Amber Lovely

By Coral Lights

Amber walked down the street; and Kent followed. He could tell by the way the light caught the side of her face, she had changed. In the amber streetlight, her hair glowed. That was always the best part of her, her hair, but now with a pretty face to match, she was dynamite.

            A small car parked on the curb, hovered into the air and soared off, billowing Amber's jackets with its winds;  and he caught a glimpse of her taught leg. Then she turned left down an alley. She walked up the stoop and opened the locked gate to her apartment.   

            Kent stood with hands in rain coat and waited till she got upstairs, watching until the lights went on in the third story, second from the left window -- her apartment.

            Satisfied, Kent turned for home, looking back to see her shadow behind the curtains as she brushed her long mane of hair and released her jacket.

           “What are you doing?” said a gruff voice from street level.  

           Kent jumped back; and then quickly noticed it was only one of the old street bums. An especially crazy one who liked to call himself Elvis.  

           Elvis took out his xenophone and began playing.  

           “Cut that out,” said Kent, swatting at it.  Weird sliding sounds emanated from the damn instrument. And the built in drum machine kicked on.

           Kent hurried off, worrying Amber would look down and see him amidst the noise and commotion below.             

The prior week, when Kent first began following her, he had remembered Amber from high school. He barely recognized her face, but the voice was unmistakable. The restaurant where she worked, where he went to lunch, was just around the corner from his apartment. It had to be her, even though she looked amazingly different.

            When she served his food, she appeared not to recognize him. "Hi," he at first had said.

            But, there was no sense of recognition of who he was: "Sine Devil," she said, placing his hot meal in front of him. And then walked off, leaving Kent looking puzzled at his plate.

            Now devilishly intrigued, Kent sauntered over one late evening and waited outside the restaurant on a bench. He knew her shift ended soon. He watched the sun set.

            And when she left, he walked several meters behind.

            She led him to an unknown apartment in an alleyway. And Kent had decided to leave. Must be visiting a boyfriend? But, just as he gave up and turned, she left the apartment again.

            Kent followed.

            She jumped into an air taxi, and Kent flagged down his own. He had his taxi follow hers until it landed at Low and Fourtieth where she got out in front of a plain looking row of storefronts. Kent hopped out of his cab and waited.

            She walked toward an unmarked modern looking building and in underneath the awning and past a guard.

            "Wait," the guard commanded. Holding back Kent with a strong hand. "Are you a paying customer?"

            "I'm with Amber," Kent said, eyes following her figure beyond the closing door. And pointed.

            The guard nodded and let him through.

            Kent walked through various scanners and rooms of machinery. He came to a desk. Lovely, was painted above on the walls in shimmering diode sequins.

            "May, I help you?" asked the pretty female receptionist.

            "What is this place?" asked Kent.

            "Do you have an appointment?"

            "No."

            "I can have Kalina show you around. It’s called Lovely," she said. Lovely? Kent thought.

            "Sure," said Kent. He waited, and noticed the receptionist’s eyes tied to her computer. Softly, Kent padded off past the desk and snuck down the hallway.

            He entered darkened halls and climbed curving staircases; made his way past shimmering water frescoes of various women; touched the hologram statues of perfect figures. He wandered for a good thirty minutes or so until he stood outside an interior window --in shock. There lay Amber, underneath all sorts of various scopes; surrounded by doctors in gowns. Waves of lights passed over her prone form. Her eyes were closed; clearly oblivious.

            "Sir, can I help, you?" interrupted a woman's voice. He could see her approaching figure reflected in the window.

            "No," said Kent, backing away.

            "Your wife?" said the woman.  

            "No," said Kent.

            "Oh, I'm sorry," said the woman. "You're not supposed to be back here." And she took Kent firmly by the hand and led him away.

When Kent saw her a week later, in was in the Airghost Hotel, at Amber’s high school’s ten year reunion.

           Amber stood mingling with a group of girls who were popular back in high school. But, the discussion soon looked heated and Kent moved in for a better listen:

            "...Now you're below me in the pecking order." Amber spat her words at a woman named Kelley. "Out of my way bitch!"   Kelley slapped her, and Amber slapped her back.

