I Will Not

I followed the server, heels clicking against the marble floor, to the table. I glanced at the vintage mechanical watch on my left wrist, rose gold dial ticking methodically. My timing was perfect, with five minutes to spare.

It was poor form to be late when meeting a prospective client. Especially so when they make it clear they're serious about hiring me, or when they have this much money to throw around. His choice of venue was impressive. A winery in name, but the menu featured imported beef and fine seafood, at "market price." Most people these days ate nothing but rice and vegetables, since that's all they could afford, so it was a perpetual surprise to see my clients buy me such luxury products. But then, it was all part of the job.

A professional lover. A doll they could dress and shape to their whims. A luxury product in my own right. Conspicuous consumption that walks, talks, and wears lipstick. When modern science found out how to extend telomeres, and human lives with them, so much changed. But the oldest profession did not.

I spotted my date approaching the table. "Hyacinth?" he asked.

"William! Oh, it's so lovely to meet you in person." I stood up, and gave the man my signature barely-chaste hug, in perfectly practiced fashion.

As he took a seat at the table across from me and put his laptop bag next to him, I took a moment to look him over. He looked, for the most part, how I expected. A short, well-cropped beard accentuated his jawline. Navy blue pinstripe suit, dark red tie, and white dress shirt. Muscular, but not overly so. A conservative style, practically timeless.

But one thing stood out in his chosen appearance. He wore a pair of glasses, rectangular, with gold frames, perched low on his nose. A puzzle of an accessory. If he'd been born with vision problems, why couldn't he have gotten corrective surgery? Or maybe he already had? Maybe they were just decorative. Perfectly clean lenses, without a speck of dust, suggested regular cleaning. Yet he seemed to peer over them entirely as he looked over the drink menu.

I realized I was staring, so I hid behind a demure smile as I looked over my own drink menu. A reisling called my name.

"Have you been here before?" I initiated the conversation.

"Oh yes, plenty of times. My coworkers love it here." He looked up at me. "I like the shade of lipstick you're wearing. It suits you."

"Thank you!" I placed a manicured hand near my mouth. "I've been wearing it forever, I don't even remember where I got it." This was a lie, of course. My first client bought it for me in Paris. It'd be rude to mention this.

I crinkled my eyes when I smiled. He mimicked my expression.

Next I looked over the food menu. The salmon dish spoke to me. Not the most expensive thing on the menu, but I still loved it. Growing up in the 2030s, I could only get good salmon when my family went out to eat, and it only became more expensive when all wild populations of salmon were declared endangered. The flavor reminded me of all the reasons I did this. Some people judged me for being an escort. But if it meant the difference between delicious meat every weekend, and an eternity of steamed broccoli, I knew my choice. I pushed the hair away from my face.

"How old are you?"

The question startled me. Usually clients were cultured enough not to ask this one this early. But I recovered quickly, smiled, and replied, "Take a guess!"

My date smirked. "126."

He was dead on. My heart skipped.

William set his menu down, and stared directly in my eyes. "I don't usually spend time with women like you. But I have something specific I'm looking for. So I've done my research. Let me make this quick." He took my hand with both of his, and lowered his voice.

"I heard from a business partner that girls from your company have a proclivity for body modifications. I arranged this meeting because you are the oldest girl from your agency who hasn't yet had any significant plastic surgery. I-"

"Oh!" I pulled my hand back, a little uneased, but doing my best to maintain composure. "So you like your women natural? I understand!"

He coughed. "No, not quite. This might be a little hard to explain." He waved down the server. But before I could get a word in edgewise, he ordered for the both of us. A bottle of chardonnay to split, and two filet mignon steaks. The waiter looked at me with a vague pity as William insisted I wanted mine cooked rare, like his. I would've preferred mine as a medium. I fixed my expression in a polite, doll-like smile. This was going sour, fast.

"So, where were we?" I asked.

"You are a unique woman, Heather."

Hearing my real name left me stunned. My agency was extraordinarily careful to never reveal personal information to clients. Yet he somehow knew? And my age, too? This was bad news.

"Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom."

"Hold on!" He grabbed my wrist. "Just hear me out."

Before I could wrestle free, I saw him pull something out of his laptop case. Something that kept me planted. A box in a very specific color of turquoise.

