The remaining half of the set was given over to the bedroom. That at least was full-scale, though again the walls were just holograms, and the black sheets were cotton rather than silk. Two men were sitting on the mattress. One of them was Morton. Mellanie gasped in surprise. Then she noticed a few inconsistencies, and realized it was cellular reprofiling. A good operation, though, she acknowledged, the resemblance would fool most people. The man beside the mock-Morton was Jaycee, chief executive of Wayside Productions. He was dressed all in black, which looked good on most people. On Jaycee, Mellanie thought it made him look a lot more worn down than his actual fifty-one years, like some embarrassingly oddball bachelor uncle. His head was shaved, though a ghostly shimmer of gray stubble betrayed a monk’s halo. She tried not to stare as he came over, but what kind of executive, especially in a media company, couldn’t pull off baldness with any style.
“Mellanie, lovely to finally meet you in the flesh.” He squeezed her hand rather too firmly as he spent a long time looking her up and down. “And fucking great flesh it is, too. You look delectable.” His plastic friendship smile tightened slightly. “I thought you’d be younger.”
“Oh?” Mellanie was starting to get very bad vibes about Wayside Productions.
“Not a criticism, sweetheart. I’ve got a shithot cosmetics man, we can work you back a few years. See what he did to Joseph, here.”
The man with Morton’s face grinned aggressively. “Hi, babe, looking forward to gigging with you.” He put one hand on his groin, and squeezed happily. Mellanie could see his erection through the trouser fabric. “Don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed, not with this equipment.”
“You’re such an asshole, Joseph,” Tiger Pansy sneered. “Mellanie, don’t let him give you anal, honey, no matter what Jaycee says is in the script. He’s gotten himself an enlargement that’s so big it’s fucking stupid. You’ll hurt into the middle of next week.”
“Hey!” Joseph gave Tiger Pansy the finger. “You couldn’t even fit this between your sagging titties they’ve spread so wide you ancient fucking slut.”
“Fuck you.”
“What the hell is this?” Mellanie demanded. “We’re shooting my story, the things that happened to me and Morton, not some porno.”
“Of course we are, sweetheart,” Jaycee said. “You two,” he growled at Joseph and Tiger Pansy, “fuck off. I want to talk to Mellanie.”
“What are you trying to do?” Mellanie asked when the others had shuffled off the bedroom set.
“Okay, I apologize for Joseph, he’s an asshole. But he’s one of my best dols.”
“A doll?”
“D. O. L. Dick on legs. Even with all today’s drugs, some guys have a shitload of trouble keeping it up for the recording. It’s a psychological thing, or some crap like that. But Joseph, he can perform every fucking time, man. He’s fucking incredible. And don’t you fucking listen to that screwed-up old whore, Tiger. Joseph knows what he’s doing with girls. You’ll have a lot of fun riding that monster dick of his.”
“No I won’t. This has all been some giant mix-up. I’m not here to make a porno. Good-bye.” She turned around, ready to walk out.
“Wait, just fucking wait, okay,” Jaycee stepped in front of her, arms held up. “This is not a fucking porno. We’re shooting a real fucking true life drama here, man.”
She gave the set a derisive glance. Even the fireplace statues made sense now. “Yeah, right.”
“Fucking listen will you. I read the story Rishon came up with. You were some fucking swimmer when that Morton got inside your pants, and that fucked your chances on the team. It’s a fucking classic; you’re young and he’s rich. Only it turns out he killed a bunch of people as well; he betrayed you, sweetheart. Accessors love shit like that. We’ve even put in a chase scene around the apartment when you find out what he’s done. He comes at you with a knife. It’s fucking exciting.”
“That is bullshit,” she snapped. “None of this is what I told Rishon. Morton never killed anyone. You’re not interested in telling our story.”
“Of course I am, sweetheart. Man, I want the whole fucking story, too. Look, we’ll just be shooting the sex scenes first, get them fuckers out of the way. Then we can concentrate on all the other stuff, we’ll do it big style on location, where it actually happened. Okay?”
“What utter crap!”
“You don’t like Joseph? Fine. No fucking problem. I’ll get reprofiled to look like your boyfriend, and pump you myself.”
“Oh, Jesus wept!” She went for the door.
Jaycee’s hand came down on her shoulder and spun her around. His face was flushed and angry, hot blotches showing where too much cheap cellular reprofiling had been done to him down the decades. “Stop being such a fucking bitch-kitty princess. You signed that fucking contract, and you fucking knew what was in it. You’re even wetwired specially for this gig, for fuck’s sake. If you’ve started shitting it because this is your first time, then boo fucking hoo. I can slip you a dose of coolant that can take care of that for you, no fucking problem. You’ll be chill for the whole gig. But don’t fucking come marching in here and fucking tell me this isn’t what you wanted.”
“It’s not what I was told was going to happen. I had those OCtattoos because all actresses know we have to do that. Making love is an integral part of life. So love scenes contribute to the drama’s narrative structure. But they’re only a part of it. You just want to do that and nothing else.”
