Good timing Nancy, as always, Jon thought shaking is head with an ear to ear grin. Her back to the others, Nancy hid a smile as she boarded the elevator.
No one mentioned it after—never did. Like a machine Rab put in an unbelievable 140 hours of work the past week so this bit of embarrassment, wasn’t an issue. Nancy didn’t have a problem with it yet still hustled away, obviously flustered, this time most likely getting the message in a more crystallized form. She decided she’d ask Jon for the progress report another day; after her nuclear sunburn healed. Thinking to herself later, and she played it back several times, she had gotten quite turned on by it. The rest of her day went great; her night was even better.
It was typical of Rab lately, Jon knew it; his unbalanced schedule, a constrained mind, fighting for balance with a remainder of extremes. He loved the ladies now more so than ever, and the ladies went nuts over him; so, everybody was happy. Except Tim Tench, like he had a grudge. Rab made the news many times because the relentless reporter decided to obsess over him: first, why young women were given such a high security clearance, they were seen leaving the building at all times of the day and night, next, and most oddly, the toys. Tim had reels of footage and photos: Rab sneaking out in disguise, wild club activities, even interviews with the girls themselves and pictures of their lives. He ran stories about Rab all the time. He had even managed to tie Jon to the story, as well as the owner of a nearby Adult store, Jerry Otts, where Jon had been seen at least once, and others from VlexCom would pickup orders for sex toys. The latest thing was not the women at all hours, or so recklessly giving away temporary high security clearance, but the adult toys that would end up scattered around the building. He assumed Rab had ordered them for the girls and so embellished his stories with racy details.
A huge dildo ended up on the windshield of Nancy’s car squished under her wiper. Nancy looked around cautiously to see if anyone else noticed (That one was never seen again).
Stern Steve found one with big bull balls taped under his desk and it shocked him intensely. He thought his secrets were out.
Rab didn’t feed the reporters well. He never told them what they wanted to hear so they would make up stories and glorify pedantic details. Most eventually left him alone; except for Tim. He was a thorn, a nuisance of a man, Rab’s personal paparazzi. Tim had blond hair with too much sludge, greased back complimenting his cheap suit. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and stunk. But once, finally leaving for a lunch outside, Rab responded to him.
“Mr. Tompkins. A minute please,” Tim asked cutting him off on the street. “Can you explain the women coming in and out of VlexCom at all hours? I have pictures of naked women on the roof, with no qualifications—”
“Yeah, so—” Rab paused with a sneer looking at the belly-bulging reporter, “We have lots of women employed at VlexCom.”
“The models sir, Natalia, the sexy—you know what I mean.”
“I have sex with them—many times, right on my desk,” Rab said smugly. “Don’t you have something useful to do?” The woman working the camera blushed coughing shortly. Rab winked at her. Tim hesitated in his report. Rab simply told the truth, too simply, too bluntly. Tim wanted lies, deception. He wanted to drag it out with drama and suspense, build upon it.
Tim came back, “And their clearance is only for sex. Isn’t this a business? They—”
“Yes, and I own a large chunk of this business, and run it my way.” Rab answered and left without a care. Abruptly he split not giving the matter another thought.
“What do you have to say about the sex toys?” Tim yelled.
Ignoring, Jon and Rab continued along the sidewalk.
Next Sunday’s headline: And I Loved Everyone Of Them. It was followed by: Top VlexCom Programmer Herald Tompkins admits to exotic office affairs with famed and married Mexican Actress Natalia Luisa Raquel. And it went on blabbing and painting dramatic pictures for the purpose of gossip. Nothing came of it, except a huge boost in free publicity for the company; stocks continued to soar. Rab wasn’t stupid; all were well overage and more than willing. If anything he didn’t even realize who Natalia really was, but knew she had worked her way in like many of the others. No different than other single males in the city, except that he was famous, and that made the difference; he didn’t let it.
