GAMBOA: 3. The Visit (part 1 of 2)
Strangetown was as dusty and sultry as Cynthia remembered it.
The only change was how easy it had become to get there. As a military base, it used to be an unreachable destination. No planes, no trains, no buses, no mark on the country map. The only way to find it was to know somebody who could point out the right turnoff from the highway and not get lost in the void of sand, and then give the correct password to the guards patrolling the outskirts of the town.
It was when Cynthia was a teenager. Back then some places had to be kept secret.
Now Cynthia got off the bus at a small bus station, with a parking space that was only just as big as it needed to turn the bus around. She guessed it was another barrack recycled by the locals after the top-secret part of the military base was closed. Just another benefit of demilitarizing the town, next to making it available by a mere nine hours of travel in an air conditioned, almost comfortable bus.
Chloe was already waiting. She leaned by the wall and stared into the void of desert. Cynthia felt almost sorry interrupting it. She slowly walked up to the alien, trying to get rid of the pins and needles in her legs.
“Hello?” Cynthia asked cautiously. Chloe waved to her without glanced at the actress.
“I think I saw something,” Chloe muttered with concern.
“Is Mrs. Muenda still living there?”
“She’s Mrs. Specter now,” corrected Chloe, pushing herself away from the wall. “And she’s as scary as ever. And scary - not scary, you will boil in those pants within a minute and I really don’t want to see it. Let’s go to my place, I bet you need to rest a bit.”
Chloe’s house turned out to be bigger and neater than Cynthia expected. The actress put down her backpack and looked around. The living room, with all of its patchwork of colours and styles was similar to Robert’s bachelor pad, but with more offbeat mascots and less Gundam models. And a pink TV. The pink TV seemed to be an important part of the interior.
It was either a borrowed house or her roommates took care of furnishing the place. Cynthia would bet her life Chloe had not come up with this interior by herself.
“Nice place,” Cynthia admitted. Chloe laughed.
“Ah, yeah, I even tidied it a bit,” she said as she poured water into the kettle. “I even took my bras off the lamps and picked the socks from the armchair! Feel at home, Cy.”
Cynthia was sure Robert had greeted her in similar manner when she'd visited him for the first time. She tried to not think about it, but the more e-mails Chloe sent her and more they talked, the more similarities between Chloe and Robert Cynthia saw. An incomprehensible love of fiction, the uncaring tone of their messages, obscure jokes she had to Google to understand… it was disturbing, but she could not deny she'd started feeling almost comfortable in Chloe’s presence.
“Hey, can I check my e-mail? I - “
“Sure thing!” Chloe said as she lit the stove. “There’s Lola’s comp in the bedroom: she won’t mind. Password’s kiss me by the riverside.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fell in love with a girl, fell in love once and almost completely,” sang Chloe and snapped the rhythm with her fingers. “It’s from the end of the first verse. It’s without spaces: change the I in kiss to a number one,” she added. Cynthia coughed out a quick “OK,” and hid behind the doors as her hostess danced in the kitchen.
Now, she was no longer wondering if Chloe asked a friend to borrow her a house for three days. Here and there she saw a neatly organized area, the things labelled with “L. D. Curious”. Lola Dolores? Lola Darla? Whatever the second name was, they must live together, these Curious sisters. Maybe that’s why Lola resented her sister so much. Did Chloe have problems with paying her part of the rent? Did Chloe organize parties a few times a week? Did she bring one-night stands to a shared bedroom? Was it about putting Gamboa posters on the wall? Cynthia almost started feeling sorry for Lola.
She found the computer under one of the scattered shirts, turned it on and opened her e-mail box. Then she opened the newest message.
“My dear Grumpy Bear,
Teddy & I were at DB’s today. Mr. Big was mixed, shaken and defeated. Teddy the Great won 4 simoleons per hour. We’re gonna buy our own spaceship. See U on Monday.
Rob (the producer’s tamer)
P.S. My love to Mrs. B.
P.S.S. Call when sth goes wrong.”
Call if something goes wrong, Cynthia corrected. She wondered if Robert was still disturbed by her little panic attack during packing up last evening. It had been ugly. There had been sobbing, shaking and nothing a grown up woman should allow herself to do. And he'd sat through it, hugged her and said calming, sweet words. She did not know if it was the best he could do, but it had worked.
But now here she was, with her phone ready to call him if something went wrong and her mind as calm as it could be. Cynthia smiled to herself, checked the rest of the correspondence and left the messy bedroom.
They ate supper, chatting about Strangetown. Chloe did her best in telling the fantastic stories about abductions, unbelievable scientific discoveries and other things she found entertaining. Cynthia encouraged her once or twice, listening carefully and trying not to show that she knew better.
And then Chloe mentioned lightly:
“My pa said he'll be busy tomorrow. Knowing him, he’s gonna mow the lawn or bake gingerbread houses all day long. I’m shocked he survived half of his life without a decent oven and flour.”
