The Best of World SF Lavie Tidhar (me reader .TXT) 📖

‘You take forever in the shower. Your hair’s not even dirty. Why would you need to get in the shower?’

Amelia did not reply. She changed course, headed into the bedroom, and slipped under the covers. On the other bed, her niece played a game on her cell phone. Its repetitive bop-bop sound allowed for neither sleep nor coherent thoughts.

2

Amelia took her nieces to school, which meant an annoying elbowing in and out of a crowded bus, plus the masterful avoiding of men who tried to touch her ass. Marta insisted that the girls needed to be picked up and dropped off from school, even though Karina was 11 and could catch the school transport together with her little sister, no problem. It was just a modest fee for this privilege.

Amelia thought Marta demanded she perform this task as a way to demonstrate her power.

When Amelia returned from dropping off the girls, she took the shower that had been forbidden her the previous night. Afterward, she cooked a quick meal for the family and left it in the refrigerator – this was another of the tasks she had to execute, along with the drop-offs and pick-ups. Again, she boarded a bus, squeezed tight next to two men, the smell of cheap cologne clogging her nostrils, and got off near the Diana.

Fernanda was characteristically laggard, strolling into the restaurant half an hour late. She did not apologize for the delay. She sat down, ordered a salad after reading the menu twice, and smiled at Amelia.

‘I have met the most excellent massage therapist,’ Fernanda said. This was her favorite adjective. She had many, employed them generously. ‘He got rid of that pain in my back. I told you about it, didn’t I? Between the shoulder blades. And the most excellent…’

She droned on. Fernanda and Amelia did not meet often anymore, but when they did, Amelia had to listen patiently about all the wonderful, amazing, super-awesome people Fernanda knew, the cool-brilliant-mega hobbies she was busying herself with, and the delightful-darling-divine trips she’d taken recently. It was pretty much the same structure as her visits with Lucía, the old woman discussing her movies while Amelia watched the ice cubes in her glass melt.

It made her feel cheap and irritated, but Fernanda footed their lunch bills and she had lent money to Amelia on previous occasions. Right now, she was wondering if she should ask for a bit of cash or bite her tongue.

Amelia, who didn’t drink regularly in restaurants (who would with these prices?), ordered a martini to pass the time. Fernanda was already on her second one. She drank a lot but only when her husband wasn’t looking. He was ugly, grouchy and wealthy. The last attribute was the only one that mattered to Fernanda.

‘So, what are you doing now?’ Fernanda asked. Her smile was blinding, her hair painted an off-putting shade of blonde, her dark roots showing. Not Brigitte Bardot – bouts of movie-watching with Lucía were giving Amelia a sense of film history – but a straw-like color that wasn’t bold, just boring. Every woman of a certain age had that hair color. They’d copied it off a celebrity who had a nightly variety show. No brunettes on TV. Pale skin and fair hair were paramount.

‘This and that,’ Amelia replied.

‘You’re not working? Don’t tell me you’re still doing that awful-terrible rent-a-friend thing,’ Fernanda said, looking surprised.

‘Yes. Although, I wanted to ask if you hadn’t heard of anything that might suit me…’

‘Well… your field, it’s not really my line of work,’ Fernanda replied.

Not that Fernanda had a line of work. As far as Amelia knew, all she did was stay married, her bills paid by her dick of a husband. Amelia, on the other hand, since dropping out of university, had done nothing but work. A series of idiotic, poorly paying and increasingly frustrating gigs. There was no such thing as full-time work for someone like her. Perhaps if she’d stuck with her studies, it might have been different, but when her mother got sick, she had to drop out and become her caretaker. And afterward, when her mother passed away, it wasn’t like she could get her scholarship back.

‘I do almost anything,’ Amelia said with a shrug. ‘Perhaps something in your husband’s office?’

‘There’s nothing there,’ Fernanda said, too quickly.

There was likely something reserved for Fernanda’s intimate friends. Amelia had once counted herself amongst those ‘excellent’ people. When they’d been in school together, Amelia had written a few term papers for Fernanda and that had made her useful. She’d also dated Elías Bertoliat, which had increased her standing amongst their cohort. That had gone to hell. He’d ghosted her, about two months after she’d dropped out of school, and returned to Monterrey.

Amelia was more devalued than the Mexican peso.

She looked at the bread basket, not wishing to lay her eyes on her so-called friend. She really didn’t want to ask for money (it made her feel like shit), but of course that was the one reason why she was sitting at the restaurant.

‘Anastasia Brito might be looking for someone like you,’ Fernanda said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had descended between them.

Amelia frowned. Anastasia had gone to the same university, but she’d been an art student while Amelia dallied in land-and-food systems, looking forward to a career as an urban farmer.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘She’s going through a phase. She has an art show in a couple of weeks. The theme is ‘meat’, but after that, she said she’s going to focus on plants and she’ll be needing genetically modified ones. It might be your thing.’

It was indeed. After her chances at university soured up, Amelia had taken a few short-term courses in plant modification at a small-fry school. All she’d been able to do with that was get a gig at an illegal marijuana operation. Non-sanctioned, highly modified marijuana plants. It paid on time, but Amelia chickened out after a raid. You couldn’t fly to Mars if your police certificate wasn’t clean.