The Brummagem Clan Ablated

by Fred Ollinger

conclusion

The elevator door opened, and Beverly stepped out onto the roof. She shivered, though it was still summer.

If she had known it was going to be so cold, she would have brought a shawl to cover her bare shoulders. She had never been to the roof of her apartment building before.

She looked up at the gray sky. Back in her home town, the sky was a dark black at night. Here the city lights were so bright it was as if the whole sky were aglow. The sky wasn’t bright like the day, it had a murky luminence as if the light were just another pollutant.

Floodlights illuminated the circular landing spot. It was empty. She opened her holo-phone and dialed Joe. When he answered she saw him sitting in front of darkness broken up with occasional flashes of light.

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Getting a copter was the greatest idea!”

Out in the cold night, the wait seemed like an eternity, but her eye clock ticked out only a few minutes until the copter arrived. She saw Joe waving to her from an open door.

As she made her way to the copter, the rubber ground rebounded from the high heels putting a spring in her step. Joe stepped out and held her hand to help her in. Once they were both settled in, the door closed itself, and they were off.

“That’s it,” he said, “all the documents are e-filed. It’s time to take the night off. Help me spend the rest of my bonus. I already got this.” He gestured at something beneath his seat. It was difficult for Beverly to see in the dim light. She made out a photo of a rocket and the words “Brazilian Model.”

“Model kit,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy my hobby from now on.”

She kissed him on the lips, a wet smack. Then she sat back in her plush seat, smoothing out her dress and looking out over the city.

Behind her, the North Philadelphia apartment complex was receding. Her building was a black chip covered with scattered spots where people had left on their lights. But her building was disappearing into the crowd of other buildings all lit up here and there. It was if the buildings were towers of light. The ground was divided by white lines that Beverly guessed were rows of street lights.

Joe put his arm around her, and she looked at the Center City skyline. Each building was like a crystal shard filled with colored light. Joe’s body pressed against hers. He got heavier and heavier.

The skyline tilted to the side. Beverly realized the copter was turning towards the club district.

* * *

“Does it rain inside the club?” Beverly wondered as she studied the white umbrella above the table. A blue light issued from inside the umbrella. Beverly tried not to look at the sushi before she put it in her mouth. The light gave the food an unnatural color. Around them, the other tables were covered with their own umbrellas glowing orange, yellow, red, and purple.

Beverly’s table sat on a platform that overlooked a dance pit. To her, it was was if a thousand gyrating partygoers looked up at her, their bodies glistening with sweat. Watching the club gave Beverly an excuse to avoid watching Joe eat. He had abandoned his chopsticks. His fingers dipped half eaten sushi remains into soy sauce.

“So, what’s the cause for celebration?”

“I told you. I just finished up a case.”

“I know, but what’s the nature of the case?” She picked up a napkin to wipe sauce from his mouth then changed her mind and put it back down. She tried to just look into his eyes to take in the turquoise.

“I don’t want to bore you.”

“I’m not stupid,” said Beverly brushing a lock of blond out of her eye.

“It’s standard IP stuff. It’s called a glue ’n sue. First we show that we have a patent on a big-name product. Then we file an injunction against the sale of that product. That’s the glue.”

“And the sue is where you get the money,” she clapped her hands and immediately hated herself for it.

Joe was smiling again. “Yeah, that’s a big one. Lots of demand. It’s artificial intelligence algorithms. Do you know how big that is? It’s everywhere, baby.”

“Joe?” said a guy who appeared next to him. The man was dressed much like Joe, the same smart suit, the same perfect hair, same pale face. He looked a lot older, though. Beverly realized that it was because of tiny wrinkles near the eyes and mouth.

“Greg! Sup, bra?” asked Joe a little too loud for Beverly’s taste.

They went through a forced series of complicated handshakes, thumb locks, and knuckle punches. Beverly rolled her eyes but neither of them was looking at her.

It was as though Beverly were not there. Soon they were both deep in a legalese conversation that she tuned out. She felt like an explorer viewing the customs of a strange tribe. She was free to study them much more than if she had been included in the conversation.

Greg wore one of those colognes advertised to contain real “sex musk” that made men irresistible. To Beverly it smelled a little like body odor masked with rubbing alcohol and rose water. A drop of sweat clung to Greg’s jaw-line. Beverly was glad she wasn’t a man who had to wear a suit in a place as hot as the club.

Bored with the men, she gazed back down into the dance pit and watched the undulation of the bodies; everyone moved as one mass of flesh. The lights flashed, and when the dancers looked up, their faces appeared like different color flowers. Confetti snowed down onto the floor, sticking to their slick faces.

