“Are you from the East Coast? Jersey?”
“Naw. My ma is, though. So I assimilated it. Or it assimilated me.” He gave an easy laugh. “Like those Mexican kids with the accents who don’t actually speak any Spanish? I love those kids.”
“That’s quite a tattoo,” Terri said, gesturing vaguely.” Where’d you get it?”
“Thanks. Uh, Guam I got it in. Nobody here would do it. So I went down there and this massive guy with an eye patch over one eye and a jewelers monocular in the other did it. Took him almost nine hours.”
Terri knew right then she’d take his case.
Forty-five minutes, and according to Daci a half-pad of notes in her unreadable script later, Terri sent the lanky red-head on his way.
“Is he your whole day?”
“I don’t have any other appointments if that’s what you mean. But I have a lot of research.”
“Screw your research. You need to take these pills, so I guess we need to come up with a plan.”
Terri’s entire body eased up, her jaw her shoulders, her toes uncurled and she fought the urge to sob. Still, the tension in Daci’s voice, and the clock that Terri was now quite aware of, counterbalanced that relief.
“I’ll Tell Ya’s is open for lunch.” Daci suggested. “It’s comfortable and safe.”
“It’s in the Valley, though.”
“That’s why I asked if he was your only face-time.”
Daci took her by the elbow, just like a real blind person, and they headed outside to the not-unpleasant heat and cacophony of Venice Beach.
“I know that kid’s mother,” Daci said, abruptly like she’d just remembered. “Maureen Spencer?”
“Oh, yeah, you would because of Zane. Any thoughts?”
“She’s alright. A little raw. What’s often referred to as a pistol? Or full of piss and vinegar.” Daci opened the Hummer door and guided Terri to step up into the vehicle. “Funny,” she said, “that Eddie kid doesn’t seem too angry.”
“Should he be?”
“I always pictured people that are suing somebody as foaming at the mouth with righteous rage.” Daci got in the driver’s side, the door closing with about as much noise as a fridge door.
The engine came to life, evidenced only by the soft vibration through the cabin.
“Some people are just tired,” Terri told her. “Eddie clearly feels he was not given the proper skill set to function comprehensively and competitively in the world. This is, in fact, the job of a parent. We, as a society, need recourse to—”
“Hey! I’m not a jury. Take these.”
Terri heard the rattle of capsules against plastic, felt a cool bottle press against her hand.
She crossed her arms and frowned in the direction of Daci’s voice. “You know the rule.”
“We just agreed we’re working on it.”
“Tell me your plan.”
“We can form a plan together after you take the pills.”
Terri sighed. “That feels disloyal.”
“You do realize that nobody will know that you took these pills except me.”
“And me! Myself.” Terri pounded her chest with an open hand. “I have a conscience.”
“So do I! I just don’t like to tell people.” The car careened left and sped up, entering the freeway.
“Right, your corroded public reputation must be upheld so the public can continue loving to hate you.”
Daci laughed. “How else can you get ahead in this world?” She paused. “Why don’t you bring this to the public? Survivanoia withholding the treatment, I mean.”
Terri felt a wash of relief. “Ooh, I like! Elaborate.”
“Say you woke—no! Say you claimed to have woken up blind, the harbinger to RV707. You’d heard rumors, and…went through channels, which led you to Survivanoia. There you discovered, as you suspected, that they do have a vaccine, so fast acting that it almost qualifies as a cure. They are not releasing this vaccine, thereby reducing the whole of the nation to the status of the Tuskegee Indians.”
Terri nodded. “But at least all they had was syphilis. They had blindness to work toward, we have it as a starting place.”
“Perfect!” Daci put on a reporter voice. “They were human guinea pigs for syphilis, now the entire citizenry have become guinea pigs for Flower Flu etcetera etcetera ad naseum.”
“I’m a lawyer, though, not a journalist.”
“So, sue us. Even better! The journos will flock, Survivanoia will be forced to release the cure, and you can sleep better at night and not allow yourself to die of a bleeding heart.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“Does the Pope piss in the woods?”
“No, actually.”
Terri felt but didn’t hear the engine working harder, knew they were going over the Hill into the Valley. And again the mental static of preoccupation.
“What?”
“That CRZ is back.”
“You certain it’s the same one?”
“Certain, no. But I’d bet a few bucks. And I’d bet I know who’s in it, too.”
Terri heard the teasing grin in her friend’s voice, decided to side-step the subject of Rabi. “Do you know where I’ll Tell Ya’s is?”
“On Ventura and Laurel Canyon, right?”
“I don’t know, I was asking you.”
“But I’m not letting you order any food until you take the pills. Especially with Rabi back there waiting to kill me.”
“Fair enough,” Terri conceded without taking the bait. “We do have a plan. How many?”
She took one as instructed, with further directions to take one a day for the next two days.
“The virus itself is not very strong,” Daci explained. “It’s easily and quickly killed. The blindness is serendipitous, something triggered by the virus but not directly resultant. Once the virus actually pushes the body into gear, that seems to be irreversible.”
