Page 86 of The Artist
I nodded against his chest and kept focusing on matching my breathing to his. I’d never been one to seek out men for physical pleasure. Maybe because caring for babies all day fed my need for human contact. But the combination of Mason’s kindness, size, strength, warmth, and scent made me want to stay in his arms forever.
I wouldn’t even mind having sex with him again.
That thought made me smile a little. I had been convinced sex was overrated but thinking about my four times with Mason made me smile. Sex with him was different and if I was honest, I’d have it any day of the week with him.
Maybe it was the many positions we tried, his size, or that we did it in secret. Wondering about it made me finally drift off to sleep.
When I woke again the others were lounging and talking.
Mason was sitting but as soon as he heard me yawn, he brushed my hair back and smiled. “How are you feeling?”
Stretching my arms, I looked out the window and saw water below. “I’m okay, how long did I sleep?”
“Almost four hours. Jonah was just asking Victor what he’s been missing from home. He says your food is way better than ours.”
I looked toward Victor, who sat with a bag of candy in his hands. Raising it to his nose he sniffed the contents and wrinkled his brow. “That’s because your food is either too sweet or too salty. And some of your spices are unfamiliar to me.”
“Are you saying your food is bland?”
“No. Of course not. It’s delicious.”
“I think one of my favorite things about France is how colorful your clothes are,” Jonah said. “At first, I thought it was a matter of fashion, but every time I go to France or have the pleasure of welcoming people from France, they’re dressed in rich colors and wild patterns.”
Victor smoothed his dark green pants, which stood in contrast to his sweater in a burnt orange. I’d always thought he dressed in a rather subdued fashion and would argue that his outfit was boring next to my flowery pants, striped shirt, and colorful jewelry, but compared to the earth colors that many Motlanders seemed to favor, Jonah had a point.
With his usual expression of self-importance, Victor began explaining, “There’s a historical reason for our way of dressing. It took generations before our people could walk above ground without protective suits. The original survival bunkers had large dome windows that would provide natural light, but people couldn’t go outside to lie in a field of flowers or swim in the ocean. Plants were grown in artificial light and every resource was sparse. Clothing became a way to provide color and over the centuries it’s grown to be a treasured part of our culture.”
“Do you have everyone living above ground now?” Thor asked. “I remember at our first visit to Old Europe we met the lady who was your prime minister back then. She mentioned that having everyone living above ground was her goal.”
“It’s going to take many years to achieve. All the new government buildings are above ground, and we’re adding apartment buildings as fast as we can clean more land. By now almost forty-five percent of our citizens live above ground.”
“Where do you live?” Aubri asked Victor.
“I live in a penthouse apartment overlooking Victory Park, which was named after me. I used to live alone, but with some of the other buildings undergoing restoration, everyone in my building has had to accept a temporary roommate.”
It was a subject that brought up strong emotions in me, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “The only people who live above ground are A’s. The old underground dwellings are for us P’s.”
Jonah turned in his chair to Victor. “Please tell us that’s not true.”
Victor’s silence made Jonah shake his head. “I will never understand how you can treat working people so poorly.”
“We don’t treat them poorly. We just reward our academics for their longer time in school than P’s. We’ve earned the privilege of the best housing. Without us academics, we would all still be living underground. At least now, everyone can enjoy a walk in a park.”
Mason rolled his eyes. “You’re such a prick, Victor, seriously.”
“Maybe we misunderstood Victor.” Freya was holding a container with juice bubbles in her hand. “There must be a language barrier here. Victor, you said that you would still all live underground if not for the academics. Does that mean people who built houses are considered academics to you?”
“The engineers and architects are academics.”
“Yes, but what about the craftsmen who build the walls, put in electricity and plumbing? And what about the painters and interior decorators? Are they included in your definition of academics as well?”
Since I had always been an observer at the summits, I knew the idiosyncrasies of every delegation member. Freya had innocent questions down to an art form. The others were often fooled by her because she was agile in the art of debating and operated like a chameleon making the other delegations think she was on their side. The Motlanders thought her an ally because her mother was an icon among them. And because unlike the other Northlanders, Freya was open to listening and never tried to shut them down or ridicule them.
The French delegation had always agreed that Freya could have been born in France with her stoic way of debating and her passion for playing chess. Yet Victor held an innate resentment against her that made no sense since Freya possessed qualities that our culture typically admired.
Victor gave Freya an unapologetic stare. “I might have an accent, but I assure you that I know the definition of the word academic. The workers are not included in that group.”
Freya’s eyes widened. “Oh, but then perhaps you misspoke when you mentioned that it’s because of the academics that many of you are now living above ground. Clearly it was a shared effort. Wouldn’t you say?”
