Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) (29 page)

Up on the third floor, in a white-tiled, dusty room that had once been a corporate bathroom, there was a thirteenth guest.

Rafael looked up as she walked in on him. Rafael wore black denim and steel-toed boots. He’d put on maybe five kilos, and he had a ridiculous soul-patch beard on his chin.

Other than that, her little brother was just the same as her brother always was. Maybe even worse.

“Rafael! What are you burning in here?”

“I’m rendering these chicken feathers,” Rafael said. “I need the keratin, so I can blend it with this acrylated oil.” Rafael adjusted a bunsen burner. “You wouldn’t understand that.”

“But Mom and Dad are expecting you at home!”

“Oh well,” he said, wiping his hands on his black jeans, “I thought I’d postpone that ordeal... It’s not like Mom and Dad are ever going anywhere. So, you’re finally back from wherever you scrammed, is that it? What was it this time, Brazil?”

“Capri.”

“Capri is great! Why do you look so awful?”

Farfalla didn’t know what to say to him. She had never known what to say to Rafael. When she told him the truth, he used it against her. If she lied to him, then he cheerfully called her a liar.

He had littered the room with chemical glassware and tubing. He’d turned the place into a bomb lab.

“Can’t you do something about this smell?”

“I never know how to tell you about these things,” said Rafael. “But the substrate of circuit boards is made of petroleum. In the future, Pancho will need some green, organic, future-style material for his circuit boards. So I am taking these chicken feathers, and the refined ingredients from this soybean oil, and I’m creating an organic plastic.” Rafael paused. “I’ve completely lost you already, haven’t I? You’ve been hanging out around here for years now, and you’re still a technical moron.”

“Does it have to stink so badly? Burning feathers are the worst smell in the world!”

“That’s why I’m working way up here on an abandoned floor,” said Rafael, rolling his eyes. “None of the
men
around here are nagging me about the smell.”

“Look at all this broken glass! You could set fire to this place!”

“I can see I’ll get no peace from you, to get my work done,” said Rafael. “Typical! Fine! Great! It’s time for a smoke break.”

Rafael shouldered past her. He kicked open the rusty doors to a balcony, a handsome place once built for corporate executives. The Space Age balcony was damp-stained and blotchy now, but it had a fresh breeze.

Rafael dug into his jeans and pulled out a metal pipe. He stuffed a crumb of hashish onto the pipe’s copper screen.

“Don’t you dare smoke your drugs up here! Pancrazio would kill you.”

“Would you shut up, just for once, please? What a pest you are! Listen, I live in Holland! I grew this marijuana in my own apartment. Legally.”

“That’s hash. That’s not marijuana.”

“Well, I refined this hashish myself. From my own hemp. That was a very interesting technical process. You should look it up on the Internet.”

“You are a crook, Rafael. You’re breaking the law.”

Rafael plucked a cheap plastic lighter from another pocket. “Oh, sure, sure I’m a crook! Of course, I am! We’re all waiting for the Carabiniere to rush in here, and raid the last working factory in this town! Like the Italian cops can’t find the Italian mafia? I swear, Farfalla, you live in such a fantasy world! Whatever comes next from you? You want me to do my Italian income taxes now? Would that make you happy?”

“Why are you
always
like this? You are so evil! I hate you.”

“You’ve been saying that to me since I was five years old! Can’t you think of one new, clever thing to say to me? Let me tell you something really new and cool. I built a home-made robot that was four stories high. It ate East German cars. In Saint Petersburg.”

“Did you make any money? Doing that?”

“Well, no, I’m broke again now. But really, that rave in the Russian forest was legendary. You should see all the YouTube clips.”

“So,” Farfalla sighed, “Pancrazio took pity on you. And let you come back here. Again.”

“Pancho needs me!” Rafael said. “Not many guys are willing to make a thousand mistakes, cooking chicken feathers into plastic. I don’t mind! I love Pancho’s research work.” Rafael thumbed his cheap lighter and torched the hash in his metal pipe. “To tell you the truth,” he said, coughing gleefully, “I
prefer
to do it wrong. I’d like to do technology wrong a
million
times. When technology works, and it makes some profitable product that corporate creeps can sell, I’m disappointed.”

“After what you did here last time, I can’t believe Pancrazio let you come back again.”

