The Convention
Darling Nikki
Sawyer walks upstairs to the public area. Looking around, he eyes the low-level controllers, telling them apart from the sci-fi geeks and willing victims with the ease of long practice. He still does’t understand why people are willing to give themselves up so easily, but popularity has its privileges. None of them are worth more than a moment’ s look, but he scans the crowd constantly until he finds who he’s looking for by the plain, almost severe, cut of her clothes, the tightly crossed arms across her chest, and the wild chestnut curls that cascade high on her head and over her shoulders. He taps her on the shoulder. She whirls with a sour set already to her mouth that twists further into a scowl when she recognizes her father.
“Well, if it isn’t the Amazing Boffo. I was wondering when you were going to show up. I’m disappointed- no puffs of smoke, not even an assistant wearing so few clothes she should be arrested,” Nicky says, rolling her eyes. When she got the letter summoning her to the convention, she first thought it was a joke, but there was nothing funny about the threatening phone calls she received until she sent her confirmation. As much as she tries to deny it, she understands now that she’s a controller, which means that she has a responsibility to appear at the convention every year. It’s not a label she wears willingly. All she wants is to be left alone with her six-figure advertising job, her loving husband, and her two beautiful children, who will hopefully never find out how sick and perverted their grandfather is.
“Love you too, sweetheart,” Sawyer says with all the sarcasm he can muster. Glad you finally answered the letter- we got a lot to catch up on.”
“Can’t I just be left alone? Just because I have the bad luck to be your daughter doesn’t mean that I want anything to do with this mess,” Nicky snaps at him, watching some of the blank-faced bimbos walking by her with an exquisite look of horror on her face.
“Well, except you already are thanks to your work with Mr. Stepford,” Sawyer says with a chuckle.
“His name is Steve! And that was the only time I used... what you taught me. Not that I’d do it again even if I could remember how to do it.” She blushes as she says this, a little embarrassed at her role and a little embarrassed because she remembers how she took him down so far, and it’s not the kind of thing a woman talks to her father about, even if she knows he’s seen far more and done worse.
“Darlin’, I see your problem. You’re supposed to make him forget everything that happened, not yourself,” Sawyer says with a chuckle.
“You know what I mean.”
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re not proud to be a class 1 mind controller? You should be. Means you can use your abilities in a way that ain’t too destructive- maybe to one person at most. I’m sure you’ve read “Stupid Husband Tricks” in one of them fashion magazines the girls like. I still say those are written by and meant for controllers just like you.”
“Oh my God. Dad. Just because I had a way, once to ensure that Steve doesn’t cheat on me ever again doesn’t make me one of them!” Nicky protests, poiting to the large frat boy passig them with a cheerleader hanging on each arm, eyes aimed straight for his crotch.
“Never said you were, darlin’. We’d classify that boy as a class two controller. Private cult’s the official name, but most folks just call ‘em harem boys... and girls, though there’s few enough girls who stick at class 2- most either get more ambitious and move up a notch on the scale, or they find one they like and settle down to a class 1 lifestyle with the one who liked it the most. Oh, yes, free will goes a long way towards takin’ away free will at these levels. ‘Cept for a call remindin’ them to keep their thralls well fed, use protection, and not bite off more’n they can chew, we don’t care much ‘bout classes one and two. There’re bigger fish to fry.”
“What in the hell are you on about?” Nicky snaps.
“I’m saying that your Stepford boy still loves you and felt bad about cheatin’ on you, and if you wanted to be in control to stay together, and if that’s what it took... well, it was what it took, and you weren’t the only one to agree to it. You should be lucky your momma felt the same way... though we always argued ‘bout who got the better of who that night ‘til the day she died.”
“I didn’t need to hear that. And I thought that was all because the condom broke and Mom was just making sure it never happened again,” Nicky says with a greenish tinge around her lips.
“Naw, but that happened a long time ago. That uncle of yours wasn’t quite your uncle,” Sawyer says. He leaves a dramatic pause.
Nicky fills it before he can go on. ”That I figured out. If he’d really been your brother, I wouldn’t be here ‘cause he would have killed you bfore you turned ten for that sense of humor.”
“You say the sweetest things, darlin’. He got my poker skills, not my charm the way you did. Unless that’s how you got the money for that rock that’s ridin’ your finger,” Sawyer says with a smirk.
