DISCLAIMER: This title contains coarse language and mature content. It is not suitable for readers 18 years of age or younger.
Chapter 11
Number Nine
Paris, France - The Downtown Subway
Wednesday, August 31, 2005, 10:46 p.m.
Panic. Jason was becoming well acquainted with it. After the London bus to Folkestone and then the hovercraft across the English channel, he barely made his connecting train from Boulogne-sur-Mer to Paris. The Medley logic in full force, Jason decided it was the train to Paris, which would drop him off within feet of his connection to Rome. He would simply get off on one track, walk across the platform and board a new train on the opposite track. That his train schedule said otherwise was another matter.
After rectifying his train blunder, Jason switched to the subway-a French teenager with long hair used a particular finger to direct him. But for reasons Jason could not quite indentify, he only took the subway as far as the Gare d' Austerlitz stop, when he needed to be at Station de Lyon. Despite its regard as one of the most efficient, easiest-to-navigate in the world, the Paris underground system simply baffled him. He finally jumped in a cab instead, and with a lack of nuance, announced to the driver where he wanted to go-and when the trip should begin.
Jason was unimpressed with the cabbie, who tried playing it all tough and cool, smoking away on a stinky brown cigarette, like he had all the time in the world, when obviously there were important matters that needed immediate resolution. But Jason showed him what was what. A fat wad of bills put the insolent a-hole in his place, oh, yes, it sure did. Although, Jason was a bit surprised at just how quick the trip from the station where he started-to the station where he ended up-turned out to be. He tried not to consider the possibility that he had just paid ten times what the trip should have cost.
Besides, he couldn't even understand the money. He'd had to convert American dollars to British pounds when he first arrived in Manchester, and then convert the British pounds to Euros, the currency in Europe, except, of course, in Britain, which rebuffed the Euro on principle. But how many Euros to a British pound to an American dollar, he couldn't even compute.
And all he'd eaten by then was a heavily mayonnaised roll with what was advertised as bacon, but was in fact pure bacon fat. So he had that going for him.
But now that he was so close to finding his train to Rome, Jason only had minutes left to actually board it. Posted on an overhead message board was a row of horizontal slats. The fifth slat from the top read: 22:56: Roma: Track 9.
Two dozen trains lay in wait beneath the cool night sky. People people people were going this way and that, with briefcases and rucksacks and suitcases, all headed somewhere.
Jason had decided that Rome would be his initial destination, and though he would come to acknowledge that he just as easily could have stayed in Paris, or gone to Amsterdam, Berlin or any other city, getting to Rome was the only acceptable outcome. Why? Because it had to be that way. That's just how he was. Hank laughed at him often for being so rigid. "Relax, Kid. Relax. Life's more fun when you let it flow. Don't force it so much. Just let things happen."
Let it happen? Sorry, dude. No time for that now. I gotta make it happen.
Jason sought out Track 9. Each platform had a signpost with its corresponding number. Track 2 was directly ahead. Then Track 4, Track 6. Track 8. All even numbers. He checked his watch: 10:49:04.
Jason followed another series of platforms. Track 1, Track 3. He smiled, knowing he was close. Track 5. Getting closer. Track 7. He smiled again. 10:51:32.
And finally he came upon his destination, hallelujah. Track 9.
Except that it was empty.
"No fucking way." The arch of his back whimpered, struggling beneath the weight of his supplies. He ran to a conductor flipping through pages of a leather-bound pad. "Excuse me. Train to Rome? Did it leave?"
"Moved," he said in English, without looking up from his pad.
"Moved? You mean to a different track?"
The conductor flipped a page. Flipped again. Flipped again.
"To another track? Which track?" 10:53:11. T-minus three minutes.
The conductor looked up. He had barbs in his eyes. "Don't know."
"But where-?"
"Don't know," the conductor repeated sternly, and then walked away.
Oh, God. This isn't happening.
Jason ran along the platforms until he came across an information booth. Two men were sitting on stools, reading the newspaper. "Excuse me. Look. Train to Rome. It was supposed to be on track nine, but it's not. Do you know which track? Do you know where it is?"
The first booth worker grumbled, and then stormed into the back room. Slam! The second winged his newspaper, creating a distinct barrier, preventing eye contact. Smoke floated up from behind the paper.
Great. More cigarettes. Stinky French fuckers.
"Sir! Train to Rome. It leaves in ...," Jason checked his watch, "... in less than three minutes. Train to Rome. Which track? Do you know which track?"
The cigarette fucker wrinkled his paper defiantly. He turned his back to Jason.
"Excuse me, sir. Please. Can you help me? Train to Rome ..."
Jason fantasized about jumping over the counter and clubbing the cigarette fucker with a bacon-fat baguette until the right answer popped loose, but instead the clock in his head clanged away like an ancient gong, one second at a time.
10:54:03 ... Clang!
10:54:04 ... Clang!
10:54:05 ... Clang!
The cigarette fucker looked over his shoulder. "Three," he said finally.
"Track three? That's the one to Rome?"
The cigarette fucker stormed into the back room. Slam!
Jason cringed at the rattling door, and then made a decision. Fuck it. Track 3 it is.
He sprinted along the platform, straining to see through the train windows. Compartment after compartment was filled with passengers. Not an empty seat to be found.
An awesome clang! echoed in his head at the tick of 10:55:27. The train was about to pull out of the station. Jason heaved his rucksack onto the next car, conceding that his wish-to be selective when it came to choosing a seat-was no longer an option.
He jumped on the stairs, but tripped over his bag, his foot caught in the straps. He dented his shin on the doorframe. Ow! Shit! Leg throbbing, he pulled himself up and limped along the narrow hallway. Light came in through the windows. The first compartment was full. Same with the second, the third and the fourth. He was getting anxious now, covered in a film of sweat and anxiety that soaked through his clothes. He itched in that dirty, uncomfortable way from the back of his kneecaps to the bottom of his tackle, afraid he would have to stand the entire fourteen-hour trip to Rome. When he came to the last compartment, it was marked by a small, rectangular sign. A single message was draped in shadow.
The compartment was fitted with two padded benches, facing each other. There was just enough room for six passengers, three to a bench. There was one spot available, the middle to his right. "Train to Rome?" He looked to a twentyish knockout with long black hair and a white ruffled blouse. There were dark bags under her eyes. "Sí," she said.
