Pulse ; No Power

by Skylar Finn

  “Should we talk about how scary that is or should we ignore the seriousness of this situation until it becomes desperate?”

  Walt picked up a handheld camera and tested its weight. “Both. Acknowledge the danger and prepare for it while we can, but don’t do anything stupid. Stupid choices are the worst ones.”

  “Fair enough.” Ailani took the camera from him. “This thing is ancient. Check out the tape insert. Why would the studio have something like this instead of selling it off?”

  “Stylistic choices?” Walt nodded towards the handful of extra batteries and blank tapes for the old camera. “It’s hard to mimic the feel of an old camera like that. Maybe they still use it for stuff.”

  “Think it still works?” Ailani searched for the power button and flicked it on. The camera whirred to life. “It does!” She peered through the viewfinder and hit the record button. The red light came on. “Action!”

  Walt strutted up and down the dark isle of the storage room, illuminating his face with the flashlight while he struck one pose after the other. Ailani laughed as she filmed him.

  “This is crazy,” she said, hitting the red button again to cease recording. “Do you know what we could do with this thing?”

  “Put it back?”

  “No way!” Ailani clutched the camera to her chest. “We could record what’s happening in L.A. Make a documentary about the results of the EMP bomb.”

  Walt pursed his lips. “We don’t know if that’s what it is.”

  “You said yourself it was either a solar flare or an EMP,” Ailani reminded him. “Don’t try to back out now.”

  “Fine, I won’t,” Walt said. “But going out into the streets with a camera isn’t safe. I also said not to do anything stupid.”

  “All the best documentary filmmakers put themselves at risk.” Ailani searched through the materials for the old camera, stacking tapes and batteries into a spare bag. “Think of the possibilities. This could be huge for our careers. This footage is going to be unbelievable.”

  Walt stepped between Ailani and the shelves, preventing her from pilfering anything else from behind him. “First of all, you’re stealing. Second of all, there’s no telling how long that camera battery is going to last. Third, you told Sebastian his career doesn’t matter anymore. What makes yours different?”

  “Sebastian’s career was based on big stars and green screens,” she said. “That kind of stuff isn’t going to matter for a long time, but everyone’s going to want to watch a documentary about the day the world ended.”

  “Great outlook,” Walt muttered.

  Ailani ducked around him to finish collecting her stash. “Maybe it won’t work out, but I can’t not try. This could be my big break.”

  “As long as you’re prepared for what you might film out there,” Walt said. “It’s going to get worse from here on out.”

  She nudged his shoulder. “I have you to help me, right?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Right.”

  They camped out at the studio for the rest of the afternoon, making use of the large spaces and multiple bathrooms. When the stale air inside became too still and stifling, they went out to the studio’s backlot. Ailani checked the extra batteries for the old camera and found most of them weren’t charged, though it didn’t dampen her mood entirely.

  “I can charge them at Trip’s place.”

  “Unless he was lying about having power,” Walt said.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  In the late afternoon, Walt and Ailani stole two bicycles that had been left at the studio by other coworkers and began the trip to Malibu. An hour in, Ailani fell behind. She’d forgotten how long it took to get to Malibu Beach from L.A. by car, let alone by bike. With the extra weight of the camera and equipment on her back, she was breathing hard. Walt, however, was in great shape. He doubled back to check on Ailani.

  “Don’t you surf?” He took the camera bag from her and hooked it over his own shoulders. “Your cardio sucks.”

  Ailani clutched her chest, practicing easy breaths. “I haven’t had time to surf in years, and the only running I do these days is running coffee.”

  “Maybe you should not have brought this camera stuff,” he said. “It’s too heavy. We left all our supplies locked in that closet at the studio for a reason.”

  “I’m keeping the camera,” Ailani insisted.

  By strength of will, she made it to Malibu Beach. She led Walt to Trip’s house from memory. She had been there a few times before. Trip often forgot things he needed for production at home. Ailani had fetched script sides, his lucky water bottle, energy crystals, a yoga mat, and numerous other items from Trip’s massive house. Ailani was one of the few people Trip allowed to have an extra key.

