LoveStar (9 page)

“I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT GUY'S STILL WEARING A BLUE MILLETS ANORAK!”

“NO! No way! It's all a misunderstanding!” yelled Indridi. “I'll sort it out at the bank later today. I'm not broke. I'll talk to my girlfriend and have money transferred to my account!”

“Be careful because the transfer will be registered as her gift to you. Gifts are liable to 30 percent tax.”

The man let three waves crash and two black-backed gulls screech before continuing in a kind voice:

“There's a three-month notice period. You're legally bound to complete the period of contract. If you don't howl up your subscription fee we'll be forced to terminate your cordless connection and refer you to the old system.”

This sounded like unfair terms but was actually a threat. It was possible to become a wire-slave and cease to be a cordless connected subscriber, but it was only a theoretical option as most home appliances were cordless, switchless, and remote controlled via lenses. Of course, one could pick up a phone and call 234.415.333.333 in order to turn on the tap in the bath (or was it 334?) and use the same number, but ending in 537, to flush the toilet, and it was possible to open the car door by calling 395.506.432.664 and tapping in a one-hundred-digit code for the car alarm.

“I have no choice,” said Indridi.

“You're free,” said the man. “Freedom is wonderful; you can do what you like.” Eider ducks oohed in the background and a gull cackled.

“I have no choice,” said Indridi.

“Good-bye,” said the man.

Indridi wondered what to do but was only halfway through his thought when he suddenly shouted:

“DALLAS IS STARTING! DALLAS IS STARTING!”

“THANK YOU!” called the old man from next door.

Indridi flushed bloodred and paced the floor. The first notes of the theme song carried through the wall. Indridi listened to the tune, then put his hands over his ears and turned on his stereo full volume. The neighbor banged on the wall, but Indridi left the flat with everything on full blast. He tried to behave in such a way that no company would dream of having its name connected to him. Which is why he went up and down the escalator at the Kringlan shopping mall seven times naked. But the company observed the rule: “Bad publicity is better than no publicity,” so that on his seventh trip up the escalator a woman noticed him. She was obviously in a target group that was interested in performance art because Indridi howled the moment he passed her:

“REMEMBER THE OPENING AT KJARVAL GALLERY! HAPPENINGS AND HAPPINESS!”

SECRET HOST

Most people were under the impression that Simon Smari Magnusson was a cordless programmer with rather dubious taste in films; even his girlfriend Maria thought so after a three-year provisional relationship. No one knew that for over ten years Simon had been one of the most prolific spies and secret hosts of his generation.

When Simon was thirteen years old, it seemed clear that he would be one of the most sought-after and popular boys in the school. He was tall, handsome, tanned, amusing, and always looked as if he'd just emerged from the hairdresser's. He had a way with words, and it was obvious that he would lead the pack when it came to music and fashion. It was far more effective for shops to have him wear their clothes than to drape them over a dummy in the window. By the time he was sixteen, Simon had deals with a shopping center, two cinemas, and a telephone company, as he received far more phone calls than he made. It cost forty-six points a minute to call Simon, of which he himself received twenty-two points. It didn't matter which girl called him; he would let her stay on the line for as long as she wanted.

“Just hold a minute,” he'd say, “I'm going to play an awesome track from the awesome new BOYZ CD while I slip into MY EVILS JEANS.” Sometimes he'd talk to two girls at once without their knowing, letting them chatter on and listen to songs in turn.

He rarely invited girls with him to the movies, preferring to spread it around school that he was going to see a film with the boys. It was certain that ten to twenty adolescent girls from the lower grades would go to the same show in the faint hope of meeting him or his friends. The girls would then be followed by a bunch of nerdy boys from their own classes. When the groups met, Simon was always cheerful and self-confident, smiling his brightest smile and praising the girls for shopping at the right stores.

In the high season of spring, he would take a girl or two with him to the Kringlan shopping mall and help her spend her confirmation money. Nearly three-quarters of the markup went straight into his pocket, as it was only fair that the person who actually sold the goods should be rewarded for his pains.

“Buy both pairs of jeans if you can't make up your mind. You look just as cute in both,” he said smiling, and the girl blushed and did as he suggested. “You could get a tattoo to match . . .”

Despite his success, Simon was rather isolated. He didn't know any other secret hosts and wasn't sure if he was the only one in his grade. However, he suspected certain people, sometimes everyone, and took care to smother all their attempts from the start. Ginger-haired Halldor had, for example, tried to get Simon to buy golf clubs and play on a course with him. Simon took care after that to squash all Halldor's ideas or else turn them to his own advantage. If Halldor wanted to go to one film, Simon would fight for the gang to go to another. Sparks often flew between them.