Jason forced his rucksack between the other bags on the overhead rack, then squeezed himself between two strangers. Six sets of interlocking knees now occupied the small common ground between the two sides.
As the train pulled away from the station, Jason drew both hands down his face. Opposite the sliding door, a shutter covered the small window. It shrouded the compartment in darkness, blocking the moonlight. The overhead light was off.
Every fiber in his body ached, and he didn't care. Rabid dogs barked within his walking boots, and he didn't care. He hadn't eaten a solid meal in nearly two days, and he didn't care. He hadn't showered in just as long, and he didn't care.
Jason was grateful just to have reached the end of one of the longest days of his life, one that spanned three nations, two oceans and thousands of miles, a day whose beginning he could no longer remember or even care to recall. He was sitting down, and would remain so for quite a long while. He reached for his crotch. Money belt check. Because you never know.
And it wasn't until after the train settled into a cruising speed that Jason finally realized what was posted outside the door: Smoking.
***
The sleep never came. Jason pinned his shoulders against the seat back so he wouldn't invade the personal space of his fellow travelers. But more than the desire for physical freedom, he sought refuge from the moldy cavern of his own mind. He wanted to feel like a whole person again, to make a connection. "Hi," he said to the guy sitting next to him.
Jason's new bud rubbed his scraggly beard, adjusted his glasses, and then swept the long hair from his face. "Uh ... sí, hello, yes. You America, no?"
"Yeah, America. From New York."
"Ah! New York! Sí, sí. Antonio, Antonio." Antonio then introduced Sonja, the black-haired knockout to Jason's left, and then facing him Christi, René and Angelina, three twentyish girls, pretty and without makeup, dressed in jeans and ragged shirts, backpackers all.
The six compartment mates took turns in the bathroom, a tiny closet at the end of the car. They watched each other's belongings, a gesture for which Jason was extremely thankful.
He stood before the mirror, and cringed. His complexion was sickly yellow under the dim light; he had dark bags under his eyes. Exhausted, he could feel the seams in the railway tracks groove beneath the locomotive as it rumbled toward Rome.
... clug-lug ... clug-lug ... clug-lug ...
"I look like ass," he said, and then had an aha moment in regard to his dinosaur T-shirt. "Nice wardrobe, stud. Way to make an impression." Despite the tight quarters, Jason managed to wash his face, brush his teeth, gargle with peppermint Listerine, and then spritz each armpit with deodorant. The spray was cool. It stung.
Perked, but not perky, Jason walked in on his Italian friends. They were using their knees as tables, sharing a box of crackers and a brick of chocolate. They passed around a water bottle.
As if slapped in the face, Jason couldn't believe his stupidity. Among his forty pounds of gear he hadn't packed the most important item of all: Food. Not a cookie, not a sandwich. No candy, no fruit, no drinks. Nothing. Not even an Altoid. Holy shit. I'm gonna starve to death.
He all but collapsed into the fetal position and started to cry-I brought a fucking laundry bag, but no food; nice job, dumbass-when Christi smiled at him. Frilly blonde hair draped over her shoulder. A cross hung from her neck. "Hungry, yes? Eat. You receive good deed, you do for someone else. Is the traveler's karma. You'll see."
It took all Jason had from hugging her senseless. You're an angel. But gratitude aside, the starving coyote in him was ready to rip the throats from anyone who came between him and the sesame crackers, including licking the crumbs off the cellophane wrapper. Jason surveyed the food, let out a short sigh. "Thanks," he said finally. "I could eat."
Bellies satisfied and with the overhead light switched off again, Jason and his new friends tried to sleep, a jumble of limbs strewn about. They made stops at Lyon and Modane, and as the eyelids of the morning sky began to open, they crossed the French border into Italy.
Jason looked upon his now-slumbering mates, and in his mind thanked them all for their generosity. For treating that compartment as their home, and for making him their most welcome guest. And as he thought about the days ahead, he wondered if he would meet anyone even half as nice as they were, and if he could do so without completely losing his shit along the way.
Chapter 12
Bottom of the Bag
Waitomo, New Zealand - The Off-Road Motel
Thursday, February 24, 2005, 8:12 a.m.
When Theo finally woke after two consecutive days of motel slumber, he was alone save for the pungent reek of damp sex soaked into the walls, sheets and blankets. He pulled back the curtain, and squinted at the steady drizzle. He was naked. Hungry.
Lea had been with him ... he remembered that ... he could still smell her on him, could almost feel her in him, although he couldn't figure out how that could be so. From within the dresser, he removed a clean pair of boxers and a towel, although he didn't remember unpacking his clothes. Maybe it was Lea. She was always doing things like that, taking care of him whether he asked her to or not.
Theo reached into the stand-up shower, turned the spigot and then stood beneath the hot water until it was exhausted. He dressed, including his brown, tattered moccasins he wore rain or shine, at the beach, hiking or out to dinner.
Pressed into his knapsack was a half-full bag of mini pretzel sticks, his wallet, a week-old newspaper, a Rotorua map, and stashed at the bottom, his newest possession-a small, glass jar.
Theo let the pear-shaped object weigh in his hand. Having endured what he could only assume were hallucinations, he now felt a sense of importance handling the item-a solid, three-dimensional glass container he could touch. He put the jar to his ear like listening for the ocean spirit in a seashell. Nothing.
He twisted the top. It would not open. The ridge marking where the lid should come apart from the neck was easily identifiable, but after soaking in that murky water for weeks, months or, Theo theorized, even years, the pieces had probably cemented together. In time they'll come loose, he thought. In time.
A melodious beep came from the dresser drawer. Theo dug beneath his boxers, the last pair white with little red hearts on them. His mobile phone was ringing. "Yeh," he answered in his soft Kiwi accent. A voice came through the other end.
"Dickhead. You wanted to meet me at Cook's Beach. I've got the Jet Ski, yeh?"
Theo had absolutely no memory of making such a request, although he did want to see his younger brother. "Hey, Roger? When did I ask you? Like, what day did we discuss it?"
"I don't know. Whenever. Who gives a rat's fuck?"
Theo was still a little woozy. "Never mind. So you got the Jet Ski, yeh?"
"Are you a fucking egg? I just said that. Wait ... did you drop acid again?"
