The Ups and Downs of Being Dead (34 page)

“Sam says that every year the possibility of cryonics becomes
more real, and more people jump on the bandwagon,” Maggie said. “I can’t
imagine what our meetings will be like in another twenty years.”

Robert spotted Bernie standing off to the side, looking
befuddled.

“What’s up Bernie?” he asked.

The man seemed relieved to see a familiar face. “That
goofball Madeline. She must have told a hundred people she was getting a box.
The place is packed.”

“Come sit with us,” Robert said.

“I guess you heard the Cryonics Center is about to get
bought up by Crycor,” Bernie said as he ambled along beside Robert. “Cryonics
is big business now. It’s no longer a handful of eccentrics and nutjobs
gambling on extended life.”

Yeah,” Robert said. “People are dying to get in now.”

There were groans all around.

“This could be our last small meeting,” Bernie said.

“Relatively speaking,” Maggie said as she turned to take in
the large hall.

Here’s something interesting,” Bernie said. “If we merge,
that will reconfigure all of our numbers. I won’t be number fifty-nine anymore.
I might be number one hundred fifty-nine. We’ll all have to wait a bit longer
to be revived.”

“Fine with me,” Robert said.

Seated in front of Robert were two women who looked to be in
their mid-eighties.

“It’s not right,” said one of the women. “The price has
nearly doubled again since Nick was preserved three years ago. And this new
cryoprotectant they’re using is cheaper because more companies are
manufacturing the stuff.”

The other woman nodded in agreement. “I could only afford
the minimal service. Storage only. I didn’t even get to select a different hair
or eye color for that price. And now that they’re packing more brains into each
container, I’m sure they’re saving money on maintenance.”

“I heard they have a temp who wants to come back as the
opposite sex,” the first woman whispered to her friend.

Stuart Greyson walked out to the center of the arena and
climbed up onto the ping-pong table. He welcomed everyone to the meeting.

“What a thrill it is to see so many of our temps attending.
Are you all enjoying London?” he asked.

The crowd murmured their approval of the city selected.

“Our growth has been astounding,” Stuart told the group that
nearly filled the hall. “This year alone, we have processed six hundred and
twelve patients. Nearly two a day! I remember when we hit one thousand, what a
grand celebration we had in Miami. And now we’ve nearly reached five thousand.
We won’t be able to use Albert Hall anymore.”

More titters of appreciation swept through the auditorium.

“We’ll be breaking into smaller groups today as usual,”
Stuart told them. “We’ll change every half-hour so you can go to all the
meetings and get caught up. Travel information will be shared in the Café
Consort on the grand tier level.”

“Not interested,” Maggie said.

“Current events and interests,” Stuart said, “will be
handled in the Elgar Room on the circle level.”

“I don’t care who’s dying,” Robert murmured.

“Science and technology updates will be in the East Arena
Foyer,” Stuart called out.

Maggie stood. “Let’s just sit in on Sam’s presentation and
go. He’s doing something special for the end of the decade report.”

“Yeah,” Robert said. “Then we can go get some haggis and
blood pudding.”

“Haggis is in Scotland, Robert.”

The East Arena Foyer was packed with temps. Everyone wanted
to know what was happening, and how soon they’d be coming back.

Sam stood on top of the bar that ran along the wall. He told
a couple corny jokes before launching into his spiel.

“We have seen amazing progress in the past ten years. The
continued popularity of cremation has helped tremendously in getting the new
law passed that people must specify that they DO NOT want to donate their
organs. Otherwise, all organs are now cryonically-preserved in organ banks. And
naturally, we are seeing a lot fewer deaths due to organ failure. Tissue banks,
eye banks, are in nearly every hospital. Surgeons are having much better
success with liver transplants.”

Sam ambled down the bar like he was on a runway. “Spray
dermal armor will soon be approved for over-the-counter use. We all know how
wonderfully it protects the skin from harmful UV rays, plus it reduces cuts and
scrapes.

“And like Stuart said, we’ve all watched the steady increase
in cryonics patients. As technology continues to advance, we see more people
opting for the cryonics option over death. There are now 12 cryonics companies
in America, compared to only two when I was preserved. That doesn’t include all
of the facilities in foreign countries.

