Sequela (47 page)

'Where's Kester?' Alexis demanded. 'I need to talk to him.'

'Alexis,' Gerald said, surprised, 'your eyes are weeping – here.'

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Such a gentleman, even under pressure. She took it and dabbed at her eyes.

'Thank you, Gerald,' she said. 'Now where is he?'

'He's not here,' Gerald said, steering her into his office. 'He's already into his pre-show interviews. What is it? Can I help you?'

'It's my eyes. They've been running since mid morning. I don't know what's causing it – presumably one of his bloody viruses – and I can't get them to stop. I'm going to look a fucking mess tonight.'

'It's alright. Sit down and we'll sort this out.'

Alexis paced about the office a few times, and then forced herself to sit.

'It could be a rare side-effect of one of the viruses,' Gerald said, fetching her a coffee from his machine. 'There's always the chance that one or two people out there will react differently to them.'

'He hasn't got anything else on the go? Something like Corona – something that does this for a while before it presents?'

'Not that I know of…but I haven't been working on all of them – it could well be. Having said that, anything new should have shown up on your screen. It must be something you're already wearing.'

'So what am I going to do? I can't get a hold of him. It's only a few hours until the curtains go up.'

'I'll try to get him for you, but I've got an idea. Corona did affect some of the wider testing group in this way and we prescribed them eye drops. Let me get you some – they might keep things under control for now until we can get a hold of Kester.'

'OK,' Alexis said, emptying her coffee cup and shooting up out of her seat, 'but make it snappy. I'm due to update Chen on our progress in half an hour and I need to get down to inspect the site before then.'

'Stay put,' Gerald said. 'I'll look them out now.'

-o-

Cherry sat on a chair by the misted-up window, staring at it as if there was a view. She
visualised
the baster-style virus applicator, still sitting in the shoe box at Dempsey's and thought through how she had handled everything. There was no way it could be her. And someone finding the virus, putting it on, coming in to V – another agent of the Church perhaps, a backup in case she bottled it? No. Too farfetched. It was co-incidence, she told herself. She had made the right decision and was just freaking.

'You wanted to see me?' Gerald asked as he came in the door.

He nodded amiably to Cherry as he entered. She got up from her chair and guided him by the elbow towards the isolation booths. She could feel his good cheer draining as they walked.

'Can I speak to you privately?' she asked.

'Of course.'

He stepped aside so that she could enter the booth first. Once the door was shut, they both stood for a moment. Cherry looked at the bench and the chair.

'Please, after you,' Gerald said, indicating the bench.

Cherry sat down and Gerald took the chair.

'What's eating you?' He passed a hand over the slick surface of his hair.

'We just had a briefing with Farrell,' Cherry said. She wasn't sure quite how to continue. He had said he didn't want to be involved but she needed to know what he knew. His eyes were wary. 'She was using eye drops.'

'Yes. I gave them to her.'

'You did?' Cherry said, relief readying itself to rush in. 'So they're for something official. I mean, they're for one of the show viruses?'

Gerald stared at her for a long time. The rectangle of the room's daylight ceiling made dramatic windows in his brown eyes. He was considering something. Whether to end the conversation there, perhaps.

'No,' he said. 'They're not.'

Cherry tried not to react, but by Gerald's face it was obvious that she had failed.          

'You know what it is?' he asked.

'I don't know – I mean I can't be sure. The Church had me get another virus.'

'The Church…' Gerald closed his eyes as if trying to erase this last piece of the conversation.

Cherry winced. He didn't know she was working for the Church. Hadn't wanted to know.

'That's just what they're calling themselves,' she said, backpedalling. 'My employers. But I can't be sure that's what it is. I was supposed to…' Cherry paused and looked at Gerald's face. She needed to continue, needed him to know it wasn't her. He didn't stop her. Just stared, concerned. 'I was supposed to release it amongst the models for the final show. One of the symptoms was running eyes.'

'But you didn't.' Gerald lowered his head.

