Cocked Clock

“Always be a little unexpected.” – Oscar Wilde

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“Why are you leaving, Dinah? It’s early.” CeeCee looks up from her seat at the bar of Zelda’s.

“Why? Because my boyfriend is cheating on me and I have to ask guys to dance, and no one asks me to enter the Hot Leg Contest. That’s why.”

“Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be okay. I think we’d better get out of here.” Dinah stomps over to grab her bag from the hook by the washroom.

“You’re in no condition to drive. I’ll call you a cab.” CeeCee picks up the receiver on the bar wall.

“You can drive.”

“You know I can’t drive a stick.”

“Let’s go to that coffee bar I saw when we came in.” Dinah flings her purse over her shoulder and makes her way to the door.

“What coffee bar? I didn’t see it.”

“The one on the corner across the street with a pink neon sign.”

“I would have noticed a pink sign.” CeeCee looks out the window, trying to spot the glowing pink sign down the road.

“It says ‘Café X’. A robotic coffee bar.”

“You’re drunk. That’s where the abandoned gas station is.” CeeCee laughs lightly.

“I know I saw it. I need a coffee to sober up. You coming?”

“No, I think I’ll stay. Chad asked me to an after party.” 

“CeeCee, the bartender?” Dinah turns back to look at Chad with a smirk.

“Yeah, he’s cute.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“You’re the one who told me I had to get out there after my divorce, and here I am, ‘out there’.”

Dinah chuckles lightly at her friend, happy she’s finally taking her advice, and leaves Zelda’s at 10 pm, December 2, 1993.

Dressed in mom jeans, with a black cropped tee and plaid button-down, Dinah peers across the street to where she saw the neon sign. Café X isn’t there. Only a rusted-out “Flying A” sign teeters on a post. As she walks closer to investigate, she’s suddenly engulfed in the twist of an intense flurry that shatters the fragile shell of her being.

At first she sees the blur of a rainbow-colored zephyr, then nothing. Then, as a shiny silver door appears with the name “Cafe X” in flashing bright neon, her heart shudders as she catches her breath.

Inside, the café is all white with white walls and white floors, and Dinah’s greeted by a glossy white robot barista that looks incredibly human-like, but also not. 

“Welcome to Café X.”

“Where am I?” Dinah blurts out, her voice sounding alien to her in this new reality in which she finds herself.

“Café X.”

“Is this some kind of Tomorrowland?”

“I don’t understand.”

Dinah freezes there, stopped in her tracks by a gorgeous vision: one of the most attractive men she’s ever seen. A fashionable, slightly edgy all-black suit clings to him like a silken glove in all the right places. “Never mind.”

The robot shrugs its marshmallow-colored shoulders. 

“How do I get a coffee?”

With a dismissive look, it points to a massive machine against the wall. Patrons sit at white tables in metallic tunics. They all look alike in their androgynous attire, close-cropped haircuts dyed platinum, and vivid blue eye make-up. 

The handsome — nay, dazzling — man glides up to Dinah with a smile that could launch a thousand ships. “Hi, pretty lady. Sorry about that. Kevin’s not used to strangers in here.”

“Kevin?”

“Annoying barista.”

“Ah.” Dinah drinks in this information like a juniper-forward martini. “This place reminds me of a sci-fi movie…” She glances past the man with sexy eyes and smirks. “Am I on a movie set?”

“No, it’s real.” His easy smile sends a flutter through Dinah’s stomach. “Where are you from? Or better yet, when are you from?”

“Right here in Palm Springs.”

“What year?”

“1993, of course.” Dinah almost laughs. Don’t do it. This hottie’s going to walk away if you do.

“Ah, a time-jumper. I thought so.”

“A what?”

“Looks like you squeaked through. We’ve been having trouble with the erratic movement of the metronome.”

“With the what?” Dinah’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean the little timekeeper from her childhood music lessons.

“The chroniker. Timekeeper. Our Big Ben. It seems to be skipping beats.”

“Oh, I see.” But she doesn’t see.

“Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared, just a little confused.” She looks at the scene with these robots and clones. “Or rather, a lot confused.”

A lusty smirk turns the corners of Dinah’s mouth upward. This charmer doesn’t seem to fit in this strange, mechanical world. He’s ruggedly handsome, with dark hair in a ponytail and, in opposition to the genderless mannequins in their bland, matching attire, he wears all black.

