by Nash, Lisa
“This your first synthetic?” The man asked.
Thomas didn’t answer. He reached for the paper towels and pretended not to hear the man.
The man let loose a high-pitched screech of a whistle. “Talking to you, kid.”
“What’s a synthetic?” Thomas asked even though he knew the answer.
“A frankenwhore, super slut, magic ho’, there are a dozen names for them. Take your pick.”
“If you’re asking me if my date is a bio-synthetic, the answer is no.”
The man smiled. “Don’t bullshit me, mister coat and tie. I’d know a Cora anywhere. Same with a Samantha, a Jasmine, a Scarlet, I know them all. Every make and model.”
Thomas gave the man a confounded expression. “You’re a Grant Bio-Syn client?”
“Shit no. Do I look like a tight-ass rich prick with premium health insurance to you?”
Thomas shook his head. “How…”
The man pulled a business card out of his pocket and approached Thomas. “Name’s Duncan.”
Thomas took the card and read it. “Duncan Hart, The Conductor.” Besides his phone number, that was all it said.
“What kind of conductor?”
“Train.”
Thomas stuck the card in his jacket pocket and said, “Thanks. I’ll call you next time my trains needs a conductor.” He started to leave but Duncan placed his hand on Thomas’ chest and pushed him back.
“Let me guess, you’re on your first 24 hours.”
Thomas was too frightened to acknowledge him.
“Things are spinning through that head of yours that you don’t understand. These feelings… more than feelings, it’s like a new vital function has been ignited inside your body and you’re living on a fucking higher level. It’s like you’re suddenly living in a penthouse on this goddamn mental skyscraper. You probably haven’t had one thought about how your life before you met your synthetic was a wasted piece of shit.”
“I should go…”
“The next 24 are even better. Trust me. I’ve never even had a synthetic cranked to my chemistry, and I’ve gotten high as shit from spending time with those frankenwhores. I can’t imagine how fucking mind-blowing it is when the bitch is tuned to your brain waves.”
“I don’t understand how you’ve been with a… synthetic if you’re not a Grant Bio-Syn client.”
“What’re you, a fucking boy scout? Never heard of the black market, the seedy underworld, the wrong side of the tracks?”
“Oh.” Thomas reached in his pocket and pulled the card out. Handing it back to Duncan, he said, “I don’t think we ride the same trains.”
Duncan didn’t reach for the card. He glared at Thomas. “Kid, it’s possible I gave the impression that I’m the easy going type that enjoys meet and greets in bathrooms just for the hell of it. And, for that, I apologize because I’m not.”
Thomas tried to casually back his way to the door. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”
Duncan moved to the sink and examined his teeth in the mirror. “I want your Cora.”
Thomas reached the door, quickly turned and tried to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge.
“My colleague is standing outside to ensure we have some privacy.”
“Touch me and I’ll scream.”
Duncan laughed. “That is such a pussy move, kid. Relax. I’m going to let you have your 72 with your Cora. She’s all mine after that.”
Thomas shook his head. “She goes back to Grant Bio-Syn to be decommissioned after 72 hours.”
“There are ways to avoid that.”
“What do you want with Cora?”
“It’s the Cora. The Cora. Stop calling it Cora. Hour 73 will be a lot easier for you if you keep in mind what that is waiting for you at your table. It’s not a person with a name. It’s a synthetic. More specifically, it’s the Cora model.” Duncan turned the faucet on. “And to answer your question, I want to save lives, kid.”
Thomas involuntarily smiled. “You don’t really strike me as the type who gives a shit about saving lives.”
“That hurts, my friend,” Duncan said sarcastically. “You should never judge a book by its cover. No matter how incredibly handsome it is. But, in this case, you happen to be correct. I do not give a shit about saving lives. I give a shit about getting paid to save lives.”
“Interesting distinction, but I don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“We’re talking about our bullshit healthcare system, kid. Do you know how long it took for Congress to pass the Bio-Synthetic Psychiatric Treatment Act twenty years ago?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m not really into politics.”
“It’s not politics, dumbass. It’s fucking history.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact I don’t know how long it took.”
“Two weeks.”
Thomas didn’t respond.
“Two mother-fucking weeks. That’s FDA approval, subcommittee bullshit, a House vote, a Senate debate and vote. Done. Two weeks.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Don’t you get it? It doesn’t work like that, kid. It takes two weeks to decide what they’re going to have for lunch in Congress. Legislation like the Bio-Synthetic Psychiatric Treatment Act should have taken years to debate and bring up for vote. We’re talking about government subsidized prostitution, kid. It should have never passed.”
“So what, you’re part of some religious group?”
Duncan smiled and threw his head back exasperated. “Holy shit, kid. First you think I’m a rich prick. Now you think I’m Bible-thumping fuck-head? I’m a business man filling a niche that is in desperate need.”
Thomas looked at his watch. “Can we get to what that need is? Cora is waiting.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll wait. She’s fucking lost without you.” Duncan turned the faucet off and dried his hand. “Back to Congress. Are you aware of the Synthetic Vital Organs Act?”