'No. I just thought when I saw her eyes…I was worried that someone else…'

'Cherry,' Gerald put out a hand and placed it on hers, 'we use the eye drops for lots of different viruses and so do other companies. It's a common side effect of one of the base viruses. It could be anything – you know what Farrell's like.'

Cherry examined Gerald's expression. He couldn't be more heavily involved than she thought, could he? Was he Blotch's back-up? No. His eyes were clear, sincere.

'And if it is?'

Gerald sat back. 'You know more than me, but presumably your employer will be happy and you'll have a clear conscience. Everyone's a winner, assuming it's nothing that Kester can't fix.' He looked suddenly concerned again. 'What will happen if they find out you've not carried out your orders?' he asked, then looked as if he wished he hadn't.

'Nothing that will affect you. I'm sorry, Gerald. I didn't realise the drops were so common. I just thought you might know what they were for. It just freaked me out a bit.'

'I'm sure we'll find out what it is soon enough. Kester's probably got something new up his sleeve, or rather his…' Gerald coughed and smiled.

Cherry smiled back and allowed the relief to come. As Gerald stood, the door slid open to let them out.

'Probably some new thing he hasn't had the chance to pass on to anyone else,' Gerald said. 'He's been so busy. Though a friend at the PlayPen tells me he was down there last weekend.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Making a bit of time for an old flame by all accounts – naughty boy. He'd better hope Farrell doesn't find out!'

Cherry laughed. An old flame. The room was hot. The room was cold. She put a hand out to the doorframe as they passed through.

'You alright?'

'Fine.' Cherry slowly became aware that she was shaking her head. 'Nothing that can't be fixed.'

Once Gerald had left, Cherry returned to her seat at the window.
Everyone's a winner
. Gerald's words looped in her head.

In the knowledge that Alexis wouldn't be there with him, Kester opted to get ready for the show in his apartment. A large mirror sat on his desk, surrounded by Rita's makeup kit and hair products. He examined her work in the mirror as she packed her things into what looked to him like a chrome toolbox.

'I'll take all this backstage in case you need any touch-ups,' she said.

Kester peered at his makeup. It was heavy but reasonably natural-looking, though Rita had gone a bit eyeliner-happy this time. He watched as she finished stowing her gear. All packed up, she walked to the door, listing to one side with the weight of the case.

'Good luck!' she said as she left.

Kester looked back to the mirror and smiled, baring his teeth. Failing to convince himself, he let his face fall straight and then smiled again, tried to look excited. This was the end of it. No more
clamouring
to sleep with Doctor Lowe, unless you happened to be an ambitious underling. Would he still be a superstar when he started proper work on the screen trials? Yes. A different type of superstar. Would people still desire him? He tried to think of any serious scientists he had ever fancied. He touched the frayed edges of his pocket where the ads had been lovingly sewn on and removed, and then wandered back over to the mirror.

'You look ravishing, dear boy.' Gaunt's voice made Kester jump. 'You ready for your last supper?'

'Alexis told you then?'        

'She intimated that you wouldn't be doing this again. I've been saving my pocket money but I'm afraid I still can't quite afford you. Sad that this could be my last chance.'

Kester laughed. 'Sad for you, Gaunt.' He turned and walked through the doors of his living quarters, patting Gaunt on the shoulder as he passed. 'Some of us are relieved.'

'Getting me a gin?'

Kester clattered around at his bar for a few minutes, then re-entered his office with a beer for himself and a gin for Gaunt.

'Better not have too many.' Gaunt nodded at Kester's beer. 'It'll stop my medicine working properly.'

'Fat chance. I managed to get the freeze lifted from my booze account, but I'm on a strict limit – ten units a week; cans and miniatures only.'

'Ouch!'

'Tell me about it,' Kester said, then sighed.

'What's getting you, boy?'

Gaunt was at the window now, taking in the view of the square. Wardrobe had kitted him out in a velvet tailcoat with a high collar. With his shock of white hair, and the shifting red and green glow from the square below, he looked like a ghostly count.

'Just…' Kester struggled to put his finger on it. 'There are bits of all this I like.'

