As I throw myself back, pulling up the gun to fire, two things happen simultaneously. The Luger clicks, cold. And my sudden shift topples the pyramid of crates. The air opens up behind me, so I’m looking up, falling back, as the things seethe out like gas – murky, taloned things, clawing past each other to get at me, making a rustling like rice paper. And what hits me as I strike my head on the concrete is that it wasn’t even the gurgler that took me out.
>> GAME OVER
I toss the plug-in to one side in disgust and wedge myself out of the gamewomb and into the barcade, lit cosily dim so that pulling out into realworld isn’t so jarring. I stumble over to the bar and get distracted by a girl with relaxed curls and a mole above her mouth, old-Hollywood-style, sitting alone in one of the perspex booths. The only game she’s playing is voyeur on everyone else’s, multiple screens projecting the action.
‘You buying?’ I say, pulling in next to her.
‘Excuse me?’ she says, all cold surprise, like she’s never been hit on before.
‘C’mon. I’ll get the next one. You can make it expensive. But you buy this round. I just got fragged one time and I need a commiseratory drink.’
‘Oh right. You’re the one who just got torn limbless by the Dark.’
‘That’s me. Toby. And you are?’
‘Julia.’
We sit in silence for a long moment. She’s waiting for me to get uncomfortable and leave. But I’m not shifting a millimetre and eventually she can’t resist, if only to drive home her superiority.
‘You need the BFG automatic. It’s in the substation behind the geysers.’
‘I looked there.’
‘It’s up, not down, wedged behind the pipes. And you missed the key.’
‘So, if you’re the resident expert, how come you aren’t playing?’
‘How do you know I’m not?’
I tap the tabletop to pull up the drinks menu, skim it, but it’s same old. ‘Tequila?’
‘You are incredibly forward.’
‘Do you play? Or do you just like to watch?’
She stares at me, unbelieving.
‘Cos I didn’t use to. I reckoned it was all time wastage, you know?’ And this is true, kids. I was big-time ambition once, Masters in literature, novel ambitions, before the cast, before the sugar, before the girls. ‘When I was a kid, I only ever used the educationals.’
This riles her. ‘You can’t simplify like that. It’s all blurred now, the lines between education and entertainment.’ And I’ve hooked her.
‘What, like the kids’ games? That Moxyland shit? Murder and mayhem. Training them to be savage, don’t you think? It’s not about making friends with kids all over the world, it’s about getting ahead, getting one over.’
‘But don’t you think it’s appropriate? Considering.’
‘The world, you mean? That’s a tad harsh. Is that it? Won’t they learn that shit later?’
‘All right. So, what should they be learning?’
‘Compassion? Empathy? How to get along? Life skills?’
‘You’re an idealist.’
I shrug, all modest coy, as if she’s bust me. I look down at my drink, cos the tequila has arrived on the conveyor that runs between the terminals, so the players won’t be distracted by comings and goings, so they’ll stay longer, spend more money.
‘To compassion.’ She grins with a sardonic twist to her mouth, taking the tequila.
‘To beautiful women with a mean sarcastic streak,’ I toast back.
Later, Julia comes back to the swivel with me. They always do.
Lerato
The date goes much better than I’d anticipated, but for all the wrong reasons. Stefan is as craggily beautiful as his profile photograph, and smart and lucid and engaging and funny and refined – and gay as a rainbow bumper-sticker.
‘I fucking knew it,’ I say, sipping on a papaya mojito, which he’s taken the liberty of ordering for both of us because it’s Gravity’s speciality. Gravity isn’t my first choice of afterhours, but in its favour, entry is strictly corporate pass, so you don’t have to deal with pleb civilians. And it’s set on the 44th floor of the Vodacom building on a revolving floor, so the view rotates around you at a gentle clip, mountain-city-sea, ideal for those with a short attention span for the spectacular.
‘I’m sorry?’ he says, slightly taken aback. Normally, I enjoy the deft manoeuvring around what can’t be said, the subtle, skilful politicking of negotiations. I had an Iranian friend, Shaheema, who taught me the finer tactics of never saying what you mean, when she came out on exchange to Communique from the Emirates office. It’s as useful in the secular corporate environment as in Persian culture. Which is not to say I’m prepared to abandon subtlety altogether when monitoring is a real concern. I lean forward, exposing maximum cleavage, and touch his arm.
‘We’re both adults, Stefan. We both know why we’re here. Why don’t you and I just skip straight to the main course.’
‘Uh – I thought perhaps we could just have a quiet drink, get to know each other.’
‘We could go back to my place. But I have a roommate, which might make it tricky, if we’re to make all the noise we want. What about yours?’
He’s utterly confused, the poor thing, but then his eyes crinkle and he half suppresses a smile, shaking his head. ‘I thought you were serious. I have an audio interference, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ He clicks the silver pen lying on the table beside his notebook. ‘We can make all the noise we like. No spyware’s going to pick it up.’
I toy with the glass, keeping up the flirtatious masquerade for the sake of anyone watching. ‘And how do I know you’re not with…’
‘Internal investigations? That this isn’t a setup?’
‘I do have a history, Mr. Thuys.’
‘Don’t we all, Ms. Mazwai. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer to allay your fears. You’ll just have to trust me.’
‘Give me a secret. One that I can verify.’
‘Why?’
‘Leverage.’
‘I’m not in the habit of trading secrets with beautiful women, especially not so they can blackmail me.’
‘Only beautiful boys?’ I’ve managed to get under that buffed and exfoliated and moisturised skin. He unfolds and refolds his legs.
‘You know, if I was from your current employer’s internal investigations, you would already have incriminated yourself.’
‘I really don’t know what you mean. I was in the middle of asking you if this was another one of Genevieve’s half-baked romantic set-ups. You interrupted, rudely, before I could finish my sentence. It’s hardly my fault if you want to jump to wild conclusions.’
He slaps his leg and laughs loudly enough to disturb the suits on the couch across from us, who glance over briefly. Unfortunately, audio interference only works on electronics.
‘You really are something. So, what would it take to – uh, get you into bed?’
‘I’m not a whore, Stefan. But if you’re asking me about my ambitions, my dreams? The kind of things we might discuss on a date? I want to live up to my potential. You know I was raised in a skills institute? Eskom Energy Kids.’
‘I saw it on your CV.’
‘Compared to scrabbling for opportunities with three thousand other Aidsbabies, believe me – corporate life is a breeze.’
‘Good wine does depend on its terroir. So what are your dreams, Lerato?’
‘The things any girl wants. A pony. True love. A diamond ring. A generous car allowance. A sea view, a space to call my own, that’s really my own, sans roommate. Work that is meaningful, you know, where I can make a real and valuable contribution to society, although I’d settle for challenging and remarkably well-paid with international firstworld opportunities. Maybe one day.’