(Read: ~12 minutes)
Following Sunny inside the glass portico sticking out from the side of the building, the enticing smell from the kitchen made my stomach growl. He opened another glass door and we stepped inside the main dining space. Everyone ate and chatted happily. Sunny gauged my expression. “See, this place rocks.”
Customers sat at a variety of chairs placed around a slew of mismatched tables, covered by tablecloths pieced together from scraps of fabric. Kitschy zen-inspired art covered the walls and meditative music whispered behind potted plants in the background. The restaurant kept a peaceful mood despite diners packing the room. Sunny waved towards the back at Connie, who sat at a table by herself near a side exit. We headed over and when we got to the table, her phone rang. She looked down, then at me. “La Bohème is calling.”
I nodded and she answered the call.
“Hello my dear,” Connie hummed into the phone. “Yes, he’s with us now. Sunny picked him up. We’re just about to eat lunch … at Sunflower Seeds … yep, sesame tofu, of course.”
She sat quietly, listening to the response from La Bohème. Sunny fiddled with mismatched silverware and napkins quilted from fabric scraps to match the tablecloth.
“Yes, no doubt he’ll be disappointed. He’ll live. Love ya’. Bye.”
La Bohème needed to postpone, most likely until the following morning. In the meantime, I was invited to a small get-together at the apartment building across from the strip mall. My reaction stayed cool, though being invited to a private gathering hosted by sexy friends of La Bohème in their communal apartment building more than compensated for the delay. And like Connie said, another delay didn’t mean the end of the world. I complained instead of accepting. “Really don’t understand why La Bohème invites me here to waste my time. She might have time to spare; the rest of us don’t.”
“She hopes going to the party will give you a chance to learn about Bohemia from people intimately familiar with the situation. Sunny will take you after lunch, if you want. Or you can sit in your hotel and wait for La Bohème to call.”
We all expected my eventual decision and Sunny switched the topic to the restaurant’s food.
“On the way from the airport, we talked about how awesome the food is,” Sunny told Connie. “Everything on the menu tastes yummy.”
Connie agreed, though she insisted nothing else on the menu compared to her favorite dish. “The sesame tofu tastes just like chicken, it’s vegan crack,” Connie laughed. “Opening this place may be the best decision I’ve made.”
I cleared my throat and they both looked at me, probably expecting a comment about the menu, or the restaurant.
Instead, my comment hit at the reason behind my trip. “Connie, there are troubling aspects of BohoCoin …”
She interrupted. “Your detractors say you lack tact or are just plain rude. I suppose La Bohème invited you here because of your directness. I’ll answer tough questions, if you’re honest about where my responses lead.”
Just then, the waiter came by the table to take our orders. Connie got the sesame tofu, Sunny ordered vegan spring rolls and a dish with eggplant and rice. I followed Sunny’s advice and chose the vegan pepperoni pizza and sweet potato fries.
My attack began again after the waiter took our orders. “There’s no doubt you’re all going to get rich when this finally happens, at least initially. But why you and La Bohème want the hassle and risk of starting a cryptocurrency remains murky. There must be a zillion different ways you can make money from her name and notoriety, you already do. The crypto stuff takes the movement in an odd direction. La Bohème must have reasons. Certainly, you have yours. So, what are they?”
Connie sat back in her chair and folded her hands on the table while her eyes stayed on me. She clearly considered words carefully.
“A few years back, I pursued ownership of my hit song again. The whole process turned into a complete nightmare,” she continued. “My simple song generated dozens of contracts and clauses over the years and lawyers had to figure out ownership. Then different lawyers negotiated getting back the rights to the song with the actual owners. I started buying the songs of one-hit wonders with confusing and misplaced contracts. The whole time, I’m looking for a better way to account for my ownership going forward, a way to make contracts clearer in the future, easier to use and understand. And then, I stumbled across blockchain and devised the idea for BohoCoin.”
She explained how, in her estimation, smart contracts encoded on the blockchain amount to the greatest contribution of the technology by reducing the unknown and providing clarity.
“My companies already implement smart contracts with dozens of artists and musicians. We plan to expand the concept through BohoCoin and the independent marketplaces providing support, where artists, creators and contributors of all kinds will be empowered, not subjugated, by clear contracts ensuring ownership of their intellectual property. They’ll be owners of their success and investors in their futures, right along with the rest of Bohemia. And the contracts will be easy to understand and nearly impossible to cheat thanks to the blockchain and BohoCoin.”
“Including Clem’s music?”