'The sex god status, the access…'

'Creating beautiful things, being listened to, being…'

'Worshipped?'

'Recognised.
The recognition.'

'The money?'

'Yes, the money. But that's not going to stop.'

'Who says everything else will. Keep your hand in on the viral side. Creative Director has always been a job title that's captured me – or how about Chief Imagineer.'

Kester laughed.

'You don't think for a moment we're going to stop doing this until it stops making us money do you?' Gaunt said. 'Just because your arse isn't on the silver salver any more – and despite my personal feelings I agree with the decision that it shouldn't be – that doesn't mean we can't keep on selling your wares.'

'No, I suppose not.'

'Don't worry boy, they'll still love you. Come here.' Gaunt beckoned to Kester to join him at the window. 'Lap it up. If you're going to miss it, taste it, drink it in, make the most of it.' He put a hand on Kester's shoulder and gave a squeeze. 'But whatever you do, don't be late. Curtain's up in thirty minutes. Alexis will meet you backstage before the first models go out. I'll see you at the after-party.'

Gaunt slipped a packet of pills into Kester's top pocket and left him standing at the window.

Outside, the square was full. To increase capacity they had installed rows and rows of three-tiered balcony boxes up the sides of the two buildings that flanked the square. The boxes jutted out, angled towards the stage, covering the windows of the bottom fifteen floors with a serrated wall of metal. They were already filling slowly from the bottom up and as they crowded with pinprick faces and waving arms, the buildings started to resemble living coral, hard structure with delicate fleshy protuberances so fine as to resemble a pink fur. At the back of the square, set up as before, was the Stark Wellbury structure, pulsating in its many different ways. The V building itself was the only surface in the square not covered with excited flesh. It was terrifying. Kester imagined them all tumbling out of their boxes down into the square, arms and legs stuck out like dolls, an avalanche of flesh and sweat and hair.

He shuddered. Perhaps this was too much desire for his liking, even for Alexis'. Perhaps. He took the packet from his pocket, popped two pills from it and washed them down with a swig of beer. Time to go.

Kester walked through the central V revolving door into the backstage area. It had begun. The noise was all-consuming. The screams and shouts of the crowd rolled across each other, pulling together, gathering into a great ball of sound that tumbled endlessly, contained by the square. The acoustics were different to the first show. The sound was no longer clattering off metal and glass; it was broken on the jagged lining of screaming fans, jetting into their mouths, eyes, ears and spilling back out distorted.

'They're having trouble with the sound,' Alexis hollered into Kester's ear as he joined her. This time they had a massive display on which to watch the show, a patchwork of different angles of the stage.

'No kidding!' he said. He tried to see her face in the nightmarish backstage light, see if she was looking less done in. 'How are you feeling?'

She sneered at him and pointed to her temples. A headache? The noise was vibrating his bones. He could feel his eardrums fluttering, unable to cope with the bombardment, the pressure in his head building.

'Cover your ears,' Alexis mouthed, pointing up to the top portion of the display which showed the side stage. The first band was taking the stage. The scream of the guitars was painful, but at least it united the sound, drawing everything together. A technician shambled over to Kester and Alexis, head low, as if he was ducking wires, and handed them each a pair of protective headphones.

-o-

Cherry's legs were shaking. This was ridiculous. She wished she hadn't looked out into the square. She was beginning to understand why they had spent so much time
practising
walking. Her head hurt from the severe up-do wardrobe had imposed on her, the thirty or forty hairpins that had scraped along her scalp during the process of getting it to stay up. The noise made it hard to think, but she needed to figure out what to do. The virus was out there and the Church would expect that to be the case. So what now?

Doctor Lowe would be destroyed if one of his viruses spayed half the City. He would never make his screens. Or would the company manage to clear it up, get him off the hook so he could continue his work? Whatever happened, god knows how many people would still be affected and she would be guilty not because she had caused it, but because she could have stopped it.

But she couldn't reveal herself. If she did, Blotch would know she hadn't held up her end of the bargain and they would find a way to get to her. This wasn't where she had expected to be.