            A cat fight began and several men in suits jumped in to break it up.  

            Amber was having her hands held back by a tall man with slick hair. "Easy dear," Kent could hear him saying. "Bitch," Amber mouthed.

           The crowd broke, and eventually the reunion stragglers made it to their rooms, outside to a taxi, or off to their cars if they weren't too drunk to drive home or get lost.

            "Join me for a drink?" Kent caught Amber's eye as she walked by the bar.

            "Sure," she said, after a moment of indecision: Faint surprise in her eyes, like she may have remembered serving him at the restaurant. She looked like she was wondering if there was anything better to do. But Kent guessed not; because she acquiesced and sat down at the bar next to him. Her silver dress sparkled. But her eyes looked dead.

            "Martini," she said, when the bartender approached. She brushed the long amber hair from her eyes.

            "Old friend?" asked Kent, then took a sip of his wine.

            "No," she said. "Kelley Hoferston?  Hell no. She wouldn't let me be -- in high school. That's okay"--she shook her head--"I didn't want to be, anyway."  She groaned and looked away. "I hate high school reunions." She turned back to Kent's eyes. "Know what I mean?"

            Kent sighed. "Not really."

            "Oh," she said, suddenly realizing he wasn't part of the reunion. "Why not?"

            Kent felt the drink loosening his lips. "I guess I figured I had no one to see. No one seems to remember me."

           “Remembers you? Did I miss something?  I’m sorry I didn’t know you were part of our reunion.”

           “Eh, I wasn’t very popular.” Shrugged Kent.

            "You weren't popular?" she said, taking her drink from the bartender. She sipped it though a straw. "You seem like a nice guy. I bet you had lots of friends."

            "Well, nice doesn't cut it," said Kent. He felt angry. "You should know." He eyed her accusingly. “Kent,” he said, holding out his hand to her.  “Kent Kennings.”

            "What?" she said. “Oh my God,” she said. “Kent -- I ---“

           “Forgot about me?” said Kent, taking a handful of grapes from the bar.

           “No,” she said, “Of course, now I remember you.  Weren’t you a grade below? It’s just, it’s been a long time.”

           “Ten years?”

           “Yeah, ten years,” she said.  “Well, you look different.  Well, a little.”

           “So do you,” he said.

           Kent noticed her hand went reflexively to her face. Feeling the carvings of her cheekbone. And then she rubbed the sharpness of her nose, as if to make sure it was still really there. Perhaps she was afraid she might regress to her old face.

            "I knew you in high school," said Kent. "And all through middle school...."

            Her wide eyes grew wider. "I've gotto go," she said, and slid off her stool and left.

            "Wait," said Kent.  

            He dropped his money on the bar and hurried after.

But Kent was  addicted. And he couldn’t stop following her.  A week later, he found himself following her to an open-air-restaurant. The booths had high backs and he slipped into the table next to hers unnoticed. Over his shoulder, he could hear snippets of their conversation.

            "It's nice to see you," the man was saying.  

            "I'm so glad"--Amber's voice--"to see you James. I had to contact you when I saw your number at work. I knew it was you."

            "It's been a long time," said James. "Has it been ten years since high school? You look great Amber."

            Kent slouched back against his seat.

            "Why weren't you at the reunion?" Amber was saying.

            "What can I get you sir?" A waitress came up to Kent’s table. She placed a glass of water in front of him.  

            With the waitress talking to him, Kent couldn't concentrate on Amber's conversation. "Nothing for now." Kent waved her off. "Later."  

            "I'll be back in five minutes," the waitress said, and smiled.

            Kent tried to lean back in Amber's conversation. But he didn't need to, she was yelling.

            "Fine! You thought? Oh, you thought I was after you. All these years--"

            "No Amber, sit down," said James. "It's just I have a wife and kids now, I'm committed--"

            "That's not what I meant," said Amber. "Who do you think I am?"

            A glass slammed down with a crack against the table.

            "Amber, I better go." Kent heard James slide out of the booth and stand. Then Kent caught a glimpse of James leaving.

            Amber walked by. "Amber wait..." called Kent.