Simon the secret host and spy couldn't share his success with anyone. All communications went through his home site at iSTAR and generally the offers came automatically via the computer system. He didn't know the people who ran the system, so Simon couldn't brag about how he made three thousand points by getting two girls to hold the line for fifty minutes while he took a bath and watched a thriller with one eye.

Simon drove around in smart cars and ate out most evenings, yet he had never bought a car, never paid for clothes or food in restaurants. He was registered everywhere as a marketing expense. He had never paid for a vacation abroad out of his own pocket. He always managed to infiltrate a group holiday, direct it to some other destination than originally intended, and get himself a free trip in the process. While the group was lying on the beach he would slip away and make a deal with a restaurant owner or shopping center, promising to bring along a group of ten if he got something in return.

Simon was popular but had few friends, meeting most of the people he associated with through Maria. They were in a couples' club that met up regularly, cooked, drank red wine, and had a cozy time, but he didn't regard anyone in the group as a real friend. Simon made an effort, nevertheless, to keep the couples' club going, as it was an important market. On couples' nights he collected valuable information for iSTAR; he planted information and recommended goods, but took care to be very delicate about the sale itself. He laid the bait but left it to others to reel in the fish.

You could say that everything had gone swimmingly for Simon until the day Maria came storming home. Simon lay on the sofa, leafing through a potential bestseller when Maria's shadow fell on him. She screeched:

“Simon! I got an offer from a plastic surgeon!”

Simon looked up from his book. “This is such a gripping read that I didn't hear what you said.” He showed her the cover.

“I got an offer from a plastic surgeon today,” Maria repeated.

“Really,” murmured Simon innocently. “Are you going to accept it?”

“Do you know what he offered me?”

“I expect it was the thing you showed me.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you going to accept the offer?”

“How do they know, Simon?”

“Mm?”

“How do they know?”

“Are you sure they know?”

“They offered to help me get rid of exactly what I showed you.”

“Did they make an offer on the area around the spot to the right of . . . ?”

“EXACTLY! How did they know?”

“I swear I didn't say anything to anyone.”

“You're the only one who knew. You're the only person who's had their face down there. It was a secret!”

“Hey! Don't blame me! Are you sure you haven't told anyone else?”

“I'M SURE!”

“Well, then it's just a coincidence. Where are you going with the girls this evening? You should go to The Althing, the puffin sandwich there is quite . . .”

“Don't change the subject, Simon. Do you really believe anyone else has one of these? How can it be a coincidence?”

“Then you must have told someone, for goodness' sake . . .”

“I haven't told A SINGLE GODDAMN PERSON APART FROM YOU! I didn't even tell the girls about this! Did you tell on me?”

Simon looked down at his hands and said unconvincingly, “No.”

“The offer came the day after you saw it!”

Simon flushed and said nothing.

“I trusted you! My God, you can be lousy! What deal did you make, you bastard? Thirty percent? Forty percent? The offer was for one hundred fifty thousand!”

Simon didn't know what to say. The iSTAR employee who was listening in to the conversation via Simon's invisible earpiece sent him a suggested response: “Hey! You should see a shrink!”

Simon didn't like it but muttered anyway, “Hey, you should see a shrink.”

“CAN YOU RECOMMEND ANYONE? YOU SECRET HOST!”

Simon received a suggestion on his lens: [recommendation: therapist jonsson phone: 551 9550].

Simon was about to recommend the therapist when he realized what he was doing and blocked any further assistance.

“What's the matter with you?” he whined.

“Only yesterday you told the girls to go to a totally awesome film.”

“Lots of people recommended it.”

“They thought it was crap.”

“That's their business.”

“Have you no self-respect?”

He was silent.

“Answer me! Have you no self-respect?”

“People have different tastes. Why can't I?”

“But you haven't seen the film! They said you always recommended crappy films! You're a secret host, aren't you? Admit it! Are you a spy as well, maybe? Maybe you've got the line open at the moment? Is there someone listening to us?” Maria yelled in his ear: “HELLO! IS THERE ANYONE THERE? DOES ANYONE WANT TO KNOW WHAT I WANT? I NEVER WANT TO SEE SIMON AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR? I NEVER EVER WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN!”

Simon went out. He wandered around town bowed and beaten, but he perked up a little when a teenager praised his new jacket.

“Wicked jacket!”

“Hey, thanks,” said Simon. “I got it from Man of the World!”

Before the day was over several other people had slipped him compliments. The team at iSTAR, who had overheard everything, arranged for nine compliments to be howled at him in order to calm his feelings.

