An Unexpected Debt

by S. J. Pajonas

  I skip the round of applause, tip over my wrist, and check my inbox via my wristlet.

  A small smile pushes through my earlier unhappiness. “Congratulations on winning item 78 in the Palo Alto Early Warning Cancer Screening Silent Auction. Takemo Diaz will contact you about your prize package.”

  Go Carlos. Excellent. Well, something good has come out of this night.

  The applause dies out, and the band starts playing again, but a lot of people have either made their way to the auction booths, or they’re picking up their belongings and leaving.

  “Well, it looks like the event is winding down,” Saif says, standing up. “How about one dance, and then we head out for a slice of pizza and a nightcap?” He raises his eyebrows twice. “If we were home, I know this amazing curry place that has the best pakora I’ve ever had. But I think pizza is more the food of choice around here.”

  I push my chair back and attempt to stand.

  The operative word there is ‘attempt.’ I sway and knock into the table, spilling two abandoned glasses of water onto the white linens.

  “Oops,” I say with a chuckle, and Saif grabs me, so I don’t fall over.

  “Well, maybe dancing is a bad idea.” Saif laughs as he rights me.

  “No, no, no. Let’s dance. I’m sure it’ll be ages before I’m this dressed up again.” I point at him and put on my serious face. “You’re in charge of holding me up. Got it? Be sure to use those powerful arms you’ve developed in the last ten years.”

  He smiles as he pushes in his chair, and the memories of our last goodbye rush through me and steal my breath. That’s going to happen again, isn’t it? We’ll say goodbye, and I won’t see him again for years… or ever.

  “I’ve been known to hit the gym,” he says.

  “Fantastic. Let’s do this.”

  It’s a bad sign that I’m already slurring my words, and the ballroom is twirling on its own without me having to put my dancing feet on the floor.

  Saif leads me out, my hand in his, and sweeps me into a close hold like an expert. He leans over and whispers, “My mom insisted on ballroom dancing lessons.”

  I raise my eyebrows as I lean away. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.” He nods and guides me along, his hand on my lower back. We’re not technically ‘ballroom dancing,’ though we are dancing in a ballroom. This thought makes me giggle, and he rolls his eyes at me. “You know she did everything possible to keep me busy, when really, she could have given me a few credits and told me to play in the streets with the local kids. She didn’t want people thinking I was feral.”

  “Like a cat?” I almost frown at this, but I pull my face into a neutral grin.

  “Yep. That’s why they kept sending me away to far-school. I didn’t like going until I met you.”

  I am far too drunk for this kind of sweet sentimentality, and Saif’s memories of far-school are different from mine. He went because he was forced to. I went to get away from home. But we both found each other there. There were others besides him, for sure. A few boys I kissed on the sly because I wanted to know what that was like. But Saif was a constant presence from when I was ten years old and on.

  Leaning my cheek in, I rest it on his chest. Our date is close to concluding, and I don’t want it to end. But I saw the disappointment on his face earlier as I told him everything that happened with my mom and losing my family business. There’s no way I’ll be acceptable to his family. I know it. He knows it. This is our last hurrah.

  We sway about on the dance floor, close to each other, and I lose myself in the moment. I try to picture what it would be like to have men in my network who supported me, who didn’t think I was a free lunch or slave labor.

  What would that be like?

  I have no idea.

  “You conniving bitch.”

  I blink and pull away from Saif because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t him who called me a conniving bitch.

  Takemo Diaz stands next to us, his face as red as lava. He’s practically steaming. I glance around, and only a few other couples are left on the dance floor. Most of the ballroom is empty now.

  “You cheated,” Takemo says, pointing at me. “At a charity auction, of all places.”

  “What’s this now?” Saif asks, pulling me around to behind him. “Really, Takemo, your behavior is dismal. I heard the way you spoke to Skylar earlier, and I didn’t like it.”

