Gerard rolls up the hose and passes out our bonus cocaine.
“Heads out of butts, everybody,” Oberlin says. “Fun’s over. Unless I’m mistaken we still have valued Clients to transport back to a time of quaint enchantment.”
So we toot up while jogging towards the Corkboard of Assignments, and when we get there everyone laughs at me and pelts me with their empty vials because according to the Corkboard my next Table Boy gig is a SafeOrgy.
Nobody likes a SafeOrgy. A SafeOrgy fills you with longing and repulses you at the same time. We supply a sexy room modeled after a posh nineteen-fifties hotel. We offer BodyCons, since even the rich aren’t above the sexually transmitted disease epidemic. They like to let it all hang out and express themselves without any worries, like in the old days. Today I walk in with my tray and seven shrink-wrapped Clients are rolling around on a heart-shaped bed with crooner music playing. We’re not supposed to linger, just set the cold cuts down and get the hell out. But unfortunately a gorgeous overenthusiastic Client ruptures her seal. Our Employee Handbook requires us to perform a quick decon on the spot. There’s a tank of soap mounted above the fireplace. She’s all worked up however and starts groping me. I try to resist but she’s strong. Nothing much really happens. She gets my earlobe in her mouth and starts sucking. That’s about it. It’s not unpleasant but I’m too scared to enjoy it. Finally I get her off me and manage to spray her from head to toe with soap. That cools her down. Maybe too much. As soon as she becomes aware that her boob is protruding from the shrink-wrap her cultural encoding gets the best of her and she starts looking down her nose at me.
“You reprobate Flawed animal!” she says, backpedaling and folding her arms over her chest. “This is going directly into the written summary portion of your Evaluation!”
Luckily the other members of her party are too soused to catch what she’s saying so I manage to get out without being lynched. I immediately go over to Administration to explain it all to Oberlin and Albert. This could be real trouble. They could claim I molested a paying Client. They could demote me even further, to Gravedigger or Septic Tank Tech.
But to my surprise Albert tousles my hair and gives me a cube of fried meat, a true facility rarity. The last time I had meat was four years ago, when a drunken Client singled me out for my subservient attitude. Talk about a feast. Talk about being blocked up for weeks afterwards.
“Never mind about her,” Albert says. “She’ll live. We’ve got something more important to discuss with you.”
“Respect,” Oberlin says. “That’s the quantity I hope to imbibe to you during the confab that is to follow this present preface I’m extolling. Because my feeling is strongly that a man has a right to know the whereabouts of, say, immediate family members, should their lifeplans take a strong hiatus. So congratulations! Don’t therefore think of it as losing an erstwhile sister, but rather as having her gain her dream of off-site cohabitation with someone richer than any of us, is my read on this.”
“What’s he talking about?” I ask Albert.
“Connie,” Albert says. “Corbett’s bought her out of Bounty Land.”
“Bought her out?” I say. “What does that mean?”
“Albert’s putting this thing in a non-romantic light,” Oberlin says. “Surely there’s love there.”
“Oh, there’s love there,” Albert says. “Considerable love.”
“And think if you will of the ranch to which he’ll take her!” Oberlin says. “A finer ranch none of us will ever see, much less have as a love nest of sorts.”
“When are they leaving?” I say. “Where are they going?”
“Six hours ago,” Oberlin says. “His spacious estate, you lovable boob! Taos, New Mexico! Affluent as all get-out. He’s got more livestock than you can shake a stick at, and from there runs his antiseptic-swab empire! Your lucky sibling! You don’t think she’ll be waited on hand and foot, and eat like a true nouveau riche or captain of industry? She’ll literally I feel be enmeshed in bonbons, not to mention a staff that loves her like one of their own and praises her personal attributes to the sky or what have you!”
“Are they getting married?” I say.
“Ho ho,” Oberlin says. “What sweet naïveté of existing law you manifest, chum! But they’re living together, and he’s paying all her expenses, including the release fee due our facility, which will allow us to make considerable renovations to the Castle Six edifice, which is crumbling, so don’t give me whining. This is a boon, for us and for you and for her.”
“As next of kin, you’ll need to sign this release,” Albert says. “A mere formality.”
“In her best interests,” Oberlin says.
“No biggie,” Albert says.
“If I don’t sign,” I say, “does he have to bring her back?”
“Haw,” Oberlin says. “No. I fake your John Hancock, then boot your sorry heinie over the wall whence you came in over, leaving you to free-associate with the hateful rabble for an untold future time period.”
“Just sign,” Albert says. “It’s a foregone conclusion. It’s what she wanted. Here. Read this.”
The letter’s in Connie’s hand. I can tell because all the i’s are dotted with smiley faces.
“Cole honey” the letter says, “can you believe all my hard work finally paid off? He says he loves me! A rich Normal and he loves ME! He says the other men in my past don’t matter, and that he wants to possess me totally forever. I’ll miss you, but I know in my heart we’ll meet again, hopefully at my place. A ranch! He said I could even have an economy car! Not to be haughty, but listen: Knuckle down and get something for yourself like I did. Don’t be a dopey space cadet like Dad!”
She’s signed it: “Love forever.”
What can I do? Nothing’s bringing her back. Maybe he really does love her. Maybe he’s freethinker enough to see past her Flaw. Stranger things have happened. She’s pretty and good-hearted and devoted and smart. Who wouldn’t love her?
Oberlin rolls his eyes. Albert purses his lips.
I sign.
Goodbye Connie.
I never considered Dad a dopey space cadet. He was a simple man whose only marketable skill was selling home water-filtration units via sincerity. Finally, when the Third Panic was in full swing and every water source in the county became suspect, he started giving the units away. Mom said she considered herself as compassionate as the next person, but given our household expenses and the scarcity of the filters, a price increase seemed more in order than a giveaway. Dad said she should try to understand that other people, even ignorant people, even poor people, loved their children every bit as much as she loved hers.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said. “The point is, I don’t love their kids as much as I love mine. And mine are fed with the money you make from those goddamned filters.”
Dad sat on the couch, looking wistful and kooky.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, staring out at the swing set, where Sparky as usual sat in the glider, his days numbered. “The old criteria such as cash will have no meaning within a few weeks. Good works are the ticket.”
“We need a gun,” Mom said. “For if someone tries to take the house.”
“The people who come to take the house,” Dad said, “will have more guns than you can imagine.”
And he was right. They had guns and riding crops and mortars. They had a sense of high moral purpose. They had the sanction of the provisional government and a portable sound system that blared “Homogeneity, Sweet Homogeneity” as they blockaded the home of any family with a Flawed member, meaning every family but the Quinces, who they blockaded for fraternizing with Flaweds, based on photographs they had of Mr. Quince teaching me to throw a knuckler. Soon the food ran out and DeAngelo ate our dog. Soon the militia wandered in without firing a shot and drove us into the night.