Humbug (The Unwinding of Ebenezer Scrooge): A Science Fiction Adventure, page 4
“Of course, sir. Jacob adopted them from Guatemala.”
“That’s not American.”
“They are American citizens, sir.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Do what, sir?”
“Adopt them. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, sir. Goodwill, a sense of compassion, empathy. Kindheartedness. That sort of thing.”
Eb grunted as he watched their tiny chins move in circles, lips tightly closed after each bite. The droid leaned across the counter, chin propped on his hands, talking about how much he liked their dresses.
“You are their legal guardian, sir,” the droid next to him said.
“Pass.”
“It’s already been arranged, sir.”
“Not with my consent it hasn’t.”
The droid in the kitchen looked up as if he heard the conversation. Of course he did. All these dummies were networked together, a personality with multiple bodies.
“Don’t do that.” Eb waved off the one in the kitchen and turned to the one next to him. “Call the girls’ parents, tell them we want a refund.”
“Jacob is dead, sir.”
“Her reeaaal parents, dummy. The ones in Guatemala.”
“It doesn’t work that way, sir,” he replied flatly.
“Try. All they can say is no.”
“They need a home, sir. Especially now. They lost their father at Christmas.”
“How do you know?”
“Jacob, sir. He was their father.”
“Right.”
“It will be good for them to be here, sir. It will be good for you.”
“I know what’s good for me. It’s not that.”
The droid sighed. “If you fight legal guardianship, it will be a public relations nightmare, sir.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A statement was just released to the media.” The droid stretched a large holo that contained several newsfeeds. Eb’s face—his original face from ten years earlier, not the projected one used for public appearances—was featured in various expressions of bitterness and agitation.
The newsfeeds were absolutely glowing with good cheer about how a cantankerous introvert opened his doors to his best friend’s daughters. How magnanimous of him. Perhaps, many speculated, his heart was not quite as hard and tiny as they believed.
“Shall we send them back to poverty, then, sir?”
“I suppose not.”
“I’ll put them in the guest quarters in the west wing, sir.”
“Good idea. Lock them inside just in case they get a little wandery. Don’t want them getting sticky fingers.”
“Of course, sir.”
Eb remained in the dark. The droid in the kitchen cleared the empty plates then bent over. The little girls climbed onto his back, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, cheeks pressed to the dull gray droid’s shoulder, eyes closed.
“Addy and Natty, sir,” the droid next to him whispered.
“What?”
“Their names are Addy and Natty, sir.”
Eb watched his servant droid piggyback the little girls out of the kitchen. Each with a creepy little doll under her chin.
FIVE
~
Christmas morning.
At 7:00 a.m., a shot of espresso pulled Eb from foggy slumber.
He remained just below the surface of waking, rolling in the turbulent riptide of sleep, reaching for the rich aroma of strictly hard bean coffee from Costa Rica delivered to his bedside.
Eb reached blindly for the espresso. When two sips of caffeine were in his system, he lifted the blinders and slid the round spectacles up his nose, dialing the lens tint to black. His head was still swimming with the residue of sleep aids.
The details of what exactly happened the night before were a bit fuzzy.
At 7:15 a.m., he reached for the second espresso on his way to the window. The heavy curtains automatically parted, the window graying out the stark morning.
A white blanket extended all the way to the distant Rockies, the scene ripped right from a Christmas card wishing peace and good tidings. Eb still received cards during the holidays with photos of employees and their ugly sweaters or business associates keeping their networking opportunities alive with preprinted signatures.
They went straight to the dump. All of them. I get it, you have a beautiful family.
Strange tradition, wishing others happiness with a picture of how awesome you are. Like gloating could lift another’s spirits.
This very moment there were millions of selfies circling the globe with peace signs and fish lips and inappropriate shots in the bathroom mirror, all declaring in loud lonely voices, Look at me! Look what I got!
Disgusting.
Never once had Eb penned a letter about his million-dollar acquisitions or posted about it. Sure, he was recording every second of his life, but he wasn’t showing it to the world. He kept it private. It was more of a hobby. If he did put his life out there, he’d make millions. He was sure of it.
One would think Eb was a bigger fan of Christmas. After all, the holiday season drove Avocado’s profits through the stratosphere. That he was a fan of. It was the excessive celebration that dug under his skin, spiked an icicle through his heart.
