The War of Immensities (37 page)

“But you don’t
possess any appropriate qualifications to make these statements, do
you Miss Simmons?” those earnest sorts of late-night female
interviewers accused.

“You don’t need
a degree to read an autocue, love,” Lorna replied slyly. She could
match them, bitchy for bitchy, and loved it.

“But you don’t
have any sort of degree at all?”

“No. But the
people who write my script do. And bigger degrees than those who
write yours.”

And cunning she
could meet with cunning.

“So who is the
real Lorna Simmons?”

“A Kiwi
receptionist lucky enough to land a job fronting for the most
important scientific project in the world.”

“But you,
personally, are not important.”

“Oh, I don’t
know. How long since you last had your picture on the front page of
Time, Maxine?”

If she wasn’t
well on the way to her orgasm by then, she never would be.

She knew the
reason why she was there and was permitted to be honest about it.
Nothing could have been worse than a genuine geologist facing these
interviews where their every statement could be twisted and
distorted by the media and every sentence taken out of context to
create those sensational but false headlines that media moguls were
sure they needed. To most serious questions, the ones that really
probed the situation, she was able to offer a shrug that enhanced
her bosom and a mischievous wrinkle of her nose and admitted she
had no idea. No scientist could have got away with that.

The truth was
that Harley wanted to make sure that the public clearly understood
everything he told them. What Lorna understood, anyone could. Not
being burdened with extraneous expert knowledge, she was never able
to jump to conclusions, nor add confusing jargon, nor assume a
certain base level of knowledge on the part of the audience. Lorna
was the model of her own audience—she said everything from the
heart and in terms that the lowest common denominator viewing
public could easily understand.

“I tell the
public what I am told to tell them. No more or less because I don’t
know any more or less. And you can’t bamboozle me into saying more
than I should because I don’t know any more than I should.”

“Unlike your
boss,” one interviewer said cruelly.

It was, of
course, reference to the official condemnation of Harley’s public
announcement of his predictions. Harley had learned from these
misfortunes, which was exactly why he had placed her so firmly
between himself and the media. How they would have loved to have
got at him and Harley was the first to admit that under pressure he
would babble and create chaos. Now, with Lorna telling everything
he knew, he was able to dismiss the media out of hand. When they
trapped him on the steps of important buildings, Harley could herd
his way through them like a half-back going through the pack,
grumbling at them to ‘fuck off’ to make sure his words never went
on air in prime time.

“How can you be
sure that he is right about this, Lorna?”

“I can’t. I
don’t know any better than you do. We’ll all just have to wait and
see.”

“What would you
recommend people do if they are in the designated region?”

“Go somewhere
else.”

“And if they
can’t?”

“Hide under the
bed.”

“Is that what
you’d do, Lorna?”

“No. I’d be on
top of the bed with my favourite lover. It ought to be a fantastic
moment.”

Like everyone
ever interviewed, all of her best bits ended up on the cutting room
floor.

Afterwards,
they leaned back on the pillows and shared a cigarette. She ran the
tape from the start so he could see what he missed.

“Well, what do
you think?”

“Looks to me
like he’s moulded you into exactly what he wants you to be.”

“Yes. It’s just
me, doing what I used to do locally, suddenly gone global. Do I
live up to my media persona?”

“You might be
the only person in the world who does.”

But of course
it wasn’t always about her. She considered sex something shared and
the man was important, whoever he may be.

“Aren’t you
allowed to go home anymore, Brian?”

“I guess
not.”

“Well, I think
she doesn’t appreciate you. I think you are a truly fine man in
every way. Very loving and attentive to a girl’s needs, and a
strong lover. Good sense of humour. Interesting to talk to. They
don’t make you men better than that.”

“Thanks, Lorna.
Coming from you, that is one hell of a recommendation.”

Amid the
orderly chaos, dazzling neon and seething heat of Las Vegas,
Andromeda felt she had come home even though it was a place she had
never been before. When Tierney had told her of their next
engagement, she had snorted in faint disgust.

