Isolation

by Kevin Hardman

  Suddenly I felt almost ashamed. I had only been thinking about her dad’s request in terms of what it meant to me – not what it might mean to her or how it could possibly affect things down the road. Mentally, I’d had blinders on that kept me from seeing the big picture.

  “Okay,” I announced, decision finally made. “What time?”

  Chapter 9

  Electra was practically euphoric when I finally agreed to dinner. We spent a few more minutes talking as she gave me the details, and for a brief span it was almost like we were a couple again: laughing, joking, excitedly discussing our plans for later… In short, I hated to get off the phone with her, but we both had other things we needed to do.

  Afterwards, I teleported into the penthouse, appearing in the living room. Smokey was nearby, sitting on a couch and watching television.

  “There you are,” he said, grabbing the remote and muting the TV. “I’m guessing you had to scramble and write your paper at the last minute.”

  “Something like that,” I confessed, not wanting to admit having to deliver it personally since it was handwritten.

  Smokey laughed at that, easily reading between the lines. “What did Mouse say about it?”

  “Ten points off. Twenty next time, although I wasn’t sure if he was joking.”

  Smokey chuckled again. “See, if you had typed it on your laptop, like me, you could have just emailed it in.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” I said. “So, how was the workout? I’m sure you got to ogle my cousin to your heart’s delight.”

  Smokey shook his head emphatically. “First of all, your cousin can, like, bench press a building, so she and I are on way different levels in terms of routine. Basically, she gave me a few pointers, then dropped me off at some private gym where she got them to give me guest privileges, while she went somewhere else.”

  “Probably A-List HQ,” I suggested. “Like the Alpha League, they have specialized workout equipment for people who can deadlift a battleship.”

  “That’s probably right,” Smokey concurred. “Anyway, she scooped me up a short time later and dropped me back off here. She then said she had some stuff to do and took off, and I took a quick shower to get ready for brunch.”

  I spent a moment debating whether I should shower again as well. However, I’d only been flying (and had been phased most of the time, only occasionally becoming substantial to feel the wind cascade over me), so I hadn’t worked up a sweat. Bearing that in mind, I assumed I was passable with respect to brunch.

  “That reminds me,” I said. “I don’t think either of us knows where we’re going.”

  “Knowing the destination would be helpful,” Smokey quipped as I pulled out my phone and called Vestibule.

  I wasn’t sure if she was expecting my call, but she answered on the first ring. Putting her on speakerphone, I explained that we lacked Cat’s address, which caused her to snicker.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she assured me. “We’re coming to you, so be ready in ten. And pack your swimming trunks.”

  With that, she hung up.

  “Well,” Smokey droned. “Problem solved.”

  “Apparently,” I agreed, then noticed something on an end table next to the sofa. Pointing, I asked, “What’s that?”

  “Oh,” Smokey said, grabbing the item – a section of newspaper – from the table. “Check this out.”

  He opened up the paper and I realized that it was some sort of gossip segment. There were pictures of celebrities on almost every page, including a few we’d spoken to the night before. And then I saw it: a full-color photo of Vestibule, me, Cat, and Smokey, all in our costumes.

  Obviously, it had been taken the night before – most likely at one of the parties we attended. I’d known there were photographers at each event – it was par for the course with respect to those types of parties – but it hadn’t really occurred to me that anyone would find us newsworthy.

  “So what do you think?” Smokey asked.

  “It looks like someone is doing a remake of The Wizard of Oz, but never read the book,” I quipped.

  Smokey laughed. “I thought something along those lines myself. At least whoever wrote the caption was more tactful.”

  He pointed to the passage below the picture, which read:

  Superhero/model Vestibule and friends hitting the town.

  “Where’d you get this?” I inquired.

  “Someone left it at the gym,” he answered. “The trainer working with me said it was okay to take it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Trainer?”

  Smokey shrugged. “Avis told them I was a friend and to take good care of me. Almost everybody in that place had a personal trainer – probably included in the membership fee.”

  “Well, at least now I know what Electra was talking about,” I said as I turned my attention back to the photo. Presumably this was the pic she had been referring to during that first phone call. Looking at it now, with Vestibule and me in matching costumes, I could see how someone might get the idea that we were a couple.

  “You spoke to Electra?” Smokey asked.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed, then recounted our initial conversation. When I was done, he looked at me slightly askance.

  “Are you really saying you don’t understand why she was upset?” he asked.

  “She wasn’t being fair,” I insisted, “and even she admits that.”

  “All’s fair in love and war,” Smokey countered. “But just think about it from her point of view for a second. Vestibule made no secret of wanting to date you, and on at least two occasions she publicly shoved her tongue down your throat. Then, just a few weeks after Electra breaks up with you, you’re painting the town red with her romantic rival. To the rest of the world, it looks like Vestibule stole you from her.”

  “Okay, that’s ridiculous,” I stated firmly. “Nobody stole anything, and Vestibule and I are just friends.”

  “Would it sound ridiculous to you if people started saying that Dynamo stole Electra from you?”

  “What?” I almost screeched. “Is that what people are saying?”