Bah!
He was almost through the second cup when he noticed the snow below Castle Scrooge. A track had been carved through the drifts and extended out to the horizon. He threw up a holo and aimed it at the tracks, enhancing the view.
It could be a bear. But don’t they hibernate? Maybe a wolf. A lone wolf with big boots and long strides.
The caffeine cleared out the remaining webs of sleep, and the details of the night before emerged.
Jacob.
Eb grabbed the holo and shifted the view into the guest quarters in the west wing. The bed was made, not a wrinkle on the comforter nor a dent in the pillow. The bathroom spotless.
“I was dreaming. That’s it.”
Eb completed his morning ritual, a fifteen-minute routine that included lotions and oils and a slick parting of his hair. At 7:45 a.m., he put on his tracksuit and cruised the outer ramp.
The Castle could be a few degrees warmer, he thought as he slowly eased into the kitchen, a thought command that would be relayed to the thermostat.
The Segway squeaked to a halt.
“Crap.”
The girls were hunched over bowls of Captain Crunch, slurping spoons almost too big for their mouths, splattering milk on the marble countertop. Eb stared for a full minute.
The droid was at the oven, a frilly hemmed apron tied around the small of his back. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a football jersey, the number zero on the back.
Eb cleared his throat. He wanted to grab a third espresso, but that would mean passing the slurpy kids.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Why are you…?” he started.
“Wearing an apron, sir? Addy and Natty’s cook always wore one, they told me.”
Eb pointed at the girls, his eyes question marks. Addy and Natty.
Neither of them acknowledged him. Their thoughts were drowning in sugar milk. Addy had the red ribbon, but she had a green dress. Natty was the opposite. Both dresses, aside from the colors, were exactly the same.
So were the creepy dolls.
They had bright red hair and button eyes with stitching for a smile. They looked to be a hundred years old. Milk puddles spread from the edges of the bowls and soaked the fabric arms and legs.
“We woke shortly before you, sir.”
“You slept…”
“With them, sir. They were very distraught, you understand. This is all very new to them. Change is never easy.”
“Change?” He seemed to emphasize the word. “What’s that mean?”
“Their father died, sir.”
“You might want to…” Eb pointed at the milk-soaked dolls. The droid cleaned the mess and replaced the weird little things by their sides.
“They are very impressionable at this age, sir. Their lives will be shaped by these events. I believe it will help if we reduce their stress so they can digest all this.”
“Are you a psychologist now?” Eb chuckled. “They’ll get over it. That’s what kids do.”
The droid went back to the oven. Eb watched the girls pour more cereal on the floor than into the bowls. The droid urged him to speak.
“Um. Hello.”
They continued their cereal assault, but the spoons slowed as he spoke. The droid silently encouraged him to continue.
“Do you enjoy cereal?” Eb said. “You sure look like you do.”
Simultaneously, they stared into their bowls.
“You’re spilling it all over, you know. You’ll have to clean it up before you leave.”
The droid shook his head.
Eb squeezed the Segway’s handgrips. Was this what talking to a kid was like? He already hated it. His father never talked about stupid things like eating cereal or grubby dolls. His father treated him like a man, taught him responsibility, that nothing was free. When you spilled milk, you cleaned it up.
“Um. What’s your favorite color, green or red?”
The droid nodded, gesturing to pull more words out of him.
“You must like those colors because your dresses are green and red and your ribbons are red and green. So those are the colors, right? Okay. Do you have other clothes? Um, it’s really cold outside. Do you like weather? And cereal?”
There was a moment they stopped chewing and looked at each other. Then they went back to eating.
“Do they talk?” Eb said.
“Not about the weather, sir,” the droid said drily. “Breakfast is ready.”
It was 8:20 a.m. “I have work to do.”
Eb took his seat facing the window and distant Rockies. This was surreal. His life was already a dream—a billionaire lifestyle envied by everyone with half a brain—but now it felt like it.
Did Jacob really visit? And if he did, why were there tracks in the snow?
The droid carried a plate of eggs, bacon and lightly done toast to a small kitchenette table, where a silent display of newsfeeds was waiting.
“It’s all right, sir.”
“What?”
“Just be here, sir. Don’t worry about last night. It’s over.”
It was like he knew what Eb was thinking. The droid drew a circle around his face.
“It’s written on your expression, sir.”
