Marisa’s parents were still nervous about La Sesenta, telling all their children to stay safely at home, but they couldn’t afford to keep the restaurant closed forever. With them gone it was easy to sneak out, and Marisa took the extra time to help Gabi sneak out to catch a make-up ballet class, turning her younger sister’s bitter rage almost instantly to undying gratitude. Marisa ordered her a prepaid autocab to get home, the address already programmed in, and made her way downtown to meet her friends.
Ripcord turned out to be a tall brick building near USC, wedged between two office buildings and partly covered with ivy; someone had carefully groomed the ivy to reach up in a reverse lightning pattern, which probably looked cool during the day, but at night it was completely upstaged by the four rows of narrow windows, each flashing a different bright color in patterns that alternated between cascades, starbursts, and utter chaos. The line to get in was long, and the enormous bouncer watching the door had replaced both of his arms with heavy-duty bionics—the kind with massive hydraulic pistons that made his arms look like a pair of gleaming motorcycle engines. He looked like he could crush boulders with his hands, and he stood tall enough that Marisa suspected his legs were bionic as well. She stepped out of the autocab and smoothed her dress—the same glittery green one she’d worn last night, since she’d never had the chance to show it off properly. Every business on the street immediately offered her discounts and adlinks, flashing on the periphery of her djinni display, but she brushed them off and changed her settings to keep her display clear of offers. She searched for Sahara’s cameras, but the air was so full of nulis it was impossible to tell in the dark which ones were which. Marisa figured most of the nulis were probably from neighboring businesses, and as if to prove her point she was instantly swarmed by three of them: two hovering screens, each advertising some exciting new clothing store, and a waiter drone from a yakitori place offering her a free sample of spicy roast chicken. The pungent smell filled her nostrils enticingly, but she waved them all off. It wouldn’t do to start the evening with a soy sauce stain on her dress.
Marisa opened the friends list on her djinni and found Sahara and Anja’s names glowing brighter than the rest; they were close. She blinked on the track function, and a line appeared in her vision, shooting off through the crowd—she followed it to a point about halfway through the line, and joined the girls with a smile. Cameron and Camilla hovered nearby, but Bao was nowhere in sight. “No boys?” she asked.
“Bao had to work,” said Sahara. She was wearing a short pink dress with a loose neckline that plunged almost to her navel. It looked as if any fast movements would make it downright scandalous, which was undoubtedly the purpose. The men waiting in line were only barely concealing their stares, but Sahara only had eyes for the women. “Omar said he had something, too,” Sahara continued, scanning the crowd as she talked, “but he was kind of vague about it. He always is.” She caught another girl’s eye and smiled.
“He’s probably hanging out with my father,” said Anja, rolling her eyes. “They’re getting along even better since he ‘saved’ me last night.” She was dressed in what looked like a long black T-shirt with a giant white wolf on the front, buried under several layers of sheer black mesh that extended down into a puffy skirt, and up into a see-through hood framing her blond hair. She looked like a goth Red Riding Hood, with a rattan basket-weave purse to complete the image.
Marisa nodded, looking around at the crowd. Omar could be anywhere, but if Bao was “working” that meant he was downtown somewhere, probably in a crowd like this one, skimming micropayments from tourists’ credit accounts. His mother had a job, but his stepfather had been out of work for over a year, and the only way to feed all five of them—Bao, his parents, and his twin stepsisters—was to supplement his mom’s wages with whatever he could lift on the side. Marisa had offered to help him before, but just like Chuy he’d been too proud to accept it.
Marisa thought again about Chuy and his tiny apartment, and looked at the people in line self-consciously. Even this street, now that she took the time to look at anything other than the glowing, ostentatious building, was littered with garbage, and she could see here and there silhouettes of the homeless in the shadows. Watching. She wanted to give them something, but what? She hadn’t carried cash in years. Did they have djinnis and credit accounts?
How did they even live?
Deep bass music shook the pavement, and Marisa closed her eyes.
“Now that you’re here,” said Anja, “let me see if I can get us in early.” She pushed herself to the front of the line and chatted with the half-tech bouncer; Marisa took a moment to admire the boys in line with them, and smiled to herself. The pickings looked good. A minute later Marisa and Sahara both got a ping from Anja, telling them to come forward, and the bionic bouncer stepped aside to pass them through.
“Welcome to Ripcord, ladies.”
Cameron swirled around to get a shot of the bouncer as the girls passed, and they walked through the door into a neon volcano of bodies and sound.