They’d known each other long enough that Alexandra could picture her desk, white with documents. Legal scholarship. News clips. The woman fired after posting to Cathexis that her job was boring. A mother denied a teaching certificate for a Halloween picture. The German nightclub with years of footage sent straight to the police, and all those scanned IDs.
Genevieve told Alexandra, “Come to London. The gray will do you good.” But even through the phone, Alexandra could hear that gray alone was not the reason Genevieve suggested JFK to Heathrow, rather than the other way around.
The man had come to Genevieve pleading.
Win me anonymity.
The not anonymous was Gerald Seth, a small man, dark-haired. He’d worn a cardigan sweater. What happened was so many years ago, and it is the first result of me in searches. It is Gerald Seth fraud for pages.
I am more than who I was then.
Genevieve’s thought: he had done his time out in the scrutinous open.
The premise is the burden of history. The premise is we can change.
What are the repercussions if we can’t lose ourselves? There are laws about the age of imbibing, Genevieve was saying, but not the public permanence of personal information.
Should I suffer for whom I improved from?
“An interesting proposition,” Alexandra said.
The opposition would call witnesses to Seth’s old scams, claim knowing is a public good. But this is not a free speech issue. Let the papers print what they will. Let the papers keep their words, but do not include them in the search engine index. Information does not need to be simple as typing a name. You used to have to know where, what to search. We are after gaining the increment. Just this increment of privacy. Make the mistake harder to find, not impossible.
The EU Council had adopted the Framework Decision to protect the personal data of individuals cooperating with police and in judicial matters. Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights: right to respect of private and family life. There were the Argentine cases. Genevieve thought there might be legs after all.
“London doesn’t make sense now, and you work all the time anyway,” Alexandra said. “I’d barely see you.”
“Says who?”
“Says Angeline,” Alexandra said.
“Since when do you talk to Angeline?” Genevieve said.
“We’re Connected,” Alexandra said, “on Cathexis, just like everyone else.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right, she’s right, I’m working all the time.”
And what if Genevieve had agreed to come to New York? she thought. What then? Alexandra would not have told her about Shel, could not have. Alexandra said, “I only miss you.”
Genevieve paused. “What’s wrong? Spill it.”
“I don’t spill. I pour.”
“All right, I get it. You’re a tall glass of water. But even water babbles. Or brooks do, anyway,” adding, when Alexandra didn’t answer, “Ever thought whoever said silence speaks volumes didn’t have a cell phone?”
“Have you no respect for the classics?”
“The clichés. I call it like I see it. Sometimes, the head isn’t big-boned, Al. It’s fat.”
“Oh, but who doesn’t love the occasional platitude?”
“I’ve always thought that one ‘suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem’ was a little bonked, you know? If it’s a permanent solution, doesn’t that sound pretty viable? Why not just say that suicide is permanent; problems are temporary?”
“Because some aren’t?”
A pause. “Probably being paid by the word,” Genevieve said finally.
“That guy needs an editor,” Alexandra joined.
“A Strunk guide,” Genevieve said. Then: “Should I be afraid?”