissect each brief sentence.

  Ellis watched and listened, sipping a snifter of whiskey. Sela had nearly finished her glass of tea. Sh
e had yet to feel any affect from the alcohol, even with her slim frame. Desmond was attentive, pretending to nurse his drink.

  Sela tried to make mental notes as the discussion progressed. Two other people wandered over and one left, trying to tap controls on a card while juggling it with a glass of wine.

  Sela glanced at Desmond, wondering when he was going to excuse himself. One of them had to leave and locate Basil Davenport's office. There were only two rooms on the blueprints that seemed possibilities. In order to figure out which, one of them had to leave to go take a look around.

  Looking past Desmond, Sela caught someone's eye, and the man turned toward her with recognition. Sela twisted her face away as quickly as she could, knowing he had already noticed her.

  Irwin Harrington, she thought with panic. He wasn't on the list!

  She grabbed Desmond's arm and leaned in close to him, whispering, "We have to go, right now!"

  "What do you—?"

  She sneaked a look past him, saw that Harrington was coming toward them. Okay, okay! she thought furiously. I'm Alice Williams, art major. Not in college still, as I told Ellis Kincaid.

  Sela whispered again, "We have to leave here right now!"

  "Okay," Desmond looked at her with concern. Ellis had turned and raised a bushy eyebrow their way, but Sela was already dragging Desmond away from the group.

  Harrington caught them, towing a girl far too young for him, though Sela doubted any serious thoughts had ever entered her mind, judging by the ridiculous clothes and the vacant expression on her face.

  "Alice Williams!" Harrington beamed, a glaze of intoxication shining over his eyes. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

  "Mr. Harrington," Sela smiled nervously, trying her best to hide her fluttering heart rate. "We sort of… didn't know we were coming."

  "Please, please, Alice. Here at least, you can call me Irwin," Harrington smirked. "Oh, and this is Vanesha."

  The vacant look stayed on the girl's face. She didn't try to shake their hands. Instead, she held up a hand and said, "Hi," staring blankly, clearly bored with the party.

  They greeted her, and Sela introduced Desmond, "This is David Talbot."

  "The fiancée?" Harrington asked, shaking Desmond's hand.