            She turned around. There were tears in her eyes, and mascara ran. "What do you want?"  Kent wondered if she remembered their conversation at the bar last week. Maybe not, she was pretty drunk that night.

            "I just--overheard," said Kent, walking to her. "Sit down." He offered.

            "Why do you keep following me?" she asked. "I'll go to the police. Leave me alone." She flung her purse at him. It rapped against the side of his head; he fell back into his booth and it opened on the table, spilling its contents.  Kent saw lipstick, mascara, a compact and various other items scattered, some still wobbling on the table. He began to shovel them back into the purse.

            When he looked, Amber ran out of the restaurant, and down the street, high heels in her hands.

            "I can help," said a young waitress, coming up. She helped Kent gather up the remaining items and placed them in the purse. Then she picked up the knocked over glass, and began to mop up the table. "I can move you to another table," she said, trying to be nice.

            Kent looked at her face and thought: If only you weren't so young. Or... Good God, what am I doing?

The next morning, early, purse in hand, Kent made the trek to Amber's apartment. He turned down the alley and stood on the stoop. He rang the doorbell. "Who is it?" she spoke through the speaker.  

            "I brought your purse," said Kent. He grew nervous and thought about just dropping it and leaving. But she called back,  "Be there in a minute."

            Kent stood there waiting, holding the purse in two hands. He wondered if he looked okay. He had stayed up all night, programming. And probably had dark circles beneath his eyes like a raccoon.

            Soon the door and then metal gate swung open. And there stood Amber. He expected her to be angry, throw a tirade in his face or to make more racket about calling the police. But she didn't. "Hi Kent. Here, bring it on up," she said. She stood holding the door open.  She looked great, even this early in the morning. No worry lines, no wrinkles, professional looking makeup.  

            Kent stepped in after her and followed her to the stairs. "It's not much," she said, dismissing with her hand.  

            "No, it's nice," said Kent. "But, I don't judge people by their apartments.” They were climbing the stairs.  

            On the first landing, she said, "Then how do you judge people?"

            "Oh, I don't know," said Kent. They made their way to the third floor. She opened the door and they walked into the hallway.

            "Definitely, not by their apartments." Kent didn't know what else to say. He wanted to charm her and decided listening might be the best way. She looked like she had a lot on her mind.

            Instead she stayed silent, opening her apartment door and letting him follow. He closed the door.

            All around the spacious apartment, photos plastered the walls. Some of them were heavily makeup'd or costumed, but Kent was sure they were all photos of Amber.

            As if to confirm this, she took a magazine off the coffee table and threw it at him. "Cover shot I just did." It showed Amber dressed in fur and wearing white makeup on her face, and black underneath her eyes.

            "Goth mag," she said.

            "Looks good," Kent lied.

            "Well, I hate it," she said. "But some of these on the walls are my favorites."

            Kent followed her around as she told him about some of the photos: When they were shot, for which magazine, for which web site, for which advertiser. “Soon, maybe I’ll make enough modeling to do this full time.”

            "Wow, I'm proud of you," said Kent. “You have allot of pictures of yourself.” He stopped, realizing how snotty that sounded. “You should be a full time model--”

           “Well, I’m a little low on confidence. I need to be reminded.” She looked around the room. And paused in thought. "Kent, why do you follow me?" Her brightly painted fingertip went to her lips.

            Kent couldn't think what to say. Cause I always thought you were hot, he wanted to say. Even in middle school, high school, before all the reconstructive surgery done at Lovely.  

            "I liked you in high school," he said, almost in a whimper. He felt lame.

            To his surprise she laughed. Almost hysterically. "So?"

            "When no one else did."  

            She slapped him and he withstood it. She slapped him again. The she raced around the room tearing down all the pictures.

            ”Where were you before?” she cried. She tore down another picture, balled it up and threw it at him. "Where were you before when I sat home all those lonely nights in middle school? You know what I did each time?"

           Kent didn't know what to say-- he knew the answer.

           A strong quaver entered her voice. "I sat at home." There was tears and then rage in her eyes. "I sat home" -- her hands flew in the air --"When all the other girls, like Kelley, had the time of their lives , I sat home with my fuh -- I sat home with my freaking parents!"