“I might have
known Harley would have gangsters for friends,” she said.

“You think
that’s how he does these things?” Joel asked seriously.

“Everyone knows
Las Vegas is run by the mob. I guess the connections to Washington
are strong.”

“That’s
history. The mob is out of Las Vegas these days.”

“Not according
to Martin Scorsese.”

“What would he
know?”

“More than most
people,” she said, and she believed that too. Great artists told
the truth, even when they lied.

But she went to
Las Vegas and found it different to her expectations. Oh, it was
big and brassy and fake and miserable like every place where the
high rollers were the basis of the economy, but there was something
about it that suited her and she knew she settled into it like an
old shoe. Maybe she was made for the casino world. She had done
gigs at casinos in Australia and the Pacific but they were truly
sleazy and their criminal basis unmistakable. Las Vegas was more
like a businessman’s convention in Disneyland. It was like the
aristocrat—having risen above its origins and putting on airs. For
all its fierce modernity, it was a staid old lady at heart.

There were two
engagements, actually, at the Sands and then The Golden Nugget, but
for Andromeda there was little difference. Her act fitted in
perfectly and was a hit, almost as if it was preordained. Even she
could see how appropriate she had become to this world. She flowed
through it, seamlessly, and if she could see the mechanical
processes in operation, plainly no one else did.

Anyone who
tried could blend in here—there was a universality about it that
said ‘we don’t care who you are as long as you play the tables’.
She even saw men like Harley looking quite at home, and one night a
girl who looked like Jami Shastri, except she was wearing a dress.
And thick make-up. And she had done something civilised with her
hair. Really, the only reason that this person resembled Jami at
all was because it was actually her.

“Jami, darling,
you look fabulous.”

Jami did a
little curtsy and smiled brilliantly. Sure, her thighs were too
thin to be on show like this and the dress fitted her like a sack,
but there was no need to quibble.

“I didn’t know
whether it’d be okay to come and see you. Now that you’re such a
big star and all.”

Andromeda gave
her a big public hug, just to cure her nervousness. “Of course it
is, sweetheart. You people are like family to me these days.”

Which was true.
She found she hung out for every small fragment of news about the
others of Project Earthshaker, from whom she constantly felt
estranged. They were always off, doing things elsewhere and
together, a team, while she was somewhere else and alone. It was a
strange sensation to feel so close to people she hardly knew. And
yet it was so. When they were amid the disaster in Italy and
nightly they variously appeared on television, she was like a
mother with sons and daughters away at a war. And on these rare
occasions when one of her fellow earthshakers came her way, she
found she was desperately anxious for gossip about the others.

As she was now,
with awkward Jami, but she could see that would have to wait.
Plainly Jami was unhappy and needed to confide—Andromeda felt the
earth mother within her assume immediate ascendancy. She knew a
place where they could meet for dinner later and have a good chat.
Jami was delighted.

“I’m on my way
to Tahiti, but yes, dinner will be terrific.”

No flight to
Tahiti demanded an overnight stop in Las Vegas that she knew of.
Andromeda felt she was right. Jami had a big problem.

And naturally,
it turned out to relate to men. Who else could cause a girl such
obvious grief and on what subject could Andromeda better give
advice? The chap’s name was Glen, a colleague on the project. Yes,
Andromeda had heard of him. The mysterious extra member of the
Earthshaker team, locked up in a dungeon in Boston, being fed on
microchips and water, condemned to an eternity doing Harley’s sums.
She had never met him and imagined some stodgy, cobwebbed fellow
until she saw his photograph. Good looking, athletic, all American
boy. The nature of the problem was obvious. Just when Jami had
begun to dream her dreams once more, Glen dumped her for a
water-ballet star.

“We’re just
friends, Jami. You must understand that.” he had told her and she
left for Tahiti immediately after that.