Theo put a think on it. "Um ... I dunno. Maybe." Had Theo been certain that he actually had dropped acid, and he wasn't sure that he hadn't, he would have felt a whole lot better about the previous few days. But since they were still a blur, he was left with an uncomfortable sense of curiosity and doubt.
Barely seventeen, Roger was annoyed, as he often was. "Just stop fuckin' about, asswipe. I'll see you midday. I think Carla's gonna give me some. It's about time. Bye-bye virginity, hel-lo titties. Gonna be sweet sweet sweet."
Momentarily woozy, Theo was overcome by overbearing sexual intensity and feeling as if he were about to pass out. He sat on the edge of the bed. "I hope you're up to it."
"Are you kidding? What the fuck are you on about?"
"Never mind," Theo said, thinking that perhaps drugs and sex didn't quite mesh as well as he was led to believe. "You'll find out soon enough."
Chapter 13
The Cost of Fabric
Yuma, Arizona - Four Miles East of Downtown
Sunday, August 21, 2005, 12:07 p.m.
The Labradorwoomphed! at two desert bunnies as Winnebago backfire echoed throughout the narrow ravine.
Before redistribution, Lex couldn't remember having paid even the slightest attention to animals leaping across the road, but then, neither could he remember a time when he hadn't thought about it. He was a dog now, so an adjustment period seemed reasonable. New body, new sounds, new smells. Only the longer he remained a dog, the more it seemed ... natural. Normal. Not that he could forget what their life used to be like, or what it took to get as far as they did.
Before their banishment to Earth-before there even was an Earth-Emma was just another struggling galaxy designer buried six-deep on a staff that offered no immediate hope for promotion given the firm's politics. This was before Lex ever heard of the Milky Way, before he had any idea just how much his life was about to change. He remembered that night like it had never ended, which, in a way, it hadn't.
***
Lex was called into the owner's office, a glassed-in cage in the far corner of the dark basement warehouse. Jerry sat behind his desk, twirling a sleek, silver pen. "Take a seat." Jerry was slight, with thin hair and wore round, frameless glasses. "Let's discuss this fabric business. Seems we have a situation."
Having spent numerous weekends snowboarding MountKilejo, Lex was trim and well conditioned, standing nearly six feet tall, with spiked, black hair. He pulled his fingers along his chin whiskers; he was otherwise clean-shaven. "What situation? I'm ... not sure I follow."
"That's disappointing, Lex, seeing as how you're the purchasing officer. Four of the nine shipments of galactic fabric we used to touch up the Big Dipper have tears in them. It's a real mess. We're going to have to redo the whole repair job-at our cost."
Lex sat up in his chair. "What? Are you sure? I inspected the lots myself. The fabric was top-notch. There's got to be a mistake."
"You are correct." Jerry did not blink. "A big mistake."
"Oh ... then ... I ... don't understand."
Profits had been up for six consecutive quarters, all since Lex came on board. His initial few months consisted of consolidating a few troublesome accounts and reorganizing the delivery routes, steps that enabled the tripling of inventory without needing to increase staff. Yet he now had the most awful feeling that his good works weren't totally appreciated.
"It's been going on for some time." Jerry shook his head. "I didn't want to believe it, but now I'm sure."
Lex was now officially concerned, if not perplexed, and though his instincts told him he would be better off anywhere in Eternity than where he was, he asked for clarification anyway. "Sure ... about what?"
"I was hoping you would be more honest, although I'm not surprised." Jerry shifted in his chair. "I was never sold on you."
"Am I in trouble?" Lex knew he was, although he couldn't figure why. "What's-?"
"Normally we would have you arrested and sent down with the other scum, but we don't need the publicity right now. There's no point calling attention to ourselves, what with the extra revenue from the big contracts allowing us to expand. But I'm sure you know that."
Jerry stopped twirling his pen. He leaned forward in his chair, which squeaked. On the blotter pad was a single sheet of company letterhead. He rotated the document to face Lex, and then pushed it across the desk. Jerry handed over the pen. "Make this easier on everyone." He glared at Lex, and then through the glass door behind him. "Especially you."
Trembling, Lex peeked over his shoulder. Standing outside were a pair of tattooed brutes with shaved heads and massive forearms. Lex read from the top. The document began:
This letter stands as my resignation from Quality Galaxy Fabrics (QGF). I acknowledge that my personal greed, lack of dignity, and contempt for ownership fueled my implicit quest to undermine the firm; I renounce all rights as an employee; and I agree to vacate the premises immediately and not ever return, or else be subjected to criminal and physical proceedings far beyond the fullest scope and extent of any known laws.
"Wait. What? I don't understand. What do you think I did?"
Jerry explained. Dumbfounded, Lex slumped in his chair.
"Sign at the bottom. We'll mail you your copy." Lex did as instructed. Jerry placed the signed confession in his top desk drawer.
Lex looked to Jerry just then, hoping to claim at least a sliver of self-respect before they shredded its remnants, much as Lex was sure they did with numerous documents. "Can I at least clean out my desk? I'd like to collect my things."
Twirling his pen again, Jerry leaned back in his chair, and as much as it seemed within him, relaxed, then shook his head playfully. He offered Lex a smile.
"No."
Chapter 14
Creative Accounting
The Eastern Sphere of Eternity - Wally's Bar & Grille
Milky Way's Public Unveiling: T-Minus 228 Days (Eternity Standard Time)
Six days later, Lex awoke facedown on a skanky barroom floor, with broken peanut shells stuck to his face. Yank My Comet was grooving on the jukebox.
Lex plucked a shell fragment from his eyebrow. Bleary-eyed, he looked up, only to find a slender, raven-haired knockout with short, firm calves and yowsa cleavage standing above him. He couldn't help but notice the garter belt hugging her upper thigh. Lex pulled himself up, then sat at the table. He rubbed his face. "Fuck. What day is this?"
"Tuesday." Emma sipped her drink through a straw. "Tuesday night, actually."
"Really? I got canned last Wednesday."
"You've been on the floor since then? Impressive."
"Last thing I remember was being thrown into a gutter and then a wino taking a whiz on my leg. Although ... I do seem to recall standing on a table, probably this one, and then grabbing my crotch and screaming. Other than that ..."
"You do nice work."
"Thanks." Lex held up the silver peanut dish, and checked his face for bruises. "I haven't seen you since the trade show."
