Kalifornia by Marc Laidlaw Read Free Book Online Page B

plot of ‘Poppy
on the Run,’ will be shrouded in mystery.”
    No one in Alfredo’s office spoke.
    “Is this a publicity stunt dreamed up by Poppy’s producers?” the
newscaster asked. “Another plot twist awaiting resolution in a future episode?
No one is saying at this time, particularly not the program’s creator, hot new
wirist Clarence Starko. Starko is busy tonight, apparently coordinating search
efforts and comforting the infant’s mother, glamorous Poppy Figueroa.”
    And here an insert appeared, a wall-sized image of Poppy slumped
with shut eyes against a dirty brick wall, her head lolling sideways as two
halves of a silver vial fell out of her palms onto slimy asphalt.
    “My God,” Sandy whispered. “All this going on and she’s twisted?”
    “This is Newsbody Ninety, ‘Facing the Facts’ live from Snozay.”
    The image switched to another live report, a male Newsbody in a
party hat covering the bicentennial opening of a databank or yet another
habimall.
    “Whoa,” said Ferdinand. “Way tawdry. Hella dramatic.”
    Alfredo shut off the picture. Waves crashed against the wall. In
all this time, the moon had hardly moved. Yep, I’m behind this, it seemed to
say. This and every other sad, sour development.
    Alfredo turned on his sealman. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”
    Cornelius trembled visibly. Sandy moved closer and put a hand on
his shoulder. “Dad . . .”
    “I assure you, sir, I knew next to nothing. I’m as amazed as you
are to learn the details. It . . . it seems impossible.”
    “What’s wrong with her?” Alfredo asked them all. “Why won’t she
come home even now? She needs our help more than ever.”
    Ferdinand stood up, lit a kelpie, and blew yellow iodinic smoke
across the room. “Maybe she’s afraid to face you, Pop. After all, she just
wazzed your investment.”
    Alfredo slumped over his desk. “I never should have listened to
her. Giving birth in the middle of a thriller. It just isn’t done! She has the
tropes of the grand tragedians. She’s a dramatic actress, not . . . 
not a human target! This, children, is what the industry does to you when you go up against it alone. Oh,
Chevy Chase was right. Hollywood eats its young. We were so good together; we
kept each other safe and sane. That’s all Poppy knows. She can’t handle
independence. She grew up in a troupe, with a whole company to cushion her. I
tried to warn her how hard it is alone.”
    “Who listens to you?” said Miranda. “Look at yourself, skulking
around, afraid any moment someone’ll find you out and boot you out of the boss’s
chair. Are you really happy sitting here in a seascraper? Are any of us happy
since we got out of the wires?”
    “Is that what we were?” Sandy said. “Happy?”
    She sneered at him. “You were only happy when you were ozoned or
twisted, or popping your peenie in a Dyadic duo. Which was most of the time.”
    “That only happened once!” he shouted, making himself hoarse.
    Alfredo’s overdramatic sobs cut through their argument. He hung
over the desk with his face in his hands.
    “I thought Calafia would bring us back together. She was your
mother’s last project before . . . I thought it would be
like having a little bit of Marjorie here with us again.”
    “Oh, wonderful idea,” Miranda said. “A born S/R. Just the sort of
thing to take our minds off the wires. What good is that baby anyway, except to
star in her own show? How’s that gonna help us? She’s just competition. You
think anyone listened to the Beatles once they heard Ringo work solo?”
    “We . . . we have to educate her. She’ll grow
up in the company of fine actors. Just think of what she might do.”
    “She might hate us all, for starters. Excuse me, Alf, but I don’t
see you as any great paternal programmer.”
    But Alfredo was deep in a trance of delusion and hope. “She’ll be
such a beautiful child. We’ll find her, wherever she is. If there’s a
kidnapper,