Chapter 4

“Brandon will literally die.”

This was Callie’s reaction to the news that I’d met the famous S Banks. We’d both come to the Palace early the next day to make sure everything was ready for the webcast. At least I’d thought that getting there three hours before the event would be early, but when I’d arrived at eight that morning there had already been a line of eager geeks snaking around the block.

“Are you going to tell him?” she pressed me. “Oh! Can I tell him?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I said. “And on the subject of enjoying things, do I need to remind you about the ‘no photography’ rule during the webcast?”

She gave me eyes wide with innocence. “I mean, why would you need to remind me of that?”

“You’re telling me you’re not planning on filming this thing for a documentary on nerd culture or tech or something?”

“You mean, like, a groundbreaking film that blows open the misogynist underpinnings of online gaming? That kind of thing?” She grinned.

“I mean exactly that kind of thing. And as much as I’d love that kind of thing, you can’t film today. It’s not just me saying that, it’s the team of security guards that Tommy hired to police this thing.”

She made a face. “I can’t say I’m not, like, tempted, but I’m working on something else. So don’t stress. I won’t do anything.”

I decided to believe her. It would be easier that way. I looked out the window, down past the Palace marquee that jutted out over the sidewalk. There were a lot more than 311 people down there. “Why isn’t that security team here yet?”

In addition to making sure nothing was clandestinely recorded at the launch event, the team was supposed check IDs and keep anyone unauthorized from getting in. The invitees were mainly tech press and bloggers, industry influencers who would get the word out about the new offering. But clearly the word was already out to a lot of fans who just wanted to get their hands on it, whatever it was.

“It’s still early.” Callie plonked herself down on the lumpy leather couch. Her wild masses of dark curls were barely contained in a messy bun that made her look even more twenty-first century pre-Raphaelite than usual. “But back to the point. What was S like? And what’s the deal with his name?”

I turned away from the window. “Who’s the coolest guy you can think of?”

She considered. “Steve McQueen? Bogart? Young Brando?”

“Roll them all together and add a splash of Keith Richards.”

“I mean, that’s pretty cool.”

“He’s got that thing that movie stars have. That thing that makes everyone in the room notice them.” It wasn’t just his appearance, it was that something undefinable that turns an actor into a star. Charisma. Magic. It. I’d seen it before and it almost frightened me. Maybe because I’d been married to it. “And he’s really into weed.”

Callie nodded. “That tracks.”

“He wasn’t part of the owners’ meeting. He’d just tagged along with Tommy because the meeting was at Monica’s.” The shop had a lounge in the back. In addition to being a space where her customers could hang out, it sometimes served as Monica’s boardroom. Furnished with soothing lighting and low couches, it also had a large table and an enormous video screen that normally showed stoner-appropriate movies, but that we’d used to conference in Robbie and Mitch from LA.

“How did it go, anyway?” Callie asked, bringing me back to the present. “The meeting?”

“Okay. Fine. No big deal.” Which was a huge lie, but I saw no reason to ruin her day. It was enough that Tommy had ruined mine.

  

“Ladies and gentlemen…Tommy May!”

The crowd went crazy as Tommy hit the stage. Both the crowd in the arena where he physically was and the crowd in the Palace, where his image filled the screen and his legend filled the theater. Presumably it was the same in the other theaters that were hosting events all over the world.

“Ugh.” Marty snorted in disgust at the spectacle of it all. “This culture rewards all the wrong people.”

I’d chosen to watch the webcast from the projection booth with Marty because for once my mood approximated his. I was thinking very dark thoughts about the man on the Palo Alto stage.

“It’s an affront to the sanctity of the silver screen,” Marty went on. “That screen, where Garbo first talked, where Norma Desmond was ready for her closeup—”

“That screen was replaced three years ago,” I reminded him. “Let’s not over-romanticize things.”

“My point remains valid,” he stated.

“I get it.” I sat carefully on a stool. “More than you know.” Every surface in the tiny room was cluttered with disassembled bits of aged equipment, and I didn’t want to commit the mortal sin of knocking something over. “But let’s try to think of this as just a short commercial interruption to our regularly scheduled programming. This afternoon we’ll be back in glorious black and white.”

“Hrumph,” he grunted. “Showing technology films. Both of which, by the way, are in color.”

I shrugged. “My point remains valid.” I’d decided to lean into the tech theme with our programming after the webcast. Our double feature for the next three days would be Hot Millions (1968, Peter Ustinov and Maggie Smith) and Billion Dollar Brain (1967, Michael Caine and Françoise Dorléac). In Millions, Ustinov uses a computer to embezzle funds from his employer while Maggie Smith hovers around being an absolute delight, and in Brain, Michael Caine takes orders from a computer that runs a spy network in some very cold countries. Coincidentally, both films feature Karl Malden, a San Francisco favorite.