Emma had stopped by the booth to pick up a sample catalog for an asteroid project she was developing. Although they worked in different departments at Quality Galaxy Fabrics, Lex and Emma crossed paths now and again. Lex even thought about asking her out to dinner once, but dismissed the idea when she called him Leonard-twice-even though his convention name badge said otherwise in block letters.
"How's the design department? You running the place yet?" Lex looked himself over. "Wow. I'm a mess."
"Nothing gets by you."
"Be nice. I'm not having my best week."
"You've had worse?"
Lex smirked. "Hardly."
Emma reached over and pulled a peanut shell from his ear. She ran a finger through the top of his scruffy sideburns, and then up to his earlobe. "Look," she said. "Let's get you cleaned up and see if there isn't something we can do?"
Lex tilted his head. "We?"
Emma nipped at the straw. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"
***
After a hot shower, shave and change of clothes, which Emma said belonged to her ex-husband, Lex sat on her black leather couch. He followed Emma's shapely hips as she lowered them into a matching chair opposite him. She flipped off her open-toed shoes with the sides of her pedicured feet, and draped one leg across her knee.
Lex explained the terms of his dismissal.
"Somebody, most likely that pinhole, Jerry, submitted phony billing slips to the clients, charging at least double what the original fabric orders called for, and then somewhere during the delivery process, switched the quality stuff I ordered with old, useless fabric." He continued. "Jerry then pays the supplier the inflated amount, and gets some of the refund as a kickback, making himself rich. He then resells the quality merchandise for an added profit."
Emma nodded. "And since your name is on every purchase order ..."
"Bingo. Paper trail leads to me. They probably got greedy, and drew attention from the accountants. I'm the perfect scapegoat."
"Yeah, but if the order forms are fakes, they shouldn't be hard to find. That's one thing my ex always said. No matter what gets recorded on the balance sheet, make it your business to know exactly how much you've got of what, where it comes from ... and where it goes. Records aren't for you. They're for show."
"It's why they wouldn't let me back in my office. They obviously have my signature on file, and made the switch. I'm sure the originals are gone."
Lex walked toward the window of Emma's one-bedroom apartment.
Almost a foot shorter than Lex, Emma came up beside him. Her breasts pressed against his ribs. Her nipples were erect beneath her red, silk blouse. She put a hand on his shoulder. She whispered. "I have a confession for you."
Lex turned and looked down to face her. "Oh, yeah?"
"I quit today."
Lex licked his lips. "Really? Why's that?"
"I figured ... why give them my best work when I can keep it for myself and then ... offer it as it suits me?"
"Huh. You starting your own firm?"
Emma leaned in. "Long overdue."
Lex wrapped his arms around her waist. He lowered his mouth to her neck, breathing in her perfume. "Good," he said. "Fuck 'em."
"Actually." Emma rubbed her bare foot against his leg. "I'd rather fuck you."
***
Emma was naked, laying face down on the bed, arms pillowed beneath her head. Moonbeams cross-hatched on the wall. "Two hands are better than one," she said.
Lex rubbed his palms into Emma's taut tush. "I am using two hands."
"Not my ass. Starlight Designs. The business."
Lex looked up. A horizontal box of moonlight painted across his eyes. "What? You mean ... like partners?"
"Mmm ... something like that. I've got an idea for a new galaxy. I'm calling it the Milky Way. At the core will be a star system with nine planets, a lot of moons and only one sun. A yellow sun. We'll make room for life on some of the planets, with the others for decoration and balance. I haven't figured out which ones will be which. But the third planet-my favorite-will get the love. It'll be a hit. I just need the capital."
***
Lex drifted into fantasy just then. He sat behind his own desk and had his goons pummel Jerry into a soggy eggplant. "Good, boys, good. Just like that." Lex put his feet up. He flipped open the top of a silver-plated lighter, waved the blue flame beneath a cigar. "Break as many bones as you can find." He blew out expanding gray halos. "Start with the little ones."
***
Returned from revenge fantasy, Lex found Emma rubbing the bottom of her foot against his tingling grape sack. He wasn't a designer himself, but he knew how to supply them, getting quality materials at a good price. He never went cheap, but he knew how to find a deal. "Okay," he said. "Yeah. When do I start?"
Emma turned over beneath him. Her breasts jiggled. She let her knees fall open. "Right about," and she pulled Lex on top of her, "now."
"I gotta ask," Lex said as he inserted himself into Emma. "Is this part of the job?"
"Do you ... uhn ... want it to be?"
Out and in and out and then in again, Lex plunged deeper inside Emma, not simply as a means to an orgasmic end, but to demonstrate his abilities as a man, to prove that he wasn't the drunken loser she scraped off a barroom floor.
Lex pulled himself completely out, supporting his torso above her, his arms braced into the mattress. He gazed into the crystal blue eyes staring up at him and wondered if what he saw in them revealed what was actually there, or if he would ever look into those eyes the same way again. Lex thrust into her with an extra jolt.
Emma yelped.
***
Back in revenge fantasy, Lex chomped on his cigar, watching a screen mounted on his office wall. The video surveillance revealed Jerry lying motionless in a hospital bed, his body wrapped in casts and bandages. Tubes were stuffed into his nose and mouth. Next to the bed was a small monitor. A green, wavy line flowed across the screen.
... bleep ... bleep ... bleep ...
***
Lex considered Emma's proposal. "It would be a serious ... uhn ... oh, fuck, yeah ... upgrade from my last position. Would I ... uhn ... have my own office?"
"Of course." Emma groaned beneath him. "As soon as ... oh shit, right there, fuck! ... the space is ready."
Lex moaned. His sweat dripped onto the sheets.
"Harder," Emma instructed.
Lex thrust faster.
"Harder!"
Thrust after thrust, Lex wondered if he was hitting the mystery spot, or if she was testing him, trying to find out just how dedicated he was to getting the job done right. But since he was about to blow a load inside her, he was going with his being a great, big stud. His arms quivered. He squinted. His body clenched. Lex exhaled a series of short, staccato breaths and then released a long, puckered one as if trying to extinguish a candle. "Uh-uh-uh ... ohhhhhhh." He rolled over on his back.
"Mmm," Emma said. "That was nice."
"Fuck, yeah, it was." Lex patted her thigh, then wiped his face with both hands. "So," he said, still out of breath. "Are we doing this?"