Maybe this was foolish, but I slowly sat back down. Tiffany blue meant something to a woman like me.

William did little to hide his smile. "This is for you. No strings attached. It's meant to show you that I'm serious."

He opened the box to reveal an exquisite pair of earrings. White diamond on yellow gold hoops.

"What I want, Heather, is a blank slate. My tastes tend to run a bit mercurial. I know this well enough. What I need is someone willing to follow me wherever my tastes may lead. And someone with the maturity to know that no matter how you look, you're still the same person underneath it all. I don't want to find a new 20-something girl every time I desire a partner with a new look. I want a woman like you. A life partner, with a personality that won't shatter when I try to polish it."

All I could do was gape at the gift on the table. Tiffany was one of the few companies in 2146 that still had access to genuine diamonds. Anyone could get their hands on moissanite or white sapphire, but the companies still serving the diamond market were few and far between. And some of the things he was saying? A life partner? Was he insane?

The wine arrived, knocking me out of my stupor.

"Try this," he said, pouring me a glass. "Let me know what you think."

The chardonnay was a deeper yellow than the reisling I'd planned on getting. And while it had a pleasant smell, a bit like vanilla, the taste was like chewing on a wet pencil. Thinking about the earrings, I smiled as best as I could. "Interesting flavor. It's… oaky."

William smiled. "I love this particular vintage, although I know it's not for everyone. And if you don't care for the steak, you can always just send it back."

I took another sip, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. This sort of arrangement was almost too good to be true.

"So you want me to get plastic surgery for you? Was there something in particular you find lacking in me?"

"Not plastic surgery, per se. For example, I think I'd look good with a blonde on my arm. Being blonde is very in, don't you think?"

"Why not just find a blonde, then? Of the 16 million people in New York City, surely there's a blonde girl out there who fits the bill?"

"You underestimate yourself, Heather. The color of your hair doesn't matter to me, in and of itself. A woman who shares my love of the genuine and the antique? Who has seen her share of history, and yet still chooses romance for a living? Someone who doesn't fall for the vapid little trap that is 'love'? No, my dear, that is a hard thing to find. And I'm not going to let that walk away easily."

I took a deep breath. This was moving far too quickly. Only fifteen minutes in, half a glass of wine, not even so much as an appetizer. I couldn't even tell if the diamonds were real.

I forced a little levity back into my voice, straining to smile a little. "Well, then. Should we bring this conversation back to the ground floor? What do you do for work?"

"I'm in finance. You?"

"This!" I chuckled a little, but my heart was heavier than I usually let it become on a first date.

The steaks arrived shortly after that. They were, in fact, delicious.

After I kissed William goodbye that night, I took the earrings to a nearby jewelry shop to have them appraised. They were worth enough to cover a normal person's lifestyle for nearly 200 years.

I did not sell them.

◆◆◆

We walked into the gala, dressed to the nines. After nearly twenty years together, one would think I would have gotten used to the rumors. But it still stung when I overheard the whispers.

"Is that his new girlfriend?"

"I guess so."

"What happened to the old one?"

"No idea… Are those the same earrings?"

"No way!"

The confusion was understandable. The last time we'd been seen at a public event, I had long red hair instead of chin-length black, a chest a cup size smaller, and legs a few inches shorter. The leg mods in particular were a painful procedure, but tall and curvy was all the rage in 2168.

William pulled me a little closer as we passed by. I made eye contact, almost hoping they'd recognize me. But they avoided my gaze instead.

My beau's mercurial tastes in fashion never applied to himself, of course. He wore a smart royal blue suit with a red tie, and his signature gold glasses. He shook hands with some politician. The mayor, maybe? I could never tell them apart.

We walked to the open bar. As we waited, William pulled out his phone, and unfolded it. "I have something I'd like to show you."

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. This was a stock phrase of his.

"Take a look." He pulled up an image of a woman with two robotic arms, playing a very long piano. "Don't you think you'd look good with robot arms?"

I sighed. "What in the world am I meant to do with extra arms? I don't even play piano!"

"But you'd look so chic! They're removable, you know." He leaned in to kiss me. I put a finger on his lips.

"No way."

"One arm? Just as a compromise?"

"Absolutely not."

◆◆◆

I flicked the hotel light on with my right hand, carried my clutch with my other right hand, and gestured with my left.

