Corn popped in an old timey dispenser. The red background contrasted with the black walls and acoustic equipment. Gold lettering spelled out “Frampton Family Theater.” Dr. Keija Frampton and Bellinda Gummer sat in director’s chairs just adjacent to the thirty seat theater with the giant screen in back of them.

“It’s been a minute,” Bellinda noted.

“Yes, it has,” Dr. Frampton replied. A synth named Cynthia stood behind a counter where chocolates and fruit snacks and a refrigerator chilled soft drinks and some hard ones, too. A fountain with flavored water cascaded adjacent to the other beverages. Dr. Frampton sipped hot cocoa spiked with peppermint liquor.  Bellinda grinned. Hers remained virgin. She toasted her mug nevertheless.

“To another Christmas to celebrate good will towards men and another quarter of increased profits.” Dr. Frampton clinked her mug with her friend.

“Before we start the show, let’s talk about those earnings reports,” the theater owner announced.

“Your learned machines coupled with the synths have proven to be what the believers say are ‘miraculous.’ We both know it’s no miracle. It was all gritted teeth and perseverance.”

“Exactly,” Bellinda sipped. “This is really good.”

“I know. The profits keep rising, that’s a great sign.” Dr. Frampton sipped some herself. The cacao mixed with the mint created a distinct flavor that danced on her tongue.

“But we’ve gotta be greedy. It’s an insatiable desire for more that drives our company. How many other multi-billion-dollar companies out there are headed by two women?” Bellinda asked.

“Not many. Maybe none at all. Even in this environment of no regulations or controls, there are few if any co-CEO firms out there,” Dr. Frampton observed.

“Keij, we need to diversify,” Bellinda reminded her.

“We’ve already got this company. Why snap up others when everything is going so well?” she asked.

“There’s gonna be competition. One day, there’s going to be five companies vying for our spot. Maybe a dozen or more.”

Dr. Frampton nodded her head. “We need to start buying land.”

Bellinda’s blue eyes widened. Her blonde hair whisked like a broom in space.

“Oh my God, yes. We have to stay out in front if we want to continue this hot streak.”

“Then again, no,” Dr. Frampton thought.

“Why not definitely?” Bellinda queried. Her eyes narrowed as she sipped some more.

“We can always have the opportunity to purchase raw land in Kent and Sussex Counties. We can build down there, even with their backward ways of doing business. What we shouldn’t do is just expect the property owners to just shed their old ways and give us manna,” Dr. Frampton asserted.

“I don’t know…there’s a few companies that have been doing business in Lower Slower Delaware (LSD) who are merrily enjoying their holiday season.”

“That may be true, but the data….” Dr. Frampton started.

“The data point us in the direction of the south. If we are to grow and thrive, we have to be on the bleeding edge of those who are not even in our sector. Delivery services, chip makers, Goulding is even planning to make new cars down there.”

Keija raised an eyebrow and turned her head slightly to the left and sipped.

“Cynthia! More liquor.” The bio-engineered being walked from behind the counter with a bottle in hand. She poured some for Dr. Frampton suggested to top off Bellinda with more cacao. She waved away the beverage.

“Thank you, Cynthia,” Dr. Frampton called. The warmth of the room and the spirits in her drink made Dr. Frampton feel nice. But the clockless setting pushed her to relate her campaign to Bellinda.

“No, I get what you’re saying. For the intellectually inclined like us, that would be a boon to our bottom line. I get it. But if we wish to flourish, we should pump the brakes a bit,” Dr. Frampton mentioned.

“What?! No. We go full speed ahead. There’s too much money on the floor for us not to pick up and stuff in trash plastic bags.”

“Ahh…plastic bags. I remember there was a time before the most recent revolution we championed that didn’t allow plastic bags to be served in stores around the state. So glad we got that idea the hell out of here!”

“I can agree with you there,” Bellinda clinked with her business partner and friend.

“What needs to happen is that we thrive by creating new chances for ourselves. In a space where all you need is a single sheet of paper to open a business, unencumbered by regulations and controls, we’re doing well. Nail salons don’t even need licenses and minimum wages have been obliterated. That’s because of Covey, Vestin, and the two of us.”

Dr. Frampton looked at the glow of the lights surrounding the cushy leather seats of her theater. Like little stars sparkling, the gleam on the seats stirred her imagination.

“There’s always space….” she relayed to Bellinda.

“Yes, there have been plans to set up bases on the moon with just synths for now due to the radiation. My learned machines would facilitate as well. But that’s down the road. Right in this region, we can build up all kinds of different plants in a glorious organization of ideas,” Bellinda chimed.

“I don’t know…no, I do know. We can’t start worrying about that until we secure what’s going on in this city-nation-state. Far too many have come up against us….”

Bellinda nodded. “That’s true. Which is more the reason why we have to turn raw dirt into powerhouses amidst a wasteland.”

“So listen to me. I can only take so much from the day-to-day role. We should be letting synths and machines become the executives. We can step back and just be in the business of developing those plots once tilled by slaves.”

“I don’t need a history lesson,” Dr. Frampton fired back.

“I know. You’re Foundational Black American (FBA). I know you know all the stories and the way your great-great-great grandfather once toiled in the soil.”

