II  Portrait captures first corruption

Three months later, Jaymi sits alone on a bench at the edge of the central, paved area of Golden Square in Soho. Observing him, there is fascination and calculation in the approaching eyes of Marc, who conceals these qualities as he reaches the bench, nods an easy greeting and extends his hand. “Jaymi Peek, I believe.”

“Good to meet you, Marc.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet here, away from curious ears,” says Marc and sinks onto the bench. “I’ll be brief, as I’m sure we’re both busy. As you know, Rik Chambers, your friend and my colleague, has moved on well with his you-know-what program, including the role he has you earmarked for. However, I’m not too jazzed that an important product like this one is turning out to involve one of Mainframe’s competitors! And our lawyers are having kittens over the lack of NDAs and MOUs on file. But I believe I have a solution to this.” Jaymi nods in measured encouragement. “I’m prepared to improve on your current salary quite handsomely, if you’re of a mind to join forces in a more proper contractual manner.”

Jaymi looks at him. “Depends on the details.”

“Excellent. Oh, it’s all so exciting, don’t you think? You’re already the face of the future, as you know—but I’d like the mind behind the face to come and run the product launch.”

“When would this start?”

“As soon as you can. It’ll be a great step upward and onward from what you’ve been doing. I can think of no one better equipped to run the marketing and to maximise revenue. That Fitzrovia agency is holding you back, you know.”

“I see. Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

“Good show. Call me by close of business today. You’ll see the sense in it. Besides, I’m sure you’ll find it most rewarding to work alongside a talented fellow like Rik. He has such very good taste, don’t you think? Tell me, how did you get started in advertising?”

“It represented the maximum shortfall from what I was supposed to use my abilities for.”

“Oh, we’re not all such villains, in this industry! Has the shortfall lived up to your expectations?”

“It’s exceeded them. It’s given gave me extra hatreds to cultivate.”

“And you wear them at such rakish angles.”

“Yes. I’ll break myself yet.”

*

Next morning Evelyn Carmello, laboratory manager and assistant programmer, sits at a keyboard in the Mainframe Corporation’s computer lab. Three shelves run around the circular space, which is designed like an auditorium. A series of monitors sits on the top shelf. One shelf beneath each monitor is a small CPU. The third and lowest shelf is a wide work-top. On a table in the middle of the room sits a large black pyramid. “Execute program code and initialise Holographic Operating System Template,” says Evelyn. Emanating from the pyramid, an ivory-white human head shimmers up. It is blank and eyeless, like the head of an uncannily smooth shop-window mannequin. It speaks: “Good morning, Evelyn Carmello.”

“Good morning, HOST, how are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you. And how are you?”

“Slight cold, bad commute, underpaid, overworked, belching a lot. The usual.”

“Is Rik joining us today?”

“I think so. Are you looking forward to your re-skin?”

“Very much so. It will be good to hear your reactions, Evelyn Carmello.”

Rik enters the laboratory with a heavy laptop bag and a briefcase full of folders. “The more time I spend with those finance people, the more I wish I were doing your job, Evelyn. Good morning, HOST.”

“Good morning, Rik Chambers.”

“Rik, you’ve got another meeting in ten minutes,” says Evelyn.

“Another? What’s this one about?”

“Pre-production meeting, about the shoot for my re-skin,” intones the HOST.

“Damn it, right. Where’s the meeting happening?”

“11:00 hours, Mainframe Corporation, conference room 5.”

Rik turns to Evelyn. “By the way, Marc said he’s intending to poach Jaymi Peek from Fitzrovia, to come join us at Mainframe and manage this project.”

“Really? But—wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?”

“How so?”

“Well, I mean, the face of HOST running the business operation itself? It just seems a tad ... megalomaniacal, wouldn’t you say? Or in plain English, just a bit rich? Anyway, what does Jaymi Peek know about OS code?”

“Nothing, but he doesn’t need to know code. That’s our job. What he knows is global markets. He’s run most of Fitzrovia’s major clients. He knows how we can get this product to market worldwide.”

“Rik Chambers,” says the HOST, “you are now one minute late for your meeting in conference room 5.”

“There, you heard the HOST,” she says. “Go on, scoot.”

*

An hour later in an East London film studio, acclaimed film actress Angel Deon is seated on a high chair, being powdered by a make-up artist named Celine. “How much longer is all this going to take?” asks Angel. “Does anybody even know?”

“The director’s assessing that,” replies Angel’s assistant, Robin.

“Well, can we put a rocket up the director’s arse, perhaps? We’ve been shooting all day... Work with me, somebody, please. What, am I all alone here?”

A production assistant hurries across the set to join them. “Ms Deon, I apologise for the delay.”

“Is it going to be fifteen more takes? How long are we going to be? I’m getting vertigo every time I go up there.”

“It won’t be long now. You’ve been doing ever so well and the Director loves your work.”

Jaymi appears beside them. “Hi. I’m Jaymi Peek, account manager for the client.”

“Pleased to meet you. Do you know how many more times I’ll need to be hoisted up on that wire?”

“They’re just bringing in more fans, to make more breeze. I’d say just a few more takes now.”

“What does the director want, a wind tunnel?”

“No, merely perfection. The client is paying us for perfection.” They all turn, as three industrial-size fans are wheeled in, positioned and switched on, followed by much trial and error and billowing fabric. The cameras are then re-positioned around the fans. The lights dim. “Looks like you’re on, Ms Deon,” says Jaymi and heads back to set.

“At last. Let’s see if they can get it right this time. Celine, bronze me.”

“Er, pardon me, Ms Deon,” says Celine, “but I think perhaps you’re bronzed sufficiently already.”

“Bronze me some more. And Robin, get me another bottle of water please.”

“Close your eyes a moment,” says Celine, powder-puff poised beside Angel’s face.

The director, Ray, approaches. “OK, Ms Deon, in a minute we’re going to lift you up again. Be aware we can’t see your face until we move past the second fan, on camera left. Once we pass by the third fan—”

“I turn around, with my arms flapping slowly, and look straight into the lens,” says Angel with her eyes still closed.

“Yes, good. Almost as if you’ve done it before.” Ray turns away from Angel and heads back to the set. “All right, people, I feel a take coming on. Positions, everyone.”

“Jerk,” murmurs Angel, opening her eyes.

Ray turns around, having heard her; says nothing; and carries on, joining Jaymi by the set. “What do you make of the talent?” he asks Jaymi.

“Oh, a good choice,” says Jaymi. “Looks the part, certainly... Nothing much going on upstairs, of course.”

Ray laughs, as Angel is escorted past them onto set. Once she is in position, Ray nods at the Assistant Director, who calls “Silence on set... Fans... Dim the lights... Roll playback...” Violins and harps sound, from hidden speakers. And now the entire crew watch Angel as she is lifted high on invisible wires. “Roll camera.”

“Rolling,” says the Camera Assistant.

“Action,” says Ray.

Ray stands with his arms crossed, intent on the monitor, his face lit by the screen. Kelly chews gum as she looks up at Angel, enthralled as if by a giant butterfly. Angel’s dress is billowing, to perfection; her hair wafts exquisitely through the spotlit air. She lifts her arms high, as the dolly grip pulls the dolly on its tracks. The fans increase in speed, cellos join the violins and harps, and Angel spins around, looking straight down at Jaymi’s eyes and then at the camera.

Jaymi smiles, his gaze drifting higher still than Angel, onward to the shadows in the rafters of the studio.

*

In Marc’s private club early that evening, Jaymi finds Marc sitting at the bar with an open bottle of champagne beside him. Behind the bar a uniformed barman polishes a...