“Where’s Kylee Asparagus?”
“You’ll meet her straightaway.”
An older Federico arrived with a cart laden with snack foods. Abby, still wearing the body of the pink bunny, sat up in bed and scratched her chest. The head lay nearby on a bedside table, gazing out to the water.
“Until recently I was under the impression that Kylee Asparagus was dead,” she said.
The Federicos shook their heads and spoke in unison. “Not exactly. Sometimes she thinks she is.”
“How’d you guys do that?” Abby said.
The younger of the Federicos smiled. “We’re connected wirelessly. When you speak to one of us—”
The other Federico finished the thought. “—you’re really speaking to all of us.”
Abby smeared some hummus on a piece of crusty bread. “Why’d she have you cloned?”
Both Federicos said, “The original Federico was one of Ms. Asparagus’s backup dancers, her most loyal companion.”
“Can you point me in the direction of the data that’s supposed to be restored?” Abby said.
The older Federico nodded and said that would be discussed in time. Tonight she was to have dinner with Ms. Asparagus.
Without the filter of the bunny head Abby got a better look at the manse. She passed one room where an old nonfunctional plasma TV took up much of one wall. Nearby, a Federico wearing a repairman’s overalls busily reupholstered a chair. On her way to the dining room she passed several more Federicos, each absorbed in a task, each man a little different from the others but bearing the same brown eyes squinting in concentration. She even glimpsed a room where an older Federico was busy using magic tricks to entertain a group of five or six child-size Federicos.
“Who is your mother, if you don’t mind me asking?” Abby said to a Federico leaning on a broom.
“Our source mother was a woman named Esther Gonzales, of Los Gatos, California. A cleaning lady, raised six children on one income. She died many, many years ago. Our midway mothers are all in Africa or Asia.”
“Have any of you met your midway mothers?”
Federico sighed. Elsewhere in the house other Federicos sighed, too, having heard the comment. “Of course we haven’t. We’re happy to know they received the best medical care in the world for leasing out their uteruses and we greatly appreciate their generosity. Dining room’s right up those stairs, Ms. Fogg.”
She came to a restaurant with a view of the gardens. A Federico dressed as a host seated Abby at a table across from a woman so petite she could have been a child, though her wrinkled skin hung off her face in powdery folds. Her face was mostly obscured by a pair of gigantic sunglasses, her head wrapped in a scarf, neck bristling with necklaces, shoulders covered in synthetic chinchilla. She extended a spindly hand to lift her water glass to her lips. How old was this woman? A hundred and fifty maybe?
“Ms. Asparagus, I’m—” Abby started.
Kylee shushed her. “That prick Bickle sent you against my wishes. You can go back to your mainland little existence and take your bag of cheap electronic shit with you. If it were up to me I would have had the Federicos murder you as soon as you set foot on the estate. Unfortunately they’re bred to care, not to kill.”
A waiter Federico appeared. “How are you guys doing tonight? Would you like to start out with a bread basket?”
Abby nodded. Federico the waiter set down the bread and poured some olive oil and herbed balsamic into a little saucer. Kylee sulked behind her sunglasses.
“Dirk Bickle said—”
“He’s a toadie. Mr. Kirkpatrick’s yes-man. Are you blind? And they expect
“What happened to the archives?”
“So I get to explain the whole can of worms to you. I see. The archives are in the basement. I’m not the first inhabitant of this house, you know. This used to be called the Seaside Love Palace, home of Isaac Pope, the dot- com nerd. It’s his artwork you see up all over the place. Artwork he commissioned anyway. Isaac stored all sorts of useless shit, in formats no one knows anything about anymore. DVD-ROMs and stuff. We keep it all in the basement. A couple weeks ago a pipe burst and flooded the dump. The Federicos worked overtime to get it cleaned out but we lost about half the archive. That’s why you’re here. To tell us what we lost.”
“I’ll be happy to get started on it right away. When can I see the—”
“We haven’t even ordered yet!”
“By the way, I’m a huge fan of your music.”
The waiter Federico arrived to take their orders.
“Before you take our orders, Federico, we would like to see a menu,” Kylee said. “And if you could bring me a brush and some soapy water so I can scrub this young thing’s lip prints off my ass.”
“No, I really am a fan. My friends make fun of me for being into old music but—”
“Old music!”
“What I mean is I especially love
“I’d give my left tit to get back in the studio with the Satan Brothers. They weren’t so much studio sessions as artistic retreats. We rented a castle in Scotland and stayed up till five in the morning on shrooms. We swam naked together in the pool, my band and me, and wrote such beautiful music on that bitchin’ Steinway. Those were the albums when I started getting close to Federico.”
“Federico and you were—”
“Lovers? Oh, no, young thing. Let’s just say that it’s easy to genetically engineer a Federico to develop a tendency to enjoy gardening, or pottery, or repairing gutters, or cooking, but it’s near-impossible to engineer one into craving pussy.”
The waiter Federico showed up with the menus, a bucket of soapy water, and a sponge and proceeded to recite the specials. When he left, Abby said, “So that performance today—”
“Your timing. You need to work on it.”
“The audience. Those were all the Federicos?”
“What am I supposed to do? I have this huge theater and when I want a show I don’t want to be the lone person clapping up there in the balcony. The Federicos like their entertainment and some of them get to dress up in drag, so it’s pretty special for them. I’m just disappointed your performance was so pathetic. You’ve
“But I’m not an entertainer.”
“You said it, not me. What looks yummy tonight?”
Abby scanned the menu and saw the same thing repeated twelve times. “Looks like the breaded rock cod with a leafy green salad and rice pilaf.”
“Oh, I got that the last time I was here and it wasn’t very good.”
“What else is there?”
“Young thing, they can make you something even if it’s not on the menu. Don’t worry, I’ll order for you.”
The waiter Federico reappeared. “Have you decided?”
“I’d like for us to start with an order of Gruyere bruschetta and bring an assorted sashimi platter as well. For our entrees I’ll take the grilled halibut not too dry this time and she’ll have the salmon special you featured last night. To drink I’ll have a Diet Coke with a lemon wedge and she’ll just have water. Cheerio.”
The waiter bowed deeply and hustled to the kitchen.
“I don’t particularly care for salmon,” Abby said.
“You were saying something about how much you loved my album
“No, I was finished talking about that.”
“I don’t think so. I think you were asking about the number of number-one hit singles off that album.”
“Right. How many—”
“Five. Count ’em
