His gloom seemed to deflate, and he nodded to himself, jacking up the corners of his mouth til he was smiling. “I appreciate it, Belt,” he said. “I really do.” From his pocket he produced a tiny blue ampule. He placed it before him, on the table, and said, “That right there is Independence PerFormula. Three full doses. You’ve heard of Independence, right?”
“A guy at the bank just tried to sell me some.”
“Yeah?” Triple-J said. “I bet it was fake.”
“I saw a cure he gave it to. It seemed to really work,” I said.
“Must have been one of those guerrilla-marketing yokels. I’m surprised they’ve got it so early. I don’t think it’ll be in stores for another five weeks or something like that. That’s what Tessa told me—Tessa Swords, I mean. She’s my cousin. Godsister. Whatever. Probably you know that. Anyway, the stuff is great. Tessa said Graham&Swords even thinks it’s gonna be bigger than BullyKing. I guess the Performulae Abuse Labs Brothers already let them know it was a shoo-in for the P.A.L. Recommends gold medal, and now the G&S advertising and marketing dorks are talking about a ‘Fourth Cute Revolution’ campaign or something, which, if I’m being honest, seems like a little much to me. I mean, Curios hit the market, that’s a Cute Revolution. I feel it. GameChanger and then PlayChanger PerFormulae hit the market: that’s a second and a third Cute Revolution. I feel that. But a new type of PlayChanger PerFormula hits the market? Sure, maybe it’s great—and it is—and maybe it even becomes the bestselling PerFormula in the history of PerFormulae—and it probably will—but I don’t think that’s a revolution. Not that it isn’t a really big deal. It’s just not a revolution. Anyway, your dad told me you already dacted the cure the other Yachts were all going bananas about, which is kind of a bummer—I wanted to see it—but I’m guessing you’ve got another in that old-school sleeve of yours, so go ahead and take it out, give it a dose.”
“Actually,” I said, “all that’s in there’s a marble.”
“In that massive CureSleeve? Jesus, lemme see that thing—it doesn’t even have a windowpocket, huh? You must’ve had that since the eighties. Is it from the Friends study? Or is it one of those RetroGear models?”
“I got it in eighty-nine, I think,” I said. “I guess it is pretty old-school. I guess I’m pretty old-school, cause I wish it was an IncuBand. I lost my IncuBand, though.”
“An IncuBand! That’s hilarious,” he said to Burroughs. “You know,” he said to me, “if you really want one, I bet I can ask Tessa. She has like a whole room of unopened, obsolescent cure stuff in her basement. She’s kind of a hoarder.”
“That’s nice of you,” I said. “But you really don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he said. “In any case, I brought this ampule of Independence for you to demonstrate how sincerely sorry I am about last night. Go ahead and sell two of the doses if you want—I think you could probably make at least a couple hundred—but just promise me you’ll keep one for when your next robot emerges. It’s really fun.”
“You don’t need to give me this,” I said. “Really.”
“I know,” Triple-J said. “If I needed to give it to you, it wouldn’t be a gift.”
“But there’s no need for gifts,” I said.
“Exactly,” Triple-J said. “That’s why it’s yours. I’m not taking it back. Plus, I’m buttering you up. I’ve got ulterior motives. First, I’d like to invite you to the compound for brunch, and—”
“I’m in,” I said. “No buttering necessary.”
“Well how about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s great,” I said.
“Great,” said Triple-J. “And of course, you’re invited too, Mr. Magnet, if you’re free.”
“I’m free,” said my father. “I’ll be there.”
“Well that’s perfect,” Triple-J said. “Eleven, alright? Oh man, I’m so psyched. Now, as for my other ulterior motive…” To Burroughs, he said, “Burroughs, if you will,” and Burroughs removed, from beneath his chair, a black portfolio he set beside the ampule in front of Triple-J. “So, the thing is, Belt,” Triple-J said, “like I mentioned earlier, I’ve been wanting to contact you for a really long time. And not just because you wrote my favorite book, but because I was hoping to get your feedback on my work. I mean, I wanted your feedback because of how you wrote my favorite book. And anyway, the work I wanted you to look at—I wanted to finish it first, before I contacted you. But after I realized who you were last night, and that I owed you an apology, I thought, ‘Maybe it’s fate. Kismet. Whatever. Maybe it’s ready to be shown, even though it’s still not completely polished.’ ”
“Sure thing,” I said. “What is it? A story?”
“No,” he said, and opened the portfolio. Inside, atop a rather thick-looking stack of stapled paper with a circled letter A inked red in the corner, sat a DVD. “It’s a documentary collage,” Triple-J said.
“You want my feedback on a video?”
“Yeah,” he said. “And also, there’s a couple essays that I wrote for school. I don’t need feedback on those at all—though, you know, it’s always welcome—but I included them in there because you’re a writer and I don’t know what you think of video art, or collage, but a lot of people seem to think they’re both for bimbos, and I wanted to show you I wasn’t a bimbo. I wanted to show you I was able to write. Not fiction, you know—I’m not saying that. But still, I’m not a bimbo, and I think the papers prove it. They also go along with the video, thematically, but I’d better not get into all of that right now—I want a cold read. Coldest possible. Man! I can’t wait to hear what you think of it tomorrow.”
He set the blue ampule in the hole of the disc and slid the open portfolio onto my placemat.
* * *
The three of us were saying our goodbyes on the driveway (my father had headed to the tavern, seeking friends) when Triple-J afterthoughtfully asked me, “Was it you who took my cure off the slide?”
“Not me,” I said. “I didn’t even see it there. Probably it was one of the neighborhood kids. Or maybe it tried to run after you, and hurt itself.”
“Hurt itself?” he said.
“Well, got itself hurt. Met a stray cat, say. Or fell into a rabbit hole. Or maybe it just fell off the slide and broke its neck. What was it doing on the slide to begin with? Were you trying to teach it a trick or something?”