Free Circuit Of Heaven by Dennis Danvers Page A

could take a lot of that.”
    She blushed, imagining it. “Music, Nemo.”
    “Okay. I’m pretty boring actually. I like everything. Whatever I can get my hands on. It’s silly, but when I dig around in some old basement and turn up a hundred-year-old CD of what’s-his-name’s greatest hits, and fix up an old clunker to play it on, I feel like I’m keeping the music alive. Nobody sings much out there, except the fundies and their hymns. There aren’t enough people to listen.”
    She nodded in agreement. “It’s better if someone’s listening. I’m a singer.”
    He did a double-take. “You’re kidding.”
    “That’s why I keep turning the conversation to music, while all you want to talk about is your parents.” He laughed again. If you could just distract his brain, he had a sense of humor.
    “So what kind of stuff do you do?” he asked.
    “Old covers mostly—pop and country. I like old songs nobody’s heard of. Sort of like you and your basement CDs.”
    “Who’s your favorite singer?”
    “You probably never heard of her. Aimee Mann. Had a band called Til Tuesday, late 1980s, did solo albums in the nineties.”
    His eyes widened, and he grinned from ear to ear. “Hear of her? I love her stuff. I found her CDs in my grandmother’s collection. I played them all the time at boarding school, still listen to them. I’ve never met anyone else who’s even
heard
of her.” He paused and studied her as if she were a photograph. It was an odd sensation. “You know, you look just like her.”
    She started to object, but then she thought about it. She did look a lot like her. She wondered why she’d never realized it before. “Thanks,” she said. “She was very pretty.”
    “Yes, she was,” he said, but when she returned his gaze, he lost his nerve again and looked around at the crowd.
    “Come on, lighten up, Nemo. Relax, have a drink with me. Then you can go home to your girlfriend in the real world. That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve got somebody on the outside.”
    He shook his head, took a deep swallow from his drink. “Had a girlfriend,” he said. “She’s in here now.”
    She imagined the whole story. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    He shrugged it off, but he wasn’t very convincing. “Why should you be sorry? Shouldn’t I just upload myself and join her—live happily ever after like a normal person?”
    She put her hand on his arm. “But you didn’t want to upload yourself. You wanted her to stay with you. She probably told you she would, but she didn’t, and now you feel betrayed and abandoned—just like your parents made you feel. That’s why I’m sorry.”
    He studied her, a half smile on his face. “I told you you were smart.”
    “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You get attached, don’t you, Nemo?”
    “Yeah, I guess I do.”
    “What was her name?”
    “Rosalind. We’d been together a couple of years. I’ve got a friend named Jonathan, a fundie. She’s his cousin.” He sighed. “She left a note taped to the mantel.”
    “Have you seen her since she’s been in here?”
    He shook his head. “Don’t want to.” He looked around again at all the couples. “She’ll find somebody in here.”
    “You make it sound like a shopping expedition.”
    “Maybe it is.”
    “Maybe it isn’t.”
    “You mean like destiny and all that?” he asked skeptically.
    She laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know what I mean. Stephanie, a friend of mine at the orphanage, used to call me a ‘terminal romantic.’ I guess I haven’t changed much.”
    “So how long you been in the Bin?”
    “Six weeks.”
    “How’s it been?”
    She rocked her head from side to side. “Okay, I guess. My band just broke up, just as we were starting to get somewhere. I don’t even know these guys I’m playing with tomorrow night. My agent found them. He says they know all the tunes. We’ll see.”
    “I don’t mean that,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Is it different? Are you