“You don’t need
me to tell you what to do, honey-child,” Andromeda said, sadly.

She could see
the future easily. Most likely he would abandon her eventually for
someone as handsome and clever as himself and Jami would be left to
devote herself to her career. Or, should she succeed in trapping
him, he would continue to have affairs and she would grow to
tolerate it and never allow his infidelity to diminish her
devotion. Many attractive men were like that. And just as many
foolish women put up with them.

“But I want
Glen,” Jami insisted tearfully. “I know we’re made for each
other.”

Since it would
have been cruel to point out that they almost certainly were not,
Andromeda could only sympathise and pacify and advise her to
transfer her unbounded love to someone worthy of it. Which she
would be the first women in history to achieve, were she to manage
it.

But there was
far more historical fame going on at present than anyone could
handle. Eventually, they got around to the gossip. Naughty Lorna
and cuckold Brian. Felicity Nightingale and Saint Chrissie. Harley
the bull in a bureaucratic china shop, suspicious old Joe and his
conspiracies, Adolf Wagner.

“Everyone is
becoming famous,” Jami said, her tears dried for the moment.

“I find it
majorly weird, Jami. Remember Kevin and his master race idea?”

“It’s nothing
like that.”

“Are you sure,
Jami? If it did happen that a new improved species evolved,
wouldn’t they all start over-achieving and become celebrities? I
mean, how else would they be superior?”

Jami looked at
her, beginning to take the idea seriously. “I always imagined that
a superior race would excel in sciences. I’ve never thought media
stars superior to anyone.”

“But think
about it, Jami. Lorna, Chrissie, Brian, Kevin, Joe and me. We were
all nobodies when this first happened. Now we are all big
successes.”

“Joe hasn’t
changed.”

“No, I guess
not. But his capacity for change is mighty limited.”

“And Felicity
has become just as famous even though she wasn’t touched by the
effect. And my name has become a household word around scientific
circles. And Harley, although he was famous in his way all
along.”

That was the
trouble with talking to scientists—they always knew the facts and
messed up the loveliest theories.

“Damn. I sure
thought I was on to somethin’.”

Jami smiled.
She was finally beginning to loosen up. “I can’t blame you for
thinking so, Andromeda. I began to think so myself for a while.
Lorna is so utterly brilliant on TV. You ought to see dull old
Brian strutting about like a field marshal, organising everything.
But, when you think about it, nothing has really changed.”

“Hasn’t
it?”

“You were
always a terrific entertainer. You were waiting to be discovered.
Earthshaker gave you the break you needed—that’s all.”

“There’s a lot
of better performers around than me.”

“Sure. And a
lot who are better than Elton John and Sharon Stone. Being good
gets you to a certain level. Then you need a break. A bit of luck.
Your bit of luck was being on Ruapehu when it blew.”

“You gotta be
in a position to exploit a break when it comes. Yeah, I get it.
Harleykins has simply oiled the wheels and let it happen.”

“It’s the same
with the others. Lorna was always a quick-witted sexy thing. Brian
is a natural organiser who never had anything to organise
before.”

“I ain’t so
sure about that…”

“He was the one
who always got to the focal point and did whatever was necessary to
get there.”

“He had the
shortest distance to go.”

“But he didn’t
try public transport or hitch-hiking like the rest of you. He stole
a truck and drove straight there.”

“Hmm, I guess
so….”

“Kevin ran a
security company in the past—this is just on a bigger scale. And
Chrissie was born to be a martyr. And that explains Joe—he
continues doing what he does best.”

“Oh all right
then.”

“They are all
doing what they do best. So am I. So is Glen. So is Felicity. And
so is Harley. And one of Harley’s great talents is arranging for
people to do what they are best at.”

“So you think
it is just a natural progression.”

“Extraordinary
events are taking place. At such a time, anyone doing what they do
best, unhindered by outside forces, are always going to look pretty
good.”

“And you reckon
Harley read us all like that?”