Three pills to stop the consequences before they began. Such a simple fix to such a horrible disease. Terri still felt guilty. Traitorous. But she didn’t want to die. Not even for a cause. And certainly not by Flower Flu. She’d be no use to anyone dead. But she vowed to hound her friend every day until this drug was marketed. Phone calls, emails, kidnap Zane, whatever it took.
The Valley radiated noon-day heat off the concrete, but inside I’ll Tell Ya’s she got goosebumps. Once they were seated and watered, Attalla himself arrived. Terri could hear his big grin. He shook both their hands, Daci first. “You look like I have before seen. You….” Still holding Terri’s hand, Attalla ran through his mental rolodex but clicked his tongue. “Look like can’t remember,” he admitted. “So. Kosher? Vegetarian? Allergic to anything?”
No, no, and no.
“Any food you not like so much, make you look like throw up?”
“Don’t mix fish and cheese,” Daci requested.
“Sauerkraut.”
“You eat sauerkraut.”
“Not in public.”
Attalla laughed. “Look like funny.”
He asked them a handful of questions about their day, then if they wanted to be told what they were getting or just have it brought (they chose the latter) and then slipped away presumably to the kitchen.
Out of habit Terri glanced around. Perhaps she was filling in images but it seemed to her that she could almost make out the abundant blonde wood of the big rectangular room. It seemed brighter than when she’d first come in.
“Would you think I was delirious if I said I’m seeing better already?”
“No. Like I said, the stuff acts fast. At least in the first twenty-four hours. Once that window closes, you’re a goner.”
“Know what I don’t get? Why isn’t the government
doing something about this?”
Daci pushed air through her lips. “Syd says it’s all legal. So there’s nothing for the government to do.”
“They could fund the vaccine research.”
“They may have, for all I know. Hell, they may have paid to have the virus invented.”
“Doubtful. The Republicans know they need the poor. Hell, they spent the past administration making as many as they could. Not the Libertarians, either.”
Daci scoffed a laugh. “Naw, they’re all about hands off, and let ‘em drown, and fuck you here’s to me.”
“That only leaves one group. Liberal Democrats. Euthanizing the poor.” Terri shook her head in mock incredulity.
“First Ebonics, then bilingual education, now this.”
The women laughed together at their own dark humor.
“For real though,” Terri said once their laughing subsided, “how could anyone purposefully design and release such an awful illness?”
“The obvious answer is money. But maybe it wasn’t on purpose. Maybe it just escaped? Like lions escape the zoo?”
Attalla returned, set a plate and two glasses on their table. “Here look like appetizer. Escargot in garlic, shallots, and butter. This is bread, just from oven now. This is wine. French. Look like red.” He poured two glasses then departed.
Terri, with some care, sunk a fork into one of the snails.
“Ooh these are good! Buttery, earthy, yummy!”
“Not chewy at all.”
“No, like a good Portobello.”
“And not mushy.” Daci sounded relieved.
Terri had a mouthful of French-look-like-red. It was smoky without being heavy and complimented the snails unexpectedly. “Guess it’s good we ordered before I asked about the government, huh?”
“Right! Attalla would have brought us a gallon of ice cream and two spoons!”
Terri swallowed more wine. She definitely saw better now. Everything on the table had an individual shape. Fuzzy, but distinguishable. Not too far away from how things looked before her laser surgery.
“What if it is like a lion?” Terrie asked
“Hmm?”
“What if the research was something unrelated. The Flower Flu was discovered by accident, and the virus got out of control? Like crack. Or AIDS.”
“Ooh that’s a nice headline. Is Flower Flu the New AIDS? It would also help explain why I haven’t found anything, if it wasn’t intentional.”
“You told me yourself most scientific discovery is serendipitous.”
Daci grinned at this new idea. “How did I not think of that?”
“I’ve always been a little smarter than you.”
Daci threw the last snail at her. Terri caught it and popped it into her mouth just as their lunches arrived.
“For both of you look like same.” Attalla stepped aside while a silent waiter set plates in front of them. “Lobster tails, look like giant, from Maine. Mixed vegetables, and twice baked potatoes. And with champagne.” The cork popped on cue and goblet-sized glasses appeared, filled to their wide rims with gold, bubbling liquid.
“That’s the great thing about this place,” Daci proclaimed. “Come here in a good mood, Attalla will make you feel like a Queen. Come here in a funk, you’ll leave feeling better.”
The door opened and sunlight streamed in, a bright flare alighting the table momentarily. And where the light had shown suddenly stood the owner of the white CRZ, and Terri could see him just fine. Just a few inches taller than her, lean without being skinny, skin the same shade as her own but ruddier—an old penny to her coffee-with-cream. He had a constant five o’clock shadow, even at seven in the morning, though it never seemed to sprout into a beard. His head was at that slight tilt that made him seem very intent, and he squinted slightly while he scanned the room.
“Rabi. What are you doing?”
His clothes suggested a hip, young golfer: Well-tailored, charcoal khakis, short-sleeved button down shirt (with a pocket) and two-tone leather sneakers. He strode toward their table, but his eyes belied the confidence of his strut.