“There’s an easy explanation.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still in Palm Springs, but in the year 2043.”

She glances around in an instant and knows, somehow, that it’s true.

The world spins Dinah off balance and all she can do is flop into an unusual-looking metallic chair near the front door. The chair bounces her back up into the man’s arms. He helps her regain her balance.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. But you’re joking, right? This can’t be… It can’t be 2043.”

“I’m not joking. It’s all real. Come on. I have a lot to tell you.”

“If I’m dreaming, I’m glad you’re in it.” Dinah glances around. “But you don’t look like the others.” Dinah’s coquettish smile escapes despite it all. Future-man in shining — eh, black denim?

“Thanks. My name is Edgar. What’s yours?”

“Dinah. How do I get a coffee? Or maybe I need something stronger.”

“The coffee in the 40s is much stronger than any liquor from the 90s.” Edgar smirks.

“Yeah, coffee is the only thing that scientists can’t replicate. They can copy what’s in coffee and make it into pill form but what they can’t change is the ritual.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a pill for everything but coffee. Pills equate food. So no one gets fat and no one gets diseases.”

“Wow. They’ve thought of almost everything humanly possible — and then some.”

“That’s the problem. We’re not humans, or rather they’re not humans. Look at everyone here. They’ve had chips installed so they’re more robotic than human.” Disdain drips with Edgar’s every word.

Dinah takes in the scene of the Café X customers with wide eyes and mouth ajar. Edgar gently taps her chin. She closes her mouth and swallows down her shock.

“They look… serene.”

“They are serene. No conflict. No challenges.” Edgar sighs.

Dinah points to a woman in the corner with her shapely legs crossed. “She’s attractive. Less mannequin-y.”

“That’s Blanche. She didn’t get the full robotic treatment.”

At first blush, Blanche doesn’t seem to have eyebrows or eyelashes, but upon closer examination Dinah realizes that her lashes and brows are starkly white. Her purple eyes stand out strikingly.

A memory from high school flashes up — a classmate with alabaster skin and eyes so blue they looked black. Dinah smiles affectionately at the memory. She always liked Jennifer White, a woman whose name suited. She’d always envied Jen’s perfect complexion, pale as it was. “Her name fits her complexion,” Dinah says out loud.

“You’re funny.” Edgar leans in with a spicy grin.

The two walk up to a machine that extends the entire width of the wall.

“This coffee machine is huge. It looks like Hal from 2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“I’ve heard of that movie. I think my parents told me about it.” A nostalgic smile passes over Edgar’s face. “It’s huge because the many sections provide endless variety. You’ll get the best coffee you’ve ever had, and you can also get a retro mug like you’re in the Dark Ages.”

“How quaint.”

Edgar pushes some buttons.

“Strong?”

“Yes, very.”

“Cream?”

“Just a touch.”

Edgar lifts a panel to reveal two stoneware coffee mugs right out of a 1990s Crate & Barrel. He leads Dinah to a table away from the others.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t a spring-chair,” Edgar teases with a grin that could melt even the stoniest of hearts.

“Thanks.” Dinah takes a sip of her coffee. “Wow, this is incredible.”

“Wait till you get the buzz! But don’t worry — you won’t get out of control. You’ll just have a warm sense of well-being and a confidence boost.”

“Nice. What did you say your name was again?”

“Edgar. My dad named me after Edgar Allan Poe.”

“What was he like?”

“Poe or my dad?”

“Your dad.” Dinah chuckles lightly. As if he knows Poe personally! Or wait. Does he? This time travel stuff… “He must have been interesting to name you after such a dark poet.”

“My dad revered old poets, especially Poe. Sure, there’s The Raven, but the poem he read to me the most when I was little was about childhood’s hour, passions from a common spring, and a joyful heart.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“But that same poem referred to a stormy life, the lightning in the sky, and the cloud that took the form of a demon.”

“And dark.” Dinah nods, letting her mind drift to this visual moment beneath a stormy sky.

“He used to always say, ‘the darker the mood, the truer the poet’.”

“Are you a poet?” Dinah glances up and down Edgar’s frame, looking for clues.

“Sort of.”

