Revolution, p.3
(R)Evolution, page 3
Down his email inbox list, he noticed one with the header:
>YOU HAVE BEEN DECEIVED<
The sender’s address: 182012@freemail.com.
Richard smirked. He knew it was spam. Clever spam, at that. Normally, he avoided opening spam but this one had no attached viruses and he sure wasn’t going to click any links. He opened the letter to see what he had been tricked about.
Richard Smith,
It came to our attention that the government has been lying to the people. They want you to believe that all babies born with physical defects such as scales, small lungs, and black eyes have been exterminated upon birth. THIS IS NOT TRUE.
Through recently gathered information from the Department of Fertility, we have discovered that these babies are alive.
We are reaching out to all families affected by this charade found in the Department of Fertility database. Please respond to this email if you have any questions.
Sincerely,
182012
Chapter 6
The Black Berry Belle theatre in upper Manhattan was packed with screaming and crying fans. None of them stood in their seats. Some of them tried to rip them out but failed to pull the metal bolts from the floor. The management of the venue was well prepared. They weren’t going to take any chances of someone attempting to kill the talent on stage with their property.
At the center of the elevated stage, Victoria Channel stood emotionally proud and held her arms out as if accepting a hug from the world and finished the closing chorus of her final pop song. The band stood behind her and supported her voice that sold millions of downloads and gathered billions of views on all streaming sites. Her voice shook the room and the souls of the audience that paid a week’s salary to hear it live. She gave them more than their money’s worth so death would be welcomed now.
Since this was a recorded performance for the world, a small camera crew, one for each person on the stage and a few for wider shots, moved around to capture the dramatic gestures. All of the crew were confident that this was going to make their career. The production company would always find a job after this since everyone would know their name. There was no bigger performer than Victoria Channel. She was the ultimate score.
As planned, the band stopped playing and Victoria stretched the note with her voice. The crowd erupted into louder cheers and applause. She brought the note down with her head. It died when her delicate chin touched her bare breast bone revealed by a short, tight, and sparkling black dress. Her blond bangs followed, draping her face as if the final curtain had been pulled. The lights went down. She was the first to exit the stage.
Victoria’s entourage of hired supporters, crew, and management met her backstage where they smiled and congratulated her on a perfect performance. She ignored and avoided them. She hated being touched after a performance whether it was live or in a studio. She felt sensitive. She bared her soul and the soul was delicate. One time some dope that worked on the stage accidentally touched her tan shoulder and told her how wonderful she was out there. Victoria punched him in the face and screeched. How dare he touch her! Her management paid the stage hand off and the matter was never brought up again.
Dick Rocco, her manager, plowed through the people and offered his hand to Victoria. The man ten years younger than her thirty-one years wore a black and white sharkskin suit and matching shoes. His hair was spiked out and his florescent yellow frames glowed on his smudged face.
“Stand back everyone,” he screamed. “Give her room!”
Victoria took his hand. Rocco was okay. He would lead her to salvation. He knew better to ask first before he made contact. He always delivered, too. Rocco draped his arm around her bare shoulders and led her down the narrow hall. The crowd was now behind them. A yard away was her dressing room where he ushered her in and closed the metal door behind them.
“Thank fucking God,” Victoria said, grabbing a bottle of water from the dry ice cooler on the table. “I hate this, Dick. I really do.”
Rocco straightened his bow tie that didn’t need adjusting and smiled at her.
“You hate being paid a million to perform for thirty minutes?” he asked. “Would you rather do a world tour to all the major cities for a fraction?”
Victoria sat at the dressing table and glared at her reflection in the light bulb-lined mirror. Her make-up ran around her eyes. The make-up that the artist promised wouldn’t run when Victoria cried during a performance. She probably looked horrible during the close-ups.
“Bitch,” she whispered.
“Who me?” Rocco asked.
“No, not you. You’re a bastard.”
“I’m your bastard, though.”
“How can I forget. My twenty-percent bastard.”
“Listen, next time we’ll do better,” he said.
She threw him an indignant look over her shoulder.
“We?” she asked.
“Me. The others. Everyone but you. You’re perfect.”
“Damn right I’m perfect,” she said, then sipped her chilled water.
“The next time you perform live, I’ll have them build a private tunnel from the dressing room to the stage. Well, more like a tent. But that will be great because it can be air-conditioned. Experiencing a nice chill after a performance should be appealing.”
“I suppose,” she sighed.
“But like I said, with this payout you don’t have to perform for six months. Maybe a year. You’re too big for one room of crazy bitches that want to be you. You have to be televised. And that is where the money is at.”
“I know.”
“I know, you know.”
“So what’s next?”
“You have that party to appear at tonight.”
Victoria propped her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned.
“I know, but this is not some fan-filled party. It’s political. A senator is hosting it at his mansion in Brooklyn.”
