Bloodlink

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Part 2: Sonoma Portworks, Petaluma, CA

I know a spot in this particular dimension of the timeline, Chaz said “for a night cap.” He clapped his hands and our waitress came shuffling over hurriedly, with a slight flush to her cheeks flawlessly simulating embarrassment. 

“We’d like to change destinations” he said without looking at her, but rather, his gaze fixed vacantly forward, as if the center of the table were a far-off horizon.

“Of course, sirs” she responded cordially, bobbing her head to each of us in turn.  She placed her hand into a hidden port on the table and it activated an interface that Brindle started navigating immediately.

The change was sudden.  One briefly felt the inertia through the vision of speeding shapes and swirls such as would be freeze-framed within a Dali painting. All things melted into a new setting.  The waitress morphed into a different woman, thinner and a bit taller, blue surgical mask under happy eyes and a nervous disposition. She was resting a pen tip on an open server’s pad held up in front of her chest, poised for action yet at the same time forgotten about.

Gracefully, the walls came closing in and the roof transformed its shape.  We were in a warehouse with a makeshift bar area, a tasting room actually.  The corner of the structure replicated two towering exterior walls, hemmed in with two barricade style partitions.  One was made of tall velvet curtains on wheeled, stainless racks, another; a hedge of casks seated by a grand metal stand.  A free-standing bar was also erected in front of the entry wall, creating a cove for wine and glassware. It was a mere fourth of the size of Khom Loi but couched in auditorium acoustics; where distant sounds echoed, and silence itself seemed to vibrate.   The partitions succeeded at closing in and counterfeiting an intimate space, though they could not entirely shake a temporary and drafty ambiance.  Most of our fellow patrons had been filtered out of scene, the remaining were transformed into having small plates and drinks to match this shroud.  Adorning the aged barrels, which were turned on their side to fashion the back wall, were award ribbons hanging stiffly, and narrow bottles of wine on display shelves layering the foreground.  “Sonoma Portworks” read the sign at the center of the display. 

“Ah vino, what a delightful option” I said with a slightly pandering tone that betrayed my true impression.  Moving from a carbonated spirit to wine was unwise, even in moderation.  Or was it something else? Was the stress beginning to show?

“I hope you are open to trying port” questioned Chaz dryly, rhetorically. 

Our pandemic era waitress took it from there “Yes, we are the only winery in Sonoma County who specializes in ports and after-dinner wines…”

“…and the first winery within the city limits of Petaluma” I finished.   “yes, we can read the endorsement here on the menu” Now I was being condescending on top of sarcastic, what was going on with me?

Unaffected, she went on: “My name is Sherry…”

At this, I look over to meet Chaz’s gaze and raise an eyebrow.   The involuntary hint of a smile lingered as he turned his attention back to his forearm and began examining the menu.

“ and I’d like to welcome you to our tasting room.  I’d like to recommend a flight of our dessert win…”

She vanishes in a brief cascade of swirling pale blue light.  Chaz has selected the flight and pushed her off like a banner ad.

“The petite Sirah is good and the Maduro Reserve”

I look around again, shifting in my seat in an attempt for comfort.

Under different circumstances, this would be a pleasant destination.  The complexity of the audio illusion alone was worthy of a place in sights showroom.  The clean, minimalist warehouse would feel nice and open, with the warmth of the bar, and fabrics, and casks surrounding us.  The casting is complete with filtered California sunlight coming through the front door, and on discrete security cams, I can see the front facade, complete with a tented sitting area and grape leaf trellises.  A happy, self-standing red flag blows in a gentle breeze in front of the corrugated metal structure, with yellow awning overhead. 

Sherry reappears with two small glasses of fortified wine.

“First up is the petit Verdot” she announces

I take a sip and am struck with the warmth of rich fruit and alcohol that burn off into a pleasant sting of spice. 

More glasses are arriving, and Chaz tells Sherry to just line them up for our leisure.  It appears the night cap is multiplying.

With a covert navigation, I engage a bloodlink share request 50/50 to Bridget, knowing that booze hound will jump at a taste of these libations.  Maybe it will help keep her in good spirits as Ginny is pitching her linking with this Chaz fellow.  Hopefully she is finding more nerve than I am to broach the subject.  A private beep confirms the acceptance of the request, and I can feel my blood alcohol levels decline like liquid draining through a funnel before stabilizing. I leisurely reach for the next glass, just as Chaz is excusing himself from the table.

As Brindle disappears to the washroom, I flip on my holo-stream, which manifests just above the table, and resume the panel discussion I had been following.