“Like that’s your business. Ugh, the idea of two controllers as a couple makes my stomach turn. At least you two just made sure I always did my homework,” Nicky says, shuddering at the possibilities.
“Down at classes one and two, it’s more common than you think. Folks like the challenge, and it keeps things interesting. Protects the public a bit too, unless both folks are in the mood for somethin’.” He waves at the young couple at the National Cheerleading Association booth, under the Save the Cheerleaders... SAVE THE WORLD! banner, and the brunette cheerleader in glasses waves back. “Which one of you’s leading today?”
The couple smirks and each points at the other. Sawyer laughs. “Such a cute couple.” Nicky scratches her head in confusion. Sawyer catches that and goes on, ”Your kind of controller’s just as cute as a button. I needed to show you that there ain’t nothin’ wrong with being who you are. But most of these folks, even the class 1 guys, aren’t that kind, not even the bar mongers who just bag the prettiest girl in every town and move on the next morning. Look around and you’ll see what I mean- why d’you think I came as your escort? I know you’re not thrilled with me being around.”
Nicky takes the opportunity to circulate a little bit. Sawyer follows at a safe enough distance that he can make sure she does’t get drawn in by one of the less ethical guys but far enough that she doesn’t feel hovered over. She stops by one booth and strikes up a conversation with a striking, but very fierce-looking, brunette in a Chargers jersey. He chuckles, recognizing who the brunette is here with by the number on her jersey, and waits while the two women chat.
“I wasn’t expcting to find a tomboy like Jennifer here. Should we protect her? She looks like the kind of girl most of the guys here would like to turn into a bimbo, and I think she’s better than that.”
Sawyer can’t control himself, though he’s never tried very hard. “You mean Jennie Jacoby?” he asks, ducking as Jennifer’s hand sails over his head.
“Oh, dear. I told you not to call her that. You’re lucky she didn’t tackle you,” a young man says, strolling over.
“He’d enjoy that too much, dear. Besides, he’s got enough punishment to deal with. How much do the Rams suck? Well, I don’t know the exact amount, but I’m pretty sure it’s more than a few of the hoochies here,” Jennifer declared with a gloating smile.
“Oh, you know these people?” Nicky says, sounding disappointed.
“Thomas Farnsworth, the cable guy,” the man introduces himself with a smile and a slight bow. “Unlike most men, I’m not interested in a woman who’s more interested in makeup than eyeblack, so when I met Jennifer, I simply had no choice but to resort to drastic methods to, well...”
“Teach me about football!” Jennifer interrupts, kissing her husband with such sigle-minded passion that her presence at the convention makes sudden, disheartening sense to Nicky.
“So is this your new controller- er, daughter?” Thomas asks once Jennifer gives him his tongue back.
“Nicky? Sure is, though she ain’t exactly what I’d call new. First time here, though. Ain’t fallen too far from the tree, if I do say so myself,” Saywer says. Nicky’s surprised at the note of pride in his voice, but ignores it.
“Don’t let him fool you. I’m nothing like him,” she says brusquely.
“Then I pity you, my dear lady.”
She ignores that as well. “So why do you let people call you the cable guy? Kind of makes me thik you should be doing bad comedy routines.”
“Well, I’m retired now, but when I was in college, I found a way to make a cathode ray tube make TV really interesting. But since I’ve found my Jennifer, we’re as happy as can be, especially when the Chargers win, so there’s no need for it aymore,” Thomas explains with a smile, seemingly oblivious at what his words have implied about Jennifer, and Nicky looks at the woman in the football jersey with newfound alarm.
As Sawyer and Nicky leave the booth, he explains, “He’s not a bad person, even by most standards, but I don’t know if he recalls that Jennifer was ever Jennie. He dated her without ever using his gadget-only used it for one-night stands and wanted to see if he could keep one without resorting to that- but he wanted her to appreciate football the way he did, so he had her watch a few games on his special TV, and they’ve lived happily ever after since.”
Nicky shudders. “Must suck for him at dinnertime,” she says. “Men like that wouldn’t know a ladle from a turkey baster.”