  When Ailani and Walt arrived outside the gated driveway, Ailani didn’t bother ringing the intercom. She punched the code in and hit enter, and the gate swung open to admit them. They rode their bikes up the long stone driveway. Walt’s mouth dropped open as they approached the house.

  Trip’s Malibu beach home was no less extravagant than the others on the block. It was a structure of glass and steel, made to show those outside what they were missing inside. The windows went from floor to ceiling and the second story jutted out over the beach, complete with an infinity pool. Sure enough, there were lights on inside. They parked their bikes behind a bush in the front yard. Out of respect, Ailani rang the doorbell instead of using her key. She’d never been here while Trip was actually home.

  No one answered.

  “Should we try again?” Walt asked.

  “Why bother?” Ailani produced the extra key from her pocket. “He knows I have a key.”

  Before she could insert the key into the lock, the door opened. Trip, holding a martini, grinned from ear to ear. “Welcome, welcome!” He beamed and beckoned them inside. “Sorry about the wait. I usually have Frank open the door, but he hasn’t shown up for work since yesterday. Come in, come in! Please take off your shoes. I have slippers for guests.”

  Ailani kicked off her sneakers and tore the plastic off a new pair of spa slippers at Trip’s request. They were softer than anything she’d ever worn before and probably cost more than a car. “Frank’s probably with his family, Trip. Did you expect him to come into work?”

  Frank was Trip’s “house man.” He did everything for Trip. He drove Trip, cleaned his house, cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and answered his door. Ailani considered Frank the most patient person to deal with Trip’s ever-changing whims.

  “I suppose not,” Trip said, “but a warning would have been nice.”

  Walt shoved his toes into his own pair of slippers. “Phone lines are down. Every method of communication is. I’m sure Frank didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Enough about my house man,” Trip declared. “We’re not here to commiserate. We’re here to party! Let me introduce you to the others.”

  They followed Trip deeper into the house. Walt gazed open-mouthed at the fantastic interior design. It was all open spaces and white furniture, the kind of furniture you could never own unless you also had a house man to keep it clean. In addition to the infinity pool on the second floor, there was an indoor pool in the middle of one of Trip’s living rooms. This was where the rest of the party had gathered.

  “Everyone,” announced Trip. “These are my friends from work, Walt and Ailani.”

  Friends was a stretch, but Ailani and Walt went with it. About twenty other people had accepted Trip’s party invitation. Ailani knew none of them personally, but she recognized several faces from magazines or other movies.

  “Oh. My. God.” Walt elbowed Ailani’s ribs. “That’s Jacob Van Peel! He’s a menswear model. I’m totally obsessed with him.”

  Jacob Van Peel lounged poolside, wearing nothing but a bright yellow bathing suit to cover his essentials. As Walt’s eyes landed on him, he lifted his drink. Walt squealed in Ailani’s ear.

  “Did you see that?” Walt babbled. �
��He toasted me.”

  Ailani shoved him toward the pool. “Go say hi. Ask him to borrow a bathing suit.”

  “That’s my suit actually,” Trip said as Walt walked off. “I model for that company. Do you want something to drink? I’m tending bar tonight. I’m doing everything tonight.”

  He led her to a built-in bar set a little ways from the pool. Music pumped through the speakers mounted into the ceiling as Trip rifled through the bottles under the bar.

  “What would you like?” he asked. “I’ve got top shelf tequila, rum, gin—”

  “Any bourbon?”

  He plunked a bottle of amber liquid on the counter. “You’re a bourbon girl, huh? Respect. You have good taste. Straight, on the rocks, or do you want a cocktail? I make a pretty good Manhattan.”

  “How about an Old Fashioned?”

  “You got it.”

  As Trip poured the liquor, Ailani took another look around the room. Despite the circumstances, everyone appeared to be in high spirits. They drank Trip’s booze, ate his food, and swam in his pool as if it was another day in paradise. The wide grins and loud laughter didn’t reflect the situation outside Trip’s house.