…Serial monogamy is a strange thing from a bird eyes view.  Out of the billions of people alive, you choose one to share your life with.

A small panel of trendy businessmen were seated, nodding yes to the off-camera speaker. A gentle electric flicker reminiscent of an absent Jedi master accompanied the whole projection. 

 All the introductions between friend groups happen, the sharing of holidays, the merging of insurance and phone plans, the family events, all the major and minor life happenings are plugged into one person. A lighthearted animation depicts the events being described. Of course, the part of the journey that is quite strange is the unplugging of that person and the plugging in of a new replacement.  There was a pause in speech for effect, and a return to the listening panel deeply focused.  Those prior loves, the ones who once dictated what movie you watched and who would groom the blackheads off your skin; they vanish from communication completely.  Suddenly, you have full control of the music and the menu, but that ghastly influence lingers on in one’s psyche, first strong, then appearing at random intervals.  In this way, breakups are a lot like a death.  A serial monogamous could have a two-year block where a partner would have logged daily texts, and tags, and phone calls, as well as a dominant presence in the camera roll, and then one day, nothing.   One is then free to get entangled with the next person.

The camera flashed over to a man with complete serenity, the garb of a glam rock guru who continued as the picture zoomed in for a straight away close-up.  His closed eyes open, looking straight at his remote audience, looking right at me.

  That was before the bio enhancement augmentations were developed.  Things for homo sapiens have become a bit more complicated once scientists developed the bloodlink.

How am I supposed to market my ex to my beloveds ex, so that I can both sever the bloodlink connection with my ex, and also transfer it to my new chosen partner?  This is the modern day dilemma…

“Fuck” I announce, waving the screen off.  This isn’t psyching me up as much as psyching me out right now.  My thoughts were getting away from me and I didn’t need sights ping to know my heartrate was accelerated.  I don’t know if I’ve even evolved the stomach for this.  The adrenaline of communicating, let alone negotiating with my lover’s ex is testing my mettle.  Is it any wonder that I am feeling the pinpricks of sweat on the back of my neck? Chaz is returning, navigating his approach back to the table.  I am acutely aware of the butterflies in my stomach, from the impending nature of it all.  Call it the distorted dowery pitch, the permanent swinger proposition, and the all at once absurd transaction that hangs heavy in the air, which remains as of yet, unresolved…

His presence is received by my sitting up into an alert posture, and he pauses to take note of my formality before scooting his chair forward.

“Something on your mind?” he asks

Some confrontations, there are no good way to start, you just have to fumble forward, I urge myself objectively, pinching my leg to spur my tongue.

“So Chaz…

I don’t know what happened between you and Virginia,

 I guess that’s not important really…

But I love her. 

I really love her Chaz, and I’m sure you’d like to be using your bloodlink again, or at least profiting from it…”

Chaz swirls his merlot and smiles wickedly at me, “what makes you think we ever stopped using our blood connection?”

The perceived momentum I had, abruptly crashed, but in a less jarring way then I would have anticipated. But the thread I was on was completely lost, and my thoughts were moving on without discrimination. Perhaps this was a mistake, was the forefront consideration. But it’s the only way, was the follow up, short of double homicide…

I let out a muffled laugh at that prospect, and as response to his implication, I’m not sure which.

Now that we were started, I felt clarity, relief, unstable power.

“The past, the present, that’s not the point.  Let’s talk about the future” I say, looking him in the eye, trusting the shroud of my face is holding private the flurry of reactive emotions my mind is suppressing. 

We sit in silence, each taking a slow mouthful of wine.

What was his game? Sow seeds of mistrust between Virginia and I?  To what end? Of course, what the fuck do I care if he and Ginny still use the connection, I haven’t stopped using the bloodlink either. I’m using it right now. 

Sherry is back wiping up some wine from the tabletop in front of me, her eyes seem to be smiling at me in a consoling way. 

I am definitely sweating, feeling unwarranted waves of euphoria despite the unpleasant situation before me.  The gamble of tempering my alcohol levels may be backfiring.  I deftly access video request of Bridget and am granted immediate access.  Mother of Demetrious’s sunny cunt, I’ve triggered her party mode, she’s dancing with careless abandon, with no shoes and a skimpy, sequenced dress that is failing to provide adequate coverage, and are those pills out on the table?  There is no sign of Virginia.  Have they even met?  Time seemed to scratch like a record in slow motion.  I have a million questions that all seem to slip away from my cognitive grasp as I am distracted by sensations.  The link is a two-way street.  For the half of alcohol she is absorbing from me, I am back-fed half of whatever she is consuming.  And I know her pattern all too well.  If there is the party, then there will be the breakdown.  I’m holding a time bomb of excess and have got to close this deal.  If I attempt to sever connection now, this alcohol may come flooding back to me like a tsunami…

I am suddenly tingling and feeling waves of embarrassed pleasure.  I feel my eyes rolling back in my head and I struggle to pull it back together. Has it been 1 second or 10?

