What goes around

Tonight, I will be getting married at midnight. The poor guy just doesn't know it, yet. I caught sight of myself reflected in the copper elevator door of the luxury hotel, Wynn Las Vegas. Wearing not quite a bridal outfit. Red latex dress and black velvet choker, to hide my barcode, I look so young. Young? Not really. I’m 52 but I look 25. And I will forever.

I'm a much improved version of me when I was 25, back in the 90s. But there’s a certain something left of my face, like the shock of recognition you get when you glimpse your mother's face for a split second in your own reflection. I have to say, the surgeon did a perfect job. Hair and hips. Eyes, nose, lips. But natural looking. When the physicist rebuilt my 'brain', if we can call it that, she added programming for fluency in French, Polish, and Mandarin to my original two (English and Italian). I'm linguist, mathematician, a bit of a poet, and all the knowledge of the world is accessible to me through my manufactured neurons. But I know what’s acceptable in this world, so I don’t let anyone know. I can play dumb with the best of them.

The elevator doors opened. My timing was immaculate. There he was, coming across the lobby. My man. He was in his 50s, paunchy and balding; expensive but understated; the suit cut just so; and Italian leather shoes. He’d wear nothing else to a Vineyards International meeting. He was the CEO. He owns 51% of the stock.

I caught his eye and he stared at me. My stomach clenched. Did he recognize me? I breathed deep. No chance! No one could possibly tell who I used to be. And yet, I didn’t feel that safe.

But no worries. My unsuspecting victim was lured like an insect towards what he thought was a sweet flower, not realising I was a Venus Flytrap. He came closer and sensed no danger. My sensors, on the other hand, were turned up to maximum. I detected his pupil dilation, mild sweating, and elevated blood pressure as he fell right into lust. I ‘accidently’ dropped a file folder at his feet.

“Oh no!” I cried, a maiden in distress.

He stopped, stared at the papers on the ground that read The Renaissance of the original Blackbird Merlot. Relive everything you remember and thought you had forgotten in this luscious wine. Only available at Little Blackbird Vineyards, California.

“Yes, I remember when Merlot was queen of wine!” He gazed at me. “The sweet note of plum and the echo of chocolate. The high alcohol content! And then it just got too popular for its own good.”

“Not really the case, was it?” I replied in a charming and not aggressive manner. I had remembered to adjust my dial, so my English was accented with just enough Italian to sound seductive and a bit challenging. (Didn't want to be too easy.) “You vintners spoilt everything that made this wine special, over produced her, and then killed her!”

“Not fair at all, Miss…….?”

“Renata. Merle Renata.” I shook his hand and simultaneously released a burst of artificial pheromones from my hair. I launched into my spiel. “Little Blackbird is on the rise! I am networking here to do some re-education and knock off a few socks. We’ve rediscovered a hidden secret of the merlot grape and our new wines have come out top rated in both Tuscany and the Napa Valley. We’re ready to reintroduce her, revitalised, to the world!”

He laughed. My registers noted his micro expressions. He was intrigued but was pretending he wasn’t. Can’t fool me! Anyway I had spent the last month hacking his emails and board minutes, so I knew full well this was his holy grail, the re-elevation of Merlot.

He also could not hide his interest that went way beyond Merlot as he flicked his eyes over my tight, dark red dress. It had in fact literally been sprayed on.

“I don’t remember seeing you earlier.” He licked his lips and grinned, acting like he’d panned for gold and found a nugget. He held out his hand, “Daniel Walker,” he murmured, “CEO of Vineyard International.”

I opened my mouth wide and made an orgasmic sigh. “How fortunate, Mr. Walker, to bump into you!”

“We need to talk. Can I buy you a drink in the bar?”

The bar was sparkling with crystal chandeliers and soothing with smooch music.

“How about a nice glass of Merlot?” he smirked.

“I only drink Petrus,” I stated. “The best Merlot from Bordeaux,” I added unnecessarily.

It was a bit like throwing down the gauntlet. He tried to read me. Was I joking or was it a challenge? He knew as well as I did, that was the top end merlot grape wine that costs $3,370.80 for a 750ml bottle. Plus tax.

Daniel Walker ordered and waved off the waiter. He then pulled out his business card and tossed it on the table in front of me. He couldn’t wait to start bragging about his wine empire.

“Maybe I've a position for you. How about becoming a marketing assistant for us instead of slaving away for Blackbird? I’ll triple your salary.” He reached for my hand and squeezed. “And for an extra bonus, if you want to share any and all about their research at Blackbird well…. ”

“Ah Daniel, where's the foreplay? Where's the finesse? And exactly what do you mean? You’re asking me to do espionage on my own company! A company poised to win big in the best wine stakes, you'll see!”

He was so embarrassed, it was charming. But he soon rallied. I just smiled, holding eye contact extra long.

“Can we have dinner,” he suggested. “I’m starving. But mostly I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Is this business or,” I looked down shyly at my un-ringed fingers, “is this a date?”

I remembered that expression of his, a cross between a wolf and a racoon. “It’s a date. If you say yes.” He chuckled in a knowing way and ran his fingers up my arm. “You are unbelievable. A perfect 10!”