Emma rolled back on top. "That depends." She pinched his left nipple.
"Ow. On what?"
"On how much you've got left in the tank there, big boy. Once may be good for you, but I'm just getting started." Emma straddled him, sitting upright, streaks of moonlight draped across her face. "I'm tough to please."
Lex let out a deep breath. "I'm getting the idea. So why'd you get divorced, anyway?"
"Because," she said, "only one of us should've been sleeping with men ... and I'm certain that should've been me."
As the sweat rolled down Emma's glistening body, Lex found it difficult to look upon her with anything less than a twang in his loins. Yet he couldn't deny the sliver of suspicion needling him as he considered what he was agreeing to. "Was this part of the interview?"
Emma reached behind her. She cupped his marbles. "Does that bother you?"
Lex grabbed her thighs as he thickened up. "Nope. Hands down. Best. Interview. Ever."
With his finger Lex drew a smiley face around Emma's taught, sweaty breast, dotting her nipple like the nose on a snowman, and admitting to himself that he didn't trust her at all. That aligning with Emma would be a very big mistake indeed.
And that he was therefore doing it anyway.
Chapter 15
Ask Me If I Care
243 Miles North of Rome
Thursday, September 1, 2005, 8:04 a.m.
Jason was marinating in his own juices. He needed to get up and stretch. It was only eight in the morning but the temperature was already over ninety degrees. He stopped at the end of the car, by the doors. The next car rumbled behind him. He caught the breeze, watching the sun light up the countryside.
Rome was still hours away, so he just stood there, staring out the window. He leaned his shoulder against the door, taking comfort in the train's rhythm. There was something about the thrust of motion, the repetition of it all.
... clug-lug ... clug-lug ... clug-lug ...
Jason's eyes were heavy. They hurt. He closed them for just a few ... minutes? Seconds? He couldn't tell. Time on the road seemed to jump ahead in flashes, or drag on, or even just stand still. Was he awake? Asleep? Eyes still closed, he shrugged, answering his own question. Does it matter?
And when he opened them again, the train whooshed by white, stone apartment houses, at least forty deep, big and small. They were clustered together, all with orange roof tiles. And then there were low-lying mountains in the distance. And maybe he drifted off, maybe not, but there was a valley, and then a field, and then trees. And beyond them was a farm, and a slope, and then more apartment clusters until finally Jason could almost feel the centuries of history soaking into his skin that was just so ... Italian ... without even knowing what that meant.
He put his hand up against the window, for the first time since he left New York realizing just how much he wasn't in America anymore. Not that Europe was necessarily better or worse, but different. There was something in the air, something in the vibrations that told him he was someplace else, with its own rhythms. Its own mojo.
Jason reached into his pocket to dislodge a crumpled receipt. His fingers brushed against a square edge. He removed the object, only to find himself staring at a keychain his sister gave him. He had forgotten all about it. On the end was a yellow tag that read: ASK ME IF I CARE. It was an old joke between them.
For years, Jill had pushed him to travel, even offered to lend him money to do so, but he always resisted, still stuck on no. And now he was watching the other side of the world go by.
From there, Jason's memory leapt to his student teaching days, in Buffalo, when he would climb up on the desk tops and scream lines from Julius Caesar, his students' mouths agape at his Shakespearean antics ... which finally led his mind to that Wednesday night at The In-Between, his favorite college bar. Two-for-one Molson Lite bottles, Quiet Riot on the jukebox.
" ... So you think I got an ev-il mind ..."
"... I'll tell you hon-ey ..."
Beer in hand, Jason was talking to a blonde cutie with a flat chest and a great smile.
"... I doooon't know why ..."
"... I doooon't know why ..."
When he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"... So you think my singing's out of time ..."
"... It makes me mon-ey ..."
He turned around.
"... I doooon't know why ..."
A pack of his eleventh grade students stood there, with drinks in their hands.
"... I doooon't know why ..."
"... Anymore ... oh, no-hoh ..."
One of his students approached-he couldn't remember her name, but she had long, brown hair and sat in the first seat by the window. That he remembered.
"... So cum on, feel the noise ..."
"... Girls ROCK the boys ..."
"Mr. M," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"... We'll get wiiiild, wild, wild ..."
"... Wiiiild, wild, wild ..."
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"
"... So cum on, feel the noise ..."
"... Girls ROCK the boys ..."
"You have homework tonight, and I know, because I gave it to you."
Jason couldn't wait for class the next day. And when he saw those kids with their heads buried, slumped in their seats, knowing they were totally busted ... he owned them for the rest of the semester. But when he moved on to another school, he really missed those kids. They had a daring streak he just couldn't find in himself, as much as he wanted to.
But those days seemed like lifetimes ago. Jason was excited now, finally leaving behind the getting there phase of his trip and closing in on being there. He put the keychain away, and when he returned to the compartment, his mates were wide awake. They smiled at him the way people do when they're truly glad to see you, when there's just no way to mistake the greeting for anything else. Jason smiled back. Ask me if I care.
It was a damn good question.
Chapter 16
Magnetic Driving
New Zealand's North Island - Cook's Beach Parking Lot
Thursday, February 24, 2005, 12:38 p.m.
Theo slobbered down two jumbo hamburgers while sitting in his truck, stuffing in his mouth the overflow of onions, lettuce and beetroot. His stomach grumbled as if it hadn't been satisfied in two days, which it hadn't. But he hungered not just for food, but for answers. For clarity. Theo had the strangest sensation just then:
As if he spread his mouth open like the South American anaconda, his jaws unhinged so that the two halves of his face lay flat. As if with miner's hat and pickax, he wriggled feet-first over his own tongue, past his epiglottis and through his esophagus, tunneling into some unknown region of himself-a corridor that wouldn't show up on a medical X-ray. As if he carved through his center, uncovering a dimension he always suspected might exist but never knew for sure. A beacon leading him away from one path and toward another.
But leading where? And why now?
Theo had cruised the 360 kilometers, first heading north on State Highway 3 to Pokeno, due east on State Highway 2, and then along the northeast coast past Pauanui.
As he drove through the farm country, he passed a series of small ponds and then along a windy stretch of hills that always made him a little bit nervous. The trip to the northeastern shore took nearly six hours total, where, in typical New Zealand fashion, it rained for twenty minutes, became sunny, then windy, then calm, and then rained again before settling into a clear blue sky.
