5
Identity: William McIntyre
I’d had another terrible night. With my splinter limit fixed at ten, I’d been forced to funnel more and more of my resources into the Phuture News Network. I was still beating the markets, but I wasn’t the star I used to be.
“Are we going to have breakfast together?” asked Brigitte, toothbrush in one hand.
“Pumpkin, come on, you know I don’t have time today.”
I stared at my lathered face in the mirror. I enjoyed a real shave from time to time. It helped me reconnect with myself after nights spent shattered all over the multiverse.
“You could have Wally shave you,” she suggested meekly. “We haven’t sat down for breakfast together in more than a week.”
She was pouting.
“Please, Brigitte, you know I just like to shave myself sometimes!” I snapped. Why can’t she just leave me alone?
Her hurt expression reflected beside me in the glass. With a quick intake of breath, I was about to apologize, but she’d already flitted off without another word. Bardot, her proxxi, sat staring back at me from Brigitte’s body, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She spat out her mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, handed me the toothbrush, and left as well.
I felt bad, but I really needed more time to myself.
Rubbing away the condensation from the mirror, I focused on my face and began to shave. I felt an itch and scratched my shoulder as I held the razor up. What am I going to do? Things were just starting to work out for me, and now Nancy was ruining it all.
Goddamn it!
My hand shot under my armpit to scratch something.
What the hell?
My neck was itchy, too. I dropped the razor into the sink with a clatter and began to madly scratch at myself. It felt like ants were crawling under my skin.
I managed to stop scratching for a second to inspect my arm and was shocked to see a small bump under the skin. Then it moved. I scraped wildly at it, ripping open the skin, and blood oozed out. Looking into the mirror in horror, I saw my face seething and roiling with boils. My hands shot to my face, feeling a crawling mass under my skin.
“Wally!” I cried out.
A burst of laughter erupted from behind the shower curtain. Immediately, I knew what was happening.
“You assholes!” I exclaimed, turning to rip open the curtain, my face dripping and oozing worms, millipedes, and other hideous creepy-crawlies.
Hoots of laughter exploded from Bob, Martin, Sid, and Vicious as they held onto each other, crowded into the small shower stall.
“You should have seen your face, mate!” laughed Vicious, tears streaming down his face as he gripped onto Sid, who was doubled over and laughing hard, too. Bob grinned widely, his arms around the others, shaking his head. I couldn’t help joining in the laughter as well, despite it all.
“Fine, you got me. Sid, make it stop.”
The itching stopped and the beasties quit wriggling. I rubbed my hand across my restored face, feeling the remains of the lather and my stubble.
“Sorry, man,” said Sid, still wiping away tears. “When you asked Vince for a Phuture News upgrade, I slipped a skin in and you authorized it. You gotta pay more attention to what you’re doing!”
“It was all Martin’s idea,” added Vicious, giving Martin a little shot in the shoulder.
“Oh yeah?” I replied, shaking my head and smiling at Martin. He smiled back timidly. I was glad he and Bob were hanging out.
I didn’t remember authorizing the transaction he was referencing, but Wally had already called it up on my inVerse for me to look at. I needed more sleep.
“Anyway,” added Bob, “the real reason for this escapade was to get the attention of our hardest working friend to ask him out for a surfing date.” He raised his eyebrows to make the point.
Smiling, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, okay, sure, how about the end of the day? I could use a break.”
“Outstanding!” replied Bob. “Okay guys, let’s leave our buddy to finish whatever he was doing.”
With that they were off, and I was standing alone again in my bathroom. Well, apart from Wally, now sitting on the toilet.
“I didn’t see any harm in it,” he said before I could say anything. “I figured you and Bob could use a good laugh together. You hardly see him anymore.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled and got back to shaving.
Just then, Jimmy pinged me for lunch.
I stopped shaving, calling up a display space for more information on the request, but there was none. I’d hadn’t seen or talked to Jimmy in years—why on Earth was he calling me now?
Jimmy was Bob’s adoptive brother. He was the golden boy now, but growing up he’d always been an oddball, never quite fitting in, or perhaps, never quite understanding how to fit in. He had a tough time growing up, though, and being left behind by a parent was something I could relate to. I’d tried hanging out with him back then, at least until the incident at Nancy’s birthday party.
After that, we’d barely spoken.
Some kids were just ugly ducklings, and as an adult he’d more than recovered. He’d become the star of the pssi-kid program, a minor celebrity. He’d risen far up the ranks and had a lot of powerful friends. He’d be a good person to reconnect with. Maybe he could even help me out.