“I can’t believe that he lets
you
come here! Pancho and I see eye to eye on everything.
You
are the miserable creature who is the curse of our lives. And there you go with that sour look on your face again! You’re like the mop-and-bucket drudge girl, Cinderella! This world is so full of fun, and so many great, cool ideas... Things to do, exciting things to make... It’s a privilege to work in an awesome hackerspace like this! And here, you’re all doomy and whining and bitchy! All you ever do is pout and mope!”

“That’s not true! I can be happy. I can be overjoyed.”

Rafael’s eyes went glossy with disbelief. “You were happy? Am I stoned?” He examined the pipe, then looked in her face. “I’m
not
stoned. You
were
happy. How did that happen? I can’t believe it.”

She said nothing.

“I didn’t know that happiness was possible for you,” said Rafael in wonderment. “You weren’t
scolding
anybody? You weren’t bitter and shrewish? You weren’t beating up the geeks with your soup ladle? So, what happened to you, then? Did your worst enemy die? Who
is
your worst enemy? Besides me.”

“I have to finish making lunch now.”

“Oh yes.
Sure
you do. Hey, wait, I know! You were up to something! In Capri. You were having ‘a good time in Capri.’ You can’t hide that from
me
. So, what happened down there in Capri? Give me a hint.”

Why was it always like this with him? Farfalla had to flee.

She returned to the endless spool of “Call Me,” downstairs in her kitchen. She finished lunch. She went personally to every geek in the factory, and yelled into his ear that food had magically appeared. She had learned from long experience that there was no other way to compel the attention of the hackers.

Some of these men didn’t speak Italian, or Portuguese, or even English. Some yelled back at her that they were “too busy” to eat. They were sitting in a litter of candy bars.

But the rest of them came right along. They chowed down on their brimming bowls. They swigged red wine together. They tore hot bread apart and smeared cheese on it. The food at Pancho’s art-factory was great. These geeks were having the time of their lives.

No sign of her brother sucking up any lunch. Rafael was the world’s best fridge-raiding scrounger, so that was a bad sign.

Farfalla could not eat anything. She was too upset to eat.

She found Rafael alone in the smaller computer lab, with his feet up in a tattered office chair. He was pounding away on a borrowed Linux laptop.

“I figured you would show up here,” Rafael smirked. “Have you looked up ‘Farfalla Corrado’ on Google Blogsearch?”

“Why?”

“You’ve got paparazzi.”

Farfalla had to have a look. Rafael had found a snapshot of her. In Capri. A picture of her, together with Gavin Tremaine.

Farfalla was stunned. The two of them looked wonderful together. Healthy and confident and shiny-eyed and full of... Full of
dignity.

“That scandal blog is full of lies,” she blurted.

“
You’re
full of lies. How long have you been dating this American guy? Look at you two! You’re practically sitting in his lap! You’re having an affair with him.”

“I hardly know him.”

“Oh sure, of course!” Rafael snickered and rolled his eyes. “Why do you lie to me like that? Do
I
care if you have some fling in Capri? I’m not the Pope.” He shuffled a few screens, then he looked into her eyes. “Look, I can see that you’ve known this guy a long time. ‘Gavin Tremaine.’ He’s from Seattle. You used to live in Seattle.”

“But that’s not true! It’s all made up! It’s just Internet gossip, it’s not real at all! Look, they Photoshopped my picture. That’s my favorite dress, and they made it look blue. My Futuristi dress is not blue at all! I can
show
you that dress! It’s downstairs in the laundry.”

Rafael squinted at his laptop screen. “Are you wearing a wedding ring in this pic? Look, you have a ring on your hand.”

Farfalla leaned way in for a closer look at the screen. Gavin looked so handsome. And wow, did she ever look glamorous in this grainy, gossipy, weblog picture. She looked sleek and gorgeous and sexy and totally sure of herself. She looked like a movie star on the prowl. As if Audrey Hepburn would have to say “I look a little bit like Farfalla Corrado.”

Farfalla couldn’t get over herself. She had never seen herself looking so chic, attractive, and glorious. She could almost forgive the sarcastic, sleazy caption under the photograph, because, come on, with any girl who looked
that
great, who
wouldn’t
?

“I had a silver fork in my hand,” she said. “They Photoshopped my fork away. So it looks like I’m wearing a wedding ring.”

