Gifted (28 page)

She beams at me. “You're a good judge of character.”

“Yes,” I say and take hold of Orpheus's hand.

“Zimri's a musician,” Orpheus says.

Libellule's mouth drops open. “You're joking!”

“A damn fine one, too,” he adds. “In fact, she reminds me of you when you were young.”

“In what way?” Libellule steps back to appraise me.

“Well,” says Orpheus as he thinks this over. “She's a natural-born genius with the kind of talent every patron is trying to engineer.” I blush redder than the cardinal on Alouette's clock. “And she commands attention when she's onstage.”

“Sounds promising,” Libellule says. “But can she sing?”

“Mom,” says Orpheus, dead serious now. “There has been no voice like hers since yours.”

“Hmmm,” says Libellule. “I'm intrigued.”

I think that I might die. Libellule,
the
Libellule, is intrigued by
me
.

“Now that I think about it,” Orpheus adds, “there's one major difference between the two of you.”

“Oh,” his mom says, batting her lashes. “What's that?”

“Zimri uses her music for the people but you used people for your music.”

For a quick moment, hurt passes over Libellule's face, then she recovers. “I'm trying hard to rectify that, you know.”

Orpheus rolls his eyes. “How's that?”

“Project Calliope,” she says.

“Oh, right,” says Orpheus, unimpressed. “I heard you on the Buzz saying you support their cause.”

“Wait, Calliope?” I ask. “Calliope Bontempi?”

“Yes,” they both say at the same time.

“My mother knew her,” I tell them. “They made music together.”

“
Spiritus mundi,
” says Libellule. “We are all connected. Synchronicity! Who was your mother? Do I know her?”

I shake my head. “Just a warehouse worker making music on the side.”

“Too bad Chanson Industries made that illegal,” Orpheus adds.

“That's exactly what we're trying to combat,” Libellule says. Then she looks at Orpheus. “You should really give us a chance, darling. You could be a big help to the Project.”

“Wait a minute,” Orpheus says as if he's putting something together in his mind. “Are you the one who put Calliope up to all of this?”

Libellule draws in a long breath through her nose. “Let's just say I've been biding my time, waiting for the right person to come along and take your father down a peg. When Calliope showed up in the City a few months ago, I knew I'd found a cause I could get behind.”

Orpheus's mouth hangs open. “You sent her to find me, didn't you? The night of Quinby's opening?” he asks. “You're the one who told her I was on the fence about having an ASA.”

Libellule blinks at him but refuses to answer.

“And you knew I was here, didn't you?”

She shrugs but glances away. “I happened to look at the security cam from Al's room and when I saw you, I rushed right over.”

Orpheus steps toward her. “What do you get out of this?” he asks. “What's in Project Calliope for you?”

“I never liked those nasty surgeries,” she says. “Even before Alouette's life was ruined. Now that I'm out from under your father, free and clear, I'll have the satisfaction of watching him go down in flames.”

“But why now?” Orpheus asks. “After all these years?”

For the first time I see a genuine sadness pass over her face. She stands up and reaches for Orpheus, caressing his cheek. “When Harold started pressuring you to have an ASA and you were uncertain I realized I had to do something drastic or he would get what he wants. Again.”

Orpheus stands, speechless, so Libellule continues.

“Genius is a thing that should happen only once in a very great while. Not every day on an operating table.” She looks at me and winks as if all of her concern from a moment ago has now evaporated. Then she grabs his hands in both of hers and pulls him close. “I know I'm not a great mother, but believe me when I say, I'm doing this for you, sweet boy. Project Calliope is all for you and your sister.”

Orpheus is unmoved by her drama. He pulls away. “No, Mom. Like with everything Dad does, this is about the two of you, not me and Al.” He takes my hand then leans down to kiss Alouette once more. “It was nice to see you, but Zimri and I have to go. We have work tomorrow.”

 

VERSE SIX

ORPHEUS

When the rounded
toe of Zimri's funky orange trainer trips the laser sensor at the Strip, no MajorDoormo announces our arrival, no spotlights illuminate, no 'razzi drones swarm us, no headlines flash onto the Buzz, and yet it's just what I need after our disappointing trip into the City.