“No.”
“It’s pretty basic. A biotech lab in California has developed a system to grow any human vital organ in a matter of days matching any blood type and DNA sequence known to man. Your heart gives out; they put you on life support; enter your data into a computer; you’ve got a new heart beating a way in your chest by the end of the week.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Fascinating.”
“I’ll ignore your sarcasm, kid. It is mother-fucking fascinating. In fact, it’s fucking revolutionary.”
“I feel like we’re off track. This started off as discussion about you wanting Cora, but somehow it’s turned into a civics lesson.”
“Patience, asshole. It’s all tied together. Congress hasn’t passed the vital organs act. The FDA hasn’t approved it. Nothing. It’s been sixteen years since it was first introduced by some dickhead Congressman in California.”
Thomas responded with shock. “Sixteen years?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“I don’t understand why it’s taking so long.”
“No one knows. There are dozens of conspiracy theories all which lead back to your Grant Bio-Syn Industries, but the why is bullshit that doesn’t interest me as much as the void its lack of passage creates.”
“I don’t get the connection.”
“There are people who still need organs. The current organ donation program is a fucking joke that doesn’t begin to meet the need.”
Thomas tugged on the door again, but it still didn’t budge. “Still not getting the connection, and to be honest, I don’t really like spending this much time talking to strange men in public bathrooms.”
“The connection is that your Cora is full of vital organs.”
Thomas’ heart slowed. His mouth dropped open, and he tried to convince himself that Duncan wasn’t suggesting what he thought he was suggesting.
“You’re as dense as they come, kid. Your synthetic has vital organs. Special vital organs. You take her heart and pop it in my chest, it re-codes itself to match
my blood type and DNA. There’s something about the incubation and conditioning process at Grant Bio-Syn that gives their organs something called adaptable-immune supra-efficiency, or some horseshit name like that.”
“You want to sell her organs/”
“Bingo, dumbass.”
“But she’s a person.”
“And the dumbass theme continues. She’s not a person, kid. She’s a bio-synthetic. If I walked out there now and put a bullet in her fucking head, do you know what I would be charged with?”
Thomas shook his head not really wanting to hear the answer.
“At most, I’d be cited for discharging a firearm in a public place.”
There was a moment of silence as Duncan gave Thomas some time to process everything he’d heard. “But, what you’re saying doesn’t make sense. Ms. Pope, she said their immune system shuts down after 72 hours.”
“Let me worry about the details, kid.” Duncan gave himself one last look over in the mirror. “We’re going to part ways for now, but you should know I’m never far away.”
“You should know neither is Grant Bio-Syn.”
Duncan laughed. “What, that GPS bullshit?”
“They keep track of Cora at all times.”
“Easily removed.” The organ salesman tugged on his ear. “It’s in her left earlobe. It’s the size of a flea’s dick, but it’s there. Any dumbass, present company included, could find it with a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers.” He straightened his lapel and approached Thomas. “I’d tell you to forget our conversation and enjoy the rest of your time with your frankenwhore, but it’s not necessary.” He pinched Thomas’ cheek. “My friend, you are about to experience a hormone surge like you have never experienced, if you haven’t already. You’ll be so horny for the next couple of days you won’t be able to remember your mamma’s name much less most of this conversation.” He let go of Thomas’ cheek and knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, do me a favor and keep track of how many times you pop a load. I got a bet with my colleague in the hallway that you’re good for twelve. He thinks you can only crank out seven or eight.” He winked. “He doesn’t know about what happened at The Intimate Chase. Your Cora is quite the lively little frankenwhore.” With a grin, Duncan exited the bathroom.
-14-
The Senator sat across from his son, Arthur III, at the cast iron table on the deck outside the kitchen. It was a tradition for the two Trelow men to sit and talk shop while sipping away on a bottomless pot of Irish coffee.
The younger Trelow was a handsome man who cut a commanding figure. He was his mother’s son, resembling his father only in choice of profession. He was just a few months past thirty-five, but he had already served 13 years in the Senate, and was the favorite to take his party’s nomination for the White House. This was what he was bred for.
That he was alive, much less the tremendous success he had achieved at such a young age, was a miracle. The Senators late wife was told she would never be able to conceive. The birth of the Senator’s son was touted as a miracle, and he was charmed from the day he was born.
“The campaign going to your liking?” The Senator asked his son.
The young Trelow swallowed the bitter coffee and said, “The real question is if it’s going to your liking, father?”
The Senator shrugged. “More or less, although you need to keep better track of your donors. I was ambushed today on Dick’s show with questions about a couple of them.”
“Petty stuff,” his son said.
The Senator nodded. “Petty today, devastating tomorrow. Better you head these things off early.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stay on the lookout for surprises. People will come out of the woodwork with this claim and that. Doesn’t matter if they’re true or not. Just matters what people believe.”
“I’ve got some good people working for me. You shouldn’t worry so much.”