Rafael shook his shaggy head. “You are pathetic! If you’re going to lie to me that badly, this affair of yours must be serious. So, who is this guy, ‘Gavin Tremaine?’ Wait a minute, I’ll find out.” Rafael pounded eagerly at the keyboard.

“I can’t believe that you believe a bunch of stupid lies on gossip websites! That’s not reality! Look at that web page! Who
cares
who Miley Cyrus is dating?”

“So, your boyfriend’s speech in Capri was a big hit,” Rafael observed. “He got linked on TechCrunch Europe... and Mashable... ReadWriteWeb, even... Your cavaliere here made a classy presentation.”

“Yes, he did. Gavin was great. Gavin was fantastic.”

“I see. How nice for you.”

“I never even kissed him! He’s not my lover, I swear, it’s not true! His golden honey can be sure I never touched him with my dirty mop and broom...”

“Stop shaking like that,” Rafael said. He reached out with his booted foot and kicked a rusty office chair into her direction.

Farfalla sat down in the rolling chair. Her eyes were stinging.

“Look,” said Rafael, “why don’t you stop inventing these fantasies? I know the score with you. I can see you’re in trouble. I’d like to help you. Even though you never, ever listen to one word of common sense from me! But why don’t you try that out, for once? Because I have a beautiful idea for you.”

“What?”

“Get the hell out of here, and run off with this millionaire! Go jump right into his pocket! Go be his girlfriend! Scram! Run for your life!”

Farfalla said nothing.

“What is stopping you? Is it Pancho? Pancho is forty years old losing his hair! He’s not some big sexy dreamboat, like your other lover here! Leave Pancho! Leave him today! He never misses you! He wouldn’t miss you any more than that castle in Milan misses ivy.”

“The future of Italy is my story. Gavin Tremaine is not in my story.”

“So it’s that again. Eh?
It’s that.
It’s
always
that! Farfalla — why do you even have a ‘story’? Nobody else that we know has a ‘story’! Look at me! Do I have a ‘story’? I make my life up as I go along! I am wild and free! I am a free spirit in this world! I am a rebel! Thank God, I have no ‘story’!”

Farfalla said nothing to him. She had saved the life of her brother eleven times. That was why her brother still had any kind of story. Of course, he had never noticed that.

“Your story is
evil
,” said Rafael, “You are
killing yourself
with these fantasies! Let me pull down my web bookmark here... See, look at this! See, look how happy you are in this picture! You look
great
as a Capri party girl who sleeps with some millionaire!
That
is your story. Look, it’s already your top hit in a Google search!”

“That’s not true,” said Farfalla, sitting up straight. “I have a higher purpose in my life. At least, I have a higher purpose than a Google search.”

“You make me sick!
You
have a ‘higher purpose’ than Google? With what, your magic wand? Go look into the mirror! You look like a witch now! Because you
act
like a witch.”

“Being the witch, that is my story.”

Rafael drummed his fingernails on the computer’s cheap touch-pad. “You are doing all this weird, crazy stuff to
yourself
, you know. You don’t have anyone else to blame. Even though you blame me all the time.”

“If Gavin belonged in my story, he would tell me the words that complete my story. He didn’t tell me my words. All he gave me was a bunch of lectures about nothing.”

“Why don’t you give up?” said Rafael.

“What?”

“Why don’t you give up and join
his
story? Maybe you are just the cute sex-appeal story in the awesome epic story of the Microsoft millionaire here.”

“That’s stupid! That can’t be done.”

“Oh, stop being such a hypocrite! You can do that! Of course, you can be the sex-bomb girl in this rich guy’s story! Hang on his arm and giggle a lot! Wear a miniskirt!”

“I hate Gavin’s story! His story is sad and cold. He’s in debt. He worries all the time. His friends, his family, his business people, they tear at his flesh like dogs... Gavin is all alone.”

“He’s not rich? He sure
looks
rich. This website says he’s plenty rich.”

“He has the pretense of wealth, and the obligation of wealth, and the reputation of wealth. That’s all that he has now. That and his beautiful past. That’s all he has. It’s the truth.”

“Well,” said Rafael, “I feel pretty sorry for him, now. Because that’s a very Italian story. No wonder this guy falls for Italian girls.”