  “Here you go,” Trip said, sliding the drink across the bar. “You can tell me if you don’t like it.”

  She took a sip. “It’s good. Trip, how do you have power?”

  He dried his hands on a bar towel, then flung the towel over his shoulder as if he’d done this a hundred times before. “I have a fetish for sustainability. My entire house was built using sustainable practices and energy. Everything is solar powered, so the EMP didn’t have an effect on me.”

  “You know about the EMP?”

  “It was an educated guess,” he answered. “I read a lot of books. I also read a lot of scripts, and I can’t tell you how many times someone’s pitched an EMP movie. Everyone’s ready for the end of the world.”

  “But what about your power inverters?” she asked him. “Wouldn’t the EMP have fried those?”

  “They’re backed up with batteries,” Trip said. “Which I can charge with extra solar panels. I’m set until the city gets the power on.”

  “What about food?” She gestured to the buffet table near the pool, laden with sushi and other expensive products. “Where did all that come from?”

  Trip mixed a drink for himself, twirling bottles like a circus juggler. “Not to sound like an ass, but when you’re as popular as me in this city, you hold a lot of parties. Frank buys in bulk for me. I have a storage freezer as big as my bedroom downstairs. I’ll be set for a while.”

  “Not if you keep wasting it like this.”

  “This is a one-time thing to keep everyone’s spirits up,” Trip said. “Sushi is only good when it’s fresh anyway. Why not let my friends enjoy it?”

  Ailani chased the cherry in her drink. “Everyone here is famous. Why did you invite me and Walt?”

  Trip poured his new martini into a fresh glass. “I like you, Ailani. You were the only PA who didn’t treat me like a stuck-up movie star because I believe in energy crystals. You never rolled your eyes or whispered behind my back. You stuck up for me against Sebastian. That stuff matters to me. I noticed you.”

  Ailani felt guilt creep up the back of her neck like a poisonous spider. She had thought of him as a stuck-up movie star and considered his obsession with energy crystals ridiculous. She and Walt never made fun of Trip on set, but as soon as they got home, they mocked him all the time. Without realizing it, Ailani had placed Trip on the same level of annoying as Sebastian. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  “You’re different at home,” she said, veering away from the first subject. “Calmer.”

  “I’m not usually,” Trip replied, “but there’s something great about knowing you don’t have to go to work the next day. I feel like a kid in Chicago on a snow day.”

  “It’s going to get harder.”

  He added an olive to his martini and held his glass up. “We’ll ride it out together. What do you say? Would you and Walt like to stay here until the power comes back on? I’ve got extra bedrooms and everything you need. It’s one hell of a deal.”

  By the pool, Walt flirted shamelessly with Jacob Van Peel, who flirted just as shamelessly back. Ailani grinned and tapped her glass against Trip’s.

  “We’re in.”

  3

  Not all of Trip’s friends elected to remain at his house. Most of them returned to their own private mansions nearby, leaving Walt and Ailani with Trip and six of his famous buddies. To Walt’s pleasure, Jacob Van Peel decided to stay. Each of them picked out bedrooms from Trip’s spares. Walt and Ailani, so accustomed to living in close quarters, decided to share a room on the second floor with a view of the backyard beach. It had a king-sized bed as well as a pull-out couch, and the tub in the attached bathroom had hot tub jets.

  “Are you sure you each don’t want your own space?” Trip asked when he came to check on them. For a celebrity, he made an excellent host. “You don’t have to share.”

  “This room is twice as big as our apartment,” Walt informed him. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  “I’m at the end of the hall if you need me,” Trip said. He set a hamper of clean, folded linens down. “Here’s some stuff for you guys. Towels and clothes. Walt, I have some of my clothes from before I trained for this movie, so it should fit you pretty well.”

  Walt pulled a designer T-shirt from the hamper, his face lighting up with joy. “Are you kidding? This is Armani! I don’t care if it fits.”

