He’d never been invited to a Holo Ball. It just seemed like a repainted excuse to gather around a table, pick your poison and forget everything. He could do that at home. His friend Cathy alluded to the party being more than that. ‘You do the wrong things with the right people, you’re bound to make new friends.’
He needed new friends, especially if he was seriously considering leaving one of the biggest firms on this side of the country. He was going to need a lot of new friends, with a lot of connections and money to spare. Every decent attorney eventually builds his own firm from the ground up, or at least that was the belief driving him.
“Which Holos did you bring?” Cathy wasn’t the patient type. He’d barely closed the door to the car when she asked.
He scoffed, “Adams and Cleopatra.”
“Hmm okay, good thinking. Who else?”
“Who did you bring?”
“You and your surprises. Fine. I have Indiana Jones, Lucy, Big Bean as my back pocket, and little me as my dessert topic.”
“You’re a minimalist. I can’t imagine not having at least 5 to toggle tonight. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking all this Holo logging is a distraction and I’m not up for it. I heard the Big Three were coming tonight and if I can get even ten feet from them, I might get something out of this.”
“Well, your heads in the right place. Let’s see where your head goes once you get a little pop going.” She giggled.
As he and Cathy talked in the backseat, the car maneuvered through city streets onto the highway and then, down a long dark stretch of road. They had passed out of city limits and entered a quiet burb bubble where large homes were buried behind pines or tucked into cliffsides.
The car pulled up to a mansion distinctly inspired by Greco-modern architecture. Tall marble columns stood on either side of the huge glass windows divided into geometric shapes by gold painted steel panes. On either side of the entrance door stood statues of open-mouthed men reaching towards the other, head tilted seductively. All of this looked submerged in a saffron colored dye from the red floodlights positioned along the drive, pointing back at the columns.
Excessive, he thought. From his pocket, he removed the small snuff box of pop. Dipping a finger into the yellowish gel, he rubbed the floor of his mouth under his tongue. Just a little something to get through the next few hours. From his other pocket he toggled on his Time Replicants of President Adams and Cleopatra. He would save the white lion for the Big Three if the opportunity presented itself.