I saw logos of what looked like more sponsors, blueprints of what was probably the meeting place, pie charts, diagrams, bullet points, and pages of contracts. I let the papers slide off my legs as I stood. “I can’t do this.”
“Bullshit!” He bared his teeth like an angry dog. “We don’t have a choice! Everyone’s laughing at us. Our stock is worth half a bug fuck.” Waving a hand toward Xavid, he added, “We’re selling everything just so we have electricity.”
With a shrug, I said, “I won’t do it.”
“You will!”
“I refuse.”
“I’ll make you,” he said, stepping forward. “I’ll make you do it, you little shit!”
“You will not.”
“Sir,” said Joelene. “This operation of yours is a surprise. Can’t we have time to recuperate and figure out our next step?”
“It should be a surprise! It’s a genius surprise. I thought of it in my own head! And if we don’t we’re dead. Right guys?”
Ken pumped a fist. “Otherwise, we’re dead!”
“Expired!” chimed Xavid, as he tickled his hands over his oily shirt.
“Just today,” continued Father, “we lost seven thousand customers. Seven fucking thousand! I’ve been on the phone begging the buggers not to leave, but they’re so fucking stupid, it’s real hard.” As Ken echoed the words fucking stupid, father got in Joelene’s face. “And you! I’m tired of your worthless input. I want to see you working for RiverGroup.”
She stiffened. “I am Michael’s tutor.”
“Yeah? Well, tutor him this: He’s going to fuck Elle’s stinkin’ hole at the product show or you’re finally out of here. You got that?”
I wanted to tear his head off. “I’m not doing it!” As I spoke, tears ran down my face. “I’m out of this horrible family.” I could barely see as I stumbled past him, around the stage, past Ken Goh, and past Father’s idiot film crew and back outside.
I ran to the garage, got in my car, and said, “Europa-1,” to my driver. We started moving, and as I strapped myself into the seat, I added, “To the MKG complex… to Nora.”
Four
The two-lane highway that traveled around the world roughly at the Tropic of Cancer rose high above the desert, cut through mountain ranges, floated over oceans, and was the way to get around the globe fast. After we exited the compound and wound our way down the slope, we came to the desert floor and then began to curve around Ros Begas, toward the long entrance ramp. No other Loop cars were out, so it felt like I was the only one in the world moving, and I liked that. As each of the sixteen vacuum-arc motors started, wound up to speed, and then kicked in, I was agreeably pushed into the seat. Although I was stylistically against speed, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline and allowed myself to enjoy it because I was heading toward her.
From the outside, my car was shaped like a giant teardrop with the fat end forward and the back slowly tapering down to a needlepoint. The metal skin was covered with millions of little fibers that felt velvety when it was still, but vibrated at high frequency when the car was in motion. It had something to do with aerodynamics, but I wasn’t sure. Dozens of skinny tires protruded below and made the whole thing look like a fat centipede. Mine, like the other RiverGroup Loop cars, was painted the company orange and blue, and on the stabilizing fins, like the dorsal fins on a fish, were the logos of the company, products, and those of our strategic partners.
Soon we were on the Loop nearing full speed. The white road and the orange guard walls on either side were a blur, but the distant mountaintops passed in stately fashion. We had left the city and were traveling through the slubs, where millions of tiny orange and yellow houses and small square buildings covered the landscape like so many bits of sand. A few of the taller and steeper mountaintops were bare, or unicorned with a transmission tower. All around, in the valleys, the air was thick with a grayish haze.
“Four point three,” announced the driver.
Releasing myself from the safety seat, I stepped back to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet. Nothing came up, but I wished I could have vomited what was supposed to make me part of my family—whatever nurture, or DNA. Finally, I stood, unhappy that I couldn’t rid myself of my lineage so easily. At the duralumin sink, I splashed water on my face then studied myself in the mirror. First I closed my left eye and lamented the pinkish tone of my cheeks and ears, which made me appear bothered and anxious. But when I closed my right, and the flush faded away, I felt I looked stronger and in control. This black and white version was the real me—the me beneath the hues.
Once I got back to my seat, I checked the camera views of the road flying past us. They were clear, but just in case, I asked the driver, “Anyone following us?”
“Negative, sir,” was the answer through the intercom.
“Nothing?” I asked, surprised.
“Negative.”
Maybe this was all it took. Maybe Father finally heard and understood. Years ago, he had finally accepted that I would no longer be the dancer he wanted me to be. Maybe today he understood that I could not and would not date Elle. And maybe he saw that our only course of action was reconciliation with MKG.
The rust-colored mountains gave way to flatter and flatter vistas covered with a crazy quilt of house developments, shopping malls, sweat shops, all interspersed with fields of corn. In the distance, a cloud of greenish vapor tinted the horizon.
At night, much of the slubs were black, but a few dots of electric light or bonfires mirrored the dozen stars in the sky. During the day, it was ugly, limitless, flat, and dull. Worse, it made me feel insignificant.
I wished Joelene were with me. She would surely applaud my daring. Several times lately, she had congratulated me on puzzles solved and initiatives taken, but this was the boldest yet.
The car began to slow, but we hadn’t even come to the Gulf Coast yet. I glanced at the red emergency stop button, with its big white E, at the front of the cabin, as if I had accidentally pushed it, but of course, I hadn’t. “Driver,” I said, “what’s the matter?” A second later, Ken Goh’s blue and orange painted face filled the screen.
“I know you just had a terrible ordeal,” he said, “and I feel very very bad for you, but your father and the company are under tremendous pressure right now.” His eyes, nostrils, and mouth were outlined in dark blue, the rest was orange so that he looked like a tangerine skull. “He is trying. He really really is.”
“He is not.”
“No, he is.” Ken had worked for Father for more than a year, but what he did besides agree with everything Father said, I didn’t know. My impression was that there was nothing inside of him. He didn’t care what he kissed, how many times, or how bad it tasted. “I know you’d agree that he’s brilliant and yet modest.” Ken smiled, and across three of his front teeth the letters y e s were stenciled in blue. “Trust me, he knows your situation and feelings.”
I snapped off the screen, but he turned it back on from his side.
“See,” he smiled a big yes smile, “your father predicted that you’d turn me off.” Leaning in, Ken whispered, “He knows. He’s much wiser than you might think.” Scrunching up his citrus face, he added, “Sure, he’s got a temper. And sometimes it flares up badly. But all great men have fits. I think it is part of being that great.” He turned to his left. “Right?”
Xavid and his huge square glasses leaned in. “Elle is a peach. Squeeze her and you’ll get nectar.”
I had liked Father’s previous hairdresser. She was a tall, bosomy matron of a lady who was always complaining about the horrible styles he wanted. But he got rid of her. Xavid was a scrawny little man who dressed mostly in oily, black sealskins. His huge amber eyeglasses made his eyes look yellow, watery, and distorted. For some reason his lips were always an odd bluish color, as if he lacked oxygen, and his little whitish tongue often darted out of the right corner of his mouth like a feeding sea worm. Mostly, he was just creepy and odd.