Read Online Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) by Bruce Sterling - Free Book Online

Brazilians.”
    “How about Americans?” prompted Professor Milo. “Do you understand the Americans?”
    “Oh, the Americans are no problem!” said Farfalla. “Any fool can understand Americans!”
    “What a sweet thing to say,” said Professor Milo. “I guess that’s all settled, then. Now, I need to find my museum on that handy map of yours.”

Chapter Six: Modern Dentistry
    Farfalla excused herself to find the ladies’ room. The hotel dining room didn’t have one, so Farfalla had to wander around, absurdly, past numerous tall doors marked “Privato,” past emergency exits that led to nowhere, past a limestone wall festooned with flowering ivy, down a half-circuit of a shiny spiral staircase... This hotel was colossal, and its architecture was crazy.
    Most attendees at the Futurist Congress would never escape this big posh hotel. It would never occur to them to try to escape.
    The pitch-black ladies’ restroom had a hidden light-switch behind the door. When the chilly fluorescents flicked on, the ladies’ room was an icy marble shrine, with stone sinks the shape of jet-propelled kidneys, and faucets like swan’s necks.
    Farfalla crept into a stall to call Babi.
    “Get yourself over here,” Babi demanded. “You’re supposed to be translating for the 10:00 opening session.”
    “I can’t make the opening. It’s already too late. What’s my next session?”
    “That’s ‘Italian Historical Guilt and the Somali Relief Effort.’ The speaker is Zeta Starlitz.”
    “Which one is ‘Zeta Starlitz’? I don’t remember any Zeta Starlitz.”
    “Zeta was the winner of the LOXY ‘Youth Ideals’ website contest. Zeta’s a Swiss altermodern philosopher who works in emergency relief. Twenty years old! I just met Zeta. She’s very sweet and really quite brilliant.”
    Idealistic emergency relief. Ugh. This was the most poisonous topic in the world for Farfalla. Farfalla’s parents had worked in emergency relief. Farfalla would rather trudge a hundred kilometers in a burning African desert than listen to lectures about emergency relief. “Listen to me, Babi,” she said, “what’s the deal with this American guy, Gavin Tremaine?’ He’s one of my speakers, and he’s giving me the big owl-eyes. I think he’s coming on to me.”
    Farfalla heard the light, swift rustle of Babi’s laptop. “Oh yes, him, Gah-veen Tre-ma-ee-neh ,” said Babi. “Did you know he paid full price to get his sister into the conference? He’s either a complete fool or a really nice guy!”
    “I don’t think either of those things are true.”
    “Let me search for the email he sent us.” A brief pause. “Oh yes,” said Babi, at last. “This is about the Brazilian angle. I’d forgotten about that.”
    “Gavin Tremaine has a Brazilian angle?”
    “Yes, he does. The Brazilian Culture Minister. Your new boyfriend wants to talk to him. He wants a ‘private audience with the Culture Minister’ while they are both here in Capri. Well, that explains it. That’s why he’s such a big supporter of our Congress.”
    “Okay. We can do that for him. It will be easy.” The Brazilian Culture Minister was a sweet-tempered old gentleman. Sixty-eight years old, but he never stopped performing his rocking bossa-nova. He toured the world constantly. Farfalla had already met the Culture Minister three times, without even trying.
    The Culture Minister spent his twilight years singing, dancing and promoting Brazilian fashion designers. And messing around with his computers, of course. The Brazilian Culture Minister adored computers. The old man had a lifestyle that Farfalla sincerely envied. All aging, dropout, former hippie Baby Boomers should be like the Brazilian Culture Minister.
    “Yes,” said Babi, “it’ll be easy to arrange a meeting, but let’s do this the smart way. You let me handle this. Do you have a phone number for your fidanzato there?”
    “Of course, I have his phone number,” said Farfalla, opening her