Beverly’s ears pricked up at the words “company party.” She looked at Joe who was bobbing his head up and down. “I’ll be there,” he said as his head continued to bob. “All the big boys are going to be there, right?”

“You got it. The way we snagged this last fish, well, they’ll be lining up to use our services and not only for the glue ’n sue, but also for the protection against it. We’re building better...”

Joe said “walls” in unison with Greg.

A few more words and an awkward good-bye handshake, and Greg left.

“So when’s the party?” asked Beverly.

Joe winced, then realized it and covered it with a smile, then a gulp of his drink.

“You don’t want to take me,” Beverly said it as a statement, not a question.

“It’s not that,” said Joe.

“Nobody takes dates to these things, right?” asked Beverly.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s simple. You didn’t even introduce me to him. Don’t you think I didn’t notice that?”

“Look, I brought you here. Isn’t that good enough? I blew some money on a copter and we’re at the most expensive restaurant at the most expensive club. If I were a girl like you, I’d think that was pretty good.”

At the words, “a girl like you”, Beverly stood up. “What do you mean, ‘a girl like you’?”

Joe floundered. Beverly had to laugh at this great lawyer losing an argument with his girlfriend, no, “girlfriend” wasn’t the right word, what did he think of Beverly? His slut? At that thought, she tossed her drink into his face then stormed out. Her last sight of him was his face coated with the green slime of the sour apple. He screamed, no doubt the alcohol burned his eyes. The sticky mess would be hard to get off his face.

* * *

Beverly took the elevated train home. Her apartment was empty when she got there. Apparently Anida had gone out. The carpet was spotless, and in the air was that post-vacuuming smell. The furniture was neat and orderly.

Anida usually cleaned the day before she expected to hook up. Beverly would let the apartment get dirty until Anida got cranky, then Beverly would spend a whole day off cleaning. When she was done, it never looked as nice as when Anida cleaned. Beverly didn’t think it was worth cleaning up for guys because they never seemed to notice anyway.

Joe would have noticed. Jerk! Beverly went to her bedroom and closed the door. Then she called her parents. Instead of their smiling faces, she got a blue wall of text with white letters. The letters were small and blocky unlike any text she had ever seen on a computer screen. A robotic voice read her the text which irritated her further. She wasn’t illiterate.

“Simu-Fam Incorporated regrets to inform you that our family simulation service — for entertainment purposes only — is temporarily unavailable due to an injunction filed by Destiny of Science (DOS). In order to better serve, you Simu-Fam is arguing in court to invalidate said patents.”

Beverly pressed DISCONNECT. Was this Joe’s glue ’n sue project? Not only did he use her, disrespect her, but now he was out to steal her family. In a way, he’d be taking her money, too; money she had paid for the family simulation would certainly go to DOS when they settled the case. When DOS won. Beverly had no doubt as to who would prevail in court.

Beverly’s hand hovered over her phone as she wondered which one of her real parents to call. Anida was right. Depending on a corporation to provide her a family was pathetic. She hadn’t wanted to hear about it at the time, but now that they were gone, she had to agree.

It didn’t take her long to think through an encounter with each of her parents. A phone call to either one would only upset her more. In the end, she chose neither. Instead, she took down her knitting.

She suddenly hated Mario’s smug smiling face. What did that stupid mushroom-eater know of the real world and its problems? Each time he died, he came back again and again. The yarn reminded her of her mother and all the troubles she had when Beverly was growing up. Her mother had been too busy with her own self-created problems to raise her properly.

Just as methodically as she had made it, Beverly took it apart. Stitch by stitch she pulled the thread until Mario’s torso then his face and even his red hat dissolved into a few piles of colored thread. With the knitting undone, Beverly felt a great weight lifted off her. Never again would she need to make excuses for not knitting. Now she could go out without all the guilt.

Beverly suddenly noticed smells of cumin and butter from the next room. She could hear sizzling and the clank of pots, but gently this time. After a little while, there was a knock on her door.

“Come in,” said Beverly.

Anida came in holding a tray that she set on Beverly’s bed. Beverly looked into curried chicken piled on top of rice with a side of chickpeas and pickled mango. Anida’s cooking skills respected no national boundaries.

“Would you like me to join you?” asked Anida.

“Thank-uh-yeah,” said Beverly.

Anida went out and came back with her own tray. She sat at Beverly’s desk.

“I’m sorry about-” began Beverly.

Anida held up her hand. “No, I’m sorry. Can we be friends again?”

Beverly smiled. “Yes, friends.”