Dr. Frampton stopped sipping. “I told you I don’t need a history lesson,” Dr. Frampton’s brown skin glowed from the lights surrounding the concession stand. In her mind, she could recount generations of her ancestors in bondage. As a testament to her smart work, she contemplated for a moment the amount of horrific tales passed down to her from the dusty savagery of slavery. 

“Okay, okay. I won’t discuss further,” Bellinda resigned from such talk,

“We’re half of the Founders. From our minds sprung this wonderful place in order to better our lives and line our pockets. That was our goal and we achieved it. Our brain power steamrolled over the land once thought to be in opposition to our ideals. Now, though, we see our way through all of this with a viewpoint that is crystalline. That’s our business.”

Bellinda looked at her brain chip. “It’s supposed to snow.”

“I can’t wait for some accumulation,” Dr. Frampton admitted.

“You see, if we had plants down there with just the right amount of humans and our own creations, we can then develop a notion to take this business global on a scale not realized yet. We already receive parts from our competitors as you very well know. It’s that synergy that will propel us into the future.”

“‘The future’ you say? When I rescued Mala from the border, I didn’t know what the future would hold. She’s succeeding and making more than her parents combined, now. That I think is the future. I love our creations. I, still, think the human touch must never be overlooked by local or global competitors or anyone who has the notion to slap tariffs on our goods.”

“I’m just glad the ideas, science, economics, and education (ISEE) are out of government hands. President Goshen has promised that he’ll let us do, and have a hands off approach to the entire situation.”

“That’s right. Laissez-faire capitalism is the only marker of a humane society,” Bellinda mentioned.

“Absolutely. Smartystan is the only place in the entire world that can attest to the might of the mind coupled with morality.”

Bellinda sipped and took a moment before saying, “I thank you for sticking up for me at that meeting. You didn’t even have to do it. They were already planning something and putting in motion a list of thoughts. You went to bat for me and I appreciate it, friend.”

“You would’ve done the same for me.”

“You’re my magical Negro,” Bellinda smirked.

“I wouldn’t say all of that!” Dr. Frampton shot back.

“I cued up a silent film for us to enjoy.”

“No. I don’t do pirates. It’s actually an Italian version of an American story that had been lost during World War II. It’s been restored and the synths can play music to accompany the action.”

“Sounds great. Where’d Cynthia go?”

Dr. Frampton looked around in haste. She summoned the synth with her brain chip but nothing registered. 

“She’s offline. While we were talking she must have just jetted out of here.”

“It’s not real….” Bellinda gasped.

“He was one of our own….” Dr. Frampton remarked with gravitas.

“You just mentioned Goulding, too. He was one hundred and thirteen. One of the first black owners of a major motors corporation. He got it out of the mud. I mean, he left engineering school and started with established automakers. Once he had enough experience and with a little bit of pluck, he started his own company.”

They both stood to their feet as if saluting the fallen corporate warrior. Bellinda and Dr. Frampton remained standing in silence with the huge blank screen and the flavored water falling like tears on a sleeve. The synths of the household all stood around each other knowing Patrice Goulding had been a matador hiring some of the first of their kind in his plant. 

Dr. Frampton straightened her red velvet jacket and white shirt which made her look like a slice of cake. Bellinda wore an all white blazer and pants almost as if she would be prepared to go to his service at that very moment. That remained the custom color for the celebration of life. The passing would elicit joy not for entering some fantasy land, but for uplifting a man of great stature and accomplishments. There would be a party (the funeral) and an afterparty (the repast).

Mr. Goulding would be sent into outer space after cremation.

Finally the two women sighed and laughed. “That’s how I’d like to go. Don’t even put flowers around me. Make school supplies for the privatized schools.

Send that around the world,” Dr. Frampton announced.

“We agree, again,” Bellinda responded. “I just want my learned machines to carry me aloft and put me in a capsule and shoot me into the realm of the stars,” she asserted.

“Damn. That’s a good run but we’re seeing people live into their one hundred thirties, now. With advances in medicine and treatments, we’re allowed to breathe even more days,” Dr. Frampton observed.

“Yes, well, we’ve got a long way to go.”

“I plan on doing what he did. He still signed off on different slips and correspondences. I’m not going to be the one to say, ‘I wish I’d spent more time with my family’ on my death bed. No. I’m going to be slumped over on my desk ready to make the next deal.”

“I think we’re in harmony, again, Sis’. We’ll get the land without a doubt. We’re going to fight like Mr. Goulding. We’re going to persevere because what else is there? Do we flounder? Do we just give up? No. We push on and never stop doing. 

“That’s exactly right. We have to stay fortified and in tune with reality no matter what may come our way. 

Chintan Jani

Smartystan

Mentis Morales

Corn popped in an old timey dispenser. The red background contrasted with the black walls and acoustic equipment. Gold lettering spelled out “Frampton Family Theater.” Dr. Keija Frampton and Bellinda Gummer sat in director’s chairs just adjacent to the thirty seat theater with the giant screen in back of them.



Smartystan

Mentis Morales

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Businesswoman Chapter 338

Smartystan

Mentis Morales

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Businesswoman Chapter 338

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