Chapter 3 Concluded: The Interview
With apologies for holiday weekend delay
Good day, all. I meant to announce that I wouldn’t be updating this past Friday due to holiday weekend shenanigans, but I didn’t get to it before I was too deep in the woods to do so. But here, at last, is the last little section of Chapter 3.
We’re back in Eden’s old handlers’ “interview” room for this, where we get more of a sense of who they are, however unpleasant that might be.
As always, thank you for reading, and please, do share these along. The whole novel-in-progress thus far is at this Collection link, where the posts are nicely in order.
This post is free to all, as it’s a short section and it feels good to release these more widely from time to time. I hope you enjoy it!
EIGHT
Eden: The Interview
“It’s all very touching, I’m sure.”
I’ve lost Geary, at least for the moment. She’s leaning back in her chair, the unmistakable body language of disinterest. She’d been bought in, but then something shifted. My story had stopped matching her image of me.
“Where’d I lose you?”
“Sweetheart,” she drawls, tapping her manicure on the tabletop, “with respect, what there is of it available in this cruel world, you lost me a long time ago.”
“Kirsten! There’s no need —” Barnum starts in, playing good cop for some reason, but Geary is ahead of him as always.
“Oh shut up, you’re the only reason we’re here to begin with!” she snaps, bouncing up out of her chair. “What did you really think we were going to get out of this little Behind-the-Music charade?” This diva-style temper tantrum is her usual stock-in-trade, but like so much else about her delivery and presence, it’s strained, now. She can’t sustain it under these new conditions.
I just sit there and look at her. She called me in here, after all. I’ve literally got all day.
She paces back and forth for a moment, looking up at the ceiling in some pantomime of boredom or exasperation. When she starts talking, it’s still too fast for how cool she wants to be playing.
“I know how this all plays out, you know,” she says at last. “And I don’t believe it for a second. What — you got home from your fabulous tour, learned the truth about yourself — ‘oh noooo, somebody help me, I’m a perfect little creature, made to order to be a beautiful pop princess, whatever shall I do??’ — and then you,” she begins counting on her fingers, “One: become hopelessly addicted to an extremely expensive party drug until you’ve put the remainder of your fabulous salary up your nose; two: decide to clean up your act, but instead of doing something sensible like returning to the job you were literally made for, you instead team up with your new drug-dealer best friend and her robot henchman to do crimes; three: disappear into the desert for a month to change the nature of humanity? Did I miss anything?”
“Quite a lot, actually. Biggest part is probably where I forgot you existed for a while. That was nice.”
Geary launches herself at me before Barnum has a chance to gasp a “Madam!” To her credit, she stops herself less than a foot from my face, but she’s so quick and fierce that I’m surprised not to see bloody strips of my own cheek-skin dangling from her fingernails. Reflexively I’ve put my palm up to my face, expecting the blooming sting that doesn’t come. It’s strange to say it, but it seems she very literally cannot hurt me anymore. Not without too much personal cost.
She’s breathing hard and staring at me still. “How dare you,” she nearly whispers. “How dare you. I made you. I loved you!”
It’s too much, and I can’t help it, I laugh.
Then she really does strike me, a fast, ferocious slap before she turns on the toe of her Felice and storms out of the room. Barnum, always two steps behind, huffs once, looks at me with something like an apology in his face, then goes after her.
Charlie, poor, quiet Charlie, who has been next to me this whole time while I’ve mostly ignored him, has stood up. When I look at him I see not the sorrow and resignation I expected, but fury. His jowly cheeks are red beneath his round, rimless glasses, his teeth are clenched.
Then he turns his head toward me and I watch his face collapse with concern. He kneels by my chair in one swift motion, so much grace in such a big man. His head is even with mine. I reach out and grasp his shoulder, shaking my head and smiling.
“My dear,” he says low, his voice gravelly, “are you all right? God, that horrible woman.”
“I’m all right,” I say, and it’s strangely true. He’s not, though, and I squeeze the shoulder I’m holding and invite him in for a hug. He looks at me, and I can tell he’d give a lot to collapse in my arms, but also feels it would be wrong somehow.
“It’s you who have suffered,” he says, shaking his head, passion edging his proper diction. “You who need comfort and care.”
“Charlie,” I say, moving my hand to his face, gently. “You’ve always been there for me. I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m okay, truly.” Charlie’s solid as a rock, and it’s strange seeing him like this, but not that surprising. He’s actually a good person. Of course he’s affected.
He can’t keep holding it together, though, and I watch as he takes in that I really am okay, then he practically crawls into my lap, big, silent sobs shaking his frame.
I shush and rub his back. “Geary’s a beast,” I murmur, “and the Change didn’t go so well for people who are evil enough to be aggrieved but not self-aware enough to admit they were wrong. I’m gonna call it a win that she’s hurting at all, even if it’s for the wrong reasons. I can’t even imagine what you must have been through with her all this time.”
He sobs harder at this, but then begins to calm. His breathing steadies and he says, “It’s been awful. But I will say one thing: she does love you. That she said it aloud…whatever you’re doing, my dear, it’s working.”
His smile is at once sad and oddly canny. I guess even Charlie has wised up. They don’t tell you that about increased empathy, about less numbing and dissociation. They don’t tell you that while it hurts a lot more at first…it also makes you smarter.
“Charlie,” I say. “You’ve always been my friend. Thank you.”
He demurs with an abashed glance downward and a small scoff, closer to the courtly character I’ve come to know. “Well thank you, love. I’ve tried. I have no idea what’s going to happen next. But until then,” he smiles again with that glint in his eye, “do you want to tell me more about your drug dealer friend?”
To my surprise, I discover that I do.