  “She cheated,” he insists. He leans past Saif to look at me. “Maybe ‘bitch’ is too far, but I will not tolerate this kind of manipulation, especially with the All Rio Bridge Tournament. You cannot throw me under the bus because you don’t like the way I do business. I’m sick of you interfering with my life.”

  This makes me smile, and I’m too drunk to stop it. “It’s only been a few days.” My voice is sickly sweet, so I bat my eyelashes at him too, for good measure. “Surely, you didn’t think you’d be rid of me so quickly?”

  “Can you even play Bridge?” he asks, his tone exasperated.

  “Of course, I can play Bridge,” I say, but he rolls his eyes.

  “Lies. So many lies. Do you ever tell the truth?”

  Again, I have a sinking feeling he knows way too much about me. My skin crawls when I imagine being followed and watched at all times by some pervert who wants to blackmail me into behaving.

  No. Just no.

  “Fuck off.” I step away from Saif and Takemo. “I’m not lying, and I didn’t cheat either.”

  Well, that’s a little lie. I’m so good at lying when I need to. It’s kept me alive this long.

  “I’m going to have a word with the auction chairperson and deal with this,” he says, pointing at me again. “It’s one thing when we’re trading insults and pranks over your mother’s crappy ship. But you will not mess with the tournament.”

  Crappy ship? It’s a fucking Corsair, you asshole.

  “We’ll see about that. You’re stuck with me now.” I stalk off, leaving Saif standing between us. When Takemo tries to come after me, I hear him scuffle with Saif. But I don’t turn around.

  Instead, I pick up my pace and put my high-heeled shoes to the test. I run past India Dellis, watching the scene with a modicum of glee twisting her lips, and I blow her a kiss along the way.

  Don’t wobble. Don’t sway, Skylar! Don’t roll an ankle.

  I’m about to make Marcelo eat his words and run that marathon.

  As long as it takes me far away from here.

  16

  I make it two blocks before I hop into an autocab.

  Fuck Takemo. If he thinks he’s going to steal my life out from under me and then drag my name through the mud on top of that, he’s sorely mistaken. I haven’t even enacted phase two of my war games yet. Once that’s going, then, oh my God, he will be begging for mercy. Begging.

  Nobody crosses Skylar Kawabata and gets away with it.

  My wristlet pings, and when I turn it over to check who’s calling, it’s Saif. I groan and sink into the plush seat of the autocab. Marcelo must have given him my duonet details. His name flashes on my home screen several times before I swipe away the call.

  Fuck it. He wasn’t going to stick around, anyway. They never do.

  Honestly, I feel bad for Marcelo. He’s the one who’s going to get the shaft here. Every man I meet will just end up in the discard pile. I’ll keep drawing from the deck, but eventually, I’ll run out of cards.

  Anger rises up through my belly and into my chest, and here come the tears I held back earlier. I’m still drunk, but my tolerance for alcohol (and bullshit) is higher than the sky. The topsy-turvy head-spinning has subsided, and now I’m just numb. Numb and angry… and I’m fucking sad for myself. Why does this keep happening to me, over and over? Am I cursed? Is this my destiny? Am I fighting a war that I’ll never win, both for a happy life and for my mother’s — no, my — business?

  This is dumb. I don’t think I have it in me to keep fighting my entire life.

  I need
peace. I need security.

  I need to get laid.

  I was going to return to the hotel, but there’s a great love hotel ten blocks away.

  I burst into tears as I alter the route of the autocab and send it towards the love hotel. It makes a U-turn at the nearest intersection and zips off.

  Cry now, Skylar. Because once you get there, you need to show the staff you’re not in the middle of a mental breakdown. They hate it when people meltdown on their sexbots. There’s nothing worse than having to call a social worker for someone who has lost their mind while having relations with an inanimate object. Well, they’re animated, for sure. Ugh. Let’s face it. Sexbots are a total gray area, and it appears I live in the gray. I’m not black and white. I never have been.

  My arrival timer counts down from twenty seconds, so now is an excellent time to clean myself up. I pull down the mirror, wipe off my face, blow my nose, breathe deeply a few times, finger comb my hair, and decide I’m better off acting angry than sad.

