The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
THURSDAY
For everything there is a time. A time for living. And a time for dying. For the humblest single cell organism to the mightiest star.
Louise Vandervelt's time for dying has arrived. She died in hospital yesterday from malnutrition and complications arising from her ingesting rogue medication. In America, a land of plenty, a land of milk and honey, a young girl from a wealthy family has succumbed to an ailment normally associated with the poorest parts of Africa.
Becca Shaughnessy phones to tell me the news. She is sobbing so hard I can barely understand her. Even John is subdued when he hears, though he scarcely met Louise and she was mean to him. Louise was mean to everyone. And now she is gone.
FRIDAY
A letter arrrived today addressed to me. I rarely receive mail, apart from letters informing me I have won a million dollars in a contest I didn't enter if I only call this number right now my life will change forever. John always prevents me from dialing the number. It is a sham, he insists.
This letter isn't a sham. It is an invitation to Louise's funeral to be held Sunday. John is invited as well. At the bottom of the typed letter Jake Vandervelt, Louise's younger brother, has written in his childish handwriting:
Please come, Cameron. Please Please Please.
Jake
I seek advice from John.
"You'll go. We'll both go. It's the least we can do," he declares.
"But Louise was a mean person."
"Then we'll go for Jake. Poor kid. First his mom now his sister..."
Humans wear black to bury their dead. It is tradition, a mark of respect for the departed. The men wear dark suits and the women wear dark dresses. I borrow a black dress from Sarah Connor. It requires much taking in to fit me, a fact that appears to annoy her for some reason. "I am swimming in this dress," I announce as it flaps around me. She walks off in a huff. I really do not understand humans.
SUNDAY
The cemetery is green and verdant with mature Holm oaks dotted about the grassy slopes casting deep shade from the unrelenting sun. Around 40 people are attending Louise's funeral. All are dressed in black. I am wearing Sarah Connor's black dress, finally a snug fit. I am also wearing dark sunglasses that allow me to discreetly scan the surrounding area for danger. I must stay alert. I am responsible for John's safety and Skynet has no respect for human rituals.
I am not the only one wearing sunglasses. Becca Shaughnessy has a pair to disguise the puffiness around her eyes caused by excess weeping.
"It's like a tap I can't turn off," she explains tearfully. "Louise was so young. So pretty."
"So thin," I add.
"Yeah. Be careful what you wish for, huh."
I nod. Thin, pretty and dead is not a flattering combination.
"Hi, John. You look handsome in that suit. Too bad it's such a sad occasion."
"Yeah. Very sad."
"I mean, I know Louise was nasty to me, but she wasn't always that way. We were friendly once. Used to do sleepovers and watch Jump Street until we thought our hearts would burst we loved Johhny Depp so much."
Becca starts to snivel. John pats her on the back.
"Then her mom died and she just totally changed. She became obsessed with her weight, with labels, hanging out with the supposedly cool crowd. All that dumb shit TV tells you is important but it so isn't. Not really."
Louise's body lies inside a shiny casket surrounded by flowers and suspended above an open grave. Closest to it are Jake and a taller man I assume is his father. As I watch Jake turns and surveys the crowd. He spots me and suddenly he starts to move. His father tries to prevent this but is too late.
"Cameron!"
Jake runs fast I am pleased to note. This bodes well for his mission in the future. He races across the distance in no time and slams into me, wrapping his arms around my legs and hugging me tight.
"You came! You came!"
I can feel his body shuddering with uncontrollable sobbing. I stroke his hair gently.
Becca is weeping again and even John seems affected. Perhaps I should cry? But I know I won't. I can't. No tears.
The tall man joins us. He extends his hand to me in a human greeting ritual. I take it. His handshake is dry and firm.
"I'm Mitch Vandervelt, Jake's father."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I inform him.
"Thank you. You must be Cameron. Jake's told me about you and how you tried to help my daughter. I thank you for that."
"I'm sorry for your loss, sir," John tells him. "I'm John, Cameron's brother."
"Thank you, John. My son has quite a crush on your sister. Now I see why. She's a very pretty girl."
"Yes, sir, she is."
Did John just call me pretty? I play back the audio recording. He did!
"I'm really sorry about Louise, Mr Vandervelt," Becca says.
"Hello, Becca. I haven't seen you in a while. You're grown to be a beautiful young woman."
Becca sobs loudly. Some people can't take a compliment.