So he does know. Eb shook it off. The weirdness was crawling under his skin. The morning was getting away from him. He needed to get back to normal. He turned up the newsfeeds.
“It’s Christmas.” The girls were slumped over their bowls, their backs to Eb.
“Which one of you said that?”
“They both did, sir.”
Eb froze with a corner of toast in his mouth. “So.”
“People don’t work on Christmas.” The red ribbon jiggled on Addy’s head. Or is that Natty?
“I do,” Eb said.
“You shouldn’t.” This time the green ribbon said it.
“Well, that’s not how the world works, little girls.” He smacked the crumbs off his hands. “Not everything is free. Not everyone gets to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ and hug scary little dolls and chug eggnog until they bloat like pregnant hogs while last year’s ornaments go to the landfill—”
“Breakfast, sir. You know you don’t like your eggs cold.”
There was nothing worse than a cold breakfast. And what did these little brats know about socialism? Addy started on a third bowl (or was it Natty?) while Eb soaked in the newsfeeds until his plate was wiped clean with the last bite of toast.
The droid came over to clear his table.
“That went well.” Eb gestured to the girls. “A little interaction there at the end, not too bad, huh?”
“You’re a natural, sir.”
There was a full day of work ahead of him, lots of paperwork to square up, reports to read. Avocado, Inc., wasn’t going to change course without a captain fully fueled.
“I’ll be right back, sir. Girls?” He bent close to them. “We’ll bathe this morning, all right?”
Their frayed pigtails bounced. The droid left the kitchen. Eb sipped his third espresso as a recap of the year’s financial report began. The girls began to mutter. He turned down the volume.
“Did you say something?”
A spoon rattled. They leaned toward each other, heads almost touching, those dirty redheaded dolls clutched in the crooks of their arms. When Eb went to boost the volume up, they did it again.
“What?” Eb said.
They leapt from their stools and ran from the kitchen, shiny black shoes clapping on the hard floor. The droid caught them in the next room and declared it was time to bathe.
“No, not yet!” Eb shouted. “They have a mess to clean!”
The droid’s voice faded down the hall.
Eb would leave the bowls and milk slopped all over the counter. He would make sure if the girls were going to stay for any length of time that they would clean up. The droid wasn’t their servant.
He was Eb’s.
After the newsfeeds wrapped up, he rinsed his cup. It was 8:45 a.m. He’d log into the office at exactly 9:00 a.m. Something nagged him on the way to change clothes. It wasn’t so much the girls’ weirdness, it was what they said at the end. He swore they were saying the same thing over and over.
He pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate. But it would niggle into his thoughts and wait. And when the time was right, he would remember exactly what they said.
SIX
~
“Where have you been?”
The droid hustled into the projection room, his sweatpants and number zero jersey wet. “We were bathing, sir.”
It was 11:40 a.m. “How long does it take to bathe?”
“You tell me, sir.”
Eb’s bathroom ritual sometimes lasted two hours. “They’re little girls. Throw them in, scrub their backs and dry them off. Ten minutes, tops.”
“You’ve never bathed twins, sir. We have plenty of time.”
Eb fidgeted on the lone chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, folding his hands on his lap then crossing his arms over his chest.
“Relax, sir.”
The droid opened a box and began patting Eb’s cheeks with concealer. The domed projection room was blank. He flicked his wrist and their reflection hovered over him. He didn’t really need makeup, but his complexion was always so blotchy.
He dialed imaginary knobs, muttering commands until the reflection transformed into his animated self: male supermodel, All-pro quarterback. One eye green, the other blue.
That’s real.
He tinkered with the details, dialing back the square chin and broad shoulders. The fashionistas’ voices were in his head. It was so much more fun when they bagged on someone else.
“Careful, sir. Too many changes to your image will be obvious.”
“Shouldn’t the girls be down here?”
“No, sir.”
“Perhaps they should sit on my knee.”
“Like puppets, sir? It’s too soon for that. We discussed this. The public wants your reaction to Jacob’s passing. Let’s not parade the girls out at the same time.”
“When do we sync?”
“In three minutes, sir.”
It was 11:50 a.m. The droid dabbed his lips with a shade of color, brushed his eyelids and stepped back to examine his work. The avocado logo was projected on the back wall, looming over his head like fat leathery mistletoe.
