Virtual Virgin

Godfrey’s head shook from side to side in a maybe-maybe not manner. “In a way. In another way, it depends upon what we CinSims are exposed to, as I’d mentioned.”

“You’re like children, then? You can learn and develop a sense of self?”

“It depends on the sophistication of our underlayment, as it were. On what we’re exposed to in our environments.”

“And if that environment is an elaborate brothel?”

“Oh, dear. Not my style. However, all Hollywood was an elaborate brothel when it came to female actors.”

“And Delilah isn’t catering to Hector Nightwine when she dresses up to see him?”

“The master is a viewer, not a doer. What harm does it do to invoke his favorite things?”

He glanced up at a callboard. “I see the office light is on. That means I should install you in the home theater. Any particular beverage you crave? Nick Charles would recommend oodles of Boodles for a three-hour film like Metropolis.”

Ric shook his head in defeat. “Whatever you deem appropriate, Godfrey. You’re the perfect gentleman’s gentleman.”

DELILAH WAS WAITING for him against a background of looming doors of gilt and carved wood, the pale purple of her forties frock intensifying the dramatic effect of her blue eyes and black hair.

“I’m supposed to pay attention to a movie?” Ric asked as he came up to her.

“I know what you guys go for in darkened movie theaters. Really, Ric, you have to pay attention to the film. This is an investigative outing.”

“If you say so.” He pulled the huge door handle open and they walked into what resembled a gigantic vintage jukebox, uplit columns and arches of intricately carved glass in luminous colors of poison green, hot orange, vivid red, and neon purple.

The theater house was a sea of red-velvet wave after wave of seat backs, enough to accommodate a couple hundred.

“All this for us?” Ric asked.

“All this is for Hector’s aesthetic sense. I guessed from your morning activities you’d rather be obligated to Hector Nightwine than Snow.”

“I’d rather be obligated to no one.”

She led him halfway down the center aisle. “This okay?”

“I can snooze here as well as anywhere.”

“Trust me. You won’t want to nap through this film. Hector’s print lacks six minutes Snow’s has, but narrative title cards will bridge any gaps.”

“Title cards? It’s a ‘movie’ but not a ‘talkie,’ and now it’s a ‘readie’?”

Delilah leveled those police-car blue-light-special eyes at him.

“You’ve got to face the Silver Zombie in all of her many manifestations, Ric,” she said. “What you raised in Wichita will incredibly complicate the human and unhuman world in Vegas, and she is definitely a package deal.”

Chapter Sixteen

SOMETIMES OUR BELOVED Ricardo Montoya, Irma noted, can be as stubborn as a chupacabra.

So could I. We settled into the cushy seats, easing around the burl wood trays attached to one arm. I took advantage of the initial gawking period at the spectacular surroundings to study Ric’s profile. What had he and Godfrey discussed? I wondered.

Godfrey and his own silver tray arrived fast on our heels.

“Master Quicksilver is watching The Wolf Man in both forties and 2010 reboot on the servants’ quarters wide-screen TV,” he whispered to me. “The next feature is Ratatouille.”

He set out crystal martini glasses and platters of appetizers.

“No popcorn?” Ric asked.

“Mr. Nightwine finds crispy foods disruptive at film showings.”

“So what are these pale, damp-looking worms?” Ric asked.

“Cheese curls, sir. There’s Montrachet, English cheddar, verde capra, rustico limone, and drunken goat, for those well acquainted with El Chupacabra. No crunching to interfere with the exquisite symphonic score. Pop-up drink refills are on your left. Enjoy.”

I smothered a giggle as Godfrey retreated. “He sounded so contemporary waiter.”

“What the hell are all these cheese varieties? Drunken goat?”

“Delicious, I bet. I don’t see any evident insect legs, so I think it’s safe to snarf and sip.”

I leaned back in the reclining seat and aimed my eyes at the huge black screen set between swaths of red velvet curtains.

“I’m glad we’re not seeing this in Snow’s penthouse,” Ric said.

“I doubt it would be as pretentious.”

“Did you ever notice the blood-bruise in the hollow of his lily-white throat?” Ric leaned close to whisper. “It seems new since Wichita.”

“Ah, didn’t notice it, really.”

“That’s a relief. No decent chica should. It was half-concealed by his rock-god black-leather collar. Some long-stemmed skank tried to suck the soul out of him. I bet she was a looker.”

I cleared my throat.

Throat? Irma admonished me. What a Freudian slip. You ever going to ’fess up to laying that mark on the dude?

“Groupies are throwing themselves at Snow all of the time,” I said, loud enough to drown out Irma in my own mind, desperately wishing for a program for the upcoming film that I could flip through to hide my lying-by-omission eyes.

And so are we, thanks to you. Irma was being merciless.

If I couldn’t get me and Irma to understand why I’d ever thought taunting Snow with an irresistible turn-on was payback for my being in his total sexual thrall for the duration of what had seemed an endless Brimstone Kiss, I’d never convince Ric.

The BK had probably lasted a minute and forty-five seconds, one one-hundredth of the time the new, restored version of Metropolis would unreel. It had only seemed like a lifetime, as watching this early silent film would no doubt seem to Ric.

“This will be primitive,” I warned. “The makeup was garish and the acting is broad, yet oddly intense despite it. Especially between the men. There’s a father-son struggle and a romantic triangle involving a dead woman named Hel. One L.”

“The usual melodrama. Any action?”

“Lord, yes. A towering city of the future, an underground city of enslaved zombielike workers, a heartless CEO, an angelic young girl savior who’s turned into an emotionless robot, and a false double of herself to destroy the workers. Then there are riots, a flood, statues of the Seven Deadly Sins coming to life, and luxurious depravity at a nightclub.”

“Sounds way too much like Vegas today.”

“Look, Ric.” I punched up an Albino Vampire martini that lifted from the wide arm-tray like a ballerina on a music box, sans cheap melody. “I sat through Night of the Living Dead for you outdoors in Dolly’s front seat, in a hokey restored drive-in off a deserted state highway in Kansas. You need to see Metropolis to understand the creature you raised from the film Snow located and obtained back in Wichita. She’s got a silver-metal crush on you and the demon drug lord who held you prisoner as a child