But when Theo pulled into the Cook's Beach parking lot just moments before and cut the engine, his mind raced. It was filled with flashes of color and whiteness. Of Lea. Of the WaitomoCaves. Bits and pieces only, but no whole. Nothing concrete to latch onto.
Theo still had no idea why he had rushed off to Cook's Beach, or how he even knew the eastern shore of the CoromandelPeninsula was where he was supposed to be. His hands indeed had been on the steering wheel and his feet had operated the pedals. Yet Theo hadn't felt as if he were driving, only that he had been the conduit for motion. That the truck had been maneuvered by remote control. That he had been maneuvered by remote control.
While he was uneasy about the lack of influence he had over his trip to Cook's Beach, he also felt an intriguing sense of freedom. Thinking had been rendered unnecessary. Theo didn't know why he was doing what he was doing, but then, he had no doubts regarding the veracity of his actions. He was a passenger in his own life, a magnet pushed and pulled toward a destination that seemed arbitrary, yet specific.
Theo was taking his rightful place among the order of things, although what that place was or what purpose it would serve, he couldn't even imagine. Literally. His thoughts were like a batch of eels, slipping through the fingers of his mind. He just couldn't hold on.
A kaleidoscope of color.
Squish.
Streaking whiteness.
Squish.
Tiny green glows.
Squish.
Maybe I took a hit of acid after all, he thought. Maybe I just forgot.
There was a tap on the glass.
"G'day, Dickhead." Roger wrapped his knuckles on the driver's side window, and then pointed to Theo's Jet Ski, perched on the trailer attached to their father's truck. "You getting up, or am I yanking you out by your short hairs?"
Chapter 17
The Smoking Cove
New Zealand's North Island - Two Nautical Kilometers East of Cathedral Cove
Thursday, February 24, 2005, 1:36 p.m.
The Barnes brothers tore across the ocean on their way to Cathedral Cove. The Pacific stretched out from the coastline until it narrowed to a point in the distance. The whipping wind behind them, Theo could feel the solid mass tucked against his back as he clung to Roger's waist.
Theo trusted Roger more than he trusted anyone, and if he couldn't trust him with this, if he couldn't tell somebody, he would go absolutely mad. Roger still had that prickly teenager attitude-as his sworn duty lobbing sarcasm grenades at even the slightest hint of hypocrisy-a check Theo was counting on to be kept honest.
"Yo, fuckface," Roger hollered over the Jet Ski. "Are you in love?"
Theo hollered back, his bare feet wet along the baseboard. "What?"
"Love, dickhead! Love!"
"No!" Not love. Something else. "Why?"
"No reason, mate. You're just ... different!"
Theo looked toward the distant beach and the massive, white rock formation set upon it. Green treetops, like heads of broccoli, sprouted up from the rock. Roger banked right to enter the inlet, navigating them around the smaller rock formations leading to shore. They finally slowed to a putter, dismounted in the shallow water, and beached the Jet Ski.
Theo had been to Cathedral Cove dozens of times, to relax, to be away from expectation. But the massive tunnel boring through white rock-leading from Cathedral Cove on their side, to Mares Leg Cove on the other-now seemed like a cave of doom.
In the shade, Theo knelt in the cave's cool sand, and slid the backpack from his shoulders. He reached for the jar. But with his hand inside the bag, he hesitated. Waves oozed onto the beach, fizzled into foam, then retracted to sea. Am I really doing this? Am I sure?
His heart pounded. Theo let out a breath, slow and measured, like he was about to cut the red wire-and hopefully the correct one-just seconds before a ticking bomb finally blasted his eroding sanity to smithereens. He exhaled and then presented the jar to his brother, who toked on a joint. Sweet as brown sugar, smoke wandered from the lit end.
"You should grow this shit in your greenhouse, mate. You'd make a killing." Skinny as a post and three inches taller than Theo, Roger rambled on about the first time he got high and ate a bowl of crispy wheat lathered in their aunt's breast milk. "Still, you do have to be careful. I mean, you smoke bowls every day, it's like, you're not doing them. They're doing you."
After watching Roger exhale, Theo took two short puffs and then one longer one. He was uneasy about how Roger might react, but he needed to know if he had actually stumbled upon something extraordinary deep in the WaitomoCaves, or if he needed a CAT scan.
Roger glanced down at the jar. His eyes were glossy, bloodshot and half open. "So ...," he said. "What the fuck you got there?"
Chapter 18
Luxury Sweet
The Western Sphere of Eternity - The Brockryder Hotel
Milky Way's Public Unveiling: T-Minus 31 Days (Eternity Standard Time)
Donald led Danielle through double doors with brass doorknobs, polished to a shine. "Okay, now, Sweetie. Open your eyes."
Danielle would call her husband by his actual first name only three times during their lengthy relationship. This was the second. "Oh, Donald ... a suite at the Brockryder!"
Sexed out an hour later, Donald and Danielle draped themselves in their complimentary silk robes. They laid face up on the canopied bed, made up with silk sheets, gold-plated bedposts and a piece of imported chocolate on each pillow.
"So why all this, Baby?" Danielle snuggled into the nook, resting her cheek on Donald's chest. She played with the curly hairs on his stomach. "It ain't my birthday or nothin'."
"Well, you've been such a dream about this whole jar situation. I figured you deserved a great send-off. It's the best room in the hotel."
Danielle went quiet and still. She rolled on her side, facing away.
Donald knew he had done something wrong, but after playing his best card, was at a loss as to what the terrible deed might be. Think! Damn it! What did I say? "Honey?" He reached for his wife, who pulled away. "Sweetie? Is everything all right?"
"You said I should be getting' a great send-off 'n shit."
"That's right, my angel. The very best."
"But you said me, not we. Me. You sendin' me away. You dumping me down there. You kickin' my ass to the curb."
"Oh, no, Honey. No, no. No." He chuckled. "Not at all."
Danielle sat up. "Oh, so now you laughin' at me? You think this shit is funny?"
Donald learned early on in their relationship that it was best to accept responsibility as often and as thoroughly as he could, or else he would be in for a long, excruciating evening. His next few words would be critical. "You're totally right, Honey. Right as rain. It's my mistake. I'm sorry for my choice of words. I don't know why I said them. I completely understand why you are upset, and if I were you, I would feel exactly the same way."