           Kent moved to comfort her, but she pushed him away.

            "Why?..." She had regathered control of herself and now eyed him suspiciously.

            Silence.

            "Here take them," she said, shoving a torn poster against his chest.

            "I'll go now," Kent said. Numbness tingled his brain. And he made for the door.

            As he made his way down the stairs he could hear random crashings, shatterings, and splinterings coming from her apartment. Then her door slammed.

            Kent let himself out and turned onto the sidewalk. He faintly noticed he was  still carrying the poster of her. 

            "I love you," she called to him from the window. She stood leaning over the sill. “Don’t stop following me, you  bastard!”                                               

           When Kent got back to his own aparment, he hung the partially torn poster of Amber over his computer monitor. It wasn’t too bad, once he smoothed out all the wrinkles. He looked at her standing in a fur coat and thought: I guess the one thing Lovely didn’t fix, girl, was your temper. And then he went to work on his keyboard, concentrating on his code better than he had in years.

******

"Listen, thanks for meeting with me," said Kelley, shyly.  

           "Oh, no problem," said Kent, inwardly rolling his eyes and gingerly helping Kelley into her seat, her long hair brushing against his arm.

           Then he took his own.

           Kelley looked at him from across the table, unsure. She frowned.

           "Well,” offered Kent. "Uh, what did you ask me here for? We've never been exactly...friends." In fact, as Kent recalled, Kelley had never spoken to him all through middle and high school. Somehow this had to do with Amber, he just knew it.

           "I don't know how to begin," said Kelley, fiddling with her napkin. Her eyes rose slowly to his. "How did she do it?"

           "Who?" said Kent, pretending ignorance. "Who did what?"  Kent tucked his napkin onto his lap. He  was gonna make this as hard as possible on her, and enjoy it.

           "Oh, I thought you knew Amber," said Kelley. Ah, it comes out. "Maybe I'm mistaken." For the first time, Kent noticed how curvy Kelley's breasts where as she parted the V at the front of her shirt.  She leaned forward so he could see more cleavage. She started slowly, "Okay, I saw you drinking with Amber after the reunion. You can't have not noticed how she changed. Her face, everything. She looked...lovely."

           "Oh, that," said Kent. The irony of the word she had chosen! "Surgery. Yeah, surgery,” he simply said.

           "I know that," said Kelley, reaching across the table and taking his hand. "But, who's her surgeon?"  

           Kent stared down at her breasts, now heaving and nearly in full view as she leaned even closer. "That," said Kent, eyes holding hers. "That will cost you."

Kent and Kelley sleep together.  In the hotel room upstairs.

           "I can't believe I did that," said Kelley, wiping her mouth. Her lipstick was smeared all over. Kent took her coat off the hanger and helped her into it.  

           "Either can I," admitted Kent.  

           He opened the door for her. "But, you know what?" he said. She stood in the hallway and looked back. "In middle school, I dreamed of that -- with you...  But, now I know I wasn't really missing anything."

           "Grow up," she said, turning and walking off down the hall in a huff.

In  few months time, Kent had actually forgotten mostly about Kelley. And to his surprise he had actually stopped following Amber. He didn’t really care now, he had his programming projects to finish anyway.

           "Did you hear?" said Elvis, the old street bum, catching up to Kent's stride on his nightly walk. Kent threw some extra change at Elvis, who caught it with a snap.

           "Hear, what?" said Kent, immediately regretting the smell of booze on Elvis' breath.

           "Hear about the fight? -- to the death."  He took out his xenophone and began to play weird notes.

           Kent didn't even stop. This was not news to him. Fights always happened on the streets.

           "Two women," said Elvis, gasping. He coughed. His drum machine began beating.

           "Two women?" said Kent. Now that caught his interest; he stopped. Oh no, Amber must be involved. He grabbed Elvis' arm. "Where and when?” And then he forced himself to say nonchalantly,  “Maybe I'll actually go, if nothing better is happening."

Kent had a fitful night of sleep. Nightmares of Amber dying replayed in his dreams. And every time time he would run in to break up the fight he always got there too late. And Kelley killed her.