“Aimery!” a shout goes up from the bar when we step inside. A group of girls, with Veronica at the center, lift their cups. Out of habit, I step slightly behind Zimri and put my hand on the small of her back then flash my widest, most camera-ready smile at the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Zim asks and ducks away, embarrassed.

I laugh. “Oops, sorry. Old habits die hard.”

Veronica rushes up and plants one on my cheek. “I haven't seen you since we went out the other night. Where have you been hiding?”

“I've been around,” I say and try to sidestep back to Zimri, who's found her best friend in the crowd.

“Let's dance!” Veronica attaches herself to my arm like a barnacle and drags me toward the back.

“Zim! Zimri!” I call, but she's smirking at my predicament. Just to get her back, I twirl Veronica around, dip her a few times, and put on my best moves, all while keeping Zimri in my sight. She lurks on the sidelines, next to Brie, giggling and pointing, but I can tell she doesn't love the way Veronica keeps dancing back to me. Finally, I spin Veronica like a top, sending her whirling across the floor. Then I dance over to Zimri, grab her around the waist, and pull her to me.

“Come on!” I yell in her ear. “Give a guy a break. I know you can dance better than these other girls.”

With a half-smile/half-smirk she says, “Oh what the hell!” and finds the rhythm of the techno remix medley of Geoff Joffrey's biggest hits featuring Minerva VaVoom. I love watching Zimri spring and pop on her rubber-band knees, like the best backup dancers on any stage. Nobody in the Strip can take their eyes off her. Even Veronica, who stands to the side, arms crossed and clearly annoyed. I do my best to keep up with Zim while staying out of her way until she grabs me. I hook my arm around her waist and pull her close. We move cheek to cheek under the lights so everyone can see that Zimri Robinson has chosen me.

When the song ends, we head to the front and plop down at a table with Zimri's friend Brie, whom I've heard a lot about but only met this evening. I already like her. She and Zimri finish each other's thoughts and laugh at jokes I don't understand. They're so excited to see each other now that Brie is switched back to days again that they barely notice me. Behind Zimri, I glimpse Dorian's blond dreds. I hold my breath, preparing myself for an ugly scene, but he glances over at us then moves off into the crowd like a shark disappearing behind a reef. I let my breath go, relieved.

“Admit it,” I turn to Zim and say. “You're having fun!”

“No way,” she teases and downs a fizzy drink. “This sucks. I hate the Strip with all its sanctioned entertainment.”

“She always says that,” Brie tells me.

Up on the giant screen behind the bar, two announcers, Isolde and Ike, whom I knew at SCEWL, both perfectly proportioned and beautiful in that plasticky Plute way, banter over a steady stream of pix and vid about what movies debuted today, which celebs are dating, and how far up the Stream the latest songs have gone, but for the first time in my life, I'm truly more interested in the conversation in front of me than what's happening in the Buzz.

“So, Brie,” I say. “Do you have any embarrassing stories about Zimri when she was young?”

“Oh believe me, I've got stories!” she says, eyes twinkling.

“Don't you dare!” Zimri punches Brie on the shoulder.

“Was she always this violent and bossy?” I tease.

“She was way worse when she was little,” Brie tells me.

“Got any pix of Miss Bossypants?”

“Embarrassing ones?” Brie asked.

“Of course,” I say.

“All right, that's enough!” Zim says, but she's laughing right along with us.

From the screen behind Brie's head, I hear Ike say, “And now a quick sneak peek at an anticipated new release from Chanson.”

“This one's sure to be hot,” Isolde adds.

I ignore their drivel until I hear, “It's Arabella Lovelace giving us a taste of her debut song, which will officially drop next week.…”

Zimri's head snaps around to stare at a twenty-foot-tall Arabella taking up the screen. She's in a thick denim jumpsuit, cut off just below her butt. Her hair is up, her zipper down to reveal a hint of cleavage, and a name patch, which says
Nobody,
is sewn above her breast. She clings to a metal shelving unit where dancers ride up and down in giant baskets. All around her RoboForklifts drive in formation as the beat comes in and Arabella begins to sing.

