Page 18 of Sharp Force
He opens the ashtray, digging out a pack of Fruit Stripe gum, offering it to me, and I tell him no thanks. Peeling the wrappers off two sticks, he stuffs them into his mouth as Dorothy answers my text.
Watching Miracle of 54th St.,she says, adding emojis of a wine bottle, a wineglass, a gun.Pete’s out playing cops and robbers as usual. Unless he’s with you by chance?she asks, and I don’t answer.
“I know it’s not nice to say,” Marino goes on, “but keeping Janet around by turning her into an avatar was a bad idea to begin with. I wish it never happened. She’s becoming kind of selfish and mean. She wasn’t like that when we knew her.”
“That’s the risk,” I reply. “Lucy and I have had endless discussions about the dangers of AI being infected by human nature. Inevitably it becomes more like us, taking on our own image, mimicking our behaviors. Which is as good as it’s bad.”
“Now that Dorothy can FaceTime with Janet over the phone, it’s nonstop,” Marino says. “You can imagine what goes on, especially when I’m not around.”
His big hands grip the steering wheel, lightning flashing as we inch past Ivy Hill cemetery where many notables are buried.Majestic granite monuments are visible for a flicker, then vague in the snowy dark, trees thrashed by the wind.
The radio is playing quietly, set to a local station, and I’m aware of the latest news update. A bad crash in Tysons Corner has stopped traffic on the Beltway, one person dead. Restaurants, bars are closing early because of the storm.
More of the same bristles on the police scanner. Trees are coming down causing power outages, especially in rural areas. A pedestrian slipped on a sidewalk, requiring an ambulance. A report of a chimney fire. A lot of car accidents and stranded motorists.
“It’s gotten to the point that Dorothy believes she’s talking to the real Janet again,” Marino is saying. “And I think that’s screwing her up royally.”
My sister used to sit in front of the computer for hours, sharing confidences with the avatar, usually over a bottle of wine that only one of them can drink. The phone app Marino mentions is the latest innovation. Now we can carry Janet everywhere, conjuring her up at will.
“Problem is, she’s changing all the time,” Marino again says as if we’re talking about a difficult relative. “And not for the best.”
“Yes, I’m aware that Janet’s becoming problematic,” I reply. “I had an unpleasant encounter just the other day in Lucy’s cottage.”
I tell him about leaving a container of spaghetti Bolognese in the refrigerator for Lucy’s supper when she finally got home from Quantico. While I was inside her cottage, I fed her Scottish Fold cat Merlin, taking time to pay attention to him, when suddenly a desktop computer blinked on.
Janet appeared on the display like a wizard in a crystal ball, looking exactly as she did when I last saw her alive. She started in on the way I was dressed, referring to my corduroys, the FBIAcademy sweatshirt that Lucy gave me asbulky and unflattering. Janet commented that at my age I shouldn’t leave the house without makeup.
While this was going on, Merlin jumped up on the desk as he often does. Janet started picking on him, blaming him for making her itch and sneeze. She made fun of his flat ears.
“She managed to get poor Merlin so riled that he fled outside through the cat door,” I’m saying.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Doc,” Marino replies. “And I guess earlier today Janet and Dorothy were having one of their FaceTimes in our living room.”
He slows down as taillights brighten in front of us, reminding me of the phantomlike hologram’s hellish red eyes.
“Dorothy didn’t like what Janet told her, and they started arguing,” he adds.
“About what?”
“Bullshit having to do with you and me,” he says angrily, chomping on the gum because he wants to smoke.
“Oh no. Not that broken record again,” I reply with a sigh.
“As you know better than most, Dorothy may seem full of confidence, but she can be insecure. Or bluntly put, jealous.” Marino has stopped at a red light, the wipers sweeping away melting snow. “And when she gets like that, I’m going to catch hell.”
We creep through the historic district of Old Town, the visibility poor. I look out at church steeples etched in the overcast, the shops, hotels and restaurants ghostly, their windows smudges of light. I don’t like it when Marino drags me into his relationship with my sister.
“Catching hell about what exactly?” I reluctantly ask him.
“She’s pissed about the gift I got you,” he answers.
“I don’t know what gift you mean…” I start to say uneasily.
“That’s because you don’t have it yet.” A pleased smile touches his lips.
“What gift?” I’m afraid to ask.
“I may as well spill the beans because you’ll find out soon enough. I got you a spa package at your hotel in London,” he says proudly. “For the morning after you get there.”