Bait taken, swallowed in fact. Time to reel him in. I did a shy smile, chin tilted down, eyes fluttering up.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’ll have to admit Daniel, I’ve had a crush on you since I saw you present awards at the Vintners’ Ball last year! There’s just something about you.”

“As long as it’s not just my wallet.” But his hand shook a little as he lifted his wineglass to taste the uncorked Petrus. He nodded at the sommelier, who then filled my glass. Both of us allowed our eyes to drift out of focus as we sipped and the wine hit every pleasure centre in our bodies. We grinned at each other.

“I’ve always been attracted to mature successful men.” I briefly touched his hand as if the wine had pulled down my defences. Then pulled back as if burnt.

“Got a boyfriend?” he asked but I read he didn’t care whether I did or not. He was ready to brand me as his.

“Are you married?” I replied making my eyes round as if teetering on the edge of a cliff for an answer that might send me over the edge if it was yes.

My software registered his micro expressions that went from glee to sad and regretful.

“My wife, Crystal, died, four years ago. Today’s the anniversary.” He wiped his face with the bright red napkin. “It was a tragic accident. We were skiing in the French Alps and she took a fall. It was quite a drop and the snow was deep. A storm blew up right after that and,” he blew his nose, “her body was never recovered.”

I wanted to press my button that made the sound of Oscar night applause. He was good.

I arranged my face appropriately. “She must have been so young.”

“She was 48”.

“Any children?”

“One daughter. She is a big disappointment I can tell you. She lives in Italy. Married to some old fool with lots of money. She accused me of all sorts when her mother died. We don’t speak.”

I could feel myself losing it, emotions pounded in my brain, my entire body start to shake and I was thankful that the skin grafts and lightweight scaffolding that replaced most of my bones, kept my body in perfect stillness. He read the expression in my eyes as empathy, not rage. He missed my tempest of emotion that made me want to lean over and grab him by the neck with my reinforced super strong hands.

Wait, I warned myself. I must now soulfully meet him in his so-called pain. And as the evening progressed, I charmed and laughed and touched his arm in such a bold way and pretended to be embarrassed by my own forwardness.

He was on my petals and my Venus Fly Trap self was getting ready to snap shut.

“Would you like to drive up to Little Blackbird Vineyard in the morning to savour my new Merlot?"

He nodded his agreement. He couldn't keep his hands off me. We stayed up all night long. He sang, "Going to the Chapel and we're going to get married!" And I joined in, "Going to the Chapel of Love." We kiss.

*****************

The California Mail

Tragedy strikes. Daniel Walker, multi-millionaire and CEO of Vineyards International, killed in the Mojave.

Daniel Walker, CEO of the wine business inherited from his tragically deceased wife Crystal Charme, drove his car off the desert road outside of Las Vegas at 3am this morning. The car and Walker were a write off. He had married his new love, Merle Renata, at midnight, just hours earlier, in the Chapel of Love, Las Vegas. She was the only passenger in the car and amazingly escaped unharmed. Left to mourn is his daughter, Suzette Walker, a scientist at Android Labs, Rome.

*****************

At dawn’s first light, we had hit the road, leaving the Chapel of Love behind us. We had become Mr. and Mrs. He had been full of himself.

“I feel like a teenager again!. But we were meant to be. I feel like I’ve known you all my life! Even though I’ve never met you before!”

“Well Daniel you’re right about most of that but, ” I had teased, “we did met before!"

I had watched him raking through his memory, going through his list of former flings and flirtations with buyers, assistants, and wine tasters. "No, I wouldn't have ever forgotten a girl like you!"

I suddenly had switched my dial to a playback of my old voice. I always had a nice Boston accent.

“Are you completely sure, Danny Boy?” I always used to call him that, back in the 90s. Back in the 90s, we were so in love.

His face!

“Crystal?” He had stared at me then began wheezing and clutching his chest. “How on Earth?” His eyes had bulged out of his face.

“Yes, I once was silly little Crystal. Your poor wifey. You remember, the one you shoved down the side of Mount Blanc so you could run off with that girl not much older than our daughter and grab my business into the bargain.”

“No it can’t ….how? God, the pain! I think it's a heart attack!” He had struggled in vain to catch his breath and took both hands off the steering wheel. I leaned over and took charge.

“Get your foot off the gas!” I yelled.

He had managed that and I had steered the car off the road but unfortunately, at speed, we hit a humongous saguaro cactus. It had gone right through the windshield. Those horrible cactus spikes went everywhere. Fortunately, my artificial skin, although indistinguishable from the original, is impermeable.

“Oh dear! Are you ok?”

I had been amazed to see he was still conscious. “How can it be you, Crystal?” he had sobbed. “And what about the Merlot?”

“Well Dan, the truth is, there is no new Merlot. I don’t own Little Blackbird Vineyards. Nobody does because it doesn’t exist. Nice to know that I get Vineyards International back since you stole it from me though." I just couldn't stop myself from laughing. "And I also own Rebuild and Renew, Stay Young For Ever, my AI company. I'm the first augmented human re-model, Merle Renata, straight from the lab. As you were so quick to notice, I am perfect, a perfect 10. What goes around, comes around, don't you know?"