  “Good to know,” Trip said. “Ailani, I don’t have a lot of women’s stuff, so I brought you whatever my ex-girlfriends have left at my house over the years. It’s a surprising amount. Why do women do that?”

  “So you’ll loan them your clothes instead.” Ailani reached into the hamper and pulled out a lacy pink thong. “These are clean, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Any house rules we need to know?” Walt asked. “I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality by behaving rudely.”

  “No cigarettes,” Trip said. “I hate the smell. You can vape if you want.”

  “We don’t vape,” said Ailani.

  Trip passed out tiny bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from a bag he carried. “That’s really all I can think of. Otherwise, follow the golden rule. Don’t be an asshole. Help out whenever possible. Think of this as a miniature community from now on. We’re in this together.”

  “Can we go outside?” Ailani asked, craning her neck to get a look at the beach through the sliding door.

  “I’m not your babysitter,” Trip said. “Go wherever you want. Just be careful coming home. I’m not sure what kind of riff raff this EMP thing is going to bring to the beach. People are already starting to set up camp out there.”

  Trip left to deliver supplies to the rest of his guests, like the owner of a private bed and breakfast. Ailani went out on the balcony for a better look at the beach. Sure enough, people had erected tents and campfires on the sand. From the looks of it, they weren’t from Malibu. A few of the neighbors yelled at the newcomers, declaring the beach to be private property. It didn’t deter the campers. Walt joined Ailani outside and leaned over the balcony railing.

  “Weird, isn’t it?” he said. “On a normal day, the police would be out here in five seconds to get these people off the beach.”

  “It’s not a normal day,” she replied. “They’re smart. The beach is a good place to camp. You get a breeze off the coast. If you can fish, you have food. I bet more people show up in the next few days.”

  “I’ll bet the residents are going to love that.”

  “They’ll deal,” she said. “If they’re like Trip, they have an advantage. They should leave the people on the beach alone.”

  “Check it out.” Walt pointed out to sea. A few surfers had braved the dark water to paddle out under the stars. “You should try that.”

  She stared wistful
ly as the surfers sliced clean lines through the reflections of the moon. “I don’t have a board, and I’m probably out of practice.”

  “I bet Trip has a board. Come on, let’s go find out. It’ll be good for you.”

  Trip, though he never surfed himself, owned several surfboards. He collected one-of-a-kind boards from artists at local shops, taking pride in the artistic design of each board. They were all in pristine condition.

  “Are you sure?” Ailani asked as she browsed his collection. “I don’t want to ride your artwork.”

  “That’s what they’re for,” Trip insisted. “My friends borrow them all the time. Go for it. Have fun.”

  Ailani picked a short board with a fishtail and borrowed a swimsuit from one of Trip’s absent ex-girlfriends. When she emerged from the bathroom, Walt let out a wolf whistle.

  “Hey, girl, hey,” he said, snapping his fingers above his head as Ailani twirled to show off the bikini. “You look fine as hell. Let’s go show it off.”

  As they walked to the beach, the fishtail under Ailani’s arm, she began to feel anxious. She hadn’t surfed in a long time. It had been at least five years since the last time she paddled out. The waves licked her toes. She shivered.

  “I can’t,” she said, taking Walt’s arm. “What if I don’t remember how to do it?”

  “You grew up surfing,” he reminded her. “It’s all muscle memory. Don’t think about it. Paddle out and let your body do the work.”

  “It’s different,” she protested. “I stopped surfing for a reason.”

  “Your mom, I know. You never filled me in on all of that.” Walt rubbed Ailani’s shoulders. “She had an accident, right? Is that how she—?”

  Ailani shuddered and let Walt rub the tension from her back. “Not surfing. She was free-climbing in Waimea Bay. It was high season. The surf was huge. A wave knocked her off the rock and into the ocean.”

  Walt gritted his teeth together. “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  “She should have known better,” she said. “I was there, you know.”