"You're not gonna ... you can't just ..." From her side of the bed, Danielle looked down at the floor. She rubbed her toes into the padded carpet. She peeked up at her husband. "You would? You are?"
"We, Baby. We. We're going. You and me. Together."
Donald smiled as Danielle unclenched her fists.
"Really?" she said. "Mean it?"
Donald nodded. His voice was gentle. "You and me. Like always."
***
Donald let out a long, silent sigh as Danielle returned to the nook. He then changed the subject, fabricating a laugh.
"What?" Danielle asked with a toothy grin. "What you on about?"
Donald stared at the white netting draped across the bedposts. "Oh, I was just thinking about those early days. When we got assigned to surface development, before we got transferred to plumbing and drainage? That was something, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. That was some fun shit ... 'til you messed it up."
"Me? How did I mess it up?"
"How? Think about it, fool. Dinosaurs. Fuckin' dinosaurs. We got the ultimate shit, the top chronic, and you go and make dinosaurs."
"So? What's wrong with dinosaurs?"
"Uh, let's see. Slow. Stupid. Too damn big to fit anywhere." Danielle smiled. "They just like you, ya big hairy muthafucka."
"Hey." Donald smiled back. "I'm not hairy. I'm cuddly."
"Tsch. Cuddly, my ass. You hairy."
"I bet The Big MOU liked them. He thought they were cool."
"Ha! He pissed his pants he saw that shit. They go and give us the juice, right? What they call it now? The primordial ooze, or some shit like that? They say, 'Go wild, see what you can come up with, and we'll check in later.' So I bust out with the oceans and rivers and every damn flower I can think of. And what do you start with? Mud. Mud! Big MOU laughed ten million years straight when he heard that shit."
"Birds were mine."
"See? That's what I'm sayin'. You gots good ideas, you just go and fuck 'em up. You come back with beaches to go with my oceans. Now that was some good shit. Remember how we tried 'em out? Come here, Baby." Danielle grabbed his cheeks. "Then I bust out with fish, and you come up with dolphins, and some damn nice ones, too. But then you gots to be a big muthafucka, go and get all I'm da man 'n shit. Frogs. Toads. Lizards. What the fuck? Then you keep pushin' it. Takin' 'em outta the water, makin' 'em bigger and louder until you got these big-ass muthafuckin' dinosaurs stompin' over everything until there's no place left to put 'em."
Donald nodded. "Guess I got a little carried away."
"A little? They took over the whole planet!"
"Still," Donald said sheepishly, "you didn't have to drop a meteor on them. They would have died out eventually."
"Eventually? Eventually? Don't be givin' me no eventually shit, muthafucka! I ain't got time to wait around 'til those clunky-ass freaks finally fuck each other up. Besides," she said, "I filled out them forms. Came back all approved. You know what that means? Means, wipe them fuckers out!" She laughed. "Gotta admit, though, I ain't mean to fuck up Mars with that first batch. I wrote down the wrong quadrant. Knocked out the core, drained the water system. Just ain't fixed it yet. They said not to worry, though. Gonna be a dumpin' ground anyway." She shrugged. "My bad."
Despite his bladder-busting urge to do so, Donald refrained from reminding his wife that it was her meteor incident that got them transferred in the first place. But he did let a mumble slip, one he regretted even before his lips finished moving. "Try shutting up for once."
"What's that?" Danielle snapped to her knees. "You got somethin' to say? Come on, tough man! Come on, muthafucka! You done? You through?"
"Yes, Dear. Sorry, Dear." Donald hung his head. "You're right, Dear."
"Damn straight you through. First you say we gots to go down to that tub of crap planet. Make that sneak down. Then you drag me to this fancy-ass room just to get me all in the mood 'n shit. And now you givin' me lip for sayin' what's what. For talkin' truth. You jus' wait till I get your ass home. Mm, you in trouble." Danielle stood beside the bed. She clenched a pillow to her chest. "And don't even think about putting that hairy back near me, muthafucka. Your ass is sleepin' on the couch."
Chapter 19
Table Manners
Yuma, Arizona - The Sunshine Spa
Monday, August 29, 2005, 4:18 p.m.
She lay face down on a matted table. Oil was being rubbed into her calf. A white, cotton sheet was draped over her naked body. Her round, freckled breasts were pressed beneath her. There was a calming whoosh of distant waves. The room was cloaked in shade.
Her name was Lilly Opadopolous. She was Emma's best chance.
Lilly groaned, drifting into fantasy. There was a white, marble gazebo perched at the tip of an Italian villa. It overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. The gazebo was ornamented with a spectrum of lilacs, tulips and roses.
Jamila kneaded Lilly's thigh. "That's good, sí?"
"Oh, yeah. Fantastic. Maybe a little lower down ..."
Jamila dug her thumbs into the underside of Lilly's foot.
On the verge of orgasm, Lilly felt a tingling undulate down her body and then between her legs. Her nipples were at full arousal. "Oh, God. That's ..." Led away by the firm rubs, Lilly drifted back to her Italian villa, where she cooed at the lapping waves in her mind, unaware just how close to her dream she would soon find herself.
Emma wanted to talk, that's all Lilly knew.
Lilly's paintings weren't selling as well as she would have liked ... they never did ... but when she puttered into Yuma four months before-after the trouble she'd had in San Diego-she sensed that her luck was finally on the upswing.
At the Gas 'n Snack on South Main Street, where they met, Emma had filled a 60-ounce cup with blue slushy, Lilly's favorite. Lilly reached for a pizza roll, only to trip over Emma's walking stick, spilling the cup. Lex licked the slushy off Lilly's face. Lilly knew it was fate, as she had grown to anticipate the rhythm of her destiny: Good luck, bad luck. Good luck, bad luck.
There was something about Emma. Lilly could tell. She could always tell. Those special passions people possess but don't nurture, crying to break free. If you want to be a fireman ... do it. Get divorced. Open a dog-grooming salon. Motorcycle across Canada. Plant tomatoes in your backyard. Just don't look back and say, what if? You might never get another chance.
But Lilly didn't consciously seek out these undeveloped spirits in Portland and Reno. In San Francisco and Santa Fe. In Eldersburg, Maryland. In Toledo, Ohio. In Charlotte. Yet no matter where she landed, fascinations were amplified, aspirations enflamed. And then somehow, as if jinxed by the gods of spite and envy, her fortunes would take a tumble.