The Nobel Prize win elevated his status. Before that he was just another person in the crowd. Now he was a target, be it for the stories, or the incessant and time-wasting litigation. The entire world used VlexCom’s software, technology, and products; Rab was a huge deal, his lifestyle a prime bullseye for social media and the news. The stories blew up for a while as another sex scandal but were easily masked by the next big thing, as always. The story about the sex toys, dumpsters full of them even, went nowhere and eventually fizzled out, just like Tim Tench.
Next week’s headlines were also relevant to VlexCom. Boldly stated: VlexCom Reveals Something Big is Coming! GET READY! The company’s stocks continued to rise with no leveling off in sight.
“We probably shouldn’t have joked around with those dildos Rab,” Jon said as they arrived back to the lab.
“Fuck it man, it was only a couple of them.” Together they laughed. “Fucking Steve too, peeking out of his office door with it.” Rab sat at his desk and popped a Pro-Con, his laugh ending quickly. He offered some to Jon.
“Ah, no thanks,” Jon replied. “Lunch was nice. I wish you could get out with more often, like old times. We had some good ones.”
“We sure did Jon,” Rab said. He scooted himself closer to his desk and started becoming entranced. “Speaking of…” He started typing fast, and began to lose himself in the code forgetting what he was about to say. Jon watched for a moment as Rab zoned-out; soon no longer acknowledging his presence.
“Yeah yeah, I know,” Jon said quietly, mostly to himself. He headed to the door but before he turned the knob Rab peeled himself away from the screen one last time.
“Jon, I’m really on to something here,” Rab said. Jon paused and looked at Rab.
“I know Rab, you always are.”
14. Exhaustion
Months later and he’d been working almost constantly. It was Friday a little after 4 p.m. The team, unlike Rab, always worked normal business hours.
Knock knock.
“Come in,” Rab said in a raspy voice after peeling his eyes from the screen. “Hey Jon.”
Jon took a stool next to his desk, and Rab returned to his coding. “Hey, man,” Jon leaned in attempting to get more attention. “Been a while since you’ve gotten out of this place. How about we hit the club tonight, like old times. Why don’t you join us?” Rab sighed, his fingers paused.
“I don’t know Jon. How about you just send me back one of the twins?” he joked, yet seriously at the same time. A nickname branded them long ago, the twins were a couple of regulars and could easily be found in the most popular clubs around LA. They never missed a night and were always ready for a good time. One short, one tall; both had nice figures, thin faces, and fake golden blond hair.
“You wish,” Jon laughed. “They’ll probably never come back here. Actually, we were thinking about Tijuana.”
“Damn Jon. I don’t know. That’s pretty far. And I have a lot of—”
“Come on Rab, it’ll be like the old times when we lived in San Diego, way before you took on this insane project. You know, we all thought you were nuts, but here you are working like—like a machine. A night out’ll do ya some good, I know it. Whaddaya say, let’s do it, Mexico like the good old days.” Rab allowed his screen to continue to burn his eyes then turned to Jon with a half-cocked smile. He’d been needing to talk to Jon in private anyway, and knew it had been at least six months since he’d even been outside the building.
I’d have to go incognito, he thought. And he knew things had calmed down a lot since Tim Fucking Tench had gotten a new target. He and the rest of the world news teams were busy with the latest in a string of presiden
tial scandals. Chandra Croften, first African American woman President of the USA, caught on tape in the Oval Office having sex with several of the men and women Secret Service, all at the same time. Apparently, she was a nymphomaniac, moreover adept at hiding the secret—until now. The tapes were plastered all over the net and people wanted details, details, bloody fucking details.
“Fuck it. I’m in Jon.” He un-hunched from his panel. Jon smiled, but the sight of him made that hard to do. He looked—bad (an understatement).
