Authors: Rudy Rucker
Spaceland (2 page)
Our living-dining room isn't very big, just a white drywall box with white carpeting and white mini-blinds over windows that don't really open. We hadn't gotten around to doing anything yet in the way of decorating it. Since we knew we'd be moving up soon, we'd gotten really inexpensive furniture. Our dining table and chairs were that shiny, molded, one-piece-of-plastic patio stuff: a round white table and a couple of chairs. Cost about seven bucks. Our only good furniture was our king bed and our beige leather couch.
Jena had put the roses in a souvenir beer mug and had prettied up the table with a tablecloth and some bright orange candles. We'd never done dinner at home with candles or a tablecloth before;
usually we ate something at work and just grazed on junk when we got home. I turned the music down a notch, sliced the bread, and set out the crabs. They'd looked forbidding in the market: big, red, and impregnable. But the guy behind the fish counter had taken them apart and cracked their shells all over with a hammer. I had a jar of cocktail sauce to go with the crabs, and Jena had put together a fancy salad from the supermarket salad bar. While I'd been out, she'd gone to the store, too.
usually we ate something at work and just grazed on junk when we got home. I turned the music down a notch, sliced the bread, and set out the crabs. They'd looked forbidding in the market: big, red, and impregnable. But the guy behind the fish counter had taken them apart and cracked their shells all over with a hammer. I had a jar of cocktail sauce to go with the crabs, and Jena had put together a fancy salad from the supermarket salad bar. While I'd been out, she'd gone to the store, too.
We sat down at our little table and I opened the champagne, with Jena telling me to be careful. The cork bounced off the low ceiling and just missed her. I caught the first big spurt of foam in her glass, then filled mine.
“Here's to the end of a great year!” I said.
“It's been rather momentous,” said Jena, smiling and clinking her glass with mine.
“We got married in June, moved to Silicon Valley in August, and bought a house in September,” I said. “Heavy duty. Instant respectability.”
“Maybe we're a little too respectable,” giggled Jena. “Can you believe we're managers in Silicon Valley computer companies? Here's my business card.” She peeled a piece of crab shell off one of the legs and handed it to me.
“Nice texture,” I said pretending to read the piece of shell. “You must be a payer. Let's network. We'll do more than talk the talk ⦔
“We'll walk the walk,” completed Jena. It was one of my favorite phrases. She tapped my wrist with the sharp end of the crab leg. “How do you eat these things?”
“The man at Whole Foods said to just keep picking out the meat with your fingers,” I said. “He says that most of it's in this big middle part. The body. You should have seen these puppies with their shells on. Like aliens or giant insects.”
“How appetizing. Tonight's special is Venusian cockroach.” Jena pulled a piece of meat out of her crab leg and dipped it in the cocktail sauce. “Mmm. It's
succulent.
Firm and fresh. Not like those frozen King crab things back in Colorado. Did you ever have those? Buck Sawyer was always taking me to the Red Lobster and ordering King crab. It tastes like cardboard.” Buck Sawyer had been one of the guys Jena almost left me for. An old boyfriend, never quite fully out of the picture. A car salesman, a real lowlife. Jena gave me an innocent look and fished a big lump of crabmeat out of the crab's body. “Succulent,” she repeated. Jena liked words, they were pets that she played with.
succulent.
Firm and fresh. Not like those frozen King crab things back in Colorado. Did you ever have those? Buck Sawyer was always taking me to the Red Lobster and ordering King crab. It tastes like cardboard.” Buck Sawyer had been one of the guys Jena almost left me for. An old boyfriend, never quite fully out of the picture. A car salesman, a real lowlife. Jena gave me an innocent look and fished a big lump of crabmeat out of the crab's body. “Succulent,” she repeated. Jena liked words, they were pets that she played with.
“I think this is the first time I've ever eaten crab in my life,” I said. “I was scared it might be fishy. But it's not. The sauce helps. Horseradish. More champers?”
“Right on,” said Jena. “Is the salad all right?”
“Sure! I like all the stuff you put in it. It's great with the crab.”
We ate and drank for a couple of minutes, the house music pooting and tweeting along in the background. So far so good.
“Three and a half hours to go,” said Jena presently. “That's a long time. Do you really think the power will fail?” She pursed her lips the way she did when she was thinking.
“We're ready,” I said, not wanting to get into a debate on this. “We've already got our candles happening. We got that candle holder for our wedding, huh?”