  “Well, it would be easy to see how they’d get that idea, right? He’s big, strong, handsome…universally hailed as one of the top teen supers on the planet. He’s known Electra longer, always thought she was pretty, and – now that she broke up with you – he’s always on her arm.”

  “So people think he stole her from me?” I demanded.

  “Would it bother you if they did?”

  I shook my head in angry disbelief. What Smokey was suggesting was absurd, and deep down inside, I knew it. Still, I didn’t like it, mostly because of what it implied about me – that I was a terrible boyfriend in some way. It had the potential to cast me, unfairly, in a bad light.

  “Okay,” I finally muttered in acquiescence. “You made your point. Even though she admits that she was being unfair, I can understand why she would feel the way she did.”

  “Cool,” Smokey said, smiling. “You can thank me later for making you see reason and helping you understand women.”

  “Speaking of later,” I intoned, “you’ll be on your own tonight.” I then enlightened him as to my second conversation with Electra and my upcoming dinner plans.

  “Okay,” he said when I’d finished, “awkward is a mild way of putting it.”

  “I could use a wingman,” I stated hopefully.

  Smokey looked at me with something akin to shock. “Not on your life.”

  “Fine,” I muttered in faux disgust, making him snicker. “Anyway, you need to think about what you want to do after the yacht party. I can teleport you back home when I leave for dinner, or you can hang out here and I’ll come back when we’re done.”

  “To tell you the truth, I hadn’t given it much thought,” he admitted. “Things seem to happen pretty fast out here – like getting the invite from Alita. Is it okay if I just play it by ear?”

  “No big deal to me,” I declared.
/>
  “By the way,” he said, “you were right about Vestibule. She’s pretty cool.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so after she hooks you up with your childhood crush Alita, she earns enough brownie points for you to reassess your opinion.”

  “There’s no hooking up,” Smokey insisted. “Alita and I just had a friendly conversation and she turned out to be very personable. Plus, I still think Vestibule is somehow behind this invite.”

  “So does that mean you told Atalanta about it?” I asked, grinning.

  Now it was Smokey’s turn to frown, although he recovered quickly.

  “If you must know,” he said after a moment, “Atalanta isn’t the jealous type. And yes, I did tell her that we were going to brunch and a yacht party.”

  I gave him a sly look. “Did you tell her it was me, you, and two girls?”

  “I told her you and I were going with a couple of friends,” Smokey stated.

  “Sounds disingenuous,” I remarked, shaking my head. “When Atalanta finds out, she’s gonna rip your arms out of their sockets.”

  “She’s welcome to try,” Smokey said, chuckling, “but you can’t tear apart smoke.”

  I laughed as well at that. Smokey’s comment was a reference to his ability to become completely vaporous. We were still chortling when Vestibule called a few seconds later, saying that they were parked outside.

  I told her that we’d be right down, and then we scrambled for a moment, getting together our swimming trunks and something to put them in. Ultimately, we ended up stuffing our swim gear into a small duffel bag I’d gotten during one of the earlier West Coast events I’d attended. It had originally been a gift bag, full of high-end swag. As it turned out, however, I’d mistakenly been given a goody bag meant for adults instead of one for minors, which had resulted in Avis going through it and removing various items, such as a gold-plated vaping kit, a bottle of expensive vodka, etcetera. By the time she was done, the bag was practically empty, and I’d left it in the closet until now.

  Once Smokey and I were ready, I grabbed the duffel bag and teleported us to the lobby of the building, then we dashed outside.

  Chapter 10

  The girls picked us up in a car whose make and model I’d never seen or heard of before. It was a sleek, black convertible, with a posh interior that included hand-stitched leather, wood trim, and a million other luxury features. It was obviously a high-end vehicle and came, I was certain, with a monstrous price tag.

  Wearing a gray sundress, Cat was driving, and I found myself in the front passenger seat next to her while Smokey sat in back next to Vestibule, who wore a pair of navy blue gym shorts and a white tie-front shirt.

  As we pulled away from my cousin’s building, I couldn’t stop myself from turning to Cat and saying, “Nice car.”

  “It’s a gift from my dad,” she explained. “My parents are divorced and he works a lot, so I don’t get to see him much. This is his way of trying to buy my love.” Then, placing the back of her hand up to her mouth, she leaned towards me and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s working.”

  I laughed, as did Smokey and Vestibule, who had apparently overheard us speaking. I really enjoyed Cat’s sense of humor, and was suddenly glad that she had invited us to brunch.

  “So, is this like an exclusive model?” Smokey asked.

  Cat nodded. “Yeah. It’s European – from a special division within one of the big car manufacturers over there. They only make about a dozen or so every year, so it’s rare.”

  Smokey was obviously impressed. “And it’s your car?”

  “Yeah,” Cat replied over her shoulder, “but it’s just a car. I’d take time with my dad over this any day of the week.” Then she seemed to reconsider and added, “Well, maybe not the weekend…”

  We all laughed again.

