LoveStar (21 page)

“A MAN WALKED INTO A BAR”

Sigrid sat in the restaurant, chewing deep-fried ptarmigan. She tried to remember a joke to have up her sleeve in case she needed to break the ice and make Per laugh. “A man walked into a bar . . .”

She looked at her watch; it was ten past eight and dusk was falling over the valley. Suddenly she saw a man walk into the room. There was no mistaking. It was Per Møller! Wearing a blue suit and yellow short-sleeved shirt on which was printed: Per Møller. He was better looking than she had expected and wandered nervously around the restaurant, scanning the diners, obviously in search of his one and only. Sigrid stood up, smoothed down her dress and tried to smile. Per smiled and apologized for being so late.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” she said, “I was so hungry.”

Per sat down opposite her. He wore reflective sunglasses so all she could see were her own eyes in the silver lenses.

“Good,” he said, looking around nervously.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

Per stuck a fried potato in his mouth and licked the grease off his finger.

“Everything's great,” he said, but he still seemed rather tense. “Everything's excellent. The biggest day of my life. It's just weird to meet you at last,” he said, drumming his fingers. “All we need now is better music.”

Per darted over to the bar and soon Sigrid's favorite song boomed from the speakers. The Cones' cover of a Beatles song that Boyz had made famous in their time. Sigrid was amazed when Per returned.

“That's my favorite song!” she said smiling.

Per smiled and wriggled. “Mine, too,” he said. “I first heard it in Sicily.”

“I've been to Sicily, too!” said Sigrid. “Where did you stay?”

“Sicily, fantastic place,” said Per.

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds. Per cleared his throat several times. Sigrid wondered what to say, then remembered her joke. “A man walked into a bar . . .”

Per looked at her blankly.

Sigrid blushed. She tried to explain the punchline.

Per drummed his fingers. “Perhaps I'll have a beer to loosen up.” He went to the bar and downed two bottles of beer, then came back, a fraction calmer. He sat down opposite her and held out his hand.

“Can I see your hand, Sigrid?”

Sigrid held out her hand shyly.

Per extended his middle finger and rubbed it against hers. All his attention was focused on this activity, so he didn't notice Sigrid looking at him strangely.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He came to, whipped back his hand, and said awkwardly, “I just love rubbing fingers.” He sweated. “Perhaps I'll have another beer.”

A cordless iSTAR group manager was lying in pink swimming trunks under a palm tree on the Playa Azul beach in Costa Rica. The group manager oversaw around 120 service reps who were each in turn responsible for a 120-strong target group. The group manager resembled a stranded tortoise; his head seemed too small for his huge belly. His skin was as brown and shriveled as a medieval manuscript. He was sweating like a pig and scarlet in the face as he turned the air blue with curses, shouting at an absent computer operator.

“What the hell has he been up to? His monthly report is absurd. What's come over him?”

“We don't know yet; he's put an additional lock on his home zone,” said the computer operator. “I'm going to try and break in by the back door.”

“How can the turnover in his group have fallen by 90 percent in one month?” wailed the group manager.

“Don't ask me. You're supposed to pick up on these things,” said the operator. “This service rep has obviously gone without surveillance for months; the lock was added four months ago.” The group manager didn't answer, just smothered himself in sun-tan oil.

“I'm in,” said the operator. “Oh my God!” he burst out.

“What?”

“This is unbelievable.”

“Connect me too, man!”

The operator connected the group manager to the service rep's home zone. The group manager was flabbergasted.

“I've never seen anything like it! Disconnect him this minute!”

Per swayed in time to the song that was booming around the room.

“I'm looking forward to going home and making something,” he said. “How I do love handicrafts, and I'm really into old people, too.”

“I work at an old people's home,” said Sigrid, now astonished. She smiled her brightest smile for the first time.

“Oh, really?” said Per, humming along to the cover version of the cover version of the Beatles song. “Incredible, these old people's homes. My grandmother wanted to go to an old people's home, but we told her she might as well go straight to LoveDeath. She didn't listen, and then of course she got bored at the home.”

“Not enough is done for the old,” said Sigrid.

“No, but we couldn't amuse her! By the time she finally went to LoveDeath she had wasted millions on paying for the home, quite unnecessarily. Lots of homes seem to hang on to old people forever, just to make money . . .”