Eb took short, stabbing breaths, lips tightly circled.
“You’re not giving birth, sir.”
Eb continued breathing. It was the moments before a live appearance that were the worst. The droid closed the makeup box and stepped aside. Numbers began counting down.
“You’ll do just fine, sir. Just be a much, much, much nicer version of yourself and they’ll love you.”
He barely heard him. When the numbers hit five, he felt around his face. Glasses! With a second left, he pulled them onto his nose and dialed the tint all the way black.
The room dimmed. Details flickered.
A man appeared to be leaning into Eb’s face. A small microphone was just off his lips. “Mr. Scrooge, can you hear me?”
Eb nodded stiffly.
The man was a producer. His name was Todd. He stood back and tapped an iPad. There appeared to be studio lights overhead and cameras to the left and right. A Christmas tree twinkled behind Eb. In front of him, a man and woman were sitting on stools with makeup personnel applying finishing touches. Assistants hovered nearby.
“Wow,” Todd said. “This is… impressive.”
Eb relaxed and smiled. “Thank you.”
“First time we’re using a three-dimensional projection in studio, thought it would be appropriate we interview you this way since the technology was perfected by… you know.”
Todd gestured to the hanging avocado. Eb turned around to make sure it was visible. The Christmas tree was below it. Eb pulled his hands apart. The avocado grew larger.
“Could it be a bit smaller like before?” Todd said. “It’s covering the tree.”
“I know.”
“Ten minutes!” someone shouted.
The hosts made their way to stools across from Eb. Final tweaks were made, their shoulders brushed and hair patted. They introduced themselves. Eb already knew them. Everyone that watched Entertainment Nightly did. Michelle offered a short wave. David reached out, chuckling when he drew it back.
“I forgot you’re just a projection,” David said.
“Thank you,” Eb replied.
Everyone laughed.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” David said. “Should we call you Ebenezer?”
“Mr. Scrooge.”
“Thank you for coming here on Christmas.” David peered at the giant avocado over Eb’s shoulder. “We just want ten minutes of your time. I’m sure you’re very busy with the new family, settling down and adjusting.”
“Yes, of course.”
The droid was in Eb’s periphery, giving him the thumbs-up and whispering, “You’re doing great, sir.”
“That’s not American.”
“They are American citizens, sir.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Do what, sir?”
“Adopt them. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know, sir. Goodwill, a sense of compassion, empathy. Kindheartedness. That sort of thing.”
Eb grunted as he watched their tiny chins move in circles, lips tightly closed after each bite. The droid leaned across the counter, chin propped on his hands, talking about how much he liked their dresses.
“You are their legal guardian, sir,” the droid next to him said.
“Pass.”
“It’s already been arranged, sir.”
“Not with my consent it hasn’t.”
The droid in the kitchen looked up as if he heard the conversation. Of course he did. All these dummies were networked together, a personality with multiple bodies.
“Don’t do that.” Eb waved off the one in the kitchen and turned to the one next to him. “Call the girls’ parents, tell them we want a refund.”
“Jacob is dead, sir.”
“Her reeaaal parents, dummy. The ones in Guatemala.”
“It doesn’t work that way, sir,” he replied flatly.
“Try. All they can say is no.”
“They need a home, sir. Especially now. They lost their father at Christmas.”
“How do you know?”
“Jacob, sir. He was their father.”
“Right.”
“It will be good for them to be here, sir. It will be good for you.”
“I know what’s good for me. It’s not that.”
The droid sighed. “If you fight legal guardianship, it will be a public relations nightmare, sir.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A statement was just released to the media.” The droid stretched a large holo that contained several newsfeeds. Eb’s face—his original face from ten years earlier, not the projected one used for public appearances—was featured in various expressions of bitterness and agitation.
The newsfeeds were absolutely glowing with good cheer about how a cantankerous introvert opened his doors to his best friend’s daughters. How magnanimous of him. Perhaps, many speculated, his heart was not quite as hard and tiny as they believed.
“Shall we send them back to poverty, then, sir?”
“I suppose not.”
“I’ll put them in the guest quarters in the west wing, sir.”
“Good idea. Lock them inside just in case they get a little wandery. Don’t want them getting sticky fingers.”
“Of course, sir.”