“Senator who?” she asked, bringing her face out and reaching for the make-up remover wipes.
“How the fuck should I know,” Rocco said. “Senator Shlomo. All these dupes are alike to me. Two-faced pricks that like to kiss ass and have their asses kissed.”
Victoria cleaned the make-up from her eyes.
“I am not kissing ass,” she said, a matter of fact.
“I don’t expect you. They want to kiss your ass. You’re more elite than they are. Plus, a bit working class. You do work hard for your money. Unlike them who sit behind a desk and make back deals.”
“Do I have to stay long?” she asked. “I’m really tired.”
“Give it an hour,” he said. “I’ll put on a timer.”
Her eyes clean, she worked on the foundation that covered her face. There wasn’t much difference with her skin. The surgery promised a blemished free epidermis for life. So far so good.
“Okay,” she said. “The food better be real.”
“That’s my girl.”
Senator Shlomo had to be pulling in a trillion dollars a year to own this mansion. It was a the edge of the dome on Voorhies Avenue in a high-class neighborhood of Brooklyn. Sure, there were others like it in the same position but this one had balconies that took you outside the dome where the real world waited. The feature was a novelty. You would not want to stand on the huge balcony for long since temperatures reached one hundred degrees most of the day and there was a rotten odor in the air. But still, you could feel superior 1,400 feet above the water that swallowed the original Brooklyn and, on a clear night, the lights from the surviving cities of Newark and Jersey City in New Jersey blinked.
Victoria stood with Rocco in the main ballroom. She wore a long white evening gown so sheer that it highlighted the parts fans would pay millions to see bare. Political wives and mistresses of various age attempted to pull off what Victoria had done with ease. With all the dirty looks they flashed, she was sure that they wanted her gone. Victoria was tempted in telling them to hang in there. She didn’t want to be here either.
Rocco stood next to her and ate a plate of shrimp. Where the hell did Senator Shlomo find shrimp? Three other couples joined them and made small talk or shared stories. Rocco knew Victoria was exhausted so he talked for her while she sipped her white wine and stared around the room.
Even though a band was playing obscure hip hop songs at the corner of the room, no one was dancing. Everyone was gabbing or stealing glances at Victoria. She was the only celebrity in the room. She wondered if the Senator paid her to appear here. Did Rocco pocket the money for himself? She wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
A few feet away she caught the eye of a man. He wore a black tux like all the other men but he looked great in it, unlike the others who tried to hide their bellies and asses. His dark hair was combed back, his eyes were blue and bright, and his smile sent a shiver down her back. Adrenalin perked Victoria up. She smiled at him. No way this guy could be in politics. He was in good shape. He definitely wasn’t a singer or in a band. She would have recognized him. He had to be an actor.
“Excuse me,” Victoria said.
“You going to be okay?” Rocco asked, touching the forearm that held her drink.
“Uh, huh,” she said, her eyes on the man.
Rocco swept back into his stories and the listeners smiled goodbye to Victoria.
The handsome man met her to the side.
“Hello,” he said with an old New York accent lacing a deep voice. “You wouldn’t happen to be Victoria Channel, would you?”
“I would,” she said, pumping in the graciousness.
“Excellent. I am such a fan of your art.”
Art? She liked that.
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she said. “Are you an actor?”
“Oh, no,” he laughed lightly. “But people keep saying I should be. I’m too shy for such pursuits.”
Victoria frowned.
“Oh, so you’re a representative. Congress?”
“My brother is a Senator. Senator Boris of Connecticut. His wife has lung poisoning tonight so I stepped in. Thought it would be fun.”
“Such a good brother.”
The man sipped his wine. She noticed that the skin tone on the back of his hairy hand that held the glass was different than his face. Lighter. Like he used a foundation to cover up something. Probably an ugly birthmark that he couldn’t afford to surgically remove.
“What do you do, brother?” she asked.
“I work for the Department of Prisons,” he said. “Vice-President of admissions.”
“How interesting? You must be very...strong to have to deal with such animals.”
He chuckled.
“Not really. I manage the teams. They do all the rough work. I’m more of a pencil pusher.”
Victoria felt his chest. The muscles were defined under the thin white dress shirt.
“Must be heavy pencils,” she said.
“Have you checked out the balcony?” brother asked.
“No, not yet. I wasn’t planning to. Have you?”
“I’m curious about it. I have never been in the real world before.”
“Me neither,” she said, shrugging.
“Shall we give it a try and see how the vile people live?” he asked. “I always wondered what the people I sent down experience.”
“Sounds kinky,” she said with a wink.
“It can be if you want,” he whispered in her ear.
Victoria shivered as his voice traveled down her spine and straight to her groin. He led her through the people to the curtained double-door entrance of the balcony. The humid heat wrapped around her skin, making her sweat and gasp.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “How do those animals take it?”