"Again? You really did it again? I keep telling you, you have to stop doing this!"

"The boys really wanted to see the tech in action! And if I don't manage to land this account, there's no chance I'll get the promotion to VP once Riviera retires!"

"You can't invite men to our hotel room without asking me! It's always 'just a look,' then one thing leads to another, you're ordering bottles to the room, and everyone's taking their pants off! Enough! Tell them I have a headache! I'm not interested!"

"Heather, please! Be reasonable, darling!"

"Don't 'darling' me! If they want to see my arm so badly-"

I twisted the socket fastener loose, and pulled my robotic right arm from its port on the right side of my ribcage. I threw the arm at him. He dodged.

"Now I'm going to bed. If you perverts want to stay up all night playing with my arm, leave me out of it!"

I slammed the door to the bedroom behind me. I'd have to give the thing a thorough cleaning tomorrow morning.

◆◆◆

"I have something I'd like to show you."

"What is it, my Will?"

We were walking together after Sunday brunch, taking in the sights of Manhattan. William looked exactly the same as he did when we'd first met. Today he was keeping it a little casual, his suit a shade of teal blue, and his red tie with a faint geometric diamond pattern. The glasses were the same pair, which he had meticulously repaired many times over the years.

"Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?"

He flipped open his phone, and showed me a few images. Names of men in black ink.

"Little tacky, no?"

"Not at all. It'd be something to show me how much you care for me. See, I was thinking about buying you a yacht for New Year's 2200, and this would be a nice gift you could get me in exchange. And they recently came out with that tattoo ink that sinks down to the DNA level. It doesn't fade with time at all, and telomere treatments don't have any effect on it. It's all the rage with couples these days."

"I… Um…"

◆◆◆

William sat in the corner of the room. I was laid out, face down, head resting on my arms, on a table in the middle of the room. The tattoo artist was midway through a "WILLIAM" tattoo on the back of my neck, working on the second L.

The pain was extreme. Memories I'd long buried were bubbling up, murmuring resentments that I thought I suppressed. Looking in the mirror at 19, flat as a board, yet proud of my slim figure nonetheless. Now my body was surgically sculpted into a pinup-style hourglass. My waist was so small, I barely ate anymore.

I got my original figure from my mom. I remember she'd always told me to marry for love. I had no idea where she could be now. Dead? I stopped talking to my parents after they disowned me for joining the escort agency. Were they still around? Telomere shots were expensive, and they'd never been rich. They never reached out to me, as far as I knew, so I had no reason to think about them now. Why was I thinking about them now?

I tried to focus on something else. But the pain on the back of my neck made it difficult to keep my thoughts positive. The yacht, I thought, would be worth all this, right? Nevermind that I hated being on the open water, that my robot arm made drowning a real possibility, given how heavy it was. And the fact that it would just be another venue for William to show me off, to host his parties.

I thought about all the times he'd shown me I wasn't good enough. All the little chirps and chides. How he would leave me alone, with two other men and my extra arm, in our bedroom while he took a phone call. As if this wasn't all for him. As if he hadn't asked for every change. And now? When I was trying to show my devotion yet again? He was hardly even paying attention. I shifted my gaze a little, and saw him texting someone from his chair in the corner. I wasn't even sure it wasn't another woman.

Every needle piercing into my sensitive neck skin, every point of diamond-bright pain radiated like a brand. Brilliant as a facet of light off my Tiffany jewelry. I could take no more, this had to-

"Stop!"

I pushed off the table, startling the tattoo artist. "I'm done! I'm done, William." I grabbed my purse and stormed through the door. William made no move to follow me.

◆◆◆

I followed the server, heels clicking against the floor, to the table. I glanced at the vintage mechanical watch on my wrist, dial ticking methodically. Only four minutes to spare, but I forgave myself for my rustiness.

My hair was back to its natural shade of brown, and cut to a short bob. My numerous body modifications and surgeries had been undone, the port on my ribcage now a scar that would fade over time. And I had nothing but time, now that I wasn't the plaything of one of New York's richest socialites. I had picked a new name, and signed up with a new agency. I found a shade of lipstick almost identical to what I used to wear.

My date approached the table. I got up to hug him, and he must've noted the odd tattoo on the back of my neck. "I WILL NOT."