Eb remained in the dark. The droid in the kitchen cleared the empty plates then bent over. The little girls climbed onto his back, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, cheeks pressed to the dull gray droid’s shoulder, eyes closed.
“Addy and Natty, sir,” the droid next to him whispered.
“What?”
“Their names are Addy and Natty, sir.”
Eb watched his servant droid piggyback the little girls out of the kitchen. Each with a creepy little doll under her chin.
FIVE
~
Christmas morning.
At 7:00 a.m., a shot of espresso pulled Eb from foggy slumber.
He remained just below the surface of waking, rolling in the turbulent riptide of sleep, reaching for the rich aroma of strictly hard bean coffee from Costa Rica delivered to his bedside.
Eb reached blindly for the espresso. When two sips of caffeine were in his system, he lifted the blinders and slid the round spectacles up his nose, dialing the lens tint to black. His head was still swimming with the residue of sleep aids.
The details of what exactly happened the night before were a bit fuzzy.
At 7:15 a.m., he reached for the second espresso on his way to the window. The heavy curtains automatically parted, the window graying out the stark morning.
A white blanket extended all the way to the distant Rockies, the scene ripped right from a Christmas card wishing peace and good tidings. Eb still received cards during the holidays with photos of employees and their ugly sweaters or business associates keeping their networking opportunities alive with preprinted signatures.
They went straight to the dump. All of them. I get it, you have a beautiful family.
Strange tradition, wishing others happiness with a picture of how awesome you are. Like gloating could lift another’s spirits.
This very moment there were millions of selfies circling the globe with peace signs and fish lips and inappropriate shots in the bathroom mirror, all declaring in loud lonely voices, Look at me! Look what I got!
Disgusting.
Never once had Eb penned a letter about his million-dollar acquisitions or posted about it. Sure, he was recording every second of his life, but he wasn’t showing it to the world. He kept it private. It was more of a hobby. If he did put his life out there, he’d make millions. He was sure of it.
One would think Eb was a bigger fan of Christmas. After all, the holiday season drove Avocado’s profits through the stratosphere. That he was a fan of. It was the excessive celebration that dug under his skin, spiked an icicle through his heart.
Bah!
He was almost through the second cup when he noticed the snow below Castle Scrooge. A track had been carved through the drifts and extended out to the horizon. He threw up a holo and aimed it at the tracks, enhancing the view.
It could be a bear. But don’t they hibernate? Maybe a wolf. A lone wolf with big boots and long strides.
The caffeine cleared out the remaining webs of sleep, and the details of the night before emerged.
Jacob.
Eb grabbed the holo and shifted the view into the guest quarters in the west wing. The bed was made, not a wrinkle on the comforter nor a dent in the pillow. The bathroom spotless.
“I was dreaming. That’s it.”
Eb completed his morning ritual, a fifteen-minute routine that included lotions and oils and a slick parting of his hair. At 7:45 a.m., he put on his tracksuit and cruised the outer ramp.
The Castle could be a few degrees warmer, he thought as he slowly eased into the kitchen, a thought command that would be relayed to the thermostat.
The Segway squeaked to a halt.
“Crap.”
The girls were hunched over bowls of Captain Crunch, slurping spoons almost too big for their mouths, splattering milk on the marble countertop. Eb stared for a full minute.
The droid was at the oven, a frilly hemmed apron tied around the small of his back. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a football jersey, the number zero on the back.
Eb cleared his throat. He wanted to grab a third espresso, but that would mean passing the slurpy kids.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Why are you…?” he started.
“Wearing an apron, sir? Addy and Natty’s cook always wore one, they told me.”
Eb pointed at the girls, his eyes question marks. Addy and Natty.
Neither of them acknowledged him. Their thoughts were drowning in sugar milk. Addy had the red ribbon, but she had a green dress. Natty was the opposite. Both dresses, aside from the colors, were exactly the same.
So were the creepy dolls.
They had bright red hair and button eyes with stitching for a smile. They looked to be a hundred years old. Milk puddles spread from the edges of the bowls and soaked the fabric arms and legs.
“We woke shortly before you, sir.”
“You slept…”
“With them, sir. They were very distraught, you understand. This is all very new to them. Change is never easy.”
“Change?” He seemed to emphasize the word. “What’s that mean?”
“Their father died, sir.”
“You might want to…” Eb pointed at the milk-soaked dolls. The droid cleaned the mess and replaced the weird little things by their sides.
