Core Drive: A Westworld Story

Reverie 2015-C: Joy

"Welcome to Wheatlore Contemporary, Miss," the check-in girl said it like she was reading off a teleprompter for the hundredth time. "Do you have an invitation?"

Joy opened her clutch purse—or rather the matching clutch to go with her sister's very expensive and very elegant dress—and handed the fancy card that marked her as Logan Delos's plus one.

The check-in girl's eyebrow twitched when she read the name. There was a faint tweak of her lips that made Joy think Logan was going to know everyone at the event.

"Enjoy the show," the check-in girl said before handing the invitation back.

Joy walked through a doorway covered by silk material cut laterally to dissect a print into tassels. Joy was surprised to feel that it was genuine silk too. She worked hard to keep her mouth from opening out of astonishment.

The walls had no art on display; because it wasn't paintings or photography or photo-slides that were the main attraction, it was people.

A dozen performers worked on the floor, some clad in body paint, others in the nude and some wearing full bodysuits. A few were contortionists, twisting their bodies as if they had elastic bones. One pair was acting out a play with no words, their dance motions taking on the art of ballet without the pointed toes. Expressionism meets tantric sex. It was all very strange. Joy realised instantly that this wasn't her place.

"Not your scene, huh?" A man with slumped shoulders and beady eyes said. He was holding two champagne flutes, his elbows pressed to his sides in a way that made him look smaller than he was.

"I could say the same about you," she said.

When he noticed Joy look him over as if he were a math problem, he fumbled. Trying to hold two champagne glasses in one hand so he could free up the other for a handshake.

"William," he said and then frowned as if that was the wrong answer. "Billy. Friends call me Billy."

Joy bit her inner cheek to keep from laughing at his awkwardness, "Joy."

Billy's neck turned red, "First time to one of these?"

"First, and probably last." Joy scanned the room.

Billy huffed. It wasn't in amusement, more sympathetic. Joy could tell he wasn't here for the champagne; or the show seeing as how he made sure his eyes never met any of the more risqué performers.

He cleared his throat, "Looking for your date?"

"I wouldn't call him a date."

"What would you call him then?"

Joy bit her lip, "I don't know that either."

"Billy," a brunette waved him down on the other end of the room. She was beautiful in an ordinary way. The kind of face you could see in a handful of strangers. Except for her cheek-lining grin and perfect teeth, those were all her own. She definitely had a great dental plan. The way she held herself, of familiarity and comfort, meant that this place was definitely her scene. Billy ducked his head and excused himself, rejoining the brunette's side like a skulking puppy, frightened by all the bright lights and strange people in the room. They made an odd, yet endearing, pair.

Joy tracked down the bar and grabbed herself a glass of champagne. One woman leaving the bar looked her up and down. It was suggestive, but not as blatant as the look she got from a man pretending to be interested in his group conversation. Joy felt appraised, commodified. It was a complex feeling.

As she took a turn about the room, trying to find the same amount of excitement from watching the performers as the other appraisers, she heard the familiar vibrato of Logan's voice; light, excited and self-impressed. Ease chased some of the anxious pricklings in her hands.