“This morning I wash car, right? Wait for you like every morning but you don’t come. Then Daci pulls up and you do come but not looking right. So I—”
“Wait, you’ve been washing my car?”
“Of course, who you think?”
“And then you watch me leave every day, that’s sick! That’s stalker behavior.”
Daci set an elbow on the table, rested her chin against a curled up fist. “You said you liked having a clean car.”
“I’d prefer a dirty car to a stalker.”
Rabi glowered at her, his thick eyebrows knitting. “Stalker, stalker, what means this I know not, right?” He ducked his head, raised a hand to his face, and pinched his temples. An endearing affectation.
“All I want to know,” he said, looking up again, “is if you are okay. You looked sick this morning. Bad, right?”
“She had a migraine,” Daci said, after an uncomfortable lull.
“Migraine?”
Terri nodded at his disbelief.
“You have not migraine for almost three years. Then you break us up, you have migraine. You should put us back.” He stated this matter-of-factly.
For Terri this was part of his charm, his matter-of-fact expression of emotional turmoil. He had a lot of traits Terri adored and admired, and Daci was right in saying that he worked hard, at least in the Protestant sort of way. But Terri couldn’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t eventually find someone whose activist zeal matched her own. And then there was the kid thing.
Lost in her thoughts, Terri didn’t respond to him, so Rabi turned to Daci. “We have this argument, her and I.” His finger waggled between himself and Terri. “All time repeats, this argument. I tell her Palestine is not my home, I am American citizen now, right?”
“And what does she say?”
Terri clicked her tongue at the two of them. “You know, I’m sitting right here.”
“She tells me I have responsibility because I originate there.” Rabi went on to say how he’d brought over his family and Terri came to wonder if the two of them were in cahoots since earlier this had been Daci’s argument precisely.
Terri was about to call them out on this conspiracy when Rabi suddenly turned to her. “Do you know what Mother Theresa said? About peace, right? She said to help world peace, go home and love your family. This is what I do. I love my family and I love you. This is not enough for you? The words of Mother Theresa?”
His dark, almond shaped eyes searched her face. Eyes framed by lashes so long and thick they looked fake, and his head cocked at that angle and his full red lips not quite in a smile. His kind, open face by itself made a compelling argument, let alone his invocation of the not-quite-saint.
“I am stalk you for one reason.” Rabi dipped two fingers into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small fuzzy box. Black. He set it on the table top just as Attalla arrived with dessert—fruit with whipped cream accompanied by Turkish coffee. Attalla saw the box and was delighted. “Oh look like need more champagne! Wait, I get.”
Daci put up a hand. “She hasn’t answered him yet.”
“Oh no? Well, let’s see the ring.”
The box opened with a click. Inside burned a ruby sapphire, slightly smaller than a dime. Through the high, rounded surface of the gem the jagged sparks of a six-pointed star shot from the center like six lightening bolts borne of a tiny sun. The star moved when Terri turned the ring. She plucked it from the box. The sapphire held a deep red with brighter, more fiery points that shifted and sparkled, like a glass of pinot noir held to the sunlight. Wrapped around this remarkable stone, cast in pale gold, was a lizard. His long tail formed the ring itself, while he clutched the stone between his fo
ur little feet and gazed up at her with big, onyx eyes.
“Look like not diamond.”
“She would throw away if I brought diamond! She’d throw away if real ruby. Is manufactured. In a laboratory, right? No mining, nobody killed. Gold? Is ‘eco,’ means recycled.”
Attalla shrugged in surrender. “Best to give them what they want. Even if makes no sense.” He patted Terri’s shoulder. “So? Champagne?”
So much promise. So much energy. Held fast and tight and secure in the grip of that happy little lizard.
“Is salamander,” Rabi told her when she ran a finger over its’ head. “Fire lizard. He defies fire, right? But also known for come out only during heavy showers and leave again once the weather is clear.”
Terri gave him a quizzical look.
“That’s what man at jewelry store say, right? When I tell him what I want. Uhm, also Muhammad thought they made mischief and should be killed.”
At that, Daci giggled into her coffee, then guffawed openly.
“That’s perfect!”
“What about the kid thing?”
Now Rabi gave her a quizzical look. “We worked out other things. We will work out kid thing too.”
Daci waved a fork at her. “You could adopt some Palestinian children!”
And Terri Tehzan, who had—impossibly—woken up with Flower Flu not twelve hours prior, looked from the bright hopeful eyes of the lizard on her engagement ring to the bright hopeful eyes of the man who had given it to her.
Smiling, she nodded to Attalla. “Get the champagne.”
V: I Know How Much Hate the
World Holds, Mama
CHAPTER 16
“Gentlemen, your new company president: Baroness Dacianna Von Worthington.”
The Baroness stepped from the Survivanoia President’s office—as of that moment officially hers—into the company’s executive conference room. The room overlooked a Persian garden but the drapes were drawn. She grabbed the chain on the way past and yanked it like a kite string, zipping the beige fabric panels aside and filling the claustrophobic space with sunlight. The picture window revealed, just visible from up the road, the twin loops of Magic Molehill’s newest roller coaster, gleaming in the white heat.
Survivanoia Page 22