  That’s right. Skylar is angry, and she’s not going to take this anymore.

  The car pulls up outside the love hotel, and my wristlet chimes as it takes my credits. I inhale two more deep breaths, count to ten like always, and leave the car.

  The darkened street keeps me in the shadows as I arrive at the door and let myself inside.

  Terry looks up from the front desk. Yes, I know everyone who works here.

  “Skylar! Good to see you. How have you been?” His eyebrows draw together, taking in my ruffled appearance and red eyes.

  “I’ve been better. I just had a horrible date, and I’m looking to blow off some steam.”

  His lips jerk in a half-smile. “You’ve come to the right place, then. I have Andrew and Thomas available if you’re still into the men. Couldn’t blame you if the horrible date turned you off my fair sex.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Yes, it was bad, but not that bad. I’ll take Andrew.”

  He points to the screen that lights up in front of me.

  I freeze in place, my finger hovering over the menu.

  “Do you ever really know what you want, Skylar Kawabata? Or is it five items on a menu and fifteen minutes of bliss?”

  I draw in my breath and hold it. I knew when he’d said that it sounded awfully personal and wrong. Just wrong. And he was sorry when I questioned him about it.

  Oh no. The world recedes away from me. My hearing rings, and I have to push my lungs to draw air again. Takemo knows, doesn’t he?

  He knows.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Hey, Terry,” I say, stepping to the window.

  My knees and hands shake; I have to grab the counter to stay upright. Terry looks up from his datapad.

  “Who owns this place?” I ask.

  He blinks a few times while he considers my question. I’m sure it’s public record, though.

  “Azid Entertainment. They own love hotels all over the Duo Systems.” He shrugs. “Supposedly, it’s big business.”

  Azid. Diaz. Yeah, Takemo knows.

  “Skylar.”

  My stomach drops to my toes at the sound of Saif’s voice. I close my eyes, curse myself, the world, the universe, and turn slowly to face him.

  The disappointment in his expression is so strong, it’s like another person standing between us, wagging his finger and admonishing me for being so weak.

  Terry leans forward over the desk to get his eyes on Saif. “Uh oh. Is this the bad date? Do I need to call the social workers?”

  I shake my head. “Cancel my order, okay?” I whisper to him.

  Saif and I stare at each other for a long moment. His tie is loose now, and his jacket is unbuttoned. His Bollywood-style hair looks even better, all tousled and wind-swept. He scans the front lobby and takes everything in, from the wallscreens featuring all the sexbot models from Andrew to Zachary and Anne to Zoey. There are non-binary models for those who need that, too. There’s something for everyone here. Even me.

  I sniff up my tears and lift my chin. “I’m not ashamed,” I say to Saif.

  Oh, I’m deeply ashamed. To my core. But I will never admit it. Never.

  “No,” he says with a sigh. He comes forward and gently takes my hand. “I don’t expect you to be.”

  That’s almost more disappointing. I’m a predictable mess to someone who hasn’t even seen me in the last ten years.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, and my lips trip over the word. I whisper, “I didn’t mean to run.”

  “Fight or flight,” he says, placing his other hand on my lower back and directing me to the door. “You can’t always throw the punches. Come on. Let me get you out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” I look up at him, and I realize my eyes are watery with tears. I can’t hold them back any longer.

  “I know the perfect place.”

  I hem and haw over my decision for a full five minutes while we wait in line.

  “Hmmm, I don’t know. This is a tough one.” I bite my lip and peer into the refrigerated case until finally, I’m sure. “Okay. I would like a scoop of the chocolate hazelnut crunch and another of the salted caramel, please.”

  I watch the young man scoop the ice cream, his powerful forearms flexing as he fills my cup overflowing. Oh yeah, that’s almost erotic, that is. Hello.

  I take a deep breath, tilt back my head, and sigh. I should have gotten laid instead of getting ice cream.

  “Here you go,” the young man says, handing the cup over the counter.