The Senator drank from his cup and tried to look casual. He was beyond worried. He was terrified, and it wasn’t for anything his son had done. It was for what he had done.
-15-
The sun was completely gone by the time Thomas and Cora stepped on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. The conversation Thomas had with Duncan just moments before was becoming less and less detailed the longer he was with her. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, but Cora. Anything that happened outside of her presence was no more significant than a dream.
A cool breeze cut through the darkness and chilled both of them. Without giving it a thought, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She responded by leaning in and giving him a deep kiss.
“You taste so good,” she said pulling away.
He blushed. “You just say whatever is on your mind, don’t you?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I can’t recall ever being this open and forward with someone before. There’s something about you, Mr. Miller.”
“And there’s something about you, Cora.”
She looped her arm through his and rested her hand on his forearm as they walked. “So, this is a date, right?”
“Looks that way.”
“Good. I don’t want this to be your run of the mill boring date. Let’s do something you’ve never done on a first date before.”
He let a devilish grin spread across his face.
She slapped his shoulder. “Not that. We’ll get to that, but we have to do something with our clothes on first.”
“Okay.” He found himself thinking less about fucking her and more about just being with her. For the moment, he was okay if they spent the next three days talking. For the moment.
“What haven’t you done on a date before?”
“Huh,” he said thinking back on his dating life. “I’ve never performed a circumcision.”
“Ha-ha,” she said mockingly. “And I’ve never taken my dates along when I get a pap smear. Seriously, help me give you a first date experience you’ll never forget.”
“Cora, there isn’t a chance in hell I’d ever forget you.”
They turned a corner and Cora looked down the street to get her bearings. She suddenly stopped. “This 44th street, right?”
“It is.”
A broad flirtatious smile spread across her face. “I bet you have never gone to a strip club on a date before.”
He returned her smile. “In fact, I haven’t.”
“C’mon,” she said pulling him down the sidewalk.
At the next corner, she pointed to a purple neon sign that alternated between “Sugar’s” and “Totally Nude Girls.”
“How did you know this was here?” he asked.
“I may or may not have been here either one or numerous times before.”
He knew she hadn’t, but he played along. “I get why a guy would frequent Sugar’s, but a woman?”
“I find the female body incredibly beautiful, Mr. Miller. Extraordinarily beautiful. Sugar’s girls know how to work it.” She leaned in and whispered. “Almost as well as me.” She grabbed Thomas’ hand and dragged me to the front door of Sugar’s.
A very wide, angry-looking man blocked their entrance. “Private party.”
“To which I am invited, Marcus,” Cora said with a wry smile.
“How do you know my name…?” An expression of knowing washed over his face. He reached for a small plastic device hanging from the chain around his neck and pressed down on it. It flashed green and the name “Cora” briefly showed up on the display.
Cora took none of this in. She had slipped her hand behind Thomas and pinched his ass.
“Sorry, Cora,” Marcus said. “I didn’t realize you were on the list.”
She ran the palm of her hand gently across his round face and said, “No problem, dear.”
Thomas fixated on the device hanging around Marcus’s neck as he passed through the door behind Cora.
The techno-funk music blasted every corner of the colorfully lit room. It almost appeared li
ke they were trapped within the confines of a massive box of Christmas tree lights. The place was packed with men of all ilks. Some were dressed in suits like Thomas, although theirs seem to fit much better than his. Some wore jeans and t-shirts, while others were dressed in sleazy nightclub attire.
Every one of them, regardless of their choice of clothing, turned to watch Cora enter the club. The waitresses, dressed in boy shorts and white midriff shirts, smiled at her as they passed with their trays of drinks.
A blonde woman wearing a school girl uniform pranced out on stage and grabbed hold of the first pole. Cora and Thomas found a table and watched the girl strut through her routine. By the time she ripped her shirt open and revealed a perky set of tits, a waitress had brought a beer and glass of wine to their table.
“What’s this?” Thomas asked.
“They’re drinks,” the waitress said. “What do they look like?”
“No, I mean we didn’t order these.”
“Our bartender took the liberty of ordering for you,” she said pointing to the bar area.
Thomas turned and saw the bartender from the canteen at Grant Bio-Syn. He didn’t understand it, but he raised his glass in appreciation to the bartender. He nodded back and gave Thomas a thumbs up.
“I sense you’ve been here before,” Cora said.
“No,” Thomas said. He thought about explaining who the bartender was, but he decided it was too loud and unimportant to bother.
“Right,” she said waving him off. “Who’s your favorite dancer?”
He was about to say he didn’t have one, but leaned in and said, “My favorite dancer is whoever your favorite dancer is.”
Cora smiled and pointed to the girl on stage. “I’m a big Monica fan.”
Monica had ripped her plaid skirt off and was down to a crotchless g-string. She wiggled and thrust while moving around the stage. With a quick yank, the g-string was history.
“Monica fucks the stage,” Cora said. “Sexy as hell. Can you imagine what she’s like in bed?”
Thomas cocked an eyebrow and said, “I don’t think I should.”