The Incrementalists Read online

  Phil lifted his cap and smoothed his wild brown hair back against his scalp, retwisting the elastic that held it at the nape of his neck. I’d seen the same swift twist tie back periwigs and plaits. Behind him, a blond man walking past the café watched the same gesture with something like the same interest.

  I refocused. “Something has happened to Celeste?” I guessed.

  “She died.”

  “Oh, God. Phil, I’m so sorry. She was someone you cared about?”

  “Very much.”

  “Someone you were in love with?” Even asking the question made my stomach twist.

  “I thought so.”

  “Are you still?”

  “Good morning, Ren. Phil.”

  “Irina.” Phil kept his voice carefully scrubbed of emotion, but a scowl hovered just above his eyes. “I’ve got this,” he said.

  “Is that your objective assessment?” Irina held a little clutch purse in both hands. It was an old-fashioned patent leather thing with a giant gold clasp and reminded me of the bag my nana had called her “formal purse,” although I’d always thought of it as her funeral bag, because those were the only occasions I’d ever seen her carry it.

  “Go away, Irina.”

  She ignored him and addressed herself to me. “Has Phil told you about Celeste?”

  “He was just doing that,” I said.

  Irina surveyed the empty half circle of seating between Phil and me.

  “You should eat something,” she said. “Both of you.” It sounded cross, but I knew it was concern. I’d never worried about anyone’s health unless Nana was angry about them.

  “We’ve got people arriving from the airport starting at two. Since—”

  “People?”

  “Salt.”

  “Christ. Can Ray afford it?”

  “Jimmy is covering everyone’s airfare and hotel. I’ve moved to one of the condos in the other tower. Since you’re our native guide, Phil, it would be nice if you would stay here to greet them.”

  “When does Jimmy get in?”

  “Jimmy can take a taxi here like everyone else.”

  “Everyone else can take a cab; I’ll get Jimmy.”

  “In what?” Irina turned an acid smile toward me.

  The blond man watching Phil from the tiki-looking bar across from the café caught me watching him and stood up to leave. I knew I had no right to feel possessive of Phil, but I was glad to see that guy go. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “It’s valet parked. Ticket’s at the hostess stand.”

  “I got it.” Phil’s eyes touched mine for a moment and under the mustache, the dimple flickered. When he looked back to Irina, it was gone. “Will we have full Salt by tonight?” he asked her.

  “Well that’s a tricky question, isn’t it?” Irina seated herself by me, forcing me around the bench closer to Phil.

  “Is everyone coming in for Celeste’s funeral?” I guessed, and was surprised Irina’s bony neck didn’t splinter with how fast she turned her head to me.

  “Celeste’s been dead for two months. We’re gathering Salt to discuss her missing final memory. Phil should have told you.”

  “Irina,” Phil’s voice was low with warning. “Ren doesn’t remember Celeste. At all.”

  Irina’s keen eyes swiveled back to me. Her mouth opened and closed, and then she said, “Confirm that.”

  “I have no idea who Celeste is,” I said. “Is that what you want?”

  “Not especially.”

  Phil’s face looked so grim that I rubbed my temples.

  “Does your head hurt?” Irina asked.

  I nodded. “Didn’t you say you had something for that?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she said, “Yes. I have to go up to my room; I’ll be right back.” She stood and the blond man who was absently feeding coins into a machine straightened as well. I was certain I knew him, I just couldn’t think how. “Phil,” Irina commanded, “for God’s sake, bring Ren up to speed on what we know.”

  She swept out of the café, stopping to say something to the waitress on her way. I watched the blond man keep the visual noise of slot machines and their propitiators between himself and Irina. Given the choice, I’d do the same.

  “Thanks,” Phil said.

  “It’s okay,” I said. I had wanted her gone as much as he had. I wished I knew how much overlap our reasons had.

  Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It seemed to help. “Celeste was an Incrementalist,” he said, like reciting his sins. “She died two months ago. Her last memory, which would be of her death or just before it, is missing. That’s why our leadership is gathering.”

  “Irina said that was tricky, why?”

  “More coffee?” Kendra gave Phil a generous smile, but her eyes kept darting my direction until she overfilled his cup, and coffee spilled onto the table. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll get a rag. Be right back.”

  “Salt is the five longest-enduring personalities. Celeste was one. If her personality doesn’t reemerge, we’re only four until we put the next oldest in the Salt.”

  “And?”

  “And we have some worries about Oskar.”

  My feet went cold and my tea got heavy all at the same time. “Oskar,” I said. “I think I dreamed about him last night.”

  Kendra returned with the rag, and by the time she’d mopped up, still smiling at Phil and peeking at me, I was trying to decide whether I wanted to hear the Kendra story or the Celeste one more.

  “So you’re looking for Celeste?” I asked. It seemed the more immediate concern.

  Phil wouldn’t look up from his coffee. He nodded.

  “You’re looking for her missing memory in the Garden, and you’re looking for her reemerging personality. Where?”

  He met my eyes.

  “Oh,” I said. “In me.”

  He nodded.

  “More tea?” Kendra reached for my cup.

  “No,” I said. “Thank you. I think we’re good for a while.”