He closed the door behind him and walked up behind her.
“From what my staff reports, the heat is nothing compared to life down there,” he said. “They are living a life filled with their crimes times one hundred.”
They stopped at the waist-high railing made of steel-reinforced concrete. The smog was thick in the distance and below. The lapping water 1,400 feet below barely reaches their ears. Brother hands her a clean black handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket.
“Thank you,” Victoria said. She pats the sweat on her brow, hoping her eye make-up doesn’t run again tonight. “Such a gentleman.”
“Such a lady,” he said and smiled.
They stared into each other’s eyes. She sensed that he wanted to kiss her. Then again, all men wanted to kiss her. This one she would allow. How she hoped he wanted to do it.
“I believe we’re over Brighton Beach,” he said, breaking eye contact and peeking over the rail. “Before it was covered with water, it was a fairly well-known section of Brooklyn. A working-class neighborhood that inspired plays and movies. And I believe over there is Coney Island.”
“I heard of that.”
“That neighborhood was even more popular,” he said. “They say if you were down there with a boat you can run into the top of the Ferris wheel. The Wonder Wheel, I think it as called. Can you imagine that? The thousands, maybe millions, of people throughout time that used to ride that wheel. Screaming in joy, laughing, and holding hands just because they spun around. People would pay for it.”
“They have one in South Dakota,” she said. “I performed in their city center and saw it. It’s called Rapture Land. It’s very retro. They have bumper cars, merry-go-rounds, roller coasters...”
“Roller coasters? Really?”
A child-like joy covered his face. It attracted her more.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I heard people screaming while they rode it.”
“You must have had a wonderful time there. I’m envious. I would love to go to this Rapture Land.”
“Oh, well, I never went inside. I saw it from my hotel suite where I was staying. I only spent two nights there and I had to perform on both of them. The rest of the time, I either rehearsed or slept.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, sympathy clear in his voice. “I would have been disappointed to miss that if I was there. Do you have plans to go back?”
“No,” Victoria said. “But maybe we can make a weekend of it. I have some free time the next few months.”
“The next few months? To have your life. I have to return to work and organize the newest deportees tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.” She squeezed his forearm. “I hope I’m not keeping you up.”
Brother stepped closer, an inch of space between them. She was keeping him up and she felt the tip of it daring to touch her belly.
“To be honest, I planned to leave early until I noticed you in the room.”
“That’s unfair,” she said. “People always notice me in a room.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He placed his free palm on her cheek. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. I have never laid eyes on such beauty in my sorry existence.”
Victoria had heard it a billion times in her life and career but the way he said it sounded so honest. No man had stated it so purely to her. He had to see something in her no one noticed before. Something that she hid from people all her life to protect herself from disappointment.
“Am I?” she asked.
He nodded, locked on her eyes. Her hand felt his chest again. It was so hot that sweat soaked it. She wanted to unbutton it. She bit her lip, trying not to ask permission.
“I have to organize the transport of twenty men tomorrow. Thieves, rapists, psychopaths, domestic terrorists, and mentally disabled. They do not want to go down into the wasteland. They would rather be killed than go down there. Aside from the guards stationed at the portal, there is no order like up here and the rest of the civilized cities. They have to fight to survive. Kill or be killed. If they can’t find old food or wild animals to eat, then they will have to eat each other. That is, if the heat and pollution doesn’t kill them first. Or the anxiety of the wall finally crumbling down and releasing the tsunami that will drown them.”
“I shouldn’t keep you,” she said. “Your work is important.”
“Right now, nothing seems more important than what I want to do. What I need to do.”
He placed their wine glasses on the flat edge of the railing and took her damp face in his strong hands. When he brought his face closer to hers, Victoria closed her eyes and prepared her soul to shake. His lips pressed against hers. Their lips savored, their tongue tips met. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, pulled him deeper.
Brother broke the kiss. They shared a smile. She squirmed. Victoria had never felt the urge to have a man in her so strongly. She wondered if they could get away with it on the balcony.
“I hope it lived up to expectation,” she whispered. “It did for me.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “That was not what I had to do.”
“Oh,” she said, blushing, giggling. “Then I suggest you show me what you want to do.”
“I’m glad you said that.”
Brother smashed his forehead into hers. Victoria gasped out in pain as her vision flashed from white to color. Her legs buckled. Brother held her up by her neck and punched her square in the nose. Bone snapped. Blood leaked.
“See you late, Victoria Channel,” he said.
The brother of the Senator pushed the limp music star to the railing, grabbed the back of her dress, and tossed her over it. For a second, the woman screamed. Then after a few hundred feet, he could hear no more.
He picked up his drink, sipped it, and glanced over into the smog below. He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard a splash. Or maybe it was his imagination.
The brother tossed the two glasses over the balcony, straightened his tux and face, and returned to the party.