He’ll be alright now, Jon thought watching him move slowly. He just needs to get out for a while. “That’s great man. Really. We were gonna make the drive, already rented a limo. It’ll be fun, an adventure. We’re leaving at—”
“I’ll take the chopper and catch up with you,” Rab interrupted. “I—I just need a—” It was nearing 4:30 p.m. and Rab was long overdue for rest, and if he didn’t get it soon he’d look more cadaverous than he already did. He lugged his visibly thinner self up from the chair and headed to his apartment door almost dragging each leg. He looked like he hadn’t changed clothes in a week. The bags under his eyes were dropping like saturated teabags, changing color from the usual exhausted purple to deathly black. The downside to the Uberman sleep schedule, nap time was non-negotiable: for all concentration, focus, and physical energy would be zapped, and no amount of any drugs would help. Of course twenty to thirty minutes later he’d be back up to full speed—coding away nonstop for another five hours straight.
Disheartened, Jon watched him stumble away. Flattening his smile and lowering his head he shook it slowly from side to side.
“Jon—I think we’re close here,” Rab said turning back before the entrance to his apartment. “Wait—,” he mumbled and looked up at the empty wall. Rab’s ideas kept coming, he just couldn’t tear himself away; it was apparent his mind had gone haywire. He was out of it. He raised a finger spinning it around making an imaginary note in front of his face, then he quickly changed the subject again. With a sudden idea lighting his thoughts he flipped. He acted slightly more coherent and his finger directed its way toward Jon. “Did your team get the algorithms done?”
“Yep. Jodi is putting the finishing touches on them and we should have them for you before we leave today,” Jon said. “Damn it’s good to have you with us tonight. I’ve missed ya man.”
“Bring ‘em in tomorrow, at noon would you?” Rab said, keeping the subject on work. “I want you to be here, it’s very important. But you are right; I gotta pull out of it for a bit, reset.” Rab looked up then wobbled, catching himself on the door. A brown grid of tunnel vision surrounded the edges of his sight. Jon noticed he looked so much thinner, and weak; he looked—old. “I just need to get my rest Jon. The strip right, same club?” Jon nodded. He went inside slamming the door. Jon turned to leave and he heard a crash from inside Rab’s apartment.
“You okay Rab?” Jon yelled running to the door. He tried to turn the handle but it was locked.
“I’m good Jon. Get the fuck out.”
Jon ran his fingers thought his brown hair. His hands met at the top then slid behind his neck. He felt sorrow for his friend, the state he was in.
She’d stayed outside the door, waiting. Jodi worked a desk over from Jon, although she usually found herself outside if she was in a smoking mood. An Idaho girl, she was a skinny freckled blond who usually wore unfashionable shorts made fashionable via dozens of iron-on patches: flowers, peace signs, but really anything she could find. She was the only true stoner on the team. The weed didn’t affect her negatively either, just the opposite. She had failed the drug test twice at her last company, so, they fired her, totally disregarding her outstanding performance; VlexCom’s gain. Rab didn’t give a shit about the drugs, not one bit. Jody was exceptional and well-balanced and had surprised him many times with her creative work. With an IQ over 140, she singlehandedly coded many of the algorithms he had passed out two weeks ago.
“Well is he in?” Jodi asked as Jon closed the door.
“He said he’d catch up with us. But—”
“What Jon?”
“He doesn’t look good,” Jon said. “He looks—”
“Is he sick?”
“He looks like death Jodi,” Jon replied sadly. “I think he has been working constantly for several months. And when I say constantly I mean—” Unable to finish his sentence he took in a breath and slowly blew it out puffing his cheeks.
“Well hope he makes it. Maybe he’ll be okay if he can peel himself away for a while.”
“Hope so Jodi, Hope so…”
Later at 4:44 p.m. Rab awoke, just twenty-one minutes after Jon’s visit. He felt revamped and refreshed, but after getting a look at himself in the mirror decided to set the wakeup timer for another three hours. He folded his phone after setting the timer and fell back onto the Insta.
The extra sleep left him feeling a little groggy, but not in a bad way. He thought of Saturday mornings when he used to sleep in late then woke just in time to catch the morning’s last cartoons with Radar at his side. It felt a little disorienting, but well, like a few wires had been put back into the right places. But he knew he was messed up, hellaciously overworked. He’d had dreams early on but forgot them all, and the rest, it must have been pure delta sleep, reparative, actually just what he needed. It’d been months since he’d gotten more than thirty minutes of continuous sleep.