  Kendra frowned. “The lady said to make sure I kept checking on you.”

  “Tell you what,” I said. “When she comes back, you can come check again.”

  Kendra nodded and left.

  It was my turn to take deep breaths. They must work better for Phil. “But now you’re afraid that Celeste’s personality may not reemerge in me. Why?”

  “I was worried about that before she died. Personalities can burn out over the course of lifetimes. We start to get jaded, which makes our work seem unimportant. But that wasn’t happening to Celeste—I think the only reason she came back at all was the work, to fight Oskar, and maybe, I hoped, to try again with me. I guess I just didn’t realize how cynical she’d gotten.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “She meddled with me to choose her own Second. If we had any rules, that would be against all of them. Celeste chose you.”

  “But I don’t remember her.”

  “I know.” Phil’s hair was coming loose from its knot and he shook his head to free it. He pulled it back again. I was glad the blond guy was gone.

  “Hiya, Phil.” A young, slender Asian man had spotted Phil through the slatted wall across from our booth and came around it into the café. He didn’t sit but stood by our table, touching its still-empty surface with the small, round tips of his fingers.

  “Hello, Swede,” Phil said. “This is my friend Ren.”

  Swede studied me for a serious moment from behind his glasses. “Hi, Ren,” he said. He beamed at Phil. “Just side-games again this series?”

  Phil opened his mouth, and closed it.

  “I’ve been keeping him pretty busy,” I said.

  “Oh,” Swede said. “I get it.” He laughed a little. “I’m busy too.” His dancing fingertips danced against Phil’s coffee cup, spilling some. “I gotta go.”

  He left.

  “Swede?” I asked Phil.

  He shook his head.
“Long story.”

  I mopped up the spilled coffee with a napkin, hoping to prevent the return of Kendra and her wiping rag. I was pretty sure that Phil, consciously or not, was creating this French farce of waitresses, captains and Swedes. “Why can’t I remember Celeste?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “You shared a genetic link. Sometimes that does things to memory. Creates loops.”

  “You’re afraid you may have lost her.”

  “If we ever really had her.”

  “Why did she choose me?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I had chosen you because you were strong and bright, with a history of standing up for what’s true, even when it’s risky. I thought you were smart enough to manage all the information we have to handle, and beautiful, because that mattered to Celeste, and I wanted us to have a shot at just loving each other.”

  “You and Celeste?”

  “Without Oskar. He was all she talked about the last ten years. She was almost obsessed with stopping him.”

  “If Celeste doesn’t make it back,” I said, “that would be good for Oskar, right?”

  Phil just nodded.

  “Is Oskar blond?”

  He looked up. “Are you starting to remember? God knows, if Celeste was going to remember anything, it’d be him.”

  “Blond and tall?” I asked.

  “Yeah. And fucking good looking.”

  “And walking toward the lobby?”

  Phil whipped around to follow my eyes. The gorgeous, tall blond man stepped out of sight.

  “Were you watching for me?” Irina slid into the booth beside me and dropped a prescription bottle in my lap. “So,” she said. “Are we all caught up?”

  Phil

  “Oskar’s here,” I said.

  “Where?”

  I shrugged.

  Irina frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Someone’s been watching us,” said Ren.

  “And he was tall, blond, and big-shouldered, so it’s either Oskar or Matt, and if it was Matt we wouldn’t have spotted him.”

  Irina turned her head and looked at Ren. “Did he seem to be making an effort not to be noticed, or was he blatantly staring?”

  “He left when I caught him watching,” she said.

  Irina turned her hawk’s eyes to me, as if daring me to brush it off. I had no intention of brushing it off. “That,” I said, “is more than a little troubling.”

  “No shit,” said Irina.

  Ren was looking at me with an expression of simple trust, like, I know you’ll help me figure this all out and see that it comes out all right. Something twisted up in my stomach. Ren without Celeste’s memories was different from Ren with them, and different from Ren before them. I had a terrible urge to protect her, and I didn’t know from what.

  “There is no reason for Oskar to do that,” I said. “It’s out of character. Oskar is Mister In-Your-Face. Here’s what’s right, and here’s why, and if you don’t agree say so and we’ll have it out. He is the last one of us I’d expect to be skulking.”

  Ren was still watching me.

  “What’s your point?” said Irina.

  I shook my head. “Give me a moment, all right?”

  And I smelled cherry blossoms and tasted chive, and I pulled a rope, and a length of wall slid back, revealing a circular, stone stairway descending into darkness. A torch appeared in my hand, black smoke curling up, harsh in my nose, walking downward to a hallway, opening up forever; another behind me, the stairs gone, everything extending everywhere, but Las Vegas was this way, The Palms was here, the front desk, yes, right there, there was the computer, that hanging vine, following it up until a leaf looked familiar; such a bright green. I inhaled it, then dropped the torch and let the trail of smoke carry me back.

  “What did you learn?” said Irina, but I ignored her and stood up, walked out of the café. Past slot machines synthesizing the sound of dropping coins, and shouting from the craps table. You can always find the craps table with your eyes closed. There was the bank of elevators.