Sigrid couldn't think of anything to say. “Why don't you take off your sunglasses?” she said at last.

“My shades, yes,” he said, smiling. “I'd forgotten about them.”

Sigrid reached out for the glasses. “I want to see your eyes.”

Per took her hands. “No, not yet.” He glanced around furtively.

“What's the matter? Are you sure everything's okay?” she asked. “Are you looking for someone?”

“You're so cute I can hardly believe I'm at the right table,” said Per, gazing at her. Sigrid looked around, smiling in embarrassment.

“Perhaps I'll have another beer,” said Per and returned to the bar.

“He's seriously lost it,” said the operator, rummaging through the service rep's files and scanning his visual report.

“Look at this! He's got this blonde on the brain!”

The group manager received the visual report.

“Twenty-four hours spent gawping at the same woman?”

“Twenty-four hours? Here's a whole week in her life. From morning to night! Her getting dressed, her in the shower . . . Hey! Look at this! She's getting down to it with her boyfriend. Incredibly imaginative, the young people nowadays!”

“Get on with it, please!”

“She slept for eight hours with him watching her the whole time. He's completely obsessed!”

The group manager was silent. He ran through the visual reports, fast-forwarding through endless hours of footage of the same girl.

“Ugh,” said the operator as he opened a file. There were thousands of pictures of a man with text across his face:

KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL K
ILL
K
ILL
K
IL
L
KILL K
ILL
KILL KILL KILL
!

There were digitally altered pictures of him with a bullet hole in his forehead, pictures of him with a bleeding wound on his neck. Pictures of him lying in a forest clearing with limbs amputated. “God, he's gone crazy, man!” said the operator. “You're in deep shit, Mr. Group Manager.”

Per Møller staggered over from the bar. Full of self-confidence after the fifth beer, he went straight up to Sigrid, coughed, and said:

“Shall we go to your room? I've waited so long for my one and only that I'm feeling a bit . . .” He formed a ring with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and poked the middle finger of his right hand into the hole, moving it in and out.

Sigrid looked at him and giggled, thinking he was joking, but apparently he wasn't. The sunglasses slipped down his nose and she looked into a pair of watery, slightly protuberant gray-blue eyes. She gazed deep into those eyes, waiting for the current that she had so often felt between herself and Indridi. She expected an indefinable feeling, a flash, sense of pleasure, shortness of breath. But his eyes were dull. She tried to work him out; he had a big mouth and long, bony fingers.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” said Sigrid, seeking some way out.

“Maybe I'll bring along a beer,” Per interrupted her. “I'll die if I don't have a Tuborg after sex.”

“Maybe I should have a beer, too,” said Sigrid. She had a great knot in her stomach and looked around for a butterfly. She saw one and latched on to the hope that it was a concealed camera. This could be one of inLOVE's candid camera shows, in which she had been calculated away from her love merely in order to create suspense before her true match was revealed. Then everyone would laugh and joke and all would be well. Of course, she mustn't judge Per from their first half hour together, but this couldn't be scientifically proven love.

“You're not having a beer. Go into the bedroom and get yourself warm and wet for me.”

He took out a package and gave it to her.

“Thanks,” said Sigrid, blushing. She meant to take his hand politely, but Per lunged at her and stuck his tongue down her throat.

“There's more,” said the computer operator. “He's fiddled with their connections. He's made himself a complete middleman. All their business and communications have been going via his home zone, no wonder he's been neglecting his target group . . .”

The group manager was speechless and the operator sent him a bunch of texts.

“Here are more than one hundred hostings that he's bought on his own tab, look here: [FREE YOURSELF, SIGRID]. He's employed a secret host as a subcontractor to work on them. Did you really not notice this? Don't you have a surveillance program?”

“Open the text files!”

The operator opened the text files. [Victim of freedom . . . Cool competition for secret hosts! Project: Indridi Haraldsson. Mercy trip with LoveDeath. Seventy-five percent commission!]

“Open hunting license and 75 percent commission!” said the operator.

“What nonsense is this?” said the group manager. “LoveDeath doesn't pay anyone 75 percent commission. He's paid for the trip out of his own pocket!”

“Open hunting license,” said the operator heavily. “That's totally prohibited except in exceptional circumstances.”

“He certainly didn't get permission from me,” said the group manger.