"That was wonderful," Lilly said. A white cotton robe was loose about her short, stocky frame. At twenty-seven, her chestnut eyes still filled out her face, round and cute-sexy. Her thin brown hair was curled behind each ear. "I'll have to come back soon."
Jamila rubbed a finger against her lip. "Oh," she said. "I much certainly hope you do."
Chapter 20
Motivational Techniques
Yuma, Arizona - Downtown
Monday, August 29, 2005, 7:37 p.m.
The purple shadow of descending night fell on Downtown Yuma. Lilly leaned against a three-tiered fountain. Street lamps, topped with halogen bulbs shaped like little flying saucers, marked the fountain's perimeter. They thrust a glow upon the greenery that flourished in Yuma's desert air. Yellow clouds drifted before the full moon.
Lilly lit a cigarette, took a puff, but then dashed it out with her sneaker. She smoked only when she was nervous, horny or on her period, so she felt that keeping herself to a four-butt-a-day habit was worthy of a pat on the back and another cigarette.
Meet me at eight, Emma had said. Don't be late.
Lilly was fascinated by Emma, as if there was a sexy little firecracker buried somewhere in that roly-poly frame. As if Emma was somehow trapped in a life that seemed so far removed from where she would like to be or perhaps once had been.
Woomph, and then woomph, woomph came from the darkness. A hefty figure with a staff approached; a four-legged companion was close behind. Lilly could hear the tap-tap-tapping of claws against the asphalt.
"Hey, Lex." Lilly knelt down and rubbed her balled-up fists into the Labrador's wrinkled cheeks. His nametag clacked. "Did-you-watch-some-ten-nis-to-day? Did-Ve-nus-win? Did-she?"
Emma handed over a photograph. "You see this guy here?"
"Hey, Emma." Lilly stood up. She wore denim overalls and a blue, short-sleeve shirt. The words Star Attraction curved around her breasts. "Nice to see you."
"Yeah, yeah. Nice to whatever. The picture. Look."
Disoriented by Emma's abruptness, Lilly held the sheet beneath one of the flying saucer streetlamps and examined the photograph. She squinted.
"Well," Emma said, "what do you think?"
"Well ... what do I think, what?"
"You like him?"
"He's pretty cute. Why?" Lilly thought a moment, then crinkled the paper. "Wait. Is this guy your brother or something? Are you trying to fix me up? I told you. I really just want-"
Emma guffawed and then dropped her chin toward Lex, who woomphed.
"No, no! He's a ... friend of a friend."
"But you want to set me up with him, right?"
Still laughing, Emma wiped away a tear, and then took a deep breath. "Wooooo. Oh, that was good." She held her hands against her stomach rolls. "No. Not exactly. I want you to go on a little trip for me. I want you to find him, and then bring him here. I want to talk to him."
Lilly looked at Emma, at Lex, and then back at Emma again. "Wait. I'm confused-"
"Yes, dear. I know, but that's a life thing. You need to focus on what I'm saying. All you have to do is meet him, and then bring him to me."
"What do you mean, bring him here? Who is he? I don't understand. How am I supposed to get him here? Why don't you-?"
Thwack! Emma crunched her walking stick against the fountain. The vibrations echoed like a musket shot. Recycled water spritzed down from tier to tier. Lilly shook.
"Listen, dear. Why I want to speak to this chirpy little fucker doesn't concern you. That I want to, does. We both know your way with men, and from what I can tell," she continued, and then looked Lilly over, "perhaps women, too. Yuck, but C'est la vie. But either way, you meet him, you do that thing you do, and bring him back here. That's all."
"What do you mean, way with men? It's not like I'm some slut or-"
"Listen to me." Emma dug the tip of her walking stick into Lilly's bare shin. "You are uniquely talented when it comes to motivating people. Best I've seen in a long time. You get these douche bags riled up so they'll do all the things you don't have the balls to try yourself. Oh ... you tell yourself that it's just sex, that you don't mean to lead them on. But, no, no, no," Emma said, waving her finger in Lilly's face. "You bask in their passion, and just when they start to really believe in themselves, when they start thinking you're their ... soul mate,"-Emma made a gagging noise-"you run like the cowardly twit that you are. You can't help yourself."
Mouth agape, Lilly was speechless. Her eyes welled up.
"So ... you're going to meet this fucker, and you're just going to be you. You're going to smile and show off your tits and be all into whatever he likes, and then you're going to suck his cock, suck his elbow ... suck his fucking eyeballs for all I care. But when you're through, you're going to bring ... him ... here."
Lex yawned. A wad of white drool hung from the side of his mouth.
"Now," Emma said, softening her tone, "just to show that I'm not a total bitch ... those paintings of yours, well, they're good. I know someone who owes me a favor. He's got an art gallery in Amsterdam. You do this for me, I set you up. And your trip? It's to Italy."
Lilly lifted her head.
"Yeah. I figured you'd like that. To Venice. You know, romance capital of who-gives-a-crap. You go, you ride a fucking gondola, you find this guy. And then you bring him here. That's it. Nothing sinister about it. I just want to talk to him. I'd go myself, but as you can tell," she said, looking at her walking stick, "it isn't easy for me to get around."
Emma handed Lilly an envelope. Inside were two open-ended airline tickets. "One for you, one for him. You land in Rome, then take the train to Venice. You leave tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? But-"
"Or ..." Emma took Lilly's face, "... I tell your little tennis buddy from San Diego where to find you. And I promise ... it will be one visit you can't escape."
Emma released Lilly's face, handed her a tissue. "Clean yourself up."
Lex raised his ears at the sound of a coyote baying at the night.
"It'll be okay." Emma smiled, took hold of Lilly's shoulder and then gave it a nurturing shake. "Really. It'll be fun. It's fucking Italy for Christ sakes. You'll love it."
Lilly wiped her eyes. "Yeah, that's true." She cried a few short huffs, and then smiled as a stream of mucus dribbled down to her upper lip. "Italy's cool."
"See?" Emma took a breath and then looked toward the heavens in a way that virtually no one on Earth ever could. "There's something in this for everybody, right boy?" Lex yawned again. He licked his chops. "Now pack a fucking bag. We're leaving. Now."