  I got off on the fifth floor, turned right, walked down the hall past six rooms, stopped, knocked on the door. It opened at once, and Oskar said, “Shit. I suck at that clandestine bullshit, don’t I? Come on in, then.”

  “You could come down and meet Ren and say hello to Irina.”

  He hesitated. “Irina,” he said. “We aren’t getting along so well.”

  “Oskar, who have you gotten along well with in the last century and a half?”

  “Vivian.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “All right,” he said. He stepped inside long enough to grab his suit jacket.

  “Oskar, do you have any idea how hot it is outside?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and put it on.

  About then, my cell phone rang. We shut the door and started walking as I dug for it. It was Irina, of course. I showed Oskar the caller ID. He said, “What, you forgot to tell her where you were going?”

  “I didn’t forget,” I said, and clicked Answer.

  “Hello, Irina.”

  “Phil, where did you—”

  “Would you mind getting the check, love? Meet us at the valet.”

  “Us? Who … Oskar?”

  “I figured to take us to my place. There are such lovely flowers there, seems like the right place for a chat.”

  She disconnected without even saying good-bye.

  “Flowers?” said Oskar.

  I shook my head and got into the elevator.

  Ren

  “Okay,” I told Irina when she announced we were going to Phil’s. “But I have to be back here by five. I have a meeting.”

  She twisted her mouth into a shape that suggested both incredulity and disdain. I wondered how long you have to live behind a face to make it do that.

  “My boss is flying in today,” I said. “And I’d appreciate it if none of you would mess with that.”

  “None of us,” she corrected me.

  “Whatever. My point is, I like my job. I put a lot of energy into finding work doing something I like, and I want to actually get to do it. Today.”

  “Of course, dearie,” she said.

  Phil and Oskar were waiting for us by the valet stand. Phil looked tired and a little put out. Oskar looked wary and delicious.

  Irina installed herself in the front seat of Phil’s Prius, so I got in the back, and when Oskar didn’t go around to the other side, I scooted across to make room for him. He smelled nice, but there’s no way he could have been comfortable folded up like that. He didn’t even try with the seat belt.

  Phil swung out of the parking lot and almost ran the red light.

  No one spoke. Irina was texting with speed and apparent spleen. Phil launched a sustained but silent assault on the structural integrity of his steering column, and Oskar turned to me with surprising grace for a guy twice as big as the space he occupied. “So,” he said, “Ren.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How very nice to meet you.” He was wearing the kind of seriousness you put on for children whose vocabulary exceeds their pronunciation.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” I snapped.

  “I was,” he said, in the same careful voice.

  “Well, sorry to disappoint.”

  “No, not at all.” He leaned back into the seat and, to the extent his size would allow, appeared to relax and enjoy the view.

  “Why are you here, Oskar?” Phil asked.

  “I believe you invited me.”

  “I mean in Las Vegas. And don’t say poker.”

  “I read your email. I expected Salt would be gathering, and I wanted to be close at hand. In case I was needed. Looks like I am. Without me, you wouldn’t have five.”

  “We have five with Ren.”

  “Ren’s not in the Salt.”

  Phil braked hard enough to dislodge Oskar. “We’re here,” he said. “Welcome to my humble home.”

  SEVEN

  In the Barren Sucki
ng Wasteland

  Phil

  For some reason, I had expected the flowers to be gone, but of course they were still there. If Irina’s whole point had been to keep me irritated, it worked. But I’d have loved to know why. I was not, however, going to give her the satisfaction of asking.

  I got Irina a Pernod, and got a couple of Big Sky IPAs for Oskar and me. “Sorry, Ren,” I said. “Still no tea.”

  She looked at me like she was waiting for an explanation of what tea was. When it went on too long, I got her an ice water. Oskar, of course, had taken my chair, so I sat on the couch. Ren sat down next to me, staring straight ahead. Irina was going about the room smelling her flowers and eventually seated herself in the armchair next to Oskar. I wondered if I’d need something more than the little coffee table to keep them separated.

  “So,” she said.

  “So,” I said. “I’ve been thinking. How hard a piece of meddlework would it be to get rid of interleague play?”

  “Sorry?” said Irina.

  “Baseball,” said Oskar, not rising to the bait by gesture or even tone.

  “Oh,” said Irina. “You’d think someone surrounded by flowers would be more inclined to cooperate.”

  Oskar said, “No one enjoys having his environment arranged for him.”

  “Or her,” corrected Irina.

  “In English,” began Oskar, “the non-sex-specific pronoun takes the form…” but I didn’t hear the rest, because as soon as Irina had spoken, I’d bolted to the kitchen and was digging among my pots. I found the right one, and bits of conversation drifted back to me, but not enough to make out details. It took me five minutes to make the popcorn, which was a loud enough process that I heard nothing. When it was done, I poured it into a bowl, added butter and salt, and came back into the living room.

  “Are you suggesting,” Irina was saying, “that the words we use have no effect on how we think?”

  “No, I’m saying they have less of an effect than a lot of people believe. That other things have a much more profound effect.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Things like unequal pay. Like effective servitude in marriage. Like forced prostitution. Deal with the real problems, and language will take care of itself.”

  I passed Ren the popcorn.