The other men all laughed. Javier suspected it had something to do with the pun in the other girl’s name. As he watched, Kumquat crawled out from in front of the couch, and rubbed her eyes theatrically.
“Is the movie over?”
The laughter deepened. The men traded their own snacks: popcorn dusted with seaweed; dried curls of mango dipped in caramel and cumin; plaintain chips. They drank beer from double-walled travel mugs emblazoned with the logos of charitable non-profits. Free gifts, probably, the detritus of swag bags long forgotten. Javier began to suspect that this was some sort of bizarre burlesque. Maybe the girls did the same routine each night for a circulating stable of customers. That way, if one girl got to be too big, like Kumquat, the madam could always find another to take her place. Maybe that was part of the charm. You always knew what was going to happen, but not quite how. In Javier’s experience, this was how most porn worked.
“I can’t believe you can’t even stay awake for one movie,” Cherry said. Cherry was a real bitch, and she seemed to relish it. “You’re so old, Kumquat.”
“I am not!” Kumquat felt her face, and checked her hands. “Do I have wrinkles?”
“You do,” Cherry said, patting her hand.
“One of these days, you might even get your period,” Kiwi said.
Cue more laughter. Of course it was funny. It was a sketch about little girls who feared wrinkles and periods, but who would never get either. Because they were synthetic. Hysterical. Javier chose a smile from his repertoire and plastered it across his face.
“I wish big brother were home,” said Kumquat.
This was apparently the cue for the men to leave the foyer. Javier hustled up to the front, ignoring the peevish looks the organic men gave him as he moved ahead in line. They were all about to tell him to wait his turn, but his being synthetic confused them. They knew he had no real business being there – he didn’t have a thing for vN, small or otherwise. And strictly speaking, that was true. He didn’t have a thing for vN. He had a thing for Amy.
Kumquat and Kiwi were of the same clade. They had a sister act going, and they led a man in a white linen suit and a boater hat into another room. He held their hands and asked them how they were doing in school.
The other two girls – Strawberry and Raspberry – were each claimed by other men. Javier had only a moment to look at them before they disappeared. One of them looked just like Amy. She was probably not a clademate. You could have the same looks as another vN, without having the same lineage. Still, she watched him as the door closed.
That left Cherry. Javier had to wait at the end of another line to see her. She was opening presents the organic men had brought. New clothes, mostly. Stockings with pink bows and pearl beading at the edge, or shiny patent leather shoes, or delicate fingerless gloves in black or white lace. The men themselves wore mostly chinos and deck shoes and T-shirts with beer logos. How they knew this much about fashion, Javier had no idea.
Finally it was his turn. He had positioned himself last, so that Cherry would have no excuse but to speak to him, and no client to turn to for help. She was bidding her goodbyes when he stepped up. He maintained a careful distance, and it wasn’t until she began folding up the tissue paper and other gifting debris that she noticed him.
“Oh, hello,” she said, trying to peer under his hood.
“Hello, Rory.”
He waved his wrist, debited his line of credit, and allowed her to lead him into a sumptuous bedroom whose primary theme appeared to be cherry blossoms. They adorned every surface: the walls, the paper screen, the old-fashioned scrolls hanging beside the mirror. He pointed at them as he found a white wicker rocking chair, and Cherry found her bed.
“Subtle.”
Cherry swept her skirt underneath her and dangled her stockinged feet over the edge of her very white, canopied bed. From her bed, the illusion was complete. She looked like the perfect ideal of three years old.
“I don’t do subtle.” She picked up a fluffy teddy bear and began picking at one of its button eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want Amy back,” Javier said.
“I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about,” Cherry said.
“I’m talking about you and your clade holding a copy of Amy Frances Peterson somewhere, and me wanting that copy back.”
Cherry appeared to examine her nails. They were painted a common shade of baby pink – no surprise there – and were utterly flawless, no drips or cuticles – no surprise there, either.
“I think it’s kind of racist of you to assume that all the girls who look like me must be part of the same clade that tried to hurt you,” she said, finally.
“How do you know they tried to hurt me?” Javier asked.
Cherry beamed. “Oh, it’s not easy to stay mad at you, Javier.”
He leaned his elbows on his knees. “Not many people can.”
Cherry’s thin, fuzzy eyebrows rose. “Lucky for us, we’re not people. And we don’t want you to have Amy back.”
“Why not?” Javier asked.