back door, pressing an iPhone to her ear. She smiled as she listened, smiled as she talked. Switched to texting and kept up the mirth. A tailored tweed jacket bisected firm, generous buttocks, and skinny jeans made the most of her legs. Five-inch red stilettos caused her to teeter every few steps but the occasional loss of balance did nothing to shake her good cheer.
As if she’d put in a bid to purchase the universe, fully expected it to be accepted.
We waited until she’d disappeared into the building, spotted her entering the elevator. She looked up from her phone just as the doors began closing. Saw us and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow as we stepped in.
Milo gave a small salute.
She returned to her mini-screen.
The lift stopped at the second floor. Two of the other riders exited, leaving behind an older woman in a baggy plaid coat and bad makeup who looked ready to discipline someone. She’d been standing close to Suki, moved quickly to put maximum space between them. Sniffed, as if the younger woman was emitting anything but Chanel No. 10.
Suki hesitated.
Milo said, “Ladies first.”
The old woman said, “
Out in the hallway, the texting continued.
“Morning, Suki.”
“Morning.”
“We need to talk.”
“I don’t think so. Brian gave you what you need.”
“Brian gave us basics. Since then, life got complicated.”
“For who?”
“That depends.”
She looked up from the screen. “I don’t appreciate being pressured.”
“That sounds like something Brian told you to say.”
“No. It’s how you’re making me feel. I don’t deserve it.”
“Let’s go talk in your office.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“I can get one but I sure hope it doesn’t come to that, Suki. For your sake, because once the process starts, it takes on a life of its own. As in your business gets closed down for as long as it takes our techies to replicate your hard drives and scour your records.”
“No way you can do that.”
Milo clicked his tongue. “That’s what they all say, Suki.”
“This isn’t Syria or Iran,” she said. “You need grounds for a search.”
“We have grounds,” he said. “No matter what you’ve seen on TV, murder cuts through the smog.”
“No way,” she said, but her voice faltered.
“The sad thing, Suki, is we probably don’t even need your hard drives and going through them is going to be a major pain. All we’re after are the answers to a couple of simple questions, so how say we all do ourselves a collective favor?”
“You just said everything was complicated.”
“But you can make it simple again.”
The door to a neighboring office opened. Two men in fitted suits and open-neck shirts came out laughing.
“Morning,” said one.
Suki’s return greeting was barely audible and both men studied her as if she’d rebuffed them at a club.
“Whoa,” said one. “Time to move on.”
As they boarded the elevator, the other said, “Was that the police? Weird.”
Suki mouthed,
Milo said, “Let’s talk in your office.”
“Fine. But no promises.”
SukRose.net’s dark, empty suite gave way to fluorescence as Suki punched wall switches on the way to her office. Vacuum tracks and an orangey-chemical smell said the space had been cleaned overnight. But the aroma of last night’s Mexican takeout fought to be noticed and the crew had left packets of hot sauce next to one of her computer screens.
She frowned, brushed them into a trash basket, and looked past us.
The computers hummed. Hardware and software collaborating to align rich men with young female flesh.
I supposed it wasn’t that different from what had constituted marriage for centuries, before the ideal of romantic love went from fictional device to social norm. And who knew? Maybe the concept of soul mate would one day reduce to bytes and bits.
Right now, a beautiful girl with a missing face made it feel
As we’d waited in the lot, Milo had asked me to begin the questioning.
I said, “Suki, how random is your process?”
“You’ll have to be more specific about what you mean by ‘process.’ ”
“Matching Daddies with Sweeties.”
“The
“All by themselves.”
Her eyes shifted to the left. “That’s what I just said.”
Milo walked to her window and parted the drapes. The blade of light that shot through was harsh and white.
She kept her eyes on him until he returned to his seat. “What were you looking at? Are there more of you out there?”
He said, “Great view. You’ve got yourself a really sweet setup here.”
He has a way of making pleasantry sound ominous. Suki Agajanian swallowed. “Whatever.”
I never enjoy lying glibly but I’m better at it than I’d like to think. “Suki, we had some math types examine your site. The consensus is that for you to succeed in a competitive field, the likelihood of random sorting as your dominant mode is about the same as sticking a monkey in a room with crayons and paper and expecting it to produce a Shakespearean sonnet over a long weekend.”
She swayed from side to side. If she were a boat, she’d be taking on water. “Is that so?”
I nodded.
“Then your so-called math types don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“You’re saying you never narrow searches in order to maximize compatibility.”
Her eyes repeated the same journey portside. “There are steps we can take if people request. So what?”
“What kind of steps?”
“Constructive focus.”
“Zeroing in on common interests.”
Nod.
“Favorite foods and such?”
“Deeper than that,” she said. “Values, experiences, intellectual pursuits.”
I tried to imagine a deep conversation between Markham Suss and Tara Sly.
“In order to zero, you use word-search software.”
She held out two palms. “Uh-uh, no way I’m going to get into technical aspects. Wouldn’t do it even if we were already copyrighted—and we’re looking into that. Because anything can be modified and ripped off.”
“We’re the last people you need to worry about stealing your stuff,” I said.
Her arms crossed over her chest. “Nope, no can do. Now, if there’s nothing else you—”