“They are very impressionable at this age, sir. Their lives will be shaped by these events. I believe it will help if we reduce their stress so they can digest all this.”
“Are you a psychologist now?” Eb chuckled. “They’ll get over it. That’s what kids do.”
The droid went back to the oven. Eb watched the girls pour more cereal on the floor than into the bowls. The droid urged him to speak.
“Um. Hello.”
They continued their cereal assault, but the spoons slowed as he spoke. The droid silently encouraged him to continue.
“Do you enjoy cereal?” Eb said. “You sure look like you do.”
Simultaneously, they stared into their bowls.
“You’re spilling it all over, you know. You’ll have to clean it up before you leave.”
The droid shook his head.
Eb squeezed the Segway’s handgrips. Was this what talking to a kid was like? He already hated it. His father never talked about stupid things like eating cereal or grubby dolls. His father treated him like a man, taught him responsibility, that nothing was free. When you spilled milk, you cleaned it up.
“Um. What’s your favorite color, green or red?”
The droid nodded, gesturing to pull more words out of him.
“You must like those colors because your dresses are green and red and your ribbons are red and green. So those are the colors, right? Okay. Do you have other clothes? Um, it’s really cold outside. Do you like weather? And cereal?”
There was a moment they stopped chewing and looked at each other. Then they went back to eating.
“Do they talk?” Eb said.
“Not about the weather, sir,” the droid said drily. “Breakfast is ready.”
It was 8:20 a.m. “I have work to do.”
Eb took his seat facing the window and distant Rockies. This was surreal. His life was already a dream—a billionaire lifestyle envied by everyone with half a brain—but now it felt like it.
Did Jacob really visit? And if he did, why were there tracks in the snow?
The droid carried a plate of eggs, bacon and lightly done toast to a small kitchenette table, where a silent display of newsfeeds was waiting.
“It’s all right, sir.”
“What?”
“Just be here, sir. Don’t worry about last night. It’s over.”
It was like he knew what Eb was thinking. The droid drew a circle around his face.
“It’s written on your expression, sir.”
So he does know. Eb shook it off. The weirdness was crawling under his skin. The morning was getting away from him. He needed to get back to normal. He turned up the newsfeeds.
“It’s Christmas.” The girls were slumped over their bowls, their backs to Eb.
“Which one of you said that?”
“They both did, sir.”
Eb froze with a corner of toast in his mouth. “So.”
“People don’t work on Christmas.” The red ribbon jiggled on Addy’s head. Or is that Natty?
“I do,” Eb said.
“You shouldn’t.” This time the green ribbon said it.
“Well, that’s not how the world works, little girls.” He smacked the crumbs off his hands. “Not everything is free. Not everyone gets to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ and hug scary little dolls and chug eggnog until they bloat like pregnant hogs while last year’s ornaments go to the landfill—”
“Breakfast, sir. You know you don’t like your eggs cold.”
There was nothing worse than a cold breakfast. And what did these little brats know about socialism? Addy started on a third bowl (or was it Natty?) while Eb soaked in the newsfeeds until his plate was wiped clean with the last bite of toast.
The droid came over to clear his table.
“That went well.” Eb gestured to the girls. “A little interaction there at the end, not too bad, huh?”
“You’re a natural, sir.”
There was a full day of work ahead of him, lots of paperwork to square up, reports to read. Avocado, Inc., wasn’t going to change course without a captain fully fueled.
“I’ll be right back, sir. Girls?” He bent close to them. “We’ll bathe this morning, all right?”
Their frayed pigtails bounced. The droid left the kitchen. Eb sipped his third espresso as a recap of the year’s financial report began. The girls began to mutter. He turned down the volume.
“Did you say something?”
A spoon rattled. They leaned toward each other, heads almost touching, those dirty redheaded dolls clutched in the crooks of their arms. When Eb went to boost the volume up, they did it again.
“What?” Eb said.
They leapt from their stools and ran from the kitchen, shiny black shoes clapping on the hard floor. The droid caught them in the next room and declared it was time to bathe.
“No, not yet!” Eb shouted. “They have a mess to clean!”
The droid’s voice faded down the hall.
Eb would leave the bowls and milk slopped all over the counter. He would make sure if the girls were going to stay for any length of time that they would clean up. The droid wasn’t their servant.