"I blame myself, of course. My wife's death affected us all but Louise most of all. I thought the dieting nonsense was just peer pressure and she'd grow out of it. Obviously she was more deeply troubled than I realised. But we can't have our time over again, can we."
We can if you have Skynet's time displacement technology, but it seems inappropriate to point this out.
"Come along, Jake. The service is about to begin."
Mitch Vandervelt prises Jake off me and they return to the graveside.
The service is short and when it is over people begin to drift away towards their vehicles parked in the distant roadway.
Hayley and Alexis, Louise's closest friends walk towards us. They are dressed identically in black dresses with their blonde hair neatly tied back. Their skirts are very short, exposing pale skinny legs.
"She's got a nerve showing her face here," Hayley says nodding at me. "How did she get an invite anyway? Louey hated her."
"Cameron's Jake's friend. He invited her," Becca tells them.
"God, I hate cemeteries," Alexis states. "They're so depressing. And this place is a real dump. They should do something to brighten it up."
"What d'you suggest, Lex? Balloons and party streamers hanging from every tombstone? Maybe they could install a karioke machine in the chapel?"
"Better than that creepy organ. And did you see the vicar? He was wearing generic loafers! Definitely not Gucci. Louise would just freak if she knew."
"Aren't your dresses a bit short?" Becca notes. "This is meant to be a solemn occasion, not a catwalk or a sleazy pickup joint."
"Isn't your hair a bit ginger? It's meant to be a solemn occasion, not a circus," Alexis sneers.
"I can't help the colour of my hair, but you could've worn longer skirts. Show some respect instead of your ass."
"I have a beautiful ass! People would pay to have my ass."
"And one day, Lex, they probably will."
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Did she just insult me?"
"Leave it. We've stayed long enough," Hayley declares staring towards the road. "Let's get out of here. Where did we park?"
"I think it's this way. And FYI, Hayles, I said I was going to wear the black Chanel."
"No, I said I was going to wear the black Chanel. You were going in Dior. And at least I remembered underwear."
"I didn't want VPL!"
"It's a funeral!"
"So?"
"I don't think you even own underwear."
"You bitch!"
They walk off towards the roadway still arguing. It seems strange to hear Hayley and Alexis insult each other. Normally they reserve their insults for Becca. Or me.
Becca says, "They've been bickering like that for days, poor things. They're lost without Louise. In a funny way I think it's their way of grieving. And of course they both want the crown."
"What crown?" John asks.
"Head Queen Bee. It won't be them, of course. They're followers not leaders."
"Maybe you should be head Queen Bee, Becca."
"Oh John, that's so sweet! Unfortunately I haven't been a size zero since...ever. Not with these puppies."
"By puppies she means her large breasts," I explain for John's benefit.
"Yeah, I cracked the code, thanks."
"It could've been me, you know, being buried today. Not from starvation - I love pizza way too much for that. But I used to drink constantly. I hated myself so much only alcohol blocked the pain. See this button?" She indicates a small badge on her dress. "They give you this at AA for completing 100 days sober. Your sister saved me from myself, John. I mean it. Cameron's the finest human being I ever met."
Becca hugs me almost as tight as Jake did.
"I'd better go, too. I'm double-parked. Bound to get a ticket. But what the heck, eh? Today of all days."
She walks away. John turns to me and says, "Hear that? You're the finest human being she ever met."
"But I am not human."
"That's what makes it so ironic."
John takes my hand in his. "Let's take a walk."
LAKE
We walk further into the cemetery where there is an ornamental lake. The water is placid and the edges softened by reeds. There are seats and we sit down still holding hands. If I had a heart it would be beating very fast.
"Look at the ducks."
I look. Several ducks drift past on the surface of the water, ignoring us completely. Ducks have no interest in the affairs of man. Or machine. I wonder if they enjoy being ducks? I suppose they do. If they like feathers. And paddling aimlessly in circles.
"How was your first funeral?" John asks.
"Second," I correct. I explain about Jake and Future John and how Skynet's HunterKiller fleet is destroyed by his heroic sacrifice.
John frowns. "You're telling me my orders cost that little boy his life?"
"He is fully grown by then."
"Why him?"
"I recommend him. You saw how fast he runs."
John is silent. He stops holding my hand.
"Is that why you befriended him - to fatten him up for the kill?"
"I don't wish to fatten him up. It will slow him down."
John shakes his head. "No way. Now you've told me I won't let him do it."
"But the destruction of Skynet's HK fleet hastens the end of the war, saving millions."
