Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Dad greets him in the living room. He tries to do it casually, as if he hasn’t noticed Lexi has a serious boyfriend, and doesn’t care, and just happens to be here, right now.
“Mr. Le—Jake.” Dad offers his hand with his usual not-at-all-cool formality. “Lovely to see you again.”
“You, too, Mr. Huntington.” Jake shakes with the firm confidence of a man who works in corporate law. Then he smiles and his charisma shifts to something equal parts professional and dorky.
“Will you be attending the event this evening?” Dad asks.
Lexi practically runs downstairs. “Daddy.” She says it in that Lexi way, like she’s a teenager and he’s making her look uncool. “We don’t have firm plans for the night.”
“We don’t?” Jake shoots her a curious look, but he catches onto Lexi’s wavelength quickly. I hope Lexi notices that. It’s a sign they are highly compatible. “Of course,” he says. “There’s a theater playing Alien in Santa Ana. Lexi’s been begging me to go.”
Lexi nods that does sound fun.
Dad laughs. “You know, that sort of thing used to worry me. Two and a half hours in the dark. Who knows what you kids could get up to.”
It takes Jake a second to catch on to the implication. Making out in a movie theater, the horror. He nods with his usual deference to Dad.
“You’re a good egg, son.” Dad rests a hand on Jake’s shoulder.
“Ew, Dad, gross. But, yeah, we gotta go, sorry.” Lexi gives Dad a kiss goodbye and she drags her boyfriend to the apartment.
She’s going to talk to him, find satisfaction, fuck him senseless. Whatever it is she needs.
“They’re good together, aren’t they?” Dad asks.
“They are.” I just hope this physical encounter helps her see it.
She can have it all. Satisfaction. Sex. All that good stuff.
My sister is safe. Her relationship is safe. And our app… Well, that’s safe, too.
I enjoy the victory with a blissful forty-five minutes of work. We’re always improving the algo, and our latest update, an attempt to tag people’s favorite TV shows and use it to improve their match, is struggling. The tags we pulled from various websites aren’t working, so we need to hire someone to tag them manually or find a way to tag them with machine learning.
Machine learning is always my preference. Machines lack human frailties. But then they don’t understand the strangeness of human emotions, either. And TV is an emotional topic.
I try feeding the AI two dozen of the most popular shows and I leave it running. In theory, it will go through our users’ profiles tonight and learn how to tag properly. Or fail to learn. But it will either work or it won’t.
When I absolutely can’t wait any longer, I retouch my makeup and join the party downstairs.
It’s the usual mix of Dad’s friends and colleagues. People in their forties, fifties, and sixties in suits or the California equivalent (slacks and button-up shirts or cocktail dresses). Plus a few token “kids our age” in slightly more casual wear. Not that I recognize any of them. Well, maybe the guy in the designer jeans next to the woman in the Reformation dress.
No, I do recognize her. She owns the fashion start-up poised to replace Reformation. Even more sustainable and even more of a cool babe aura.
She’s an icon. I need to talk to her and learn all her secrets, now.
I cross the busy room to meet her, but someone stops me. A pink-manicured hand around my arm.
Lexi.
“Dee. Kitchen. Now. This is a Cary Grant situation.” She doesn’t wait for my yes. She doesn’t have to. A Cary Grant situation is a code we both know well. It means boyfriend troubles. Well, boy troubles. Man troubles. Since the boys in question are rarely boyfriends.
But Lexi does have a boyfriend this time.
It’s only been an hour and a half since Jake arrived. Lexi is supposed to be in the apartment, having her way with her boyfriend.
I suppose, after a six-month wait, the guy might not have a lot of stamina. But where’s the problem?
She’s supposed to be on cloud nine.
She’s supposed to be satisfied.
She’s certainly not supposed to have a Cary Grant situation.
A Humphrey Bogart situation (code for Dad troubles) maybe. Or an Audrey Hepburn (girl troubles). Katherine Hepburn even (it used to mean Mom troubles, but now it means any older woman). There’s a whole system of troubles coded with Old Hollywood celebrities.
This is supposed to be a Mae West situation (it’s time to leave to get some).
Not this.
What is this?
I follow her into the kitchen. It’s not quiet, exactly, but it’s not as busy at the party. Only a few caterers plating appetizers and refrigerating champagne.
“Have you seen River?” She finds an empty spot next to the window, one where she can see the party in the backyard, the apartments, the Beau house next door.