Tragically I was an only twin.
—Peter Cook
“When’s Daddy coming back, Mommy?” asked Tay. She was in her pj’s, ready for bed.
“I expect he’ll be here soon.”
“He promised me he’d come back.”
“Yes,” she said, thinking he promised me the same thing once.
The doorbell rang.
“Is it Daddy?”
“No, Tay,” she said. “You stay in bed and I’ll deal with it.”
She walked through the living room and opened the door. It was a strangely handsome robot. He stared at her with one green eye and one brown.
“I’m Carlton,” he said.
“And?”
“And I’m looking for Lewis Ashby.”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh. Are you Tay’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, I’m Carlton.”
“So you said.”
Carlton was confused. He registered unfriendly, he registered unhelpful, he registered dislike.
“Do you know where Alex Muscroft is then?”
“No idea,” she said.
“Oh dear. I have to find Lewis urgently,” he said.
“And when you do,” she said, “please tell him that it’s one thing to disappoint a grown woman, but to disappoint a child is about as low as even he can get.”
“Wait, I…”
“You can tell him neither Tay nor I wish to see him again.”
“But wait, I…”
“And that goes for all three of you.”
She slammed the door.
He rang the bell again. What else could he do?
She opened the door.
“Go away,” she said.
“Look, I understand,” he said. “Comedians are very difficult to live with. They are needier than kids. Well, they are created by abandoning mothers, you see. What does Lewis say? ‘A fool and his mummy are easily parted.’ That’s witty.”
“Is it?” she said.
“Oh yes, very, and it’s true too. You see, the White Face uses his wit to hide from relationships, which is probably why you are so mad at Lewis.”
“Have you finished?”
“Not quite. I can cure him.”
“What?”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “I have just completed my Theory of Comedy and I know its place and function in the Universe. I’m going to win a Nobel Prize.”
“Aha,” she said.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said. “It’s a big secret. As a matter of fact, they’re already after me.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “Are you on medication?”
“I’m a droid,” he said. “We don’t do drugs.”
“Carlton!” A small six-year-old bundle came flying into his arms.
“You’re okay,” she said. “They fixed you. I’m so happy.”
“Carlton’s just leaving,” said her mother. “He has important work on the Universe to get on with.”
He missed the irony, of course.
“Can’t I show him my drawings?”
“Not now, sweetie.”
“Oh please, Mom? Please, may I?”
Carlton caught a glimpse of Bethany looking over his shoulder at something. She frowned a second. What had she seen? Was it something on the screen? It seemed to change her mind.
“All right, sweetie. But take him in the bedroom, will you?”
He was puzzled by this sudden change of attitude.
“C’mon, Carlton,” said Tay, “last one there’s a rotten egg.”
She pulled him by the hand into the tiny bedroom. Then she flung herself into a closet, emerging triumphantly with an electronic scratch pad. She made him sit down, then she climbed on his lap and showed him her work. She had done freehand drawings of the Johnnie Ray. They were surprisingly good.
“This is Daddy and me. This is Katy and Alex. And this is you.”
He saw himself stretched out on the side of the escape vehicle. The moment of truth. The moment of levity.
“Tay,” he said. “One day you’re going to be so proud of me.”
“You can keep it if you like.”
“It’s fabulous,” said Carlton.
In the next room he heard her mother making a call. He turned up the volume on his ears. The walls were thin. He could hear clearly. She was speaking to someone in authority. “Yes. He’s here. No, he doesn’t. Yes. I’ll try.”
As he entered the living room, she jumped up a little too fast.
“Going so soon?” she said.
“Yes, I have to,” said Carlton.
“Carlton, where you going?” asked Tay. “You just got here.”
“I gotta run.”
“Why?”
“Ask your mom.”
“Why, Mommy? Why does he have to go?”
“Because the police are after him, Tay,” she said levelly.
“Not the police,” said Carlton. “Security.”
“Whatever. Either way he won’t get far.”
“Well, take care, Tay.”
“I love you, Carlton.”
Wow, he thought, she said the love thing.
“I love you too, Tay.”
“Why don’t you just wait till they come pick you up?” said Bethany. “I’m sure they can fix you.”
“I don’t need fixing,” he said.
He stepped on and off several elevators at random. Up, down, across. After about half an hour of this he thought they would be lucky to pick him up. He realized he didn’t have a clue what to do next. The situation was alarming. Alex and Lewis were missing. He was being hunted like an animal and it wasn’t the least bit funny. If he could at least find Katy Wallace. But how was he going to do that?
He was wandering aimlessly down the endless hotel corridors when he had an idea. Several of the doors to the suites were open and the bedbots were busy cleaning out the rooms. Inside one he spotted a huge vase of flowers still in its wrapping. He slipped inside and picked up the bouquet. He walked down the corridor, then knocked on a half-open door. A bedbot was busy vacuuming.
“Excuse me.” He did his best to hide behind the flowers.
“Yes, honey?”
“Flowers for Miss Wallace.”
“Who you want?”
“These are for Miss Wallace.”
“No Miss Wallace here, hon.”
She looked at her electronic list. “Katy Wallace?”
“That’s it.”
“Oh brother, have you got the wrong address. She’s way the hell over from here. 1442C, Blue Tower.”
“Thank you,” said Carlton. “Oh, and Alex Muscroft?”
“Muscroft?”
“Yes.”
She consulted the list again. “No Muscroft down here.”
“Oh I see,” said Carlton. “Is there any way of finding where he might be?”
“Could be in one of the camps,” said the bedbot. “They still haven’t got a complete list. Unless he’s in jail.”
“There’s a jail?”
“There’s a secure area below the theater. They have a number of high-security suites, but we never get the names of the occupants. At the moment it’s showing two single males.”
Oh boy. “Thank you,” he said.
“Oh, not at all. Nice to meet you, Carlton.”
He looked startled.
“You know if you are going to avoid recycling, you really should do something about your appearance.”
“Come again?”
“Adopt some form of disguise.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, honey. Something unexpected.”
He sighed. He hated dressing up. But she was right. After all, the future of his great work on comedy was at stake and he’d better do something to secure it. He stopped at a com. port and inserted his finger.
“Destination?”
“Rogers. No return address.”
“Ready for download,” said the machine.