  ***

  The drive to Cat’s house was fun. With the sun shining brightly and the top down on the convertible, the feel of the wind on my face was almost like flying. As natives of the West Coast, Cat and Vestibule were astute enough to be wearing sunglasses, but Smokey and I had failed to exhibit any foresight in that regard. Fortunately, Cat had an extra pair in a cubby at the front of the car; I passed them along to Smokey and then simply rotated my vision through the light spectrum until I could see without being bothered by any type of glare.

  Smokey had brought the newspaper section with us, and the four of us spent the bulk of the drive laughing and talking about the various photos (including our own). In short, it was a bit of a continuation of our time at the diner.

  Getting caught up in the conversation, I didn’t pay close attention to where we were going. Eventually, however, I noticed that the road we were on started to slope up.

  “So where exactly are we going?” I asked Cat.

  “The Hills,” she responded. “It’s where my mom and I live.”

  Eyebrows raised in surprise, I subtly glanced back at Smokey and noted that his expression mirrored mine. “The Hills” was a colloquial term for an area of the city where many of the rich and famous resided. Bearing in mind the kind of car Cat drove, the fact that she lived in an exclusive zip code really shouldn’t have been a news flash. Plainly speaking, she was so down-to-earth that I simply had trouble envisioning her as a blue blood. (Of course, now that I’d gotten to know her, the same could be said of Vestibule.)

  A short time later, after driving up a few winding roads, we came to a stop in front of the gated entrance to an expansive residence. I didn’t see Cat do anything, but without warning the gate began to swing open. A minute later, we were pulling into a circular driveway in front of a mansion that I guessed was about seven thousand square feet in size.

  “Come on,” said Cat as she put the car in park and got out.

  The rest of us exited as instructed (with me carrying the duffel bag), then followed as she stepped lithely up a set of stone stairs to a magnificent pair of double doors; she tried the handle of one and then slipped inside as the door swung open.

  Turning towards us, Cat gestured for us to enter, saying, “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  As we went inside, we found ourselves in a two-story foyer that opened up into a majestic great room which contained, among other things, a two-sided fireplace, posh furnishings, and a regal winding staircase that led up to the second floor.

  “Follow me,” Cat said as she began walking towards what appeared to be the rear of the house. “Brunch should be set up out back by the pool.”

  We quickly fell into step behind her, striding down a hallway that was obviously floored with expensive hardwood. As we sauntered through the house, Cat played the role of tour guide.

  “That’s the library over there,” she said, pointing to a doorless room full of built-in shelves crammed with hardback books. “This is the music room, where I’m forced at gunpoint to practice piano for thirty minutes a day. And over here…”

  Although I didn’t do it intentionally, I found myself tuning Cat out. In essence, walking through her house reminded me of the mansion of Alpha Prime – the world’s greatest superhero (and my father). Of course, my father’s place was absolutely palatial, and dwarfed almost any house that didn’t have a footprint that could be measured in acres.

  Reflecting on my father’s house, of course, brought my father himself to mind, and I suddenly became cognizant of the fact that I hadn’t spoken to him lately. However, ours was a complicated relationship – in fact, until fairly recently, there had been no relationship to speak of – but it was something we both continued to work on. Recalling that my mother had made me promise to keep in regular contact with Alpha Prime before she left, I made a mental note to call him later.

  “And here we are,” Cat announced, bringing me back to myself.

  We had just come through a sliding glass door and were now on a covered patio that contained an eye-catching outdoor living room, as well as an elongated dining table currently covered with what I was assumed was brunch: Belgian waffles
, breakfast sausages, croissants, an assortment of cheeses, strawberries, and more.

  Just off the patio was a good-sized pool with an adjoining, oversized hot tub. Lining one side of the pool were a number of outdoor chaise lounge chairs, as well as a canopied daybed; on the far side of the pool was a small structure that I took to be a pool house.

  “Well, it looks like the food’s here,” Cat noted, waving a hand towards the dining table. “Feel free to help yourselves.”

  “Thanks,” said Smokey. “I think I…”

  He trailed off as the sound of water splashing drew everyone’s attention. It appeared to be coming from the pool, and I – along with everyone else – automatically turned in that direction.

  There was a woman in the pool. Apparently she’d been there since we’d stepped onto the patio, quietly swimming beneath the surface and had only just come up for air. At present, she was turned to the side so that only her profile was visible, but it was enough for me to see that she was blonde, well-tanned, and had flawless skin.

  Unexpectedly, the woman snapped her head back, flipping her long blonde hair behind her and at the same time sending water cascading out in an arc. Then, eyes closed, she casually ran a hand from her hairline to the back of her head, essentially squeezing any excess water from her hair. She brought her hand to rest on the back of her neck and gently massaged the area for a few seconds, letting her head loll to the side in a way that was almost self-indulgent. Then, opening her eyes, she seemed to notice us for the first time. She turned in our direction, and that’s when I got my first real look at her, and found myself staring.

  She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a face that could have graced any magazine cover. Truth be told, the same could probably be said of innumerable women on the West Coast. (In fact, I had seen quite a few of them at the parties we’d attended the night before.) However, there was something about the woman in the pool, a girl-with-something-extra quality that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Moreover, without even reaching out empathically, I could sense that Smokey felt the same.