I am Nobody from Nowhere

A speck upon your screen

An non-automated worker that you've never seen

I've packed your purchased footholds

I'll tie them with a bow

But I live a life that you'll never know

I stare stupidly as Arabella dances half-naked with guys in skintight jumpsuits gyrating all around. Then Zimri's on her feet, shouting, “What the hell?”

Everyone in the Strip has stopped to stare at what's going on.

“That's not her song!” someone in the crowd yells.

“That's about us!” someone else calls.

A bowl of noodles goes flying and hits screen-Ara square in the ass.

“I … I … I…” I stammer. I cannot wrap my mind around what I'm seeing and hearing.

“We were just there!” Zimri says, horrified. “Like three hours ago. How is this happening?”

As quickly as the snippet started it's replaced again by Ike. “Can't wait to see the whole thing,” he says.

My face burns. My hands are in fists and there is a roaring in my ears. “They stole it! They stole your song!”

Then I hear Ike say, “Big news from Elston Tunick,” and my attention swerves back to the screen. “The renowned video artist released her newest remix today and sparked controversy when she claimed to have located missing music industry heir Orpheus Chanson.”

This time on the screen there is a slow-motion video of shoppers flooding through the doors at Black Friday. Bodies undulate, arms flail as if underwater, and faces become distorted as they grimace slowly in the onslaught of bodies pouring forward. I watch the man I saw this morning trip, again. This time each motion of his fall is caught in agonizing detail. How his head travels back, his eyes widen with the realization that he's going down. He opens his mouth to yell but the sound is guttural, a howl of despair as his chest heaves forward. He slumps to the floor with others landing on top of him like heavy sandbags tossed against a riverbank during the rains. And then there I am, as clear as anything. I pass by, each movement a slo-mo ballet. I reach for the man. Over my shoulder, Zimri comes into the frame, a warped smile on her face as she reaches out to me and pulls me back. The video stops on a close-up of my face, twisted in a strange grimace halfway between excitement and horror.

“Chanson Industry spokesperson Esther Crawley says they are cautiously optimistic that Chanson has been found,” Ike says. An image of Esther in front of my father's office flashes on the screen.

“So far this sighting is unconfirmed. It may be a staged event with a look-alike meant to draw attention away from Project Calliope, but we have not yet ruled out foul play,” Esther says. “If it is Orpheus Chanson then we believe Project Calliope may have kidnapped and brainwashed him when he was in a most vulnerable, drug-influenced state. Harold Chanson is cutting his trip to Europe short and returning to retrieve his son.”

“What the…?” I whisper.

My father, blustering toward his jet, quickly replaces her on screen. The whole thing is so clearly staged. Probably by Piper, who is a master at unfolding these kinds of dramas. “Project Calliope is a terrorist organization,” he shouts. “Hell-bent on destroying the sanctity of private property. They will stop at nothing to bring me down. First Calliope Bontempi brings a spurious suit against my company and now her group has taken advantage of my family's deepest tragedy.” Then he looks straight at the camera and says, “I'm coming, son. Don't worry. Your father is here for you.”

“Oh. My. God,” I say and fall into my chair.

“Sources close to the family say Orpheus Chanson has battled a Juse addiction and acted erratically the last time he was seen in public,” Isolde says.

Then Rajesh is on the screen from the garden at the Deep End restaurant. His thick black hair is pomped up and he's wearing a sleeveless shirt to show off his impossibly buff arms. The words
Best Friends of Orpheus Chanson
scroll below.

“I tried to talk him out of running away,” says Rajesh, “but he's a complicated and troubled person with a tragic secret.”

“Liar,” I say. My stomach roils with anger.

“What sort of secret?” Isolde asks, eyes wide with interest.

“I'll reveal everything in my new book about our friendship,” Rajesh says and he lowers his sunglasses. “The first installment is available now,” he adds with a twinkle in his eye. A link to the e-book appears on the screen below him.