Lush trees, a bubbling brook, the laughter of children, and pleasant music surround Milly.
🎵 “Papillon” – Secret Garden 🎵
Attractive, fit, ethnically diverse young women appear and speak in sequence:
“I’m restoring the population with a gift I can share.”
“Helping mothers helped pay for my college. Now I’m a mother myself.”
“Every time I hear a child was born with my help, I feel even more beautiful!”
After a swoosh of color, the room turns white as the Holo video ends. Milly stirs on an overstuffed couch. A middle-aged lady wearing a posh pinstripe pantsuit enters, offering juice and a cookie on a tray.
Milly waves it off. “Too much sugar.”
“Smart. So, I think you’re an ideal candidate: college degree, tall, obviously extremely desirable. But what do you think, Mildred? Such a lovely, antique name.”
“No it’s not. Call me Milly.” She looks at their company logo. “Aflurtil?”
The lady swirls her hands. “A portmanteau: affluence and fertility.”
“Your logo’s a flower. Fleur means flower in French. Clever.”
“Huh, I never knew that.” The lady smiles. “This is going well.”
“That’s presumptuous of you. May I see some of the other women?”
The flustered saleslady coughs. “Our catalog? Of course.” She brings it up on Holo.
Hand flitting the air, Milly scrolls through hundreds of women: professional headshots, holographic 360-degree views, and every body measurement. “This looks like a Hologame for female genetics.”
“The game of life …”
“Life isn’t a game.” Milly touches:
— Blonde
“This section’s huge.”
“Supply and demand.” The saleslady smiles. “Your brand could be quite successful.”
“My brand?” Milly knits her brow.
“You’re twenty-four: the peak of fertility.”
Milly frowns.
The saleslady’s penciled eyebrows rise. “Just biology.”
“Where’s college degree?”
“Touch ‘more’ then ‘advanced filters’ — scroll down — a bit further — left — over — more down — yes, there.”
“Hair up top”— Milly squints, lips pursed—“education at the bottom.” Pressing the button, half the women disappear.
“Again, demand,” the saleslady says.
“Like a magazine.”
“Our network markets very effectively, including international royalties.”
Milly perks up.
“Testing is simple. But like most girls, you’re probably wondering, ‘Is the procedure uncomfortable?’”
“No. How much does it pay?”
The saleslady smiles as the Holo swooshes away. On her desk, she folds open a cushy leather binder, revealing the compensation on thick, milky paper.
Milly reads carefully. “What? That’s nothing! Why even bother?”
“Well, I may be able to speak with my manager about a residuals increase or a bonus after—”
“I think not.” Milly gets up. “Wait, let me see the men.”
“What?”
Milly slaps her hip. “Show me the studs! Maybe I’ll track one down and marry better next time.”
“Ahem — well, we don’t have males on Holo.”
Milly tilts her head. “Show me — the catalog — of men.”
The saleslady rotates her computer screen and scrolls in two dimensions — headshots only. Some men are awkward-looking. Others lack photos entirely. Ages vary. Degrees, professions, and IQ display without appearance filters.
Milly scowls with disdain. “What is this, a website?”
“The demand for male material isn’t as great, so we never converted.” The saleslady shrugs. “Families usually source someone they know anyway: a successful friend, brother, or father—”
“Of the husband, I hope!” Milly chuckles in disgust.
“Of course, sorry.”
Milly walks out.
The saleslady cups hand to mouth. “Well, just think about it!” She crams down the cookie and slams the juice. “Shit.”
Milly exits the office building and boards a train to the north side.
Val, you do a great job with dialogue. Love it. - Jim