Jennifer Government: A Novel (25 page)

“What?”

“I thought you’d be moping around, feeling bad about Violet… I’m impressed. You’re doing great.”

“Violet and me were never such a great couple.” But Claire was right, of course. The old Hack would be inconsolable about being dumped; bitter about being left behind while Violet enjoyed her new success overseas. But this wasn’t the old Hack. This was the New and Improved Hack.

“Good for you.” Claire popped the lid from a spray can and started on the speech bubble. She was concentrating hard, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth. Hack smiled. He opened his mouth and what popped out was, “I loved you first, you know.”

Claire looked at him, startled. “What?”

“Urn…”

“What?” She lowered the spray can. “Tell me.”

“I was in love with you,” Hack confessed. “Before Violet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“But I was sweet on
you
. I kept waiting for you to ask me out. But you never did.”

“I didn’t know you were…”He felt embarrassed. “I didn’t know you liked me.”

“How could you not know? I made it so obvious. You met my
parents.”

“Yeah…” That was when he’d met Violet, Hack remembered: the dinner with Claire’s family. “I guess I just couldn’t believe it.”

Claire smiled and turned back to her spray-painting. “What’s so hard to believe?”

“Well, you know…you’re so…so…” He hesitated.

She looked at him. “I’m so what?”

“Curious,” Hack said.

Claire laughed, and the sound bounced around the parking lot. Hack felt happy. “You’re an idiot.”

“
Was
an idiot.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means I wished I’d asked you out,” he said. He gave Claire’s arm a playful push, but of course she was hanging from a rope and she gasped in surprise and grabbed at him. Hack lost his footing and swung into the wall. He hit it awkwardly and his breath escaped in a gasp. Then Claire crashed into his back and they were both hanging against the freezing concrete. He twisted around and got hold of Claire. “Oh shit, shit, are you okay?”

“Are you trying to kill us?” Claire said, but she was starting to laugh.

“No, I swear.” Her lips were inches from his, and it was too close, really. There was nothing he could do about that. He kissed her and she kissed him back. It felt like something bursting free. He heard someone whimper and didn’t know if it was him or her.

“Hey!” Leisl shouted. “You guys all right down there?”

He broke the kiss. He and Claire were breathing fast, fogging the air between them. “Yes!” Hack called. “Everything’s fine!”

Violet wanted two things very much: to go home, and three million dollars. She wasn’t sure which of these things she wanted more, but that was a moot point anyway, because there were a lot of ExxonMobil people intent on preventing either one. They were very insistent: at one point they used needles to quieten her down. Now she was locked in an office sick bay with no windows and she was having trouble remembering her own name.

She stared at a pair of brown shoes for a while before she realized they implied a presence. She started. Her arms flailed.

“Shhh. Calm down.”

“Who—”

“Don’t start screaming again. Don’t make me get the doctor.”

“I wasn’t screaming,” Violet said, but maybe she had been.

“You want to get out of here?”

“Yes. Home. Please.”

“You think you can answer some questions?”

She bit her lip hard to help concentrate. She nodded.

“Okay. Don’t do anything stupid.” Then some other people filed into the room. One was a woman with green eyes and a light brown bob. A man pulled up a chair for her to sit in.

“Hello, Violet. Do you know who I am?”

Violet shook her head.

“I’m Holly T.A. The CEO of Team Advantage.”

The words didn’t mean anything. Violet stared at Holly’s eyes. They were very green.

“You’ve been through quite an experience. How are you feeling?”

“Someone stuck a needle in me.”

“That was to help you relax, honey. We’re all on the same side. We just want to help.”

Violet said nothing.

“I want to ask you about last Thursday. In the board room of ExxonMobil. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes.”

“There was a man. This is very important. The man seemed to recognize you. Do you know who he is?”

“What man?”

“The—” Holly stopped. “Honey, two days ago you were in the ExxonMobil board room and a man with a gun came in. Do you remember that?”

“A gun?”

“He shot Nathaniel ExxonMobil. Do you know who that man is?”

“He came in…” Violet said, and then there were men holding her down. Holly was on her feet, her eyes wide.

“Violet!” one of the men shouted in her face. “Violet!”

She snapped her mouth closed. Shapes swam in front of her eyes, so she shut them, too.

“Maybe this is a bad time,” someone said. “What’s she on?”

“Ativan. I didn’t know anyone wanted to interview her. You said you wanted her quiet.”

“Enough,” Holly said. Violet felt a hand on her forehead. She opened her eyes. Holly was sitting beside her, her green eyes filled with concern. Violet felt a rush of affection for Holly. “Do your best, honey. Just do your best.”

“Help me.”

“I will. Just tell me who the man is.”

The fog cleared a little. Violet remembered him standing in her living room, his face dark.
Violet, is that your name? If you do this, you’ll regret it. I guarantee it
.

She said, “His name is John Nike.”

“Ah,” Holly said. She nodded, pleased. “Good girl.”

T
hey took her off the drugs, and then it was better. By the next morning Violet’s mind was almost clear, and when they brought her luggage from the hotel, she could shower and change clothes. The downside was that her memories got bigger and brighter; sometimes she couldn’t stop thinking about John Nike. She wanted to get away from London.

