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Ursula dunks a currant-speckled scone, sending brown rivulets over the
lip of her cup and down the bare chests of the discus throwers on its side.
Next to her Javier slides down the bench like a trail of jelly until he can rest
the back of his head against it. He gropes in his omnipresent trenchcoat,
extracts a pair of wraparound burnt-orange sunglasses, and pushes them
up his long nose into place.
 Out partying last night? Ursula asks.
 Working. Work work work.
 Where at?
 A rave. Sponsored by Camel. Free cigarettes, T-shirts, sushi, sesame
noodles, portable ashtrays little velvet pouches lined with asbestos or
something. Free cocktails.
The Savage Gi r l 77
 How d they stop half the city from showing up?
 Same way as the noncorporate raves. You ve got to be in the circuit, in
the know, you know?
 So how did Camel get in the circuit?
 Hiring people like us. Once they re in, it s a great opportunity for mar-
ket research. They photocopy driver s licenses at the door and pack the
place with plants.
 I assume you don t mean ficuses.
 Undercover agents. One of them struck up a conversation with me.
She was good. It took us a while to realize we were both market research-
ers, pumping each other for information.
 Wow, Ursula says.
 Wow what? What wow?
 That sounds really, really creepy.
 Creepy? Why creepy? Creepy how?
  Creepy how? Luring those kids in there under false pretenses, that s
creepy how. It s satanic.
 Satanic?
 If surfaces are all people have, like Chas says, then isn t it a little bit
satanic? Stealing their poor, broken souls? I mean, doesn t that bother you
sometimes?
Javier sits up. He thinks for a moment. She wishes he weren t wearing
sunglasses. This is her chance to figure him out, to determine what he
really thinks. Beneath his superhuman optimism there s a vulnerability, a
secret sadness, and Ursula feels a need whether out of bitterness or ten-
derness she isn t really sure to lure that sadness out into the open.
 Stealing their souls, he says.  That s an ugly way of thinking of it.
The adjective strikes her like a fist to the solar plexus. Her mind knows
he s not calling her ugly. But her heart aches nonetheless.
 Sometimes the truth isn t pretty, she says.
He runs a hand through his hopelessly bed-headed hair.  Sometimes ugli-
ness is totally unnecessary; sometimes it s just a bunch of self-flagellation.
 You think that s what having a conscience is? Self-flagellation?
 Can I have a sip of your coffee?
 Careful, it s hot, she says, too late. He howls and grips his throat in a
chokehold.
 Listen, he rasps,  you ve got to take those things Chas says with a
grain of salt.
 Well, at least I didn t cry when he told me surfaces were all people
had.
78 Al ex Shakar
Javier reddens and touches his forehead, smiling a little.
 Chas words things darkly sometimes, he says.  But if you think about
it, what he s really saying is that products are . . . are magical things in our
lives, you know? This world forces us to be so damn logical all the time,
forces us to think like robots. But when it comes to products, we can let
loose just a bit, you know? We can buy a car that makes us feel both
impulsive and safe. We can go to an amusement park and feel both terri-
fied and reassured. Products . . . He ponders, then smiles, finding the
image he s looking for.  Products are the fruit of the human imagination!
The supersweet, magical fruit! And we need that magic. Don t you think,
Ursula? Don t you need a little magic now and then?
He smiles at her. In the lenses of his shades she sees only her own reflec-
tion.
  Don t you need a little magic now and then,  she repeats.  So what
pop song did you cull that fascinating bit of pop philosophy from?
Javier turns away, and Ursula wonders for the millionth time why she
has to be so negative.
 I m sorry I m not deep enough for you, Javier says, folding his arms.
 I m sorry, Javier. You are deep. I m the shallow one. All I ever see is a
world of surfaces.
Javier seems to consider this, then borrows her coffee again, slurping
carefully this time from the top.
 We ve almost finished this year s trendbook, he says.  Once you read
it you ll understand.
  We? You mean you and Chas?
 I mean all of us. Me and Chas and you and James T. Couch. We all
contribute with our reports. But I guess mostly it does come down to me
and Chas, he confesses with a hint of pride.  This year s book ll be some-
thing else, I m pretty sure. More ambitious than anything we ve tried
before.
 Wow. So how do you split up the writing?
 We talk, and then Chas writes it up.
She knows she shouldn t, but she can t help herself.  So when you say [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]