“Candelabrum,” said Jena. “My Aunt Sue gave it to us. She said it's sterling silver. And she gave us this tablecloth, too. âFor your little celebrations,' she said. Aunt Sue is such the romance hound. She almost caught my bouquet herself. I didn't want
orange
candles, but they were the last thing left on the shelves. You're not the only one who's freaking out. Oops.” She hopped to her feet. “I forgot to turn out the lights. Glamour. Not to mention disguising the fact
that we're in a four-hundred-thousand-dollar white cardboard packing crate next to a freeway.”
orange
candles, but they were the last thing left on the shelves. You're not the only one who's freaking out. Oops.” She hopped to her feet. “I forgot to turn out the lights. Glamour. Not to mention disguising the fact
that we're in a four-hundred-thousand-dollar white cardboard packing crate next to a freeway.”
“Aw, come on, Jena. Hey, it looks good with the lights out. Did you get a lot of candles?”
“A whole box. Happy Halloween! The orange glow is nice, isn't it? You look pretty, Joe. Remember how back in college you'd light a candle when I spent the night in your room? You had it stuck into a Ruffino wine bottle.” We'd dated for a couple of years before moving in together.
“The only way to go,” I said. Actually, the candle had been my roommate's. I glanced at my watch. “It's almost nine. I'll fire up the 3Set and see how the Millennium comes down on the East Coast.”
“Oh great,” said Jena. “We spend the next three hours watching TV. Do they still do Dick Clark? Or is he finally dead? I hope so.”
“Did I mention that this guy from work might stop by?” I offered.
“Visiting the shut-ins,” said Jena. “Who?”
“Spazz Crotty. You met him at the Christmas party. Skinny guy with bleached blonde hair and a nose ring?”
“Oh, I remember him all right,” said Jena. “He kept staring at my butt. I was like âTake a picture, it lasts longer.'”
“You said that to him?”
“You know how I get when I have margaritas. He laughed it off. He was embarrassed. I said it in front of his girlfriend. This tall girl with really nice smooth brown skinâthough she did have some acne scarsâshe had some kind of flower name, but I was so wasted I don'tâ”
“Tulip,” I said. “Yeah, I told Spazz and Tulip to come by around nine.”
“Well good,” said Jena. “We can share our dessert. I bought this decadent tiramisu cake.”
I got the 3Set going and we watched the Millennium roll over in Time Square. I thought it was kind of cool that we were the only people in the world watching it on a 3Set, but Jena wasn't impressed. The 3Set image was pale and grainy and didn't look all that three-dimensional; it only, fattened up when the camera was on one person who was moving a lot. Jena said it was like watching a motel TV, which was, she added, appropriate for the kind of place we were living in. The champagne wasn't doing my cause a lot of good.
The ball dropped and the lights in Times Square kept right on shining. Everyone was laughing and yelling and parrying their asses off. I was sort of surprised there was no disaster.
“We should be out with other people,” said Jena, slitting her eyes. “I can't believe we're sitting in this crappy little townhouse watching your weird television. 1 feel like such a
loser.
” She'd poured out the last bit of the champagne. “Where's Spazz and Tulip?” she continued. “When did you
say
they'd come?”
loser.
” She'd poured out the last bit of the champagne. “Where's Spazz and Tulip?” she continued. “When did you
say
they'd come?”
“Um, I'll call him.”
So I got Spazz on his cell phone, and, naw, man, he's not gonna make it over, him and Tulip came straight up to San Francisco, with the bike it wasn't all that hard, and now they're down near the waterfront dancing and waiting for the fireworks. It's great. I should've come, too. Maybe I'll see him and Tulip. on TV. Spazz, telling me all this like it's something really worth hearing, and stopping every few sentences to cough. I said good-bye and hung up.
“He's not gonna make it,” I told Jena, not looking directly at her. I stared into the tank of our 3Set like I was seeing something interesting. There were a lot of chips with micro mirrors on the bottom, the mirrors vibrating like crazy and painting virtual images up into the empty space of the tank. Like those saucer-shaped novelty items that make it look as if there's a quarter floating up above them? That's kind of the way the 3Set worked. There was no air
in the tank, because if there were air, the supersonic vibrations of the mirrors would hit you and it would be bad. Poach your brain like an egg. As it was, the thing gave off a pretty loud humâmore like a whine than a hum. And in there I could see Dick Clark and some girl singers; they were about six inches high, and they looked pretty much like flat cut-outs, except that whenever they moved, the chips managed to fatten them up to look 3D. For being so expensive and complicated and dangerous, the 3Set was kind of a cheesy product. We were probably never going to ship it, and Kencorn was never going to go IPO. I was wasting my time working there. I was a loser and my wife was mad at me.
in the tank, because if there were air, the supersonic vibrations of the mirrors would hit you and it would be bad. Poach your brain like an egg. As it was, the thing gave off a pretty loud humâmore like a whine than a hum. And in there I could see Dick Clark and some girl singers; they were about six inches high, and they looked pretty much like flat cut-outs, except that whenever they moved, the chips managed to fatten them up to look 3D. For being so expensive and complicated and dangerous, the 3Set was kind of a cheesy product. We were probably never going to ship it, and Kencorn was never going to go IPO. I was wasting my time working there. I was a loser and my wife was mad at me.