“That’s great, I guess,” Cynthia said. She fell silent for a few seconds, wondering, and cautiously asked: “Was that a polite version of Go away, you mad woman?”
“Yup. I mean - nope. He’ll see you. But not tomorrow. Or maybe it will be tomorrow. Sometimes he’s a bit… erratic.” Chloe scratched the back of her head. “He changed his mind when you were already on the road, so…” she started to explain.
“I get it,” Cynthia interrupted and said under her breath, “Great, a day wasted.”
Chloe pressed her hands to the table, then tapped rhythmically, then jumped out of her seat.
“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy grim! Today is wasted for you, so you can get wasted as well! What do you want to drink?”
Out of nowhere, the confetti fell on Chloe. Cynthia could swear she heard trumpets and happy squeaks. She gazed at the ceiling, hoping for some explanation, but The Watcher did not give her one.
*
Cynthia rolled her glass and gazed inside it. She should not drink today, not after travelling all day and on an almost empty stomach. But she did.
She should not argue about the words spoken a few days ago, ones she hardly remembered saying in any particular pattern. She should have tried to learn something and not talk about herself.
“I am not obsessed with bees!” She said instead.
“I’m not obsessed with bees!” Chloe mocked her. “Come on, there must be a reason for you comparing me to a bee! Or knowing hardly anything about aliens and yet comparing us to bees rather than ants or any other of those hive-minded insects with antennas and scary mandibles. Tell it!”
“There’s no story!” Cynthia protested. “My grandpa had an apiary.”
“And?”
“I helped him.”
Chloe waited patiently (too patiently) for the story.
“I… I loved helping him,” confessed Cynthia. She felt the words gather inside her and boil with anticipation. When had she last talked about it? “I loved wearing that beekeeper hat, the gloves, holding the honeycomb plates… I even wanted to have my own apiary, but my parents said it was a thing of the Old Country, not the modern and wealthy SimCity, and as I live in an apartment now, it was a lost cause.”
“Ow, you should have told them to fuck off and bought that apiary. Cynthia Kim, the apiary queen.”
“Cynthia Mores, the apiary queen. I would became an old, crazy bee lady, selling honey and oddly shaped wax candles at fairs. However, bees stayed with my grandpa in the Old Country, we moved to SimCity and I became an actress. But you know what? I’d rather be -“
“- A beekeeper,” Chloe completed the sentence. Cynthia lifted her drink.
“Close, keep guessing,” She laughed. Chloe picked up the gauntlet - she stroked her chin, turned to Cynthia and watched her carefully, vigilantly seeking for the hints in Cynthia’s reactions. She slowly said:
“A… an entomologist? No, probably too sophisticated for you, all that hunting after bugs and butterflies on Twikkii Island…” Cynthia shook her head and tutted with disappointment. Chloe smirked and went on. “Toxicologist? For researching venom? Nah, you’re already too venomous. A Grim Reaper? You know, to sting people with a scythe like a bee…! Come on, it would be fun...! Oh, I know! A vet?”
Cynthia nodded.
“So what are you doing in show business?”
Cynthia sighted heavily.
“Long story. After the Second Great Guinea Pig Plague the government decided that the universities had bad [CR1] teaching methods… or something. In the end, the veterinary specialization at ALT was closed for a year or two, just when I was a freshman. I thought I’d wait for it and signed up for Drama. Then some things… happened.” Cynthia sighted. “One thing led to another and here I am, playing mad women or half-aliens in TV dramas.”
“Bullshit,” Chloe summed it up.
“…Excuse me?”
“Vidcund - my half-brother - was studying biology back then at La Fiesta.” Chloe explained with a wide smile. “He said there’s shitload of possible career courses and damn it, one of them was veterinary. OK, it was not available for his year, but I bet he’s older than you and if he'd repeated a year, he would have got in.”
“But that was La Fiesta, and I attended Académie Le Tour,” Cynthia tried to explain, but she already felt a cold sweat on her back. The question - that one question she was trying to avoid at all costs - was in the air.
“Did you drop out of college?” Chloe asked with amusement.
“That’s not the case.” Cynthia drank the rest of her drink with one sip, and picked up her bag. “If you don’t mind, I - I’ll go for a walk. Alone.”
*
Strangetown was a strange place, really. Empty, silent, almost dead. And that night - yes, the night was really dark, without the glow of the city. That was the night she remembered from the Old Country. Calm and safe, without thugs jumping from the cactuses or weirdoes eager to judge you for going alone for a walk in the darkness. With every step she felt her mind lighting up, overcoming the drinks shared with the hybrid.