“That’s ‘cause you’ve never had her barbeque. Some of the best I’ve ever eaten.” His face turns serious, something Nicky really isn’t used to. “Y’know how they say ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’? Well, he’s a friend of mine ‘cause I don’t want his ability getting out into the open. He’s got a dangerous weapon there, if he wanted to use it. Good thing is that he’s happy to be a family man, and a hard-nosed, career minded woman... I don’t have to tell you what it does for the ol’ wallet, do I? Did he do what you think he did? He sure did, and it’s wrong as it can be, but the thing is, here it can always be worse. Since he didn’t do worse, he’s a colleague, not a criminal.”
“Nice standards you keep,” Nicky says sarcastically as she starts to look around at the other booths.
“Mind you that these are the public displays of some real bad hombres. We don’t even start carin’ more than a phone call and a box of condoms ‘til halfway through class 3- public cults. If you’re there just to make money and run a real business, that’s fine. Beyond that, we’re gonna tango.”
“So class 3 is the worst?” Nicky asks.
“Darlin’, my hair wouldn’t be half as white and I’d be doin’ cartwheels down the center aisle if class 3 were the worst of my problems. Scale goes up to six. Four’s where you find the ‘pragmatic’ cults- colleges, websites, Hollywood studios who use their thralls as a means to suck others in to make money. That’s the fine line between 3 and 4- 3 keeps it behind the walls, 4 has little tendrils to bring in the consumer. Then you got class 5, which erases everyone into the same kind of slave labor- beehives and anthills, we call ‘em, depending on what they do. You figure out the next step up-or down, as the case may be- from there.”
Nicky’s face is blank, and Sawyer sighs. “What’s the one thing worse you can do to a person than turn ‘em into a slave? At least a slave’s still a person, more or less, sort of, though some folks tread the line mighty thin there. No, the worst thing you can do is turn ‘em into a commodity, a thing to sell. That’s class 6. The ones everyone knows are class 6 don’t even show their faces here, they’re such outcasts.” There’s a bite to Sawyer’s voice that Nicky’s not used to hearing, and she starts to wonder if he’s not what she thought he was.
“Maybe you’re not a complete asshole, but I’m starting to wonder if you’re a complete loon,” she says, refusing to admit anything.
“Never said I wasn’t cracked in the head. But lemme show you what we’re looking for, and maybe if you get into this angle of the family business, you’ll set to work on ‘em,” he says, and he leads her over to the long autograph line for the Diva Wrestling Alliance. Nicky rolls her eyes at the overly busty ‘wrestlers’ signing for men and a few (likely mindwiped) blondes. All of them wore revealing outfits based on their gimmicks, and of course every gimmick was a double entendre.
“Of course you’d take me to wrestling,” Nicky grumbles. “I always knew you wanted a son.”
“We can talk ‘bout your inferiority complex later. Right now, you want to prove you’re my true daughter, you look closer at these gals and see if you can spot what I already know ‘bout them.”
Nicky, stung by the challenge, pays close attention to the women across the table. All of them have the Diva collar around their neck, each in a style that goes with their gimmick, to show their ownership. She reads off the names and tries not to blush when Hooker TJ thinks she’s looking closely for a different reason. She raises her eyes from the table and gets a look at their promoter, a deeply tanned man with a bleach blonde buzz cut. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, which only enhances the effect of his glowing white suit and broad, cocky smile.
There’s another table nearby, which the man in the suit is holding court at, with a rack of pink exercise suits behind it and a long line of women holding resumes in front of it. “I know we’re dealing with a lot of people who don’t have much in the way of brains anymore, but those women have got to know that they’re signing up to become one of those,” Nicky says, pointing at the autograph table.
“Some don’t. Some don’t care. And then you got the ones runnin’ like their ass is on fire and the Old Scratch is comin’ after them with his very own pitchfork,” Sawyer replies in a deeper country drawl than usual, indicating several women with repulsed expressions leaving the table. “That gent there, and I do use the term as loosely as I can, is Eric Vincent, one of the best known promoters in the wrasslin’ business. These here are his Divas- out of work female athletes who need a quick buck and think it’s easy money to keep them goin’ ‘til the next tryout or meet or what-have-you. Plainly, that ain’t the case, or he wouldn’t be set up here. Those Divas ain’t got a lick of sense left in their heads, and they’d do anything for Eric, but under all the accessories, they still got the strength and pain tolerance to wrassle effectively. It’s just—”
“Hint gotten,” Nicky says impatiently. She looks over the women signing autographs. Something about the steel in “Ima Ho”’s eyes as she signs next to her tag team “sister” Ura, sets off a stray memory. “Hey, dad, Ima Ho—”
“Shit! Who’s got the mind zapper? Lemme at ‘em, lemme at ‘em!”