“How about some margaritas?” said Jena.
“Um ⦔
“I'll make them,” she said.
If Jena got into the margaritas we were doomed. “Look,” I said. “Maybe we should go out.”
“
Right
on. Where?”
Right
on. Where?”
“Hell, we'll go bar-hopping in Los Perros. We can be there in ten minutes.”
“Fun.” Jena smiled and looked relaxed for the first time that evening. I realized how stupid I'd been acting. If Jena was happy, so was I. When it came down to it, making Jena happy was what I cared about the most. Even my gecky little DBS indexâit wasn't really about the numbers. It was just my idiotic way of measuring our relationship. If only I could ever remember for more than fifteen seconds that it all came down to the relationship, and not to my getting my own way.
“Be sure to bring some walking shoes and a warm coat,” I heard myself saying. “In case we have to hike home.”
“We can always take a cab.”
“If the axe comes down there might not he cabs.”
“Poor Joe,” said Jena with a little smile. “He worries so much
that he acts middle-aged. We'll take him out and cheer him up. Just a sec while I fix my makeup. You can get our leather coats. Don't even think of wearing a tie.”
that he acts middle-aged. We'll take him out and cheer him up. Just a sec while I fix my makeup. You can get our leather coats. Don't even think of wearing a tie.”
Ten minutes later I'd parked my SUV on a side street and we were out on Santa Ynez Avenue, the Los Perros main drag. It was a two-lane street lined by single-story shops. Los Perros was a yuppie enclave embedded in the southern lobe of San Jose's suburban sprawl; its charm stemmed from the fact that it felt like a village. The stores' lit-up windows didn't cover the fact that the buildings themselves were cheap and rickety, as makeshift and cobbled together as what you'd see in a Colorado mining town.
I liked this flat little village under the big night sky. It was human-scale, homey, andâas long as you didn't hear the people talking, or compare their clothesânot so different from rural Matthewsboro, the town I'd grown up in. It seemed like a good place to raise children, not that we were planning that for any time soon. Jena and I were both hell-bent on moving up in our companies. Even so, I couldn't help thinking sometimes that it would be nice to have a kid.
There were a fair number of people out and about, though maybe less than on a normal Friday night. I wasn't the only one worried about the Y2K bug. The Christmas decorations were still up on the lampposts, wobbling in the gusty breeze. It was a damp night with a chill in the air. Some highschoolers rolled past on skateboards; three guys and a wiry girl in an orange watch cap. A pickup full of kids slowed to whoop at them, the skater girl raised her arm to pump the heavy metal, devil's-horns salute, and the kids in the truck whooped some more and pulled over to hang out. Up on the corner ahead of us was a middle-aged married couple frowning at each other. Bickering. Like my parents before they'd gotten divorced. Ah yes, my parents.
With my parents it had gone further than bickering. Ed and
Mary Cube. They were country people who'd come into town to work, my mother as an accountant at a WalMart, my Dad as a clerk in a store selling ranching supplies. Dad would have liked to have been a rancher himself, but he didn't have any land. Being a high-school graduate, he felt he was too educated to be a mere cowhand, though he looked and talked like one. The only concrete sign of Dad's education that I ever noticed was that he read and collected Western comic books.
Mary Cube. They were country people who'd come into town to work, my mother as an accountant at a WalMart, my Dad as a clerk in a store selling ranching supplies. Dad would have liked to have been a rancher himself, but he didn't have any land. Being a high-school graduate, he felt he was too educated to be a mere cowhand, though he looked and talked like one. The only concrete sign of Dad's education that I ever noticed was that he read and collected Western comic books.
Mom and Dad were always kind of raw and yokel, even tor Matthewsboro, Colorado. They did some incredible things. The worst was this: My father was a terrible womanizer, a real Casanova, and my mother ended up stabbing him in the stomach with a carving knife. It was the worst thing I ever saw. It happened right before, dinner one evening; I was twelve and my sister Sue was fourteen. Sis told Mom she'd just seen Dad on top of a girl in the woods by the lake, and all at once Mom's patience was gone and she stabbed him.
Dad recoveredâand settled for an easy divorce instead of pressing charges. I'd expected it to be a relief to have lanky, ne'er-do-well Dad out of the house and all the fighting over. But it turned out I never felt safe around Mom again. The stabbing wasn't the kind of thing I could forget. In high school I joined every activity I could to stay out of Mom's way, and once I left for college, I never went home to Matthewsboro for more than a day or two at a time.
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