Dinah’s mind goes to other men she’d known — men who’ve quoted bad poetry to her and wondered why she rejected their advances. Edgar’s not like them. He’s… different. He doesn’t even look like them in any way. Or, well. She pauses a moment, takes in the others at the café. “You don’t look like the others.”

Edgar nods, taking in the same view of these folks he’s grown accustomed to viewing with indifference. Distaste seems to pour out with his words. “Yeah, they ain’t going to put a chip in me.”

Just then, Blanche walks up and scoots in next to Edgar. She’s wearing a purple leather tunic that shows off her legs. “Introduce me to your time-jumper.”

“Dinah, this is Blanche.”

“You know she doesn’t belong here, Edgar.”

Suddenly, just as Dinah reaches out her hand, Blanche’s purple eyes penetrate into Dinah’s soft green-grays and cause Dinah to black out, as if some swift and strange power possessed her.

“What are you doing, B? You’ve got to leave. I can handle this.” Edgar huffs lightly at his friend.

“You know what happened last time, Ed. I can tell you’re falling for her.”

“We just met. I’ll get her out of here safely. Now leave her alone.”

Blanche gets up and snaps her fingers in Dinah’s direction. Dinah jerks upright — unblinking and unfazed like nothing’s happened.

“Where’d your friend go?” Dinah asks.

“Sorry about her sudden exit. She’s the jealous type.”

“Is she your wife?” Dinah whispers as she peers toward the exit.

“No. There haven’t been marriages or divorces since the 30s. The 2030s.”

“That’s strange.” Dinah contemplates the couples seated around them. “No monogamy? At all?”

“Strange maybe to you, but simpler for us.” Edgar shrugs and smiles with all the charm of a player and none of the indifference.

Dinah leans back in her seat and rubs her temples for a moment. “I feel funny. It seems like I missed something. What were we talking about?”

“My refusal to be chipped.” 

“That’s right — and that you don’t look like the others. Rejecting the chip. That’s why?”

“There are a few of us bucking the system.”

“Rebels,” Dinah almost purrs.

“Yeah, I love that old term. We’re rebels, radicals, renegades.”

“What does the chip do besides turn people into mannequins?”

“It makes things easier in life so everyone can go with the flow.” Edgar looks at one particularly plasticine couple and nods. “Dad told me once that even dead fish go with the flow.”

Dinah suppresses a smirk. “You look like a hippie.”

“My mom’s a hippie. An old hippie who relies on her crystals and tarot cards. No chip for her either.”

“Your dad’s genes must balance you out.”

“You’re perceptive.” Edgar offers that same sexy grin that Dinah’s already getting attached to.  “Tell me about the 90s. I don’t know much about that decade. I wasn’t born yet.”

“When were you born?”

“2003.”

“I can’t believe it. I’m 42 in my time,” Dinah pauses a second to do the math. “Yikes. 49 years older than you.” 

“No, you’re only two years older and you’re stunning. I’m 40 and 40 is youthful in the 2040s.”

“You’re clever.” Dinah barely stifles a girlish giggle. “I like you.”

“I like you too, and you make 42 look hot.”

Dinah feels an unfamiliar heat rising in her cheeks. “The 40s suck, though.”

“You even blush. Women don’t blush anymore. They’re all monochromatic. You met Blanche.”

“Yes. Her eyes are…” Dinah pauses a second. How to put it? “Penetrating.”

“No shit.”

“Is she your girlfriend or whatever you call it in the 40s?”

Edgar’s laugh tickles Dinah’s ears like a downy feather. “She wishes, but she’s not my type.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your type?”

“You.” Edgar inches closer, a lusty smile in his eyes.

“Me?”

“You know. You’re a female classic.”

“What’s that?”

“A woman with a vagina.”

A coy grin accompanies more red in her cheeks. “You’re making me blush again. But I like your bluntness.”

“Did you know that blushing not only means vulnerability but also eroticism?” Edgar’s hand brushes over Dinah’s with its own touch of eroticism Dinah couldn’t have expected from such a subtle, nearly imperceptible touch.

“I like being called a classic.” Dinah inhales deeply with an almost seductive rasp. “I can’t help seeing how different you are from the others. You have long hair and you’re wearing black. How do you get away with it?”

“I’m kind of famous.” Edgar shrugs off his humility.

“You are?”

“I perform street spoke now, so I’m like a street poet. A spoker.”

“Spoker?”

“Yeah, spoken-word performer.” Edgar smiles.

