he gets louder.”
“And there’s the money. Can it really be all private? Have you ever done a deal like that?”
“Never. I’ve come close, but if you can actually raise enough money from someone’s personal savings to fund a film, the company suddenly decides it’s a good idea and wants in.”
“The funding comes from outside, doesn’t it.” Sylvia flopped herself into a slump, arms to knees, hair hanging straight, hiding her face in a cascade of black. “One of the other companies wants to give Ambyr a tweak. I’m going to rake in huge trouble for what is it? Diversification of species? Is that the policy? Next time you see me, I’ll be pruning rose bushes around some grade 10’s pool house. Fuck it. I knew it. I freakin’ say ‘yes’ to my impulses far too frequently, lately. Far and away.” She sat up and rubbed small circles on her belly.
“I see why you called.” Marshall patted Sylvia’s knee. “I wish you would have called earlier. Still, now is fine.”
“This is bugger shit.”
“Whatever. You’re a bit wrong around the edges. Ambyr, India Group and BCCA/Hong Kong do, in fact, lob things at each other, but it’s usually beachballs, nothing with explosives or shrapnel. They’d never use a film. Do you know why I love film so much? This is not rhetorical.”
Sylvia said, “It helps you escape the sad little world you inhabit.”
“Wrong. Or, rather, not the answer for which I was searching. Movies are one of the few inter-commercial vehicles left to us. Despite it being highly contrary to company policy, they still find their way across channels. Seen any good IG films this year?”
“Several.”
“Despite potential fines and penalties.”
“No one cares.”
“They would if the message was anti-corporate. BCCA or IG can’t fund a film that flicks a middle finger at one corporation, without having to flick the finger at them all.”
Sylvia turned to Marshall with a rippled sneer across her brow and down her nose and around her mouth.
“Your problem, my dear, is actually much worse. I’ll wager some low grade wants to get over on some other low grade, and you and your Milkman shall be used to do it. You’ve been drafted into an internal war.”
Sylvia wanted to throw up for the fourth time that day.
* * *
Emory transferred his last message from John Raston to his wall. He watched the enormous fork plunge into Niagara Falls, like it were a slice of watery birthday cake. Lizzie toddled back and forth across the living room floor. She seemed to have to aim or project, just walking, in her arrhythmic, verge of falling kind of way. She had watched the Falls for a bit, then grew bored.
“What are you doing?” Lillian stood in the space between the kitchen and living room, shoulder against wall, arms crossed.
“It’s a cryptogram,” Emory said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I’m trying to decode it.”
“If you’re doing it because you like puzzles, fine. I’ve got no problem with that. But you don’t. You’re not a puzzle person.”
“Sure I am.”
“Jesus, Em. The ops questioned you.”
“That was about the murder.”
“They sent you there. Somebody wanted you there, watching. Don’t you get it?”
“No,” Emory said. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why they didn’t just call me, or send mail. There’s easier ways to get me a message than, you know, by trying to send me a message.”
“They want you to stop on your own,” Lillian said.
“And you? Do you want me to stop?”
Lillian bowed her head and twisted her left foot into the carpet.
“No one else,” Emory said. “Who’s going to step up and do this?”
“It’s not just you.”
“I’m the one posting.”
“It’s not just you you’re putting at risk.” Lillian raised her head. “Me. The baby. What are you going to do if the company decides they had enough? What are you — no, what are we — going to do if they fire your ass?”
“That’s not going to
“And there’s the money. Can it really be all private? Have you ever done a deal like that?”
“Never. I’ve come close, but if you can actually raise enough money from someone’s personal savings to fund a film, the company suddenly decides it’s a good idea and wants in.”
“The funding comes from outside, doesn’t it.” Sylvia flopped herself into a slump, arms to knees, hair hanging straight, hiding her face in a cascade of black. “One of the other companies wants to give Ambyr a tweak. I’m going to rake in huge trouble for what is it? Diversification of species? Is that the policy? Next time you see me, I’ll be pruning rose bushes around some grade 10’s pool house. Fuck it. I knew it. I freakin’ say ‘yes’ to my impulses far too frequently, lately. Far and away.” She sat up and rubbed small circles on her belly.
“I see why you called.” Marshall patted Sylvia’s knee. “I wish you would have called earlier. Still, now is fine.”
“This is bugger shit.”
“Whatever. You’re a bit wrong around the edges. Ambyr, India Group and BCCA/Hong Kong do, in fact, lob things at each other, but it’s usually beachballs, nothing with explosives or shrapnel. They’d never use a film. Do you know why I love film so much? This is not rhetorical.”
Sylvia said, “It helps you escape the sad little world you inhabit.”
“Wrong. Or, rather, not the answer for which I was searching. Movies are one of the few inter-commercial vehicles left to us. Despite it being highly contrary to company policy, they still find their way across channels. Seen any good IG films this year?”
“Several.”
“Despite potential fines and penalties.”
“No one cares.”
“They would if the message was anti-corporate. BCCA or IG can’t fund a film that flicks a middle finger at one corporation, without having to flick the finger at them all.”
Sylvia turned to Marshall with a rippled sneer across her brow and down her nose and around her mouth.
“Your problem, my dear, is actually much worse. I’ll wager some low grade wants to get over on some other low grade, and you and your Milkman shall be used to do it. You’ve been drafted into an internal war.”
Sylvia wanted to throw up for the fourth time that day.
* * *
Emory transferred his last message from John Raston to his wall. He watched the enormous fork plunge into Niagara Falls, like it were a slice of watery birthday cake. Lizzie toddled back and forth across the living room floor. She seemed to have to aim or project, just walking, in her arrhythmic, verge of falling kind of way. She had watched the Falls for a bit, then grew bored.
“What are you doing?” Lillian stood in the space between the kitchen and living room, shoulder against wall, arms crossed.
“It’s a cryptogram,” Emory said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I’m trying to decode it.”
“If you’re doing it because you like puzzles, fine. I’ve got no problem with that. But you don’t. You’re not a puzzle person.”
“Sure I am.”
“Jesus, Em. The ops questioned you.”
“That was about the murder.”
“They sent you there. Somebody wanted you there, watching. Don’t you get it?”
“No,” Emory said. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why they didn’t just call me, or send mail. There’s easier ways to get me a message than, you know, by trying to send me a message.”
“They want you to stop on your own,” Lillian said.
“And you? Do you want me to stop?”
Lillian bowed her head and twisted her left foot into the carpet.
“No one else,” Emory said. “Who’s going to step up and do this?”
“It’s not just you.”
“I’m the one posting.”
“It’s not just you you’re putting at risk.” Lillian raised her head. “Me. The baby. What are you going to do if the company decides they had enough? What are you — no, what are we — going to do if they fire your ass?”
“That’s not going to
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