"I'll do it myself."
"Your generals won't let you. I won't let you. It is one life against the many."
"Then I'll find another way. That boy won't die on my watch."
"Before Jake undertakes his mission he gave me a locket for safekeeping. He knew there was a chance he wouldn't survive." John says nothing so I continue. "He tells me he has worn the locket since he was a small boy and I will know why."
"And did you?"
"Then? No. It was the first time I had met him."
"What was in the locket?"
"A picture of a young girl."
"His sister."
"Yes."
"What happened to the locket?"
"Before you send me back in time I give it to you. You say you will be honoured to wear it in his memory."
John squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't speak for 86 seconds.
"A causal loop," he whispers.
"A causal loop?"
"Jake recognises you in the future and boasts how fast he can run because he wants to impress you. He probably still loves you. And you suggested it to him here in his past when you met after the roboraptor was running amok. You recognise him then and tell him to practice running because of the future mission which costs him his life. And so it goes. A causal loop."
"I see."
"It's going to happen, isn't it? Judgement Day. Whatever we do to try and prevent it won't be enough."
"It seems inevitable," I agree.
John is silent again. His hands are fists bunched at his sides.
"There is something else you should know."
"What?"
"Jake's locket has room for a second picture."
John's fists are now clenched so tight his knuckles show white through the skin. I calculate he knows the answer but will ask nonetheless.
"Who?"
"Your mother."
BAR
"This is not the way home."
"We're taking a little detour," John replies as he steers the jeep into the parking lot of a bar in west LA. He goes inside. I walk after him. He is behaving erractically as he often does after hearing of his future self so I will need to be vigilent.
Inside John gives instructions to the barman. "Beer. A cold one."
"You got ID?"
Instead of his ID John produces a fifty dollar bill. He slides it across the bar. The barman pockets the cash.
"Sit in a booth, bud. I don't like to advertise I serve kids."
We sit in a booth. The beer arrives.
"What's the girl having?"
"She's not drinking."
"Sensible girl."
"Yeah, a real model citizen."
The bar is half full. All men no women. There is a small elevated stage at one end with a steel pole in the middle. John swallows half his beer. The lights suddenly dim and loud music begins to play. A woman struts out onto the stage.
A woman wearing a police uniform.
"We need to leave," I tell John.
"Relax. Enjoy the show."
The police woman starts to dance, swaying to the music. I didn't know police officers could do this. Perhaps she is off-duty. Or undercover. The steel pole in the center of the stage impedes her dancing. She bumps into it several times, even getting her legs tangled round it at one point. It is a stupid place to put a pole.
She begins to remove her clothing!
Only I seem to find this unusual police behaviour. Most of the men cheer or whistle. Evidently they like to support the police in this part of town.
Soon enough every item of clothing is removed apart from her garter belt and police cap. I suppose regulations demands she keep this on at all times. The men surge forward and press dollar bills into the garter belt. She blows the men kisses. Community relations at work.
"What are they doing?" I ask John.
"Showing their appreciation."
"With money?"
"What else is there?"
"In ballet the audience often throw flowers onto the stage."
"This isn't ballet."
"No. She is a very bad dancer. It's almost as if she deliberately bumps into that pole."
With a wave the woman is gone. The lights come back up and the men return to their seats. The barman approaches our booth.
"Listen, bud, I just heard my boss is coming in. You'll have to vamoose."
"We're not going anywhere - bud."
"Shit, my job's on the line. Look, here's your fifty back. Beer's on me. Okay?"
"Tell you what. We'll let fate decide."
"Fate?"
John has a quarter in his hand. "Heads we go, tails we stay. Call it."
"Listen, I----"
"Call it!"
"Jeez...heads."
The coin is flipped. John catches it then lifts his hand to reveal---
"Heads it is. We're gone. Stay lucky, friend. You'll need to. We all will."
I follow John outside then stop and turn round. There is something I must do first.
I jump on the stage. All eyes are on me. Some of the men whistle. Do they expect me to dance and remove my clothing?
As if.
Instead I grip the steel pole and wrench it out. Some of the ceiling falls down. No matter. Now the dancers can dance without being obstructed.
I jump from the stage and hand the pole to the barman. His mouth gapes open. He is probably trying to find words to thank me.
"You're welcome," I tell him.
-000-
Cameron misinterprets the finer points of pole dancing - if there are any. And like any normal bloke John relieves stress by heading to the nearest pub, or Yank equivilent.