“Actress? Fuck me. If that’s what you want to fucking call yourself, then go right ahead. But I paid for those OCtattoos because you’re a fantasy fuck, princess hardass. You’re the real fucking deal; you’re the kind of trim that those sad little fucks out there in access land can only ever envy all the rich bastards for having. Your kind doesn’t ever fucking put out for a guy unless he’s got a hundred mil in his bank. Now I get to give them what you really taste like. And they’re going to love us for it.”
“No. I’m not doing it.”
“Did you see any multiple fucking choice boxes to check off when you came in here, you stupid bitch? I fucking paid for you and I’m gonna fucking collect. Our contract says you spread your legs when I tell you to and let us record every fucking feeling in your tight-ass body when my dol goes to work inside you. And stop giving me all this shit about it, else I’ll see to it that you wind up in the suspension chamber next to your killer boyfriend. We’ve got a legal contract.”
Jaycee was staring triumphantly right into her eyes, eager to catch the first signs of submission.
Mellanie was fast. Years of that relentless, tedious training with the squad had given her the kind of strength and reflexes that modern athletes normally had to have wetwired and retrosequenced into their bodies. Her knee came up, with powerful leg muscles trying to lift it all the way to Jaycee’s chin. His scrotum was the first thing to get in the way.
She watched his mouth drop open soundlessly. His eyes widened, flooding with tears. He slid to one side, making a quiet, agonized choking sound, and crumpled to the floor.
“I’m going to call my agent now,” she told him dispassionately. “But when you’re out of the hospital, we really must do lunch.”
The taxi dropped Mellanie off by the lakeside in the Glyfada district. She sat on a long wooden bench just above the water, watching the sailing yachts making their way out of the marina in Shilling Harbor to catch the first of the morning winds. The bars and restaurants behind her were just starting to open for the day, with delivery trucks parked outside several of them, cargobots unloading fresh food. They weren’t actually serving yet. It was too early for that. Her brand-new media career had lasted all of forty-five minutes.
The shakes began as she finally allowed herself to think about Jaycee, and what she’d done actually hit home. An incredulous half laugh burst from her lips, more relief than anything else. No one at Wayside Productions had tried to stop her as she left. They all just stared at her as she walked past the sets, as if she were some mad serial killer—except for Tiger Pansy who’d winked.
I can’t believe I did that.
Which triggered a terrible thought. If that ability was to be found in the core of every human mind, then could Morton actually have…
She stopped that line of reasoning straightaway.
But it felt good. I actually stood up for myself.
In the heat of the moment. And no doubt Jaycee would file charges as soon as he could walk and talk again. And she’d signed the contract. It had seemed so wonderful at the time, the perfect solution to her situation. Dear old Hoshe’s suggestion of waitressing or college were nonstarters. He didn’t understand, she simply couldn’t do things like that. Not after the life she’d been shown. That cut her options down considerably.
A young man so obviously on his way to crew a yacht, dressed in a rugby shirt and shorts, was sauntering along the waterfront, trying not to be too obvious as he glanced at her. She pushed her hair back lightly, and gave him a sunburst smile. The answering smile he gave was so full of puppy-dog hope and longing it was all she could do not to laugh outright. God, men are so easy. Not that it had to be men, especially given her current mood. A girl would be so much kinder in bed, more attentive, more receptive.
It would be nice to be taken care of, to be pampered and adored.But weak. I’m not going to be weak anymore. The tears threatened to burst out again. There had been so much of that since the trial. She made fists of her hands, forcing her nails into her palms until she winced at the pain.I will not cry again.
There was only one option left now. She hadn’t wanted to try it before because it was such a long shot. A fantasy, really. The psychological safety net you never want to use.
She pulled out the little array she’d brought with her from the penthouse. The one with the ridiculously expensive black foxory casing—not that dear Hoshe had recognized that. “I want a link to the SI,” she told her e-butler. Her new OCtattoos were all for sensory reception; Jaycee hadn’t paid for virtual interface functions.
“For what reason?” the e-butler asked. The SI was notoriously reluctant to accept calls from human individuals. Apart from its comprehensive banking service, official government requests and emergencies were about the only contact it had with the Commonwealth.
She brought the little array up close to her face. “Just tell it who’s calling,” she whispered. “And ask it if… if Grandpa remembers me.”
The little screen on the front of the handheld array immediately came on, showing tangerine and turquoise sine-waves retreating back to their joint vanishing point. “Hello, baby Mel.”
“Grandpa?” The word was very hard to get out through her tightened-up throat. Once again, the wretched tears threatened to burst loose. She really had not expected this to work.
“He is with us, yes.”
Mellanie remembered that last achingly long day in the hospice, waiting by his bed for him to die. She was only nine at the time, and never did understand why he didn’t rejuvenate like everybody else. Her parents hadn’t wanted her there, but she’d insisted—stubborn even back then. Grandpa (actually, her great-great-grandfather) was always the nicest relative she had, always found time for his baby Mel despite his status as one of the planet’s most distinguished residents. All the history files at school mentioned him as one of the programmers who had helped Sheldon and Isaac write the governing software for their original wormhole. “Are you still you, Grandpa?”