Cynthia slowed down by the big, yellow house. From what she had gathered, that was the home of Pollination Technician Number Nine, the only full-blooded alien living in the area of SimCity. Maybe she should intrude on their peaceful evening, sit on the couch and demand answers. What a tempting vision: tempting, but unlikely. As long as she had not lost her common sense, she would not risk meeting with a… a pollination technician… unprepared. She sighed and walked away.
Sooner than Cynthia had predicted, she climbed up the hill. She sneaked up the stone stairs and quietly entered the castle.
The front room had a new set of wallpapers: the stone nymph that used to stand across to the entrance had been replaced with an ancient helmet, and there was a new photo on the wall. The lady of the house was sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by paperwork. At the moment she was tapping the buttons of a small calculator with a pencil.
“Good evening,” Cynthia said. Mrs. Beaker lifted her head, alarmed. For a few seconds she was looking at the guest with astonishment.
“Cynthia?” she gasped and rose from her chair. In eye blink, she was next to the younger woman, wrapping an arm around Cynthia’s waist and leading her to the sofa.
“Good Watcher, what are you doing here at this hour? How did you get here? Did something bad happen? Why -”
Cynthia curled up, sinking into the velvet cushions. “Everything’s fine. I told Loki I’d drop by; I thought he’d share the news.“
“Oh, predictable.” Mrs. Beaker went smoothly from tenderness to nagging. “If he left that cave of his once in a while for something other than work, food or toilet… But there, there, as you’re already here, aunt Gundrun will have to examine you a little. Wait a bit, I’ll make tea and - oh dear, you do need a jumper! - and we’ll talk.”
When Mrs. Beaker left the hall, Cynthia tried to open the main door to the antique shop. To her surprise, they were locked. Why would she even close the doors she could keep eye on? Of course, there were the back doors, but Cynthia needed to check their security code, and for that she needed to find a note on her mobile phone. She wouldn’t make it before the Serious Talk began.
Out of the frying pan into the fire, she thought hopelessly, and let herself groan.
A few minutes later, she sat with a warm (too warm) jumper on her trunk and a mug in her hands.
“You seem to have become quite popular in a last few months,” declared Mrs. Beaker. Cynthia nodded.
“Yes. I should thank you again for -“
“For what, my dear?” Mrs. Beaker’s wrinkles rose as she smiled. “I gave your number and recommendation to one of my customers. You should thank yourself for not wasting that chance.”
Mrs. Beaker was right. She had just handed Cynthia’s portfolio to Teddy McGunn, a fierce show business agent. Cynthia was not sure what had got Teddy’s attention, but a day or two later she'd received a call, made a deal, and sooner than she expected found herself on the audition for the main female character of brand new series of Gamboa.
“I should thank you for everything,” Cynthia generalized.
“You really don’t have to, honey.” The old woman’s voice became sharper and inquiring “Also, a little bird told me you were contracted for another season with a better salary?. Mr. Kim was so convincing that Armand DeBateau considered employing him in his finance department… or so I heard.”
So Teddy already called to share the news, Cynthia thought. Mrs. Beaker took another sip and went on. “You would think he picked the wrong career branch… I'm glad it’s different in your case, my dear.” She patted the younger woman on the arm. “In no time you will switch to more serious roles. We both know you don’t want to be somersaulting with fake laser guns to the end of your days. You did the right thing by picking acting. Who knows where you would be now otherwise, maybe giving cows enemas at Riverside or putting down dogs in some shelter.”
“You’re right,” Cynthia answered, ignoring the tension in her neck muscles. “However, I - “
“But, my child, let the old woman ask you something!” cut in Mrs. Beaker. “Is your presence in this town connected to that role?”
“Yes.”
“Predictable. Oh, and another thing. Who is this Robert Kim? I asked Teddy about him, but all she told me was that he’s a smart boy. And quite charming, judging from that ring on your finger. I had no chance of meeting him and I heard you did not throw any wedding party, really, shame on you.”
Cynthia froze. What should she do now? Tell the story they already told press and their relatives or, for change, be a bit more sincere? She looked at the red carpet, at the velvet cushions on the sofa, at the books in leather binding. No, she could not lie to Mrs. Beaker, not now. Tonight she was having bad luck when it came to lying.
As she opened her mouth to answer, the big doors opened and a pale figure slipped into the room. He spotted the other Sims and stood still, like he was caught red-handed.
“Loki, there you are!“ said Mrs. Beaker reproachfully. “Your guest has been waiting for you for hours.“
“And you kept her for yourself rather than share the prey, mother. Or tell me about her, at least. Wait for me to make myself a drink, Cy, will you?”
Author's note:
I don't know if I should explain myself, so I'll sum it up as: I discovered Dragon Age, finished both games, and back to writing Gamboa. Also, real life happened and it was not the most pleasant experience.
Part 1 of 2, as the whole chapter ended up being quite long. I'll update it by the end of September (but I should manage to do it sooner)
Hope you'll enjoy it :)