“Tired,” Sam admitted. “All things considered, I’d say it’s only been the second, possibly, the third worst year of my life.”
“It’s definitely been the worst year of mine,” Ant said. “You must have had some outstandingly shitty years.”
“Outstandingly,” Sam agreed.
They were about to reabsorb themselves into the party when Ant added, “For what it’s worth, she mentioned that she plays games at night. Stuff on her PC, maybe? Or even something on her phone? There was mention of a game in a restaurant. Something set in the Old West. Nothing too complicated. She called them ‘dumb, garbage games,’ and she said it relieved her anxiety. This is to say, I don’t think she’s entirely done with games.”
Sam considered this information for a beat, and then he nodded. “Say, Ant, what do you think of the title Our Infinite Days?”
“It’s okay, but it’ll never sell in Montana,” Ant said.
The DJ called out, “EVERYONE UP TO THE ROOF!” Two Decembers ago, this same instruction had meant something very different, and Sam had debated with the party planner about the taste of sending the party up to the roof again. Ultimately, he decided that it was best to reclaim the space. The roof had always been one of the best parts of the building on Abbot Kinney. Marx had loved the roof.
“Shall we?” Sam said.
Ant grabbed Sam’s hand, and they let the momentum of the crowd push them up the stairs.
“IT’S TIME FOR THE CEREMONIAL CAP TOSS. ON THE COUNT OF THREE! 3…2…1…”
Sam tossed his cap, and Ant, his crown.
“CONGRATULATIONS TO COUNTERPART HIGH, CLASS OF 2007!”
“We made it,” Sam said.
“We made it!” Ant screamed.
The DJ played “Everybody’s Free （to Wear Sunscreen），” that oddball 1999 Baz Luhrmann spoken-word novelty track of the ungiven Kurt Vonnegut commencement address that turned out to not be by Kurt Vonnegut, but by a Chicago Tribune columnist named Mary Schmich. Unaware of these authority issues, Sam and Ant enjoyed the song, as they leaned over the side of the building, craning their necks so they could see that sliver of ocean the view from Abbot Kinney afforded.
“You know something funny?” Ant said. “I literally missed my senior year to make Counterpart High.”
“Same with me,” Sam said. “Except with Ichigo.”
The party ended around 2:30 a.m., late for a party in L.A., the city that sleeps. Sam kicked out the stragglers and locked everything up, and then he got in his car to drive back home. He drove past Sadie’s house, as he did almost every day after work. It was only a touch out of the way. He could see a light on the second floor, the guest bedroom, which he imagined had become the baby’s room. He could imagine himself getting out of the car and going up to her door, but he never did. On this night, he decided to park outside her house and send her a text.
We missed you at the party. Can you imagine, me, Sam Masur the misanthrope, throwing a party? People seemed to enjoy themselves.
She did not reply. He sent another text.
Thinking about making a new game. Maybe something you’d be into? Kind of a cross between Ichigo and Dead Sea. May I drop the work off at your house? I think it’s something Marx may have wanted to make, too.
Sam, she replied, without pause. I can’t.
On the day Sam met with the Worths, it rained.
Sam’s assistant let him know that the Worths were in the lobby. Sam said he would retrieve them himself.
“Thanks for coming back in,” Sam said. “Apologies that it’s taken us so long to get back to you. I think it’s been about a year and a half since you met with Marx?”
“It feels like longer,” Adam Worth said.
“And like no time at all,” Charlotte embroidered.
Sam noted the easy way they finished each other’s sentences, and he missed being part of a team.
Back in his office, he handed the portfolio back to Adam. “This belongs to you. Sorry we’ve had it so long. It’s good work. I’ve gone through it several times now, and—”
Charlotte interjected quickly, “We’ve got other ideas, if this one’s not for you.”
“No, I like this, but I don’t know if I understand it yet,” Sam said. “Why don’t you tell me how you see it?”
6
Five hundred three days after Marx had been shot, Charlotte and Adam Worth began work on Our Infinite Days.
To prepare for their arrival, Sam had packed up Sadie’s office the night before and moved her personal items into his own office. An assistant was planning to drop off the boxes at her house that afternoon. And once that happened, Unfair Games would be a workplace officially devoid of both his partners.
Sam walked over to see how the Worths were settling in. Adam wasn’t there, but Charlotte sat at the desk. A game was opened on her laptop. “I’m looking up a particular reference from The Scottish Expansion,” she explained. “There’s a way Sadie Green does blood that’s so good. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I feel like she has people bleeding slightly different colors and the blood has different viscosities even. It’s a small thing, the idea that blood can have character, but I’m obsessed with it.”
“I haven’t played it yet,” Sam admitted.
“Seriously?” Charlotte said. “Well, it’s excellent. It’s much gorier than the first one. The theater massacre level is one of the bloodiest, most thrilling things I’ve ever played.”
“Yes, I read something about that.” Sam moved to leave the office. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “If you haven’t played it, that means you haven’t seen this. Hold on. It’s an Easter egg. I think it’s an Easter egg.”
“She hates Easter eggs,” Sam commented. Sadie thought they broke the reality of the game world.
“Do you mind spoilers?”
“No.” Sam didn’t believe it was possible to spoil a game. The point was not what happened, but the process of getting to what happened. He already knew the plot of The Scottish Expansion: Actors across London are getting picked off, one by one. You must successfully manage your theater company and solve the mystery of who’s killing the cast.
“Okay, here it is,” Charlotte said. She turned the screen toward him. “After the theater massacre scene, the actor playing Macbeth is murdered. You’re the manager and you have to decide whether the play goes on, as scheduled, or if you cancel. So, the game warns you that attendance will be low, but the best decision is clearly to continue the performance as scheduled, right? The show must go on. At this point, you can choose from three different options: （1） the ‘workmanlike’ actor playing Banquo, who has been understudying Macbeth, （2） Richard Burbage, ‘who is demanding more and more money and may have the plague,’ （3） an actor of ‘unknown quality from a traveling theater company of unknown origin.’？”
“It makes the most sense to choose option one,” Sam said. “He’ll know the play the best, and no one’s going to go to the theater the night after the massacre anyway. But two or three sounds more fun.”