           When he awoke, the first thing he did was call Amber on her phone. "Amber?" he said, "just surprised to hear you answer so early."

           "Oh, I'm up early these days, have to keep up the training." She was breathing heavily.

           "Training for what?" he asked, chills running up his spine. "Listen I heard about a fight--"

           "You're right, “ she interrupted, “strange things happen when you stop following me." She puffed breath into the phone. "It involves me. How did you find out?"

           "Listen, if the street bums know about it, then pretty much everyone does by now."

           "Don't tell anyone else," said Amber. "I don't want the police finding out."

           "Amber, what are you fighting for? to the death? Why?"

           "Listen," she said, "I'm in the middle of jump roping, I gotta go--Oh, have you seen Kelley lately?"

           "No," said Kent, lying. "Where--Where are you?"

           “I'm down at the martial arts gym," said Amber. "I'm training in Katanas if you must know.  But, oh, she just looks good."

           “Who? who looks good?” Kent sighed. “This is madness.”

            "I have a feeling someone told her about the Lovely Institute." Pause. "Was it you? How did Kelley find out?"

           "Maybe..." said Kent, guiltily.  

           "Well, you owe me one," said Amber, "You're helping the enemy."

           "She's not the enemy," said Kent. "You guys don't have to fight over...what? who looks better."

           "If you want to help me out, meet me tonight around eight at Fourth and Market."

When the time came around, Kent hurriedly made his way down Fourth Street until it met the corner of Market. A bombed out building from the war sat like a hulking skeleton.

           "Up here," called Amber's voice.  

           Kent looked up and saw Amber leaning down over a construction beam and waving at him.

           "Come in and take the stairs."

           Kent entered a gaping hole in the wall and walked through the rubble until he found the stairs. He walked two floors up. He tiptoed over the creaky battered floors and past several office desks. Then he spotted Amber.  

           She was standing like a shadow against the setting sun. Black on red. And she swung a staff, around and around, like an ancient warrior. It was beautiful, her silhouette, and he just watched her.

           "Come on over," she said, after awhile. "Are you just gonna stand there?"

           When he approached the edge she handed him a wooden staff.             She took her own and said," Touche!" Playfully attacking him.

           "Defend yourself," she said, banging the staff against his side. "You're dead already."

           Kent grew agitated and whacked at her with his staff. "That's it,"she said, blocking his stroke deftly.  

           "Why are you doing this?" he said, jabbing straight at her. Again she blocked. "One of you is going to die. Die! You understand?"

           She poked him roughly in the tummy and he doubled over, clutching at his stomach in pain.  

            She ran her staff up along his neck. "I just cut your head off," she said. "Like I'm gonna do to that bitch tomorrow. Are you gonna help me or not? Or just sit there like a coward?"

           When the pain subsided he stood and followed her to the edge of a beam, that overlooked the streets below.  

           "I'm fighting out there," she said, nodding to the waterfront. The sun was just beginning to disappear below the water's horizon, dying it blood red. "On the docks. Please come see me."

           Kent grabbed her shoulders. "Why don't you forget about this? Who the hell is Kelley anyway? Who cares? She just some girl we went to school with."

           "I've been humiliated my whole life. Now she will be." There was rage in Amber's eyes. The redness from the sun shone there.

           "Amber, we can move. You and I. Will go somewhere and start a family. Don't show up tomorrow night."

           "It's too late," said Amber. "I was damaged early on."

           "Come one Amber, we were just kids. When Kelley and all those popular girls were -- were making fun of you, or spurning you, or whatever. We were just kids. We didn't know any better."

           "And you never asking me out,” she added. “That would'a helped some."

           "I -- " Kent stammered. "I was shy."

           "Well, good," said Amber. "I noticed you have no problem approaching me now. Now with this" --she pointed to her face -- "mask the doctor gave mme I get all the attention from men I can handle."

           "You can't talk me out of this." She tapped him on the leg with her staff. "But, help me out while you can. This is the last night I can train." She raised her staff in a defensive posture.

           And then he raised his staff and attacked her with all he had. But as he did, tears began to mar his vision.  