“Yes, of course. His music is a gift and the popularity of Clem & Them continues to grow over time.”
“So, what’s with the change of heart? You made money at your record shop for a time, taking advantage of cut-outs, for example.”
Connie nodded at the depth of my preparation. “You write about business, so you can understand the need to thoroughly comprehend a problem before finding solutions,” Connie argued. “I have a gift, recognizing opportunity. And what I see is that the entire information economy needs fixing.”
I scoffed at the notion the solutions to a digital age would come from new-age Bohemia.
“Doubt if you want. Our independent, decentralized community of users represents market conditions in their purest form. Through BohoCoin, individuals will reward contributions seen benefiting the community, and avoid the rest. The results will reward creators and users ethically and fairly, with value distributed to all who contribute, with every contribution clearly recorded for posterity.”
“Who decides what’s ethical and fair? You? La Bohème?”
“Certainly not mega corporations and their heartless lawyers, or governments and theirs,” Connie snapped. “In Bohemia, people will work cooperatively. Owners and members decide what’s best for the community through their own individual actions creating, promoting and purchasing.”
“You have an eye for making money. But that doesn’t explain why La Bohème agreed to launch a cryptocurrency.”
“Technically, she still needs to sign the papers,” Sunny blurted out, soliciting a scolding glance from Connie, breaking her stoic expression for the first time.
“Obviously, she’s going to sign,” Sunny backtracked. The tension eased when the server showed up with our food. The entrees came on plates with different designs and colors as if purchased from a thrift store. Sunny offered us each a spring roll. Connie took one and dipped it in an amber colored sauce, before taking a bite. I declined and used the opportunity to push on why La Bohème delayed signing the documents to launch BohoCoin. “Sounds like the head of your faith movement has doubts.”
“Actually,” Connie interrupted, still chewing, “Bohemia is not a religious or faith movement. We operate a network of businesses owned by La Bohème, myself and a growing network of investors. Our ventures all pay taxes, the same way any for-profit business does.”
“Lots of tax benefits to being a religion.”
“We don’t need or accept any government’s approval of our goals or methods. Although we serve our community, we are not a charity, nor do we operate one. Be clear about our for-profit model, whatever else you write. We don’t need the IRS to bestow legitimacy upon our beliefs. La Bohème never claims any religion. Nor does she want anyone working on her behalf to do so. She’s an effective psychic, all she’s ever claimed,” Connie lectured.
“Kudos to both of you for finding creative ways to make a ton of cash and pay taxes at the same time, if the government gets a cut of the sin, or the con. Though I’m skeptical if the people who idolize La Bohème will agree she’s not a holy figure.”
“Which she’s never encouraged,” Connie reiterated.
“How has she discouraged the notion?” I asked.
“People are free to make up their own minds about La Bohème,” Connie answered, then brought up the food. “I’m sorry, of course we’re talking business, but oh my god, this food. How’s yours Sunny?”
He nodded appreciatively, taking another bite of eggplant. She looked my way for a review of the food, but returned to an earlier question about the state of mind of BohoCoin’s nominal founder and asked about the risk of the idea falling apart pre launch.
“La Bohème recently endured a lot of trauma. Then you throw in the pressure of being considered a god by certain people, perhaps doubts about the direction of Bohemia? There must be a catch since she hasn’t signed the deal to launch BohoCoin,” came my assertion.
“No, the process gets complicated and takes time to work through,” Connie countered.
I shrugged, unconvinced and came back to the same point. “You explained your interest in crypto, not why La Bohème cares.”
Connie thought about what drove La Bohème to accept BohoCoin for a second. “What do you know about DOPS?” she asked.
“They’re the parapsychology research group that studied Rosa as a child.”
“Yes, giving particular credit to a certain researcher,” Connie responded.
“Dr. Billingsgate? You two are still close?”
“We remain partners.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll leave you to find out.”
According to rumors, their relationship entered a deeper phase, extending beyond business again.
She continued. “When you snooped around our pasts, I bet you didn’t find squat about Rosa’s time with Dr. Billingsgate while working together at DOPS, no academic papers or datasets made available for third parties to review, not even any mentions at conferences.”
“The director buried the research after he wrote the letter condemning Billingsgate and Madame Rouge.”
She pressed the issue. “He’s long gone, why continue to suppress the information? Everyone knows about the time La Bohème spent at DOPS. With the publicity she generates, one might think the school’s fundraisers would be all over this. Nope. UVA has yet to acknowledge Rosa ever participated in the program there. They’ve never responded to what Dr. Billingsgate wrote about his time there. Why? The answer is Shredgate.”