He prepared for the night dressing in a casual set of duds: a long sleeved black-as-night button shirt and pair of new forest-green cargo shorts. He buttoned the shirt higher than usual, then shaved, then splashed on a tad of Alpine perfume. Not too bad, he thought, noticing the bags under his eyes had lessened. He turned his face in the mirror. A little extra sleep does magic. He felt better, quite a bit better than he’d felt in a long while.
Then it called him.
Creaking, the door opened a little and he peered back into the lab. His empty chair; it was quiet inside except for the faint hum of the machines, all still processing away. Like a blanket the hum comforted him. And he felt tremendous guilt for leaving work. It tugged at him—and he opened the door a little wider. Stay, you have to finish this. Don’t you dare fucking leave! Don’t even think about it. You motherfu—
“Fuck it,” he said and slammed the door hard. The voices were silenced instantly. It had been so long, too long. He pulled his jet-black hair back catching his bangs with a red bandanna and walked decisively with power in his steps, then pulled down his dark sunglasses, and headed up the spiral stairs to the roof. Red, his pilot, was waiting in the heli-jet on the heli-pad atop the bar. Rab climbed up then into the passenger seat.
“Cut your beard off Red, looks good. Hardly recognized you.”
“Thanks Rab. Lost a bet with Maggie, my wife,” Red replied loudly. “Still heading to Tijuana?”
“Yes sir. Let’s do it!”
15. The Club
He slid off his bandanna and the bangs of his hair fell forward. The contrast to his white skin made him look like a vampire, especially under the black lights. Leaving the dark shades, he descended into the pounding cave that was Club Subterranean; second block on the Tijuana strip. The filth on the muddy brown rock walls, old chunks of gum and vomit stains, were cloaked by darkness. The presence of party-goers mixed with the air of a perfume stew—old-school techno, lasers and fog, shouts and screams—gave the dead hole life. Reverberating bass from the six aging eighteen-inch woofers housed at the base of the stage droned within the walls of the tunnel, louder and more defined as he continued through. With a nostalgic grin he slyly exited the entrance hole pocketing his shades, then removed the top button of his shirt and tugged upward on his collar. His eye-bags were almost completely gone and he felt at ease, listo. He stood there for a moment, taking it in, remembering.
The flashing lights and technotronic vibes made for a discotheque soup of flesh and euphoria. It was early yet but the cavern was filling and smiles were abundant. Two Asian girls had the stage,
apparently too young to hold the few beers they’d sucked down, already acting crazy and fondling each other. Below, a few prurient college fellows excitedly cheered them on.
After navigating deeper into the tiered hollows, under the private overlooks, passing through laser beams and fog, around the dance floor’s edge, he ascended the far side. Surrounded by a good bit of glass wall, the secondary bar area was a quieter place to talk; where conversations could be had without blowing a lung. Standing next to the bar Rab scanned the club for Jon and anyone else he might identify from, the old days. He recognized one waiter, yet guessed it had been too long to try and reconcile any past adventures—although the memories were flowing. A minute later a hand touched his shoulder from behind, it was Jon.
“Rab. Damn, glad you made it,” Jon said fervently, taking a stand next to him. They were the same height but had vastly disparate styles. Jon wore like-new blue jeans topped with an extra wide dark leather belt. Unveiled by his open tan-leather jacket he wore a grey wide-neck shirt, thickly textured with vertical grooves; it coalesced well onto his fit shape. His mega thick hair probably won a barbershop challenge. It was short on the sides, evenly brown and tall at the top, accented by a face of quintessential stubble.
He ought to travel the world, Rab thought, as he looked him up and down; as a model or an actor, rather than coding from nine to five. Noticing how classically good he looked when he tried, he remembered how they both always had good luck with the women. Jon always had better luck with his looks alone, but Rab effortlessly domineered with his unique cool. It was obvious Jon had a balanced life, and got around to exercise, something Rab’s schedule as of late, surely lacked; nearing the end of the project, pushing it, much balance had been lost. Now, it was an all out dash for the finish line.
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