Queen of Pop

I’ve been thinking a lot about AI, celebrity, and art, lately. I think that AI on it’s own can’t make people relate to it. AI in the hands of an artist, however, could quickly produce staggering prolific bodies of work. I think you’d need a human face to sell it. The AI rapper didn’t catch on, but an unholy, artificial Tupac might. Gross, right? Queen of Pop is the result of these musings. Please enjoy a snippet, here, as the story floats through the ether, in search of a publisher.

We landed and exited the vehicle directly in front of the restaurant, and a waiting valet promptly jumped in and flew off. An army of paparazzi snapped photos while mini drones circled us. My new lenses displayed a 360º view of the people and devices surrounding us, highlighting valuable information as my gaze scanned the crowd. I led Calypso through the thronging photographers and fans, with one hand out front. I actually enjoyed using my size and imposing appearance to part them.

The hostess led us to a table where Justin Time was seated. After Calypso sat down, I was led to a bar seat a short distance away, where I could easily observe the two celebrities dining. She smiled, but something in her eyes said she wasn’t into Justin. The interactions of the rich and famous were like a game. He was apparently telling her a long story, and her eyes drifted away, bored. Calypso’s gaze caught mine and she giggled. He noticed her looking away and she engaged him again, pretending to listen.

The waiter came to offer dessert and she actually took his device in her hand and signed, ending the meal. I stood up and started heading over as Calypso extended a hand, which Justin, apparently bewildered at the rapid change in situation, kissed stupidly.

“We’re leaving,” she said, so I whisked her out front. The rain was coming down hard now, and the wind of the upper pier was fierce, so the media and fans were scarce. The valet flew the Phaeton in and we soared up over the streets. Calypso was flying drunk in the storm.

“What a fucking pompous asshole.” Calypso was seething.

“Yeah? Have you known him long?”

“No, my publicist at Titan thought I should be seen out with a man. Or woman. Or anyone at all.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I’m so fucking sick and tired of the Photoshop

Show me something natural like afro on Richard Pryor

Show me something natural like ass with some stretch marks

Still will take you down right on your mama’s couch in Polo socks,” Calypso rhymed.

“Holy shit,” said Markl. “That’s Kendrick Lamar!”

“You reminded me of that verse. Did you see the guy they tried to set me up with? Generic white male media product. Zero personality. Not like you, you’re interesting.” She smiled at me.

“We just met hours ago. ”

“Nah. I know about you. I scanned your profile when you applied months ago. I know your background, behavior models, social media. I wouldn’t hire anyone I haven’t thoroughly examined myself.”

She engaged the autopilot as we flew back over the ruins of Old Los Angeles.

“And you showed up, exactly as advertised. Would it be super weird if I told you I have a crush?”

I actually blushed. One of the most gorgeous, famous people on the planet has a crush on me? But I just landed this job. Running with this is insanely unprofessional. Worries clouded my thoughts. What if she’s just some kind of user?

Calypso fired up another joint and inhaled deeply. She passed it to me.

“I’m supposed to be on the job,” I laughed.

“Your job right now is keeping me happy.”

I went ahead and inhaled. She put on Astra Holiday and took my hand and sang along. She took a long drag off the joint and put it on the dash. She leaned in to kiss me on the mouth and I let her. She smelled of marijuana and some expensive, custom designed scent. She explored my mouth with her tongue, tasting of vodka.

A loud proximity alert broke me from the trance. I had a moment to brace against the dash for impact, as a deafening sound and flash rocked the vehicle. Calypso’s nails dug into my arm as she screamed. The Phaeton spiraled toward the the earth. Through the now open rear of the vehicle, I saw a chute pop to slow our descent. Air bags deployed as we crashed into the roof of an abandoned, OLA office building.