“We call it hip hop or rap, I think. It’s new and innovative. I like the rhymes and the beat, but you can’t dance to it.” 

“Spoke is different from old school rap. It’s like if Poe — or Frost or Yeats — spoke their ancient words with a beat.” Edgar’s voice gets an almost secretive edge to it, layering on more mystery.

“Do you play a new-fangled instrument that I don’t know about?”

“Nope. Just a guitar. My dad’s guitar.”

“I’d love to see you perform.”

“I’d love to perform for you.” He laughs with a wink. “I’m curious, what do you do in the 90s?”

“I own a bookstore.”

“There haven’t been bookstores or libraries since 2030.” Edgar gazes off longingly into the distance as if he could still feel fine leather book binding in his hands.

“How horrible! No books?” Dinah’s eyes widen as she leans back and shakes her head. “A world without books? Who even wants to live?”

“Everything is on-screen.” Edgar sighs.

“On-screen?”

“Like your internet, only different. Way different. I’d love to show you.”

“I’d love to know more, Edgar.” Dinah relishes the way his name rolls off her tongue.

Edgar spots the clock on the wall. “I like you — I really do. And I wish I could show you everything worth seeing here and now. But I don’t know how much time we’ll have.” He takes off a necklace from around his neck and hands it to her. It’s a silver guitar pick on a chain with the word “raven” engraved on it.

He takes her hand and guides her to a brightly-colored area rug. After a couple of seconds, the rug moves steadily up along a winding corridor, sort of like a mechanical sidewalk at the airport, only more magical.

“Wow! I feel like Jasmine on Aladdin’s ride.”

At the top, Dinah stares at a large clock on the wall. “That clock doesn’t fit here. Reminds me of The Pit and the Pendulum.” Just as the clock is about to strike midnight, the pendulum stops mid-swing. The hours stop, the minutes vanish. The seconds disappear with time itself.

“What’s going on, Edgar?”

“It’s a jump-beat.”

“Like when I jumped here?” Dinah asks with eager curiosity spilling out of her every pore.

“Yes, exactly like that.” 

“I don’t want to jump back.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I want to stay with you.” 

“Yeah?”

“But, if I stay, would I ever be able to go back to 1993?” Dinah feels her heart start pounding in her eyes like a ticking bomb.

“Maybe not.” Edgar looks up at the clock discerningly. “I suppose I could cock it a bit during another jump-beat.”

“Cock it?”

“Yes, physically maneuver the pendulum a tad off-kilter.”

“So let me get this right, if you cock it, I might be able to return to my time down the line?”

“Possibly. These jump-beats are sporadic.” Edgar watches the clock.

“What does that mean?”

“This one’s happening now… Less than two minutes. But the next beat might not happen for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Hard to say. Hours. Days. Weeks. Years. Do you have any family? Friends?”

“My parents are dead. There’s an ex-husband somewhere, no kids. CeeCee will go crazy without me.” Dinah hesitates and rubs her temples, trying to ease the thumping in her skull.

“Friend?”

“Best friend.”

“We only have 47 seconds left to decide.” 

“You mean I have 47 seconds to decide whether I leave?” Dinah takes a sharp breath in as her eyes well up. “Or stay with you?”

“Or stay with me.” Edgar’s eyes plead for a flash before practicality kicks in. “Things might get complicated. You might not be able to get back to 1993.”

“You might be worth the risk, Edgar.”

“I don’t want you to lose your friends, but I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re afraid you’ll never find someone else with a vagina.”

“No. That’s not it. You’re a real woman! No extra parts, no implants. No chips. But more importantly, you think for yourself.”

Edgar looks at the clock and starts counting down.

He drags over an ornate colorful step stool to stand on. Just as he starts to cock the clock, the pendulum stops mid-stream, and Blanche appears and knocks the stool out from under him.

Midnight, December 2, 2043. Space and time move through and across Blanche and Edgar, but whooshes Dinah away.

Midnight, December 2, 1993. Dinah is a time traveler at the edge of an abandoned gas station parking lot, holding the silver guitar-pick necklace. Maybe it means something. Maybe it can take her back? She rubs the guitar pick, but nothing happens.

She gazes up at the sky, wondering if space has something to do with it. A few tears drip down her cheek and she waits for another rainbow-colored zephyr.

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