He was Eb’s.
After the newsfeeds wrapped up, he rinsed his cup. It was 8:45 a.m. He’d log into the office at exactly 9:00 a.m. Something nagged him on the way to change clothes. It wasn’t so much the girls’ weirdness, it was what they said at the end. He swore they were saying the same thing over and over.
He pushed it to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate. But it would niggle into his thoughts and wait. And when the time was right, he would remember exactly what they said.
SIX
~
“Where have you been?”
The droid hustled into the projection room, his sweatpants and number zero jersey wet. “We were bathing, sir.”
It was 11:40 a.m. “How long does it take to bathe?”
“You tell me, sir.”
Eb’s bathroom ritual sometimes lasted two hours. “They’re little girls. Throw them in, scrub their backs and dry them off. Ten minutes, tops.”
“You’ve never bathed twins, sir. We have plenty of time.”
Eb fidgeted on the lone chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, folding his hands on his lap then crossing his arms over his chest.
“Relax, sir.”
The droid opened a box and began patting Eb’s cheeks with concealer. The domed projection room was blank. He flicked his wrist and their reflection hovered over him. He didn’t really need makeup, but his complexion was always so blotchy.
He dialed imaginary knobs, muttering commands until the reflection transformed into his animated self: male supermodel, All-pro quarterback. One eye green, the other blue.
That’s real.
He tinkered with the details, dialing back the square chin and broad shoulders. The fashionistas’ voices were in his head. It was so much more fun when they bagged on someone else.
“Careful, sir. Too many changes to your image will be obvious.”
“Shouldn’t the girls be down here?”
“No, sir.”
“Perhaps they should sit on my knee.”
“Like puppets, sir? It’s too soon for that. We discussed this. The public wants your reaction to Jacob’s passing. Let’s not parade the girls out at the same time.”
“When do we sync?”
“In three minutes, sir.”
It was 11:50 a.m. The droid dabbed his lips with a shade of color, brushed his eyelids and stepped back to examine his work. The avocado logo was projected on the back wall, looming over his head like fat leathery mistletoe.
Eb took short, stabbing breaths, lips tightly circled.
“You’re not giving birth, sir.”
Eb continued breathing. It was the moments before a live appearance that were the worst. The droid closed the makeup box and stepped aside. Numbers began counting down.
“You’ll do just fine, sir. Just be a much, much, much nicer version of yourself and they’ll love you.”
He barely heard him. When the numbers hit five, he felt around his face. Glasses! With a second left, he pulled them onto his nose and dialed the tint all the way black.
The room dimmed. Details flickered.
A man appeared to be leaning into Eb’s face. A small microphone was just off his lips. “Mr. Scrooge, can you hear me?”
Eb nodded stiffly.
The man was a producer. His name was Todd. He stood back and tapped an iPad. There appeared to be studio lights overhead and cameras to the left and right. A Christmas tree twinkled behind Eb. In front of him, a man and woman were sitting on stools with makeup personnel applying finishing touches. Assistants hovered nearby.
“Wow,” Todd said. “This is… impressive.”
Eb relaxed and smiled. “Thank you.”
“First time we’re using a three-dimensional projection in studio, thought it would be appropriate we interview you this way since the technology was perfected by… you know.”
Todd gestured to the hanging avocado. Eb turned around to make sure it was visible. The Christmas tree was below it. Eb pulled his hands apart. The avocado grew larger.
“Could it be a bit smaller like before?” Todd said. “It’s covering the tree.”
“I know.”
“Ten minutes!” someone shouted.
The hosts made their way to stools across from Eb. Final tweaks were made, their shoulders brushed and hair patted. They introduced themselves. Eb already knew them. Everyone that watched Entertainment Nightly did. Michelle offered a short wave. David reached out, chuckling when he drew it back.
“I forgot you’re just a projection,” David said.
“Thank you,” Eb replied.
Everyone laughed.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” David said. “Should we call you Ebenezer?”
“Mr. Scrooge.”
“Thank you for coming here on Christmas.” David peered at the giant avocado over Eb’s shoulder. “We just want ten minutes of your time. I’m sure you’re very busy with the new family, settling down and adjusting.”
“Yes, of course.”
The droid was in Eb’s periphery, giving him the thumbs-up and whispering, “You’re doing great, sir.”