Around eight o'clock, Kent walked the streets. Flowing along with small groups of mostly young punks and street urchins.  

           Up ahead, he could see lines of people passing through various gaps in the fences leading to the docks. Kent made his way through one of these and slowly trudged through the sandy, darkened lot. He could feel the coolness blowing in off the water and taste the salt.  

           He sat down on an old piling rising through the sand and waited.  

           Soon, he saw someone appear with a flaming torch. One old oil barrel was lit and it began to burn brightly. And then another. Kent now realized just how many people had come, now that he could see. He couldn't find Amber, though.  Or Kelley. He scanned the docks and waited.  

           The tide was in and the water came up to the rim of the various wooden plank pathways running a hundred feet or in different angles into the bay.

           A cheering rose through the crowd and then Amber appeared from one of the nearby abandoned boathouses carrying a large steel sword. She wore golden robes and he hair was the brightest of auburns and reflecting the firelights.

           She walked to the edge of the docks and threw off her robes. The crowd oohed, as she stepped high heeled with only a thong and bikini top on. A few whisles and catcalls. A high pitched “Meow!” from a man standing next to Kent. Laughter.

           Kent realized she must have had even more plastic surgery then he had thought: for her boobies were absolutely huge and completely firm. Barely held back by her golden brassiere.

           And her rear end didn't even jiggle. It didn't look right, didn't look human. She had not even an ounce of fat. But maybe that was the goal of plastic surgery--to make the wearer look immortal.

           And then more cheers and whistles, as Kelley appeared from the opposite side. A man helped her up onto the docks and then she disrobed. He handed her a sword. More oohs from the crowd as Kelley stepped into full view, just as tiny a bikini on as Amber's, but Kelley now had even bigger boobies.  And her faced was carved more sharply, and her eyes were wide like a cartoons.  

           The two women, standing like warrior goddesses, eyed each other other with hatred. They rose their swords. And then simply, they began to fight.              

           Kent didn't think it would last long because Kelley's first stroke poked Amber in the thigh and sent a spurt of blood into the air. Amber immediately collapsed and fell into the water.  

           Kent jumped from the piling. But, then he could see Amber's head above the water, doggy-paddling for shore with sword in one hand. Kelley jumped in before she reached the shoreline and the fighting continued in the shallows. Amber, gimpy, but standing strong, parried a blow from Kelley, just like she had done to Kent the night before, and then Amber wildly struck Kelley in the shoulder.  

           Kelley splashed down in the wet sand and lay in a heap.  

           "Cops!" someone yelled. And everyone scattered in panic and the police cruisers hovered over the fences and onto the scene, spreading the siren lights everywhere.  

           Kent himself panicked and looked for a place to hide. As he scrambled for an abandoned building he looked back and saw Amber standing with her sword pierced through Kelley's bowels.

"Did you hear?" asked Elvis falling into stride with Kent.  

           "I heard," snapped Kent.  

           "Oh, okay," said Elvis, taken aback. "Just thought you mighta wanta heard--"

           Kent left him standing there explaining to an imaginary person.

           He was in a hurry and didn't want to miss this -- for Amber. Even though, now he realized her more hated her than anything. He didn't know why she hadn't given him a second chance. He needed time? Didn't girls know that? Sometimes a man needed time.

           He made his way to the first precinct building and entered. He asked at the desk and was  waited on by a  brusk woman.   

           “Amber Delouse,” Kent said to her.

           She nodded and reached to a pigeonhole behind her and then handed him a small blue envelope. Then, she pointed him along the pathway to chamber forty. Amber must have had already registered Kent in case this happened. It was like she had known her future all along.  

           He followed the yellow footprints in the stone walkway and entered a cavern like room to his right.  

           It was dark inside, but the green glow from the pool of burning plasma provided enough faint light for which to see.  

           Several police officials stood near the front, shrugging and discussing something nonchalantly. Kent was told to sit near the other witnesses in arranged seating.  The door to the room closed and the warning lights came on.  

           And soon a thick steel cage was lowered by chains from the ceiling. Amber stood inside, in the same bikini she had worn to the fight. But, the blood stains were gone and she looked good. She even had her hair up. She clutched tightly the bars, her hands appearing to be shaking. But her eyes were brave, they showed nothing.