“You're a world beater. Don't give up, Simon!” said an old graybeard.

“You're so cool, Simon!” shouted a woman with a baby carriage.

“Thimon!” came from the carriage (it was considered cute if children said something too, especially if they were babies and hadn't yet learned to talk).

Several weeks later Maria had received so many offers from plastic surgeons, information, advice, and so on that she decided to go for it and let them sort out the thing that no one knew about except that damn spy and secret host Simon. He received his percentage in the end (30 percent), in addition to a fifty-thousand-point deposit for a final report on the details of Maria's life.

Part 12B: She doesn't know where Africa is. She can't stand Swedish thrillers. More sympathetic to sick dogs than sick babies. Pizza sauce always goes bad in the fridge (N.B. smaller containers). She likes it best doggy-style (film clip attached, N.B.! Don't sell it within her target group). She knows nothing about science but believes anything that sounds scientific (market hair products with chemical formulas).

Simon worked out that the emotional cost had been reasonable relative to the profit. Maria couldn't be his one and only anyway. It was scientifically proven. A month later he was still emotionally battered so he called REGRET and had it calculate what would have happened if he hadn't blown his cover, if he had carried on servicing Maria and her friends. He asked for a brief answer:

“You'd have died.”

“How?”

“You'd have been run over by a tram on the 18th of February.”

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “It was a good thing I blew my cover, otherwise I'd have been run over by a tram on the 18th of February. It was a good thing I blew my cover, otherwise I'd have been run over by a tram on the 18th of February.” But it didn't matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't fill the void that Maria had left behind in his heart, not even when his jacket was praised for the fourth time (belated praise led people to believe that the relevant garment was a classic of its kind and a good investment).

Maria had left and with her went many of his best customates. Now he would have to move, find a new group, build up trust, and get better established. Chain-friendship was the fate of secret hosts. He made a friend, concentrated on him for a while, then turned to his friend's friend, and his friend the following year, and so on. The current chain-friend enjoyed his undivided attention for a time but then his attention was gradually directed elsewhere. Simon had put himself through five groups of friends in seven years and so had a wide but rather loose-knit net of acquaintances. After he lost his customates through Maria, his turnover tumbled and his personal rating at iSTAR took a dive. He was forced to concentrate on his family for a while.

“Dad, you should try a Saab. Mom, who on earth cut your hair? Grandma, I'm not going to give you a lift to Bonus. You should go to 10-11; it's quicker and cheaper.”

His dream was to scale the heights at iSTAR, quit the mean streets, get into the creative side of advertising, become part of the ideas team, draw up campaigns, even get a job as a service rep or follow a target group from youth to adulthood, instruct, remote control, categorize, and record them. But all his applications were turned down and all the ideas he sent to iSTAR were bounced straight back. Nevertheless, he lived with the hope and got butterflies in his stomach every time there was a message from iSTAR. One day he received the following special assignment:

[Problem category: Victim of freedom.

Individual: Sigrid Gudmundsdottir, calculated with Per Møller.

Problem: SG refuses to be calculated because of Indridi H.

Goal: Essential to bring SG north to meet her one and only.

Budget for information, announcements, AdHosts, traps, stuntmen, etc.: one hundred sixty-seven thousand points.

Budget subtracted from sales commission.

If a satisfactory result is not achieved, the cost will be subtracted from your balance at iSTAR.]

Simon got straight back to iSTAR.

“Yes, hi there!” he said breezily. “It's about the assignment. Don't you have anything else for me? You see, Indridi and Sigrid are friends of Maria's and mine, and I would hate to . . .”

“No problem,” answered a man's voice brusquely. “We'll get someone else for the job.”

“That would be great, thank you. I just need to lay off my immediate vicinity . . .”

“Your refusal will be recorded in your application for the position of secret-host marketing advisor at iSTAR. Do you want an explanatory note attached? Are there any other limits to your capability?”

Simon was speechless. “No, no. I just wanted to see whether there was anything better on offer . . .”

“Refusal is accompanied by a mandatory week's leave.”

“Since when?”

“It's new policy. It's difficult to get good people for the tough cases. The system won't work if people only opt for the fun assignments.”

“I'm sorry,” said Simon. “All I said was that they were friends of Maria's and mine.”

“It's been two months and three days since you last met your friends and according to my information you're no longer with Maria.”

“We're having temporary problems . . .”

“That doesn't fit with my information. Are you shirking responsibility? Can I put that on your application?”

Simon crumpled. This was an unusually grumpy moodman. Why did he have to bring up the application and Maria?