According to Connie, DOPS shredded all the information related to Rosa during a relocation of the department to a different set of renovated offices, the videotapes, the audio recordings, the computer files, even Gaston’s handwritten notes.
“I’m only privy to any of this because of a source inside. DOPS never admitted to the destruction. In fact, the department and the school stay completely silent when asked about La Bohème. Go check yourself.”
When asked, the university issued a statement without comment.
I munched on my pizza and fries while Connie voiced skepticism that an accident destroyed Gaston’s records. “Someone wanted the mistake to happen, the same person who called the research tainted and tried to bury the work would not have any qualms on seeing the proof destroyed. My goal is to get to the bottom of what happened at DOPS and why. You should want to know, too,” Connie lectured while mixing up all the ingredients on her plate, scooping and spinning her fork. Sunny happily dug into his eggplant dish. The delightful taste of the vegan pepperoni was a pleasant surprise and the sweet potato fries were damn tasty. Between bites, I wondered about the value of the old research between Rosa and Gaston in terms of BohoCoins.
Connie answered. “Start with a number you think is too big and go up from there.”
I couldn’t argue. Bohemians experts and influencers build reputations, communities and world views speculating on her childhood, including her time at DOPS. Given the fanaticism around her, a treasure trove from her genesis might prove invaluable, though Bohemians would certainly try with all the BohoCoins at their disposal.
“Everything is gone, accident or not. Shredgate will never be possible again after BohoCoin,” Connie declared.
“So the info from DOPS disappeared. La Bohème was there. If she wanted to tell the world about her time at DOPS, she could,” came my response.
Sunny jumped in. “The argument boils down to proof. The scientific research performed at DOPS is different from anyone’s testament, even hers. Those records remain crucial because of what science represents. Recorded in the blockchain, the words of La Bohème and our culture can never be destroyed, accidentally or not. BohoCoin represents a community’s attempt to last forever.”
“Or until the internet and electricity go away because of nuclear war or killer robots,” I quipped. “Don’t worry, La Bohème didn’t mention killer robots in her note.”
“Good to hear,” Connie replied.
“What she wrote was to come get my fortune. Do you think I’ll get an actual fortune cookie? Sure do hope so, because the analogy fits Bohemia perfectly. From the outside, logic indicates both are filled with make-believe and fantasy. Even so, there’s still anticipation; maybe the message is meaningful, if only the silliest of reasons, chance. Of course, fortune cookies offer amusement, not guidance; they’re a passing whimsy, not a way of life. Paying ridiculous amounts for her fortune cookies boggles my mind.”
Connie ate a bit of food and finished the water in her glass while she thought for a moment, too long for Sunny who answered for her, impatiently. “For the first time, everyone becomes immortal alongside La Bohème on the blockchain. Anyone can own a piece of eternity with BohoCoin.”
Ignoring Sunny, Connie signaled the server for the check. “We’ve already demonstrated the appeal,” she added. “The prediction markets agree.”
“Good. Sunny won’t need to dress up as a dolphin and hand out free acid on The Corner to drum up interest,” I joked and laughed, alone. The waiter put the bill down in front of Connie, then her phone started buzzing. “La Bohème again.”
She answered the call.
“Hey, yep, we’re finishing up now … Sesame tofu, of course … so yummy.” She stayed silent for a few seconds, then answered a question from La Bohème. “He chose the vegan pepperoni pizza and sweet potato fries … he didn’t tell us.”
She pulled the phone from her ear while she pulled a credit card out to pay the bill.
“Did you enjoy the vegan food?”
“Yeah, lunch was better than expected,” I admitted before eating another bite and nodding at Sunny.
“He says he liked the food,” she responded, listened, then looked at me again.
“And the sweet potato fries? La Bohème really likes them.”
I said the fries were my favorite part of the meal.
“He says he liked those best.”
Connie paused, then relayed a message from La Bohème. “She’s glad.”
Connie wrapped up the call saying, “Yep. Love you. Bye.”
She put the phone down on the table and the server picked up payment.
“She expects to see you sometime early tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, she hopes you’ll go to the soirée at the apartment building tonight. She thinks attending will be worth your time. You might even enjoy yourself.”
The waiter brought Connie the credit card slip, which she signed.
“Hopefully you found our time together useful.”
After I thanked her, she left out the side door marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. When we got up to leave behind her, I left enough cash to pay for my meal and someone else’s, too.
Arlo Gust 