“Let’s check out the outdoor seating” I suggest as naturally as I can, as I make the movements to bring it here without waiting for a reply.  Upon scene change my eyebrows move to bring up a sunglasses shroud.  This is my true aim: to hide my untrustworthy eyes from scrambling around, or zoning out, or whatever they are in danger of doing.

“Ginny for Bridget.  Bridget for Ginny” I was talking and had a profane feeling while doing so.  “Its science that this is the most likely successful resettling.  And some people do it just for the newness of it, even if they are on the arranged side as it were.”

Chaz was silent, studying me pitch the proposition with the sharpness of a club.

“Or, I suppose we can’t ignore those who feel there is something to be attended to in the winds of fate.  Or perhaps this chance pairing is actually the work of providence, as the sisters believe.  Either way, there is data of many happy couplings which started off with such beginnings.”

“Were you going to settle on a pair of glasses, its most distracting as it is” came the reply.  To my horror, the selection beep faded into significance, as I realized the frames were cycling shapes, sizes, and colors on my face in real time.  “Ahhhhh, damnation” I growl through rising aggravation.

Deep breath.  Another, deep breath.  Pull it together.

Brindle sits, steepling his hands and looking intensely at me, but offering no indication of his thoughts, though they are obviously brewing.  His silence is stoning me and my feeble attempts to stay disciplined.

“You know…Chaz” I manage to spit out his name like a backed up stutter “How naïve of me to imply you don’t still access bloodlink with Ginny, perhaps I still use the link with Bridget even.”

My hypocrisy to imply I may use it while fighting to hide it is laughable.  My judgements were off, and I knew it, though, for some reason, I didn’t care either.  I felt a reckless and hopeful mastery about my command of the situation, the way a paper kite may yield to a sudden gale and enjoy the turbulence.  I unintentionally activated a holocall redial from my sight, while also switching on infrared mode.  Had I just involuntarily contorted my face?  I must have.  After clearing these surprises, I tap back into the bloodlink settings, frantically dialing the ratio from 50/50 to 70/30 to try and regain control.  A red flash across my vision informs me that Bridget has denied the request.  It is time to reassess my objectives.

“Perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves   Will you agree to simply testing compatibility for the procedure, to see if we could even do a direct resettling?”

A first generation bloodlink transfer had an upper 90’s percentile chance of success.  I suspect that Brindle, the shrewd businessman that he was, could recognize this concession from full agreement back to meager gains with no contract, commitment, or contingencies.  The question remained, what would be his ask.

His voice surprised me, my hearing had suddenly become very heightened, and I must have flinched to a booming “Sure thing partner.”

Chaz’s hair looked soft and billowy, like rising soap clouds.  I resisted the urge to reach out and feel it for myself. 

“There is a lucrative business in the blood ring, be it a paired donor or on the chain.  It is like the altruistic kidney donor chain for incompatible, but willing donors; just without the altruism.”

“So you’re in?” I asked with unmasked disbelief.

It appeared Chaz was ready to deal as his voice became leveled with authority and resolve.  It turns out he had less of an ask and more of a tell.

“ I don’t need the drama of whatever you are trying to peddle me with Bridget.  The only way this will work is if I enter the chain and so must she.  But, sharing our test results will facilitate the process both medically and legally.  Here’s the details of a place I know.”

A digital business card transfers to my sight.  “Granthar Solutions” read the label.

“I’ve got to explore my options, and besides, your Ginny hasn’t accepted any bloodlink requests since before she started seeing you.  Wonder how she feels about your continued usage?”  letting the question linger he continues with impressive poise. Like him or hate him, I think I’m catching myself admiring him.  The way he carries himself with ease in the presence of his replacement.  Wouldn’t that be the unexpected nightmare to bring back to Ginny.  How’d it go? Oh, I really like your ex, think he is gonna make a great mentor and friend…

Brindle snaps my wandering thoughts back to the present. He is standing now.

“We can go individually. Best of luck. Ciao” his voice sounds as if from inside a tunnel.

I hurriedly pulled myself up, as he is pushing in his chair. With a last fleeting look, he turns, and after a few steps, Chaz Brindle disappears out of the shroud.