How to Repair a Mechanical Heart - By J. C. Lillis Page 0,14
Henchmen took Sim apart—”
“—and he kept saying Status: All systems destabilized in that creepo Exorcist voice? Oh babe. I know.”
“I needed counseling. Ask Bec.” I turn to her, but some jerk in a Cookie Monster t-shirt is chatting her up. He has these super-sincere liquidy blue eyes and his dark hair is flat and shaggy at the same time, like the plastic hair on those Lego people. I want to step in and save her but then Abel’s hand is squeezing mine and I have to keep my face Sim-still and pretend I’m a regular human who has tons and tons of casual palm-to-palm contact with guys who share my specific fanboy neuroses.
“Bran.” Abel smiles sideways like Cadmus.
Smile back. Don’t be a freak.
“Yeah…?”
“Dude in the TEAM ANDROID shirt is eyeing you up.” He leans close and cups my ear. “Glance to the left and be subtle!”
“I—”
Some guy in a dark suit saves me, shoving through the crowd with headset clutched to ear. People start whispering. The weird Hell Bells thing makes a sinister ting in the back of my mind. I try to breathe myself calm. We’re not assassination candidates. No one takes shipping that seriously.
Right?
Father Mike, tossing me marshmallows at the youth group campfire. Okay, poll time, guys: If you died today, do you think you’d go to heaven?
The worried guy’s onstage now, hands locked behind him, introducing Bree LaRue with a film of sweat on his forehead. Everyone’s chattering, grumbling, pulling out cameras. Abel grabs Bec’s cam from her and hits record.
“Okay, people! This is it.” He holds the camera too close. “Cadsim ladies, hold your gloating till the end, mmkay? I know Bree-Bree’s on record as a shipper, but it’s not over till we get her on video, and plus she’s all moony-eyed over that Cash Howard guy from Husband Hunt so she’s not exactly the brightest bulb on the—”
“People!” Worried Guy makes a time-out gesture. “Here she comes, okay? Let’s be a little quiet for her.”
The pull-down screen rolls up, and someone female comes stalking out from behind the black curtain when the audience cheers and hoots for Bree LaRue, but for a good ten, fifteen seconds my brain thinks there has to be a mixup.
Because the person onstage? That can’t be her.
***
Bree LaRue plays Defense Officer Leandra Nigh, and if you’ve ever seen an episode of Castaway Planet, the thing you remember about her is her hair. It’s shiny and blond in a synthetic, display-only kind of way, like the loose curls presented for worship in shampoo commercials. The person onstage has something entirely different on her head. I’m not sure how to describe it. Did they ever make black shag carpeting back in the seventies? It’s like someone cut a circle out of that and made themselves a skull cap.
Abel pokes me, his mouth an O.
“I think it looks kind of good,” whispers Bec.
Bree LaRue is wearing wrinkly jeans and tall black boots and a St. Tropez t-shirt with an orange stain on it. Her eyes are bloodshot. She steps up to the lip of the stage, yanks the mike off the stand, and starts twisting the cord around her wrist.
“Heyyy, kids,” she mutters.
No one breathes.
“So what’s new?”
Silence.
“I got a haircut. Like, obviously.” She ruffles it with one hand. “Certain people aren’t gonna be happy with me, but I say fuck it. You know? Wigs exist.”
Worried Guy edges closer to Bree, rubs his thick hands together. “Okay, guys, let’s start with some questions. Who’s got a good one for Miss LaRue?” He turns to her. “Is that okay? If they ask?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
A whisper runs through the audience. Then a red question paddle goes up, slowly, to the left of the stage.
“What’s your favorite color?” some girl says.
Bree LaRue stares at the base of the mike stand. She screws up her mouth and hocks a wad of spit at it.
“Blue,” she says. “That’s as good a color as any, right?”
“Yeah. Definitely…” The girl’s wearing an electric blue jacket like Leandra Nigh’s. She looks like she wants to disappear. I want to hug her, even though Nigh is like my eighth favorite character on Castaway Planet and the person onstage bears zero resemblance to her. I glance at Bec and we shake our heads.
Question paddles pop up faster.
Fiftyish guy in Xaarg hat: “If they killed you off, how would you want your character to die?”
Bree LaRue swigs from her steel sport bottle. “Spontaneous combustion sounds good.”
Pink-haired girl in black halter top: “How are you