“I do like the computers in old movies,” I said, a little more wistfully than I’d intended.

“Who doesn’t?” Marty asked. “Big gray boxes with lights all over the place, and giant buttons and levers.”

“And the spinney tape things,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget the spinney tape things.”

“I love the spinney tape things,” he agreed. “I bet this guy wouldn’t know a spinney tape thing if it bit him in the ass.” He nodded toward Tommy, onscreen in the theater.

We both watched the presentation for a while. Tommy slouched around the stage talking about all the cool things his company had done and hinting at all the cooler things they were about to do. The crowd was with him, but they weren’t there for a talk. They were impatient for an unveiling. Tommy teased them until they were practically frothing with anticipation, and then he gave them what they wanted.

“It is with enormous pleasure that I want to bring out our newest collaborator. With his genius for imagining new realities and our deep mapping and geolocation data, I think you’ll agree we’ve come up with something pretty special. Friends, to welcome you to our new reality, I give you S Banks!”

“Give me a break,” Marty muttered.

Banks sauntered out from the wings to frenzied cheering, dressed all in creamy white again, looking effortlessly, nonchalantly cool. He held a glass bottle of something murky in his right hand and raised it in a toast. “Who’s ready to have some fun? Who’s ready to have more fun than you’ve ever had in your lives?” The crowd roared in response to each question. “Then let’s have some fun!” The camera pulled in as he took a swig from the bottle. If he had actually been the rock star he was acting like it probably would have been Jack Daniels. But he was a tech star, so instead it was some sort of green drink that looked both healthy and disgusting. A stage assistant dashed out and took the half-empty bottle from him on cue.

“Is that guy stoned?” Marty asked.

I had the same question. In closeup, Banks’ eyes looked glassy and unfocused. The camera pulled back.

“What’s the most exciting thing in the world?” he asked the crowd. “What are we all looking for? What would we search to the ends of the earth for?” He paused as people began shouting answers.

“If he says ‘true love’ I’m going to barf,” Marty warned.

“He’s only going to say ‘true love’ if he and Tommy have figured out a way to make money off it.”

On the screen, S held up his hands, shaking his head at whatever people called out. He swayed a bit, and again I wondered if he was high. “Nope,” he finally said. “I’ll tell you what it is. What we all want. What we all dream about at night.” He reached into his back pocket and held up what looked like an enormous coin.

“Gold!”

The crowd roared in approval.

“Isn’t it what everyone wants?” S continued. “Treasure! Riches! Gold!”

The audience was with him, anticipating what he was about to say.

“There are five of these coins in my new game. Only five in the whole game world.” He struggled a bit to get the word “whole” out. He shook his head, looking like he was trying to clear it.

“Does he look…?” Marty asked.

“Terrible.” I watched the image of S closely. His eyelids and lips seemed puffy. Had he looked like that a minute ago?

He went on. “There are five gold coins hidden within the augmented world of the game. Five gold coins to be found.” Now the word “five” seemed to give him trouble. “Each gold coin has a code on it,” he said. “That code, my friends, is worth…one million dollars!”

Tommy stepped forward again while the crowd went insane. “There’s only one person on the face of the planet who knows where all five coins are hidden,” Tommy yelled. “And I’m sharing the stage with him!” He bowed theatrically to S.

“The game we’re announcing is Worldwide Treasure Hunt!” S shouted above the mayhem, his voice sounding rough. “Download the app, follow the clues, and find the gold coins!”

“Hang on!” Tommy yelled. “Let me tell you the rest of it—For every day the treasure isn’t found, each coin is worth…another million dollars!” By this time the roar of the audience was deafening. “Nobody has a head start, nobody has an edge. Everyone in the world can download at the exact same time.” He looked to S again. “All S has to do is hit Launch and the treasure hunt will begin!”

S raised both hands, the giant coin in one, a phone in the other. He looked over at Tommy, opened his mouth to speak, and began to twitch. The crowd was wild with excitement. S threw his head back in what might have been ecstasy or might have been a convulsion. The audience gasped, not knowing what to make of it. Was this part of the show? Then S fell to the floor, thrashing, and it became clear that something was very wrong.

“Get a medic!” Tommy yelled. “Get help!”

At that point, in the midst of a spasm, S must have touched a button on his phone, because every one of the tablets in the Palace lit up and every single person in the audience yelled. The game was live.

S, onstage and onscreen, stilled.

Was the game maker dead?