“Our gamble has truly become a reality.”

* * *

Mark and Angie’s new home was one of those McMansions built
on half an acre, in a subdivision of similar homes.

Standing in front of a three-way mirror in the bedroom, Mark
tightened his tie. “What’s the latest with the awning people?”

Angie sat at a secretary tastefully positioned in the bay
window of their master suite. A calendar glowed red on the desk. When Angie
touched a day, the information in that box enlarged.

“They’ll be here at ten o’clock Friday,” she said. “And yes,
they plan to have sensors at fifteen, thirty, and forty-five feet beyond to
keep any and all insects away.”

“Good.”

Mark slipped his suit jacket off a hanger. The pole holding
the empty hangar retracted through a small sliding hatch into their closet.

“How are you coming with my corrections to the guest list?”

Angie scanned the illuminated data, touched a different box,
and a seating chart appeared on the desk.

“I moved Gordon Appleby to table seven, and brought Seth
Temples over to table eleven with Carla Brooks.”

Suzanne was incensed, as usual. “Why can’t she see that he’s
treating her like hired help? I’ll bet she doesn’t even get a goodbye kiss when
he leaves.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want one.” Robert slipped an arm around
Suzanne’s waist to take the sting out of his admonition. “We go over this every
time we visit, sweetheart. I agree, Mark is a first-class jerk. And I was
totally wrong about him being a good guy. But Angie seems to be happy.”

Down the hallway, Robert and Suzanne peeked in on Abby. Her
room reminded Robert of Rachel’s when she was a teenager: posters on the wall
of the latest heart-throb, clothes strewn across the floor. And Abby lay sound
asleep in bed, her arms hugged around her pillow.

In Jarod’s room, he was already awake and on his computer.
On one side of a split screen, he was playing a game. On the other side, some
kid was chattering in German, and the computer was translating. Evidently, the
boys were playing each other.

Once Mark left for work, Suzanne trailed Angie around the
house. If her daughter wasn’t picking up after her children, she was
coordinating arrangements for Mark’s soiree. By noon, Robert and Suzanne were
on their way to Atlanta.

* * *

Every year Rachel and Min held a charity event at the
Atlanta Zoo, where they invited underprivileged kids from all over the city to
spend a day. They even arranged for the city’s public transit system to provide
free rides to kids when accompanied by an adult. The event had become a great
public relations promotion for the city.

Robert and Suzanne waited at the entrance to the zoo for
Maggie and Joe. Excited kids flooded through the gates. Some looked
suspiciously well-dressed, as did their mothers, but no one questioned if they
were legitimately poor.

“Wow!” Maggie called as she and Joe stepped off the bus.
“What a turn out.”

Suzanne nodded. “I hope they don’t have to turn anyone
away.”

“Things will die down after the free lunch,” Robert said.

Both women gave him evil looks, but he got a nod of
agreement from Joe when they weren’t looking.

“Where is everyone?” Maggie asked.

“Hunter is at the reptile house making the little girls
scream. Christa is in charge of the face-painting near the panda exhibit.
Kwamee wanted to be in charge of the raffle this year, so he and Min are
handing out tickets right now. They start drawing numbers at ten.”

Robert thought back to Rachel and Min’s decision to adopt.
Hunter was only two at the time. His daughter read about some uprising in
Uganda, and saw all the orphaned children. Min was pregnant with Christa at the
time, but it didn’t matter. They had to do something to help. Not only did they
adopt Kwamee, they held charity events to encourage other Atlantans to join the
cause. The project just sort of mushroomed across the country. And Audrey’s
market share rose nine points.

“I suppose Rachel’s handling the food again?”

“Yeah. She’s got Raj and Neeta with her. They’re too young
to do much more than hand out cartons of milk or juice to the kids who come
through the line.”

The twins were now ten years old. They’d come a long way
from the day they arrived in Atlanta at the age of five. Robert remembered how
they’d barely spoken any language, either Pakistani or English. They were
under-nourished, neglected, and infested with lice. Rachel and Min couldn’t
keep their hands off the two.