She was stuffing her old clothes into her bag when Holly appeared. “Well, you’re looking one hundred percent better.”

“That would be because no one’s
injecting
me anymore.”

Holly smiled. “I’m sorry. They tell me you were uncontrollable.” She sat on the bunk. “Violet, I need you to do something for me.”

“Well, I need you to give me three million bucks,” Violet said. “And a ride to the airport would be nice, too.”

Holly blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Nathaniel ExxonMobil bought my software for two point eight million dollars. I did everything he wanted. Now I want to get paid.”

“Hmm,” Holly said. “That’s really something you have to take up with ExMo. It’s not a T.A. matter.”

“I don’t care whose matter it is. I have a contract.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. And in return, you can do a little job for me.”

“No. I’m not doing any little jobs, especially for people who think it’s fun to stick me with needles. I’m getting my money and going home.”

“Don’t you even want to hear me out?”

Violet zipped her bag. “No.”

“There’s an important meeting today, between T.A., US Alliance, and the Government. I want you to come and tell me if you see this John Nike there.”

She felt the air go out of her. “No way am I going to do that. No
way.”

“You have a lot of money at stake.”

“You—you owe me that money whether I help you or not.”

“Be realistic,” Holly said.

“No!” Violet heard her voice tremble. “I’m not going anywhere near John Nike! You get that?” She slung her bag over her shoulder. A man stepped into the doorway, blocking it. He was wearing a Police soldier uniform. His nametag said: ONE.

“Maybe I made this sound too much like a request,” Holly said, and Violet started to cry.

John had twenty minutes to review a bunch of advertising campaigns and get his ass down to Parliament House. The agency had set up a room full of mock-ups for him to consider: there were posters on the walls, TVs blaring, radios chattering. They’d gone to a lot of effort because John was here to decide whether they’d get a piece of US Alliance’s global advertising budget. John’s career had taken off like a rocket in the last week. It had taken off the moment he put a car through the front window of ExxonMobil.

“What the hell is that meant to be?” he asked, pointing at a TV. To his cellphone: “No, not you, Georgia.”

“We’re very pleased with this one,” the agency man said. “You see, there are elements of George Orwell’s
1984, which
of course already has an established advertising mindset thanks to the Apple—”

“You gotta be kidding me,” John said. “The Government as all-powerful?”

“Ah, well—”

“Keep going,” he said to Georgia. “You were explaining to me how Gregory Nike found out I have a Government problem.”

“The Government is asking everyone questions.” Georgia sounded tired: it must be late in Melbourne. “Ever since the
ExxonMobil… incident. They want to know where our top executives are.”

“Has Jennifer contacted you?” The agency man stopped in front of a poster. It said: LOOSE LIPS SINK SPONSORSHIPS—OBEY YOUR NDA. John looked at him in disgust.

“No, John.”

He sighed. He really needed John to wake up out of that goddamn coma; John would be able to take care of problems like Jennifer Government. He looked at his watch. “When I next speak to you, you’re going to tell me exactly where she is. All right? I’ll take care of the rest.” He was about to end the call, then a thought struck him. “Georgia, is Hack still working for Nike?”

“Hack?”

“The Merchandising Officer who I used for the… Mercurys incident.”

“Um, let me check…yes, he is, John.”

“Huh.” Details had a way of getting away from you when you were dealing with the big picture, John realized. “Fire him, will you?” He pocketed his phone. The agency man raised his eyebrows. “We’ll do the
Uncle Sam Wants Your Property
series, the Nelson Mandela
Freedom
series, I want to hold everything that’s anti-T.A. to use later, and…what was the other one I liked?”

“Where Would You Be Without Corporations?”

“Yes. I like the people in caves.”

“Excellent choices!” the agency man said. “I’m really looking forward to working with you on this, John.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said. The limo was waiting out front.

T
raffic was banked up for half a mile around Parliament. Every second car was a limousine; they lined entire streets. John drummed his fingers on the seat. “You do realize I have to be there in three minutes?”

“Not with this traffic, buddy,” the driver said.

“Fine.” He opened the door. Some people would break the rules to get things done and some wouldn’t; it was as simple as that. John didn’t have much use for the latter.

He started toward Parliament at a brisk walk. It peeked at him between office buildings, looking vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d seen it in a movie once. It was a sprawling, ornate thing, but John bet it was cold as fuck inside. Governments always built for form instead of function.

“Hey!” someone yelled. The Pepsi kid was leaning out of a limo. “John! Wait up!”

He tapped his watch and kept walking. The Pepsi kid knew when he was riding a winner: he’d stuck to John like a burr since the stock exchange. John was getting irritated. The kid was leeching off his credibility.

John trotted up Parliament steps. The lobby was packed with suits and a wave of body heat washed over him. He wrinkled his nose.

“Man, you could have waited,” the Pepsi kid said, panting. “You trashed my Ferrari, the least you could do is wait up.”

There were two main doors from the lobby: one labeled
GOVERNMENT
and the other
US ALLIANCE/TEAM ADVANTAGE COMPANIES
. John blew air through his teeth. They should never have let the Government dictate the venue.

“The rental company went nuts, man. I tried to tell them it was good publicity, because you could see their bumper sticker on the news, but some guys are so short-term. They wouldn’t even give me a replacement.”