  I bring my attention back to the present. “Thanks.”

  Saif already has his ice cream and sits at a table outside on the sidewalk. The weather is warm, and the night is quiet. Only a few people saunter through the neighborhood, and someone walks past with their dog, a little schnauzer, her nose to the ground. I’m enamored by the green moss and ivy-covered buildings and the stream burbling between the sidewalk and a park one block away. Concord City is such a lovely place, full of old-world charm and high-tech conveniences. It’s a place I could be happy.

  I slide into the seat across from Saif and cross my ankles under the table.

  “I don’t think you know this,” Saif says around his spoon, “but ice cream solves pretty much every problem.”

  I dip my spoon into the chocolate hazelnut crunch and pull up a hefty portion.

  “If I let ice cream solve all my problems, I’d be as big as a whale.”

  Letting the ice cream melt across my tongue, I hum and close my eyes. Oh God, that’s good. Really, really good.

  “This is delicious,” I say, scooping up another mouthful.

  “It’s the best in this neighborhood,” he says, leaning forward and peering down the street. I turn to see what he’s looking at and find a Bhaat Jewelers on the corner, locked up for the night.

  I jerk my thumb over my shoulder at it. “I guess you’ve been here before.”

  “Many times. It’s conveniently located close to my gym as well.”

  I burst into a chuckle. “True convenience. Burn the calories, eat the calories.” I twirl my finger in a circle. “The circle of life.”

  We eat ice cream for a moment longer, and I wonder how long I can keep this up. This life of mine. It’s fucked up, and I know it. Everyone knows it. If my own mother wasn’t willing to tell me about her loss of the ships or come to me about it in the first place, then even she knows my life is a waste.

  “So, sexbots, huh?” Saif says, setting his empty cup down and wiping his hands with a napkin.

  “Jesus, you inhaled that. I’m barely a quarter of the way through.”

  He raises both hands. “As you said, circle of life. Don’t change the subject.”

  “It’s none of your business,” I say lightly. I wave my finger back and forth between us. “We are not in a relationship. I do not owe you anything.”

  Saif leans forward and makes eye contact with me. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He clears his throat and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms
over his chest. “Real talk time, Skylar. There isn’t a day that hasn’t gone by in the last ten years where I’ve wondered where you are or what you’re doing, but I was never sure how to make that call, how to pick up where we left off. When I saw the news stories about your cousin and how you were flying the Amagi, it was like a dose of sunshine on a cloudy day. I followed everything I could about it. I saw you in the photos at the auction, and I just knew I would see you again.”

  My heart is beating so hard, I can feel my pulse in my temples. Even my vision throbs with every beat.

  “How…” I have to stop to find my voice. It got up and walked away. “How did you contact Marcelo?” I ask, sticking my spoon into my ice cream and leaving it there.

  “That was easy. I saw he was working on your cousin’s behalf. I thought he might handle your network next. I contacted him months ago before you were out of school. Before you were marooned.”

  The emotion in his voice knocks me back. He cares genuinely. His voice is filled with equal parts anger and anguish.

  “You know about that?” I ask.

  “It wasn’t hard to figure out it was you.” He taps on the table with his index finger. “I am here because I want to be. Nothing about this evening has changed why I’m here.”

  I swallow, unused to this kind of devotion and passion from a man. Sure, there have been a million one-night stands from guys who exuded confidence, but this? I’ve never seen this kind of emotion directed at me.

  “It was my cat,” I blurt out. I sigh and close my eyes. My brain often bypasses my good sense and goes for something more hurtful to talk about.

  Saif blinks a few times. “That’s an intriguing non sequitur.” He sweeps his hand out. “Please, continue.”

  I pick my ice cream up again, relieved I have something to concentrate on other than him. I choose to indulge in the salted caramel now.

  “You asked why I was upset at my last far-school trip. My cat, Whiskers.” I sigh as I peer into the ice cream cup like it’s tea leaves that will tell me the future. “Look, if I tell you this, it’s going to wholly change how you feel about me.”