The first models were due to go on in ten minutes. Cherry's mind churned but turned up nothing new. She peeked out at the crowd again and let her eyes wander up the wall of spectators on the east side of the square. Somewhere in one of the boxes, a spectator dropped something – an empty drinks cup. It fell down to the open hands of the crowd below and was tossed along, somersaulting for a few moments, before disappearing to the ground to be trampled. At the front of the crowd, someone threw a handful of fliers up in the air. Cherry watched as a woman near the front, struggling to stay on her feet, picked one of the fliers out of her bouffant hair and read it before tossing it away. That was it.

Fizzing with purpose, Cherry started to cast around backstage. Coming to the bank of hair and makeup stations, she found what she was looking for. The makeshift structure had no built in displays, so tucked into the bottom of the mirror at each station was a paper copy of the running order for the night. Cherry grabbed one or two, then spotted a handful of spares sitting in a messy pile on the edge of the bench and scooped these up too. The second lot of models were starting to arrive for their last-minute prep, already in costume.

Suddenly, there were people everywhere. Rita appeared from behind a clothes rack.

'Thanks, Cherry!' Rita said, as she saw Cherry shuffling the papers into a pile. 'What a state, huh?' She waved her arms at the carnage on the benches and long dressing table.

Cherry looked up at her questioningly. 'Just chuck them?'

'Yeah.' Rita handed her an empty cup. 'This too if you don't mind, love. Then can you tell your lot I'll need them back here in fifteen minutes for final prep?'

'No problem.'

Letting her hand brush over the station next to her, Cherry lifted an eyeliner pen and held it tucked against her wrist. She rushed away and slipped into the wings, eyes clambering along the scaffolding, looking for an obvious viewpoint. The only people around here were the lighting technicians and they were storeys above her where they could get a real view of the square. Their lift was stationary at the bottom of the scaffolding, so they weren't coming down any time soon and she would have a few minutes warning if they were planning to.

Cherry spotted a series of slim ladders leading up to a small landing. She looked around again to check that there was no-one there. Confident she wouldn't be seen, she stripped out of her sheer kaftan, down to her skin-coloured knickers, stuck the paper and pen between her teeth and started to climb.

-o-

The first models were about to go on. Kester went to take Alexis' hand, but she was rummaging in her pocket. He looked back to the display to see six cloaked figures walking down the catwalk. When he turned his gaze back to Alexis, she was looking up, holding something above her face – a tear-shaped bottle – eye drops. He recognised the label. They were the eye drops he used for viral side-effects. He grabbed her wrist.

'Alexis – what's going on?'

With the headphones on Kester could hear himself, his voice soft and rounded, simple-sounding in his head. But Alexis could not. She pulled her arm away and put the drops in her other eye. Kester stood up and, despite her wriggling protests, led her away from the display back into the foyer of the V building where they could hear one another.

'Kester, what's wrong with you? The first models are going out!'

Kester could feel the glass walls booming as if they might implode at any minute.

'What's going on with your eyes? Where did you get those drops from?'

'From Gerald – he said if it was a viral side-effect –'

'We haven't had any of this sort of…' Kester felt a weight in his gullet.

'Look – this isn't the time.'

'Alexis, this could be another attack.'

'What?'

'This isn't one of tonight's viruses. I'm certain of it. We haven't had any side-effects like this.'

'You've given me something new then?'

'No.'

'Nothing's shown up on my screen. You really think this could be an attack?'

'It's OK.' Kester put his hands out.

'OK?' Alexis' voice ripped through the noise in the foyer. 'What am I infected with? What the hell is this?'

'Just calm down – I need to get you upstairs to find out.'

'Don't tell me to calm down, Kester!'

Alexis flipped into efficiency mode. Her face calmed and Kester could see her thinking things through, only tiny movements in her facial muscles, small physical tics, betraying the urgency of her thought process.

'The first models are out there,' she said after a few seconds. 'They're in the exchange booths by now. If I'm infected, who else is? Fuck – I've slept with half of them.'