“I mean the wrestler.”
“I knew that,” Sawyer says without missing a beat.
“Why does she look familiar?” Nicky continues, hooking a thumb at the black woman whose beauty is obvious even under tons of makeup and silicone.
“I see you remember all those LSU games you used to let me take you to ‘fore you started hating me.”
“Oh my God. You don’t mean that that’s—”
“Allison White? ‘Fraid so. Figured it out ‘bout six months ago when all the pieces finally came together. Good news is that she ain’t doin’ so well.”
“Why is that good news? So he can stick her in a mask, throw her off the roof, and at least put her out of her misery?”
“Hell no! She ain’t doin’ so well ‘cause she won’t let no one hold her down for more’n three seconds. She does great in the ring, but that ain’t a good number for the sack. I missed your birthday this year, didn’t I? So let your dear ol’ dad get you a present,” Sawyer says with a smile. He waves at Eric, who comes out with a gleam in his eye, but something cautious in his demeanor.
“Hey there, Sawyer? How’s it going?” he asks with a broad smile that’s even more obviously fake than all the implants at the table.”
“Real well. See that New Talent Initiative of yours is goin’ smooth. Got any jobbers to retire?” Sawyer replies easily.
“You can take Ima. Bitch doesn’t know her role at all. It’s still real to her, damnit,” Eric replies with a chuckle. Nicky bites her nails to avoid saying anything she might regret later, even though the idea of picking up a table and pounding him into a paste is starting to seem like a better idea all the time. What’s worse is how comfortable her father seems with this level of lowlife, and she wonders if he’s just been spinning more lies to make her believe in him again.
“Well, don’t that mean your conditioning’s holdin’? Thought that was the point of the DWA- your girls believe it’s all real and wrassle like it,” Sawyer replies. No one else would have heard it, but Nicky recognizes the edge in his words that hides real anger and disgust.
Eric rolls his eyes as if questioning whether Sawyer’s slipped into senility or not. “I mean she doesn’t get the “Ima Ho” part. She’ll kick out after two to our boys, and backstage fan relations make me five times as much as the gate. I can’t have that! I can find someone else for the gimmick.”
“I’ll give you ten and take her off your hands. I’m feelin’ generously inclined today thanks to the kind presence of my darlin’ daughter here, so I’ll throw in some advice for free. That big black girl you’re signin’ up? In the red and blue? Bad idea. She’s already someone else’s, and I don’t reckon you’re ready for a real fight where the results ain’t been scripted.”
“Mind your own business, old man. I’ll take your ten, but I don’t need your advice,” Eric replies, taking the check Sawyer writes for ten thousand dollars. “Hey, ho, let’s go!” he orders Ima Ho, and she gets out of her chair and comes over to Sawyer. Sawyer conceals the flinch well; Nicky’s the only one who would recognize it.
“G’wan downstairs to the ethics booth,” he says gently to the former wrestler, and she follows her instructions perfectly. He walks back over to Nicky and whistles, looking back at the tall black woman in red and blue being measured for her wrestling gear. “Thing of it is, I wasn’t tryin’ to warn him ‘bout her athletic department,” he mutters.
“Can we go back to the part where you just bought someone?” Nicky interrupts sharply.
“’fraid so. Technically, I bought her contract from DWA, to avoid human trafficking laws. She’s already made him a pile more than that, and I can write it off. She’ll be Allison White again in less than a month, I can promise you that. The bigger issue’s her body, not her brain- but if you come downstairs later, you can see that for yourself. Now, that woman I tried to warn him off... if you decide you wanna get into the family business on this case, you’ll have a real eager assistant, though I don’t know if she’ll be much use after you pull the woman out.” Sawyer sighs. “I know this is a lot more’n you expected from this. But you have to know what you are, and what I am, and what’s out there. I ain’t evil, just a good kind of bad, but I’d be honored to have you dealin’ with the evil by my side.”
“I’ll think about it,” Nicky says. “Someone’s got to do something about all this, but I have a family to think about. I... have to go.” She walks away, tightly focused and not tempted by any of the booths.
Sawyer smiles, knowing that she’ll be back.