Qualityland

AT THE TOP

What a strange day. By the time Martyn wakes up, hungover, on the living room couch, he has already dropped two levels. But he has no idea why. In the bedroom, he finds his wife packing her suitcase.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Ken,” says Denise. “Please show my soon-to-be ex the video.”

“With pleasure, Denise,” says Ken.

On the monitor in the bedroom, Martyn sees himself, with a sock over his penis. He is panting. “You horny slut… the next time you come here I’ll fuck you all the way across the assembly hall. I’ll show you…”

“That’s enough,” says Denise.

The video freezes on a very unflattering image. Martyn’s mouth is distorted, his right eyelid is drooping, and of course—a get-up which cannot fail to be unflattering—he has a sock over his penis.

“All the way across the assembly hall?” asks Denise scornfully. “Is that your idea of talking dirty?”

“Where did you get that?” asks Martyn. “Who else has seen it?”

“Wrong question,” says Denise as she tries to close her suitcase. “What you should be asking is: who hasn’t seen it?”

“What?”

“It’s online, Martyn,” says Denise. “Everybody’s seen it. Everybody.”

Martyn’s body slumps. He has to sit down on the bed. Denise picks up the closed suitcase and drags it into the living room. Martyn follows her. Only now does he notice the button she is wearing on her blouse. It shows a pink dolphin vibrator inside a prohibition sign.

“What’s that button?” asks Martyn.

“You wouldn’t understand! And it’s none of your business anyway.”

“It is my business if my wife’s making a fool of herself.”

“Me?!” cries Denise. “I’m making a fool of myself? Don’t worry. That’s not your problem anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m changing my children’s external life circumstances.”

“Do you remember how many levels you climbed when you married me?” asks Martyn. “If you leave me, you’ll be nothing, you’ll end up right at the bottom. This is the top, here with me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Denise bitterly. “You’re at the top. But only because you’re an empty bottle, floating around. An empty bottle being carried up by the tide! Fuck you and the top!”

Denise taps her left index finger alongside her left eye, and her contact lenses snap a photo of Martyn. He has a wonderfully stupid expression on his face.

“What are you doing?” asks Martyn.

“Share photo with all contacts,” says Denise to her personal digital friend. “Write alongside it: The system says I want this, but I don’t.”

Hearing their raised voices, 3-year-old Ysabelle comes out of her room.

“Is everything okay, Mama?” she asks.

Denise leans over to her. “You and Mama are going to take a little trip to see Aunt Amalia,” she says.

“Just the two of us?” asks the child sadly.

“Just the two of us.”

“But, but…” whines the child.

“Papa can’t come…”

“No,” says the child. “I mean Nana.”

“Oh,” says Denise. “Yes, of course Nana is coming.”

The electronic nanny comes soundlessly into the room as soon as her name is uttered. Martyn has positioned himself in front of the front door and is blocking their path.

“You’re staying here,” he says to his wife.

“Don’t you dare,” says Denise. “Move out of my way.”

Martyn doesn’t move. Denise goes toward him. He grabs her. Denise twists around.

“Oww,” she screams. “You’re hurting me. Let me go.”

Martyn grabs her more fiercely.

“Nana,” cries Denise. “Protect my baby.”

Nana steps forward. “Sir,” she says. “I have to ask you to let go of my mistress.”

“No fucking way!” cries Martyn, before an iron fist crashes into his chest and another against his head.

“Jiu-Jitsu,” Nana explains to the astonished little Ysabelle. “One of the four martial arts I have mastered in order to protect you from child molesters.”

Martyn is lying on the floor and trying hard to understand what just happened. Denise opens the door. She turns around one last time and spits on him. Then she steps outside.

“Bye, Papa,” says the child, before disappearing with the eye-smartingly expensive electronic nanny.

A short series of tones on his QualityPad signals to Martyn that he has just dropped down another level. At least he knows why now. He picks it up and opens the Little Helper App. “Let’s see how you cope with a screaming child, Denise,” he mutters. He chooses “Wake up” and sets the adrenaline emission to maximum. But he hesitates before approving the command. He hesitates for too long, and the device goes on standby. The screen goes black. Martyn can only see his mirrored image, his mangled face. “Fuck!” he screams, smashing the QualityPad angrily against the floor. “Fuck!” Small cracks appear across the display. Martyn’s hand is bleeding. At that moment, the display lights up again. Martyn has received a new message from a withheld ID.

Have you thought about it?