Robert and the others meandered through the zoo to the party
pavilion, where picnic tables were mounded with giveaways: backpacks, school
supplies, hats and mittens for the coming winter, and supermarket gift cards.

“They make it look like you’re a big winner when they call
out your number,” Robert said, “but everyone wins something, even if it’s just
a ten-dollar grocery card. Rachel and Min have coerced nearly every business in
the city to participate in one way or another: caterers, department stores, the
media.

“It’s great publicity for the city. The mayor declared
Atlanta “The City that Cares” on the news last night.”

Suzanne told Maggie in a stage-whisper, “Don’t let Robert
fool you. He doesn’t give two shakes about the city. But Audrey’s stock
continues to grow steadily.”

“Hey! I’m proud of Rachel, too. She’s a lot more hands-on
than Amanda and I ever were. We hosted plenty of charity events back in the
day, but other than shaking hands and schmoozing, I didn’t pay much attention
to where the money went like Rachel and Min do.”

“Rachel has become quite the philanthropist,” Maggie said.

“Who would have guessed?” Robert said. “I have a daughter
who’s on the cover of every magazine from People to Fortune 500. And a son
rotting in prison.”

“Are you going to see him?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah. I want to go see what this big meeting with his
attorney is all about.”

“And on the twenty-first, we’re all off to Argentina,”
Suzanne squealed. “I can’t wait.”

“Fair warning,” Maggie said. “We may need to extend the trip
a few weeks. Joe wants to tour Chile as well.”

“Why not?” Robert said. “We’ve got nothing else to do.”

“And you’re going to need this break after seeing Robbie.”

Donald Briscoe pulled out his telephone and projected a
presentation on the cinderblock wall of the prison’s meeting room. For at least
fifteen minutes, he gave Robbie a detailed account of how his money had been
spent.

“As of today,” Briscoe said, “You’re bank balance is $523.”
He even tapped the figure at the bottom of a column of numbers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Robbie asked.

The years of drug abuse were catching up with Robert’s son.
His sallow cheeks had deep furrows, the skin on his wiry body looked like
leather.

“No, I’m not,” Briscoe said, his voice matching Robbie’s in
intensity. “All those frivolous appeals that I told you were pointless. The
boob job for some guard’s girlfriend.” He slapped his hand on the wall to
highlight that expenditure. “Then he quit three months later!”

“That guy was an asshole,” Robbie mumbled, as if somehow it
wasn’t his fault.

Briscoe coughed out a belly laugh. “Remember when you wanted
to buy the warden a car? That was hilarious. I almost thought he was going to
take it, too.”

Sucking a deep breath, Briscoe stretched his neck out of the
collar of his shirt and regained his composure.

“Well, it’s all gone now. I wanted your sister to see your
face when I told you the news but she wouldn’t come. Can you believe that?
After all these years of you ignoring the greeting cards, and pictures of her
children that she sent?”

Briscoe paused to let the implication sink in. Then he
snapped his fingers. “Remember the time she and her son Hunter baked you
cookies for your birthday and I hand-delivered them? You didn’t even open the
box. Not once did you give her a call to wish her a Merry Christmas, or to
congratulate her and Min on a new addition to the family.”

“Who cares?”

“I’m sure she does. You might not want to try mooching off
her for a while.”

“Whatever.”

“By the way,” Briscoe reached into his inside pocket, “I’m
retiring at the end of the year. My wife and I have a condo in Puerto
Vallarta.” He pulled out a picture and handed it to Robbie. “We’re going to
take our new boat, hang out in the Caribbean for a few weeks then head on over
through the canal. It’s a beauty, isn’t it? I figure you helped pay for it.”

Robbie tore the picture to shreds. “I’m going to sue your
ass for embezzlement.”

“The term is misappropriation of funds, Robbie. But as your
new attorney will see—if you can find someone to take your case—I’ve kept
meticulous records of every dollar I earned representing you.”

Briscoe stood and smoothed the front of his suit jacket.
“This day has been a long time coming. How old are you now, Robbie? Forty-six?
They used to have this corny saying, years ago. ‘Today is the first day of the
rest of your life’.” He leaned forward just a fraction. “Good luck.”