“Dear, oh dear, is there no end to this?”

“What?”

“Look! Here are some wave images that were supposed to go to inLOVE. Compare the images!”

“What?” asked the group manager.

“Can't you see that he's falsified the woman's inLOVE assessment? He's sent inLOVE an image of his own wave and registered it under her name! He's had himself fraudulently calculated, the son of a bitch!”

“What the fuck?” said the group manager.

“You should have picked up on this,” said the operator sternly. “I'll have to let the inspection department know!”

“Just a second,” said the group manager.

“What?”

“This is a bit embarrassing for me. You must see that. I'll take care of Per; he won't get any more assignments. I'll find a new service rep. I'll pay you well for your help. This won't go any further . . .”

“You're a beautiful girl,” said Per, taking a slurp from a bottle of Tuborg. He put it down and grabbed Sigrid's ass in full view of the restaurant. “You're a hot chick,” he said, holding it tight with his left hand and groping up her skirt with the right. Nimbly he slid her underwear aside and stroked a finger from her pubic hair up her crack as if skimming cream off a cake. He licked his finger and said: “You're my one and only; you're a warm, beautiful, gorgeous girl.”

DISENGAGE: BURN BODIES

Dusk was falling and there was little chance of Indridi's finding Sigrid now. It was almost half past eight; it was too late. Puffins sang in the late summer calm, cows lowed, a shepherd called in the distance, and Indridi lost heart. Somewhere deep inside the lofty rock apartments the fair Sigrid had been matched with Per Møller. LOVESTAR twinkled behind a cloud. From time to time flashes from LoveDeath lit up LavaRock, etching its outline sharp as the knife that was turning in Indridi's heart. Booms followed the flashes, echoing in the valley like heavy sobs. A mist crept down the valley and a cool drizzle from LoveDeath dampened his face. He descended from the knoll and headed toward the mountain, down a small gully where a stream skipped between rocks and grassy banks into a small pond, and there he walked with bowed shoulders to the rock wall. He probably hadn't cried this much since the day he was reborn. Now, grievously wounded, sorrow gushed from his heart.

When Per licked his stubby finger, Sigrid could hardly grasp what was going on; she had nearly thrown up when he stuck his tongue right down to her tonsils. His mouth was full of beer and potato chips. She stared at him with disgust and horror, clamped her thighs together, and tried to loosen his grip as Per reached for his Tuborg. He was fairly drunk by now.

“Take your present. I'll be along shortly.”

Sigrid ran out of the restaurant, leaving Per waiting calmly by the bar. Sigrid took the elevator down and opened Per's gift. It was an Anthon Berg chocolate and a video cover with a picture of Per on the front. He was standing bare-chested in unzipped jeans behind a bare-breasted woman in a nurse's uniform who was bending over, the letter “M” of “Møller” obscuring what exactly they were up to. Sigrid's head had been stuck onto the nurse's body and Per's head was two sizes too big for the man's torso. The gift was accompanied by a yellow note:

“I'm famous. You can warm up with the film.”

Sigrid shuddered, threw away the package, and rushed out of the elevator. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, searching for a way out. The ceiling was made of glass with trout swimming to and fro across it. She ran past a door opening into a large conference room. A small waterfall fell into a pond outside and a gray horse was grazing on the bank. She ran down another corridor until she got to her room, locked the door, and flung her belongings into a suitcase while looking around for something sharp to defend herself with. Taking care not to turn her back to the door, she found a nail file and aimed it at the entrance. She got gooseflesh, felt as if someone was standing behind her, looked slowly over her shoulder, and screamed. A dark figure was lurking in the dusk outside the stone bay window.

It was a weeping man. She peered at the silhouette.

“Indridi?” she whispered. “INDRIDI!”

He didn't hear her. He stood bowed down by the rock. Sigrid fumbled for a button or emergency exit and finally found a lever that opened the rock like a sliding door. She stepped barefoot from the rock in her white dress, out on to the dewy grass, and gently touched his hand.

“Indridi dear, don't cry. It's all right. I'm with you.”

Indridi looked at her and they embraced as if they were embracing for the first time, and they embraced as if they were embracing for the last time, and they embraced the embrace of those who wish to embrace forever until death does them part, and they wept, kissed, and gazed into one another's eyes until Sigrid said:

“I'm sorry, my darling. I'll never leave you again.”