           And then the cage was lowered quickly towards the plasma lake and slowly Amber began to disappear with her screams, feet, legs, hips, stomach, breasts, shoulders, neck, eyes (they looked at Kent) and then hair.  

           The cage was completely immersed. There were a few bubbles and a little hiss of steam. And when it was raised, all the remained in the cage were a pile of bones laying on the bottom.

           Kent looked at the envelope in his hand and slowly made his way out of the building.

           When he was outside, Elvis stood across the street playing his xenophone. It had a sad tone, and Kent had to agree with what Elvis was making the machine say. He could feel it.

           Kent opened the envelope.  And he pulled out a small handwritten note.

           Kent, you must go to 1223 Locus St.  

           Don’t ask. I know.

           Just go.

           He had no idea what was there but was so mad at her, he intended to find out.

           It was only four blocks over and only took a few minutes. It was a large white and strangely clean, modern building. Kent ascended the steps and pressed through the doors.

           He gave his name and was shown to a small lab room. It was dark inside where he sat, and the soft blue glow of various lab equipment provided a gentle light.   

           “Hi,” said a labworker, finally appearing.  “I’m Nurse Kaylee.”  She took his hand with a delicate shake and gave him a serious look.  “I guess Amber Delouse sent you.”  Kent nodded yes.  “Well,” she continued shyly, “Amber Delouse left  a set of frozen ova for you.”  Pause.  “And her wish for our service is that we have you inseminate them.”

           Kent began to protest.

           “Wait, let me show you,” said Nurse Kaylee.  She led him through the a series of chambers until they were looking upon a set of incubators.  In their warm glow, Kent could see tiny human beings.  “We take the utmost precautions. We grow them safely.  It’s just as good as the womb.”

           “I don’t know,” said Kent, watching ones of the tiny humans, twitching and struggling to survive.  

           “We have private rooms -- for you to give us the sperm.” She was cute and she smiled.

           “Can you at least help me?” said Kent.  

           “You mean -- “ She blushed. She looked at him playfully. “I would have to scan you first. And then it would be a sin. It would cost me my job.”

           “Yes,” said Kent.  “But a man alone is also a sin. Who cares? You only live once. Come on, try me.”

           The nurse led him down the hall to a private chamber. And then, after looking around for her supervisors, she followed him into the room and quickly shut the door.  

                                           ******

The streets were cold. Kent was quite a bit older now, and his  frame shivered.  

           “Did you hear?” said Elvis, croaking, and shuffling after Kent.

           “Hear what old man?” said Kent, about ready to knock that damn xenophone out of  the old bum’s hands.

           “Amber Lovely is playing a concert in town this night.”  

           “Amber who?  I don’t care,” said Kent angrily.

           “She’s your daughter,” said Elvis. “And I take it your only one.” He winked at Kent.  “Though, I heard rumors....”

           “She ran away when she was twelve, I doubt she wants to see me now.  I haven’t seen her in ten years. Except on the web.  She hates me.  When she got old enough to understand,  she somehow thinks it was my fault her mother died--Shut that damn thing up,” said Kent, grabbing at Elvis’ xenophone.

           “Alright, alright,” said Elvis, tucking his instrument into his coat.  “But only after you promise to go down to Thirtieth and Market tonight.  A shooting star can only last so long.  Best to look now, or she’ll be gone. And you’ll miss it.”

           Kent left Elvis standing there in silence and then he heard the slow drones of the xenophone fade as he made the long trek up to Thirtieth.

           As he reached the corner he saw the lights, the glitter, the crowds. And he could hear the music,  but mostly the sound of her voice carrying through the night.  He ignored the protests as he shoved his way through all the people. Eventually he made his way to the front of the huge domed theater. Amber Lovely was glowing in huge letters above the facade.

           Through the open doors he could barley glimpse the stage.  A whole band  with godawfully loud instruments rocked out. And there floated his daughter, Krystal Amber Kennings.  Singing out her lovely lungs and blowing the crowd away.   

           He almost felt proud.