Sigrid looked up at the sky; dusk had fallen. LavaRock towered above them. LOVESTAR twinkled behind a cloud and there was a shooting star.

“Someone just died,” whispered Sigrid.

High up on LavaRock in a small lighting tower Ragnar Ö. Karlsson, moodman for death, kept track of the global position of LoveStar's private jet on his eye-lens. He had already organized the Million Star Festival in his head: as the jet descended and came in to land, a hundred million stars would fall from heaven. When LoveStar stepped out of the plane, he would set foot on an earth that was finally purified of death and decay.

Ragnar connected himself to the iSTAR mother base and with the old password obtained access to speech-center orders. There he entered another password that opened access to cordless mankind. He weighed up a few possible sentences but decided to keep the message plain and simple:

WORD: [THE MILLION STAR FESTIVAL!] :WORD

He contemplated the message for a few seconds while CONFIRM flashed before his eyes. He confirmed and was tempted to add a sentence to greet LoveStar as he stepped from the plane:

WORD: [HAIL TO LOVESTAR!] :WORD

He connected himself to the LoveDeath mother base. There he registered using yet another password, and an image of the earth viewed from space appeared before him. He gazed entranced at his creation: the Million Star Belt coiling round the earth like a silver serpent. A menu flashed before Ragnar:

[DISENGAGE? : BURN BODIES?]

LoveStar's jet began its descent, from forty thousand feet to thirty thousand, then down to twenty thousand feet. Ragnar raised his hands like the conductor of an orchestra. He touched the menu:

[DISENGAGE : BURN BODIES]

Back on the hill, Simon hesitated in disappointment, sighing as he watched Indridi walk away with bowed head and eventually lean, hunched over, against the rock face. Although he was worried about leaving the car on the mountain ridge and keeping an eye out for security guards, he decided to sit down among the hillocks, keep a low profile, and give Indridi time to recover. Suddenly a bright opening appeared in the wall beside Indridi and a white-clad woman stepped barefoot from the rock. She embraced Indridi and Simon was amazed at the sight; it was Sigrid. She embraced Indridi and he envied . . . NO! He was HAPPY for Indridi. Deep in his heart he was happy for Indridi and Sigrid, and his eyes filled with tears. He gave a sigh of relief, filling his lungs with air fragrant with cinquefoil and forget-me-nots. He wanted to shout for joy but controlled himself because he didn't want to spoil this beautiful image in the half-darkness: a man embracing a barefoot woman on the dewy grass. He watched them smiling and fumbled at his own chest in surprise as he felt a tickling above his midriff: “I think I know where happiness lies,” he thought, breathing deeply, like a parched man slaking his thirst in a mountain stream. “Happiness lies here,” he thought, trying to hold his breath and see how long he could hold on to the feeling. As he held his breath, he heard heavy panting behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw, to his terror, the most fearsome beast he had ever set eyes on.

“WOLF!” he whispered. “WOLF!!!” he yelled. “WOLF, WOLF!!!”

The Big Bad Wolf leapt over Simon, showing him its pale belly. He watched the beast run puffing and blowing down the grassy gully, straight to the rock where Indridi was clasping Sigrid with eyes shut in an intimate, unsuspecting embrace. The wolf swallowed them both in one mouthful, darted in through the rock opening and flopped down on Sigrid's soft bed. There it lay snoring when Per staggered in wearing a red dressing gown, a beer bottle in his hand. His gown hung open and his erect penis was smeared in Anthon Berg chocolate.

“They say you like marzipan . . .” Per came to an abrupt halt when he saw the wolf in the bed. “Sigrid, are you sick?”

He stared rigidly at the monster, which lay snoring under the blanket with eyes the size of saucers and teeth as sharp as the spikes around the palace at Amalienborg. He went warily over to the wolf and lifted the blanket.

“Hey, Sigrid! Why have you got eight breasts?” he moaned before recoiling in terror and running screaming from the rock, straight into Simon, who croaked when he saw Per with his flopping penis and flapping dressing gown.

A momentary silence. Their eyes met and they both shouted simultaneously:

“THE MILLION STAR FESTIVAL!”

A strange hush descended on the world and they looked up at the sky.

Bright dots appeared in heaven like a hundred thousand red-glowing mouse eyes in the darkness.