by Lee Alan
Anna admired his drive, but couldn’t help but challenge some parts of his plan. “Surely it uses huge amounts of energy and water?”
This prompted another enthusiastic grin. “I’m glad you asked, Miss Price, but please don’t call me Shirley.” He replied, dusting off the old joke. It was her turn to laugh. “The whole structure is one giant energy generator. Look,” he pointed at the delicate branches of the roof above them. “Do you see the green streaks running through the sections?”
“Mmhm,” Anna confirmed, shading her eyes as a beam of sunshine cut through the dappled light.
“Those are the photosynthetic panels,” he said. “They create all the energy the estate needs—and then some. I’m actually feeding electricity into the grid.”
“Wow.” She was impressed. The implications were astounding.
“The water used on the gardens is all dirty water collected from moisture traps underneath the estate. This place doesn’t use a drop of extra water from aquifers. It’s self–sustaining.”
“Moisture traps?”
“Yup. Ever seen the movie Dune?”
“I remember something with the singer, Sting, in it, wearing a skimpy leather thong, and big worm things,” she replied, teasing his geeky question.
“That’s where I got the idea.”
“Sting’s leather thong?” She liked to make him laugh just to hear the sound.
“See? You’ve just interviewed me, and you didn’t even realize it. Your search is over, Miss Price. Journalist it is.”
Chapter 11
The next morning, Anna set off to work early, finding the commute a tedious drag in comparison to the revelations of the previous day. It’d been a magical afternoon with Corey talking about her writing ambitions and his quest to revolutionize energy on Earth. His passion had been infectious, but never selfish, as he’d moved the conversation back to Anna and her dreams for the future. Time flowed while they’d talked, and, somehow, the blue of the desert sky had given way to a spectacular view of the constellations. She recalled with a guilty glow of pleasure the disappointment on Corey’s face at the prospect of her departure.
She drove through the bustle of the Phoenix suburbs while her intuition warned of an approaching dilemma. Things had been great with Jim Peterson, but they’d reached the stage at which their relationship either needed to move to the next level, or come to an end. To complicate matters further, now there was Corey. Again, a thrill of nervous excitement deep inside Anna greeted his name.
Oh, dear, she thought, worried by the desire conjured from the simple mention of a word.
The man she’d believed to be a shy, retiring college professor had turned out to be anything but. In fact, after getting home last night, she’d spent another hour researching him on the web.
Corey T. Young had been born to humble roots, just as he’d said. Unlike his vague mention of wealth, however, he’d become the richest man in Arizona and one of the wealthiest people in the United States. In fact, Forbes magazine estimated that his personal wealth now approached eight billion dollars. The scientific community had been blown away by his discovery of the artificial photosynthetic cell, which was now under serious consideration for several awards, including a Nobel prize.
His private life story read like a tragic mystery. Both of his parents had died in a car accident while he’d still been a student at university. This had left him in the appalling circumstance of being alone in the world at nineteen years old. A wave of sympathy and kinship washed through her on learning of such a cruel fate—her own experience of losing both parents to cancer was a testament to that. Many would have crumbled under such ill luck, but he’d obviously used the tragedy to spur himself onward to the dizziest of heights.
Her findings had not uncovered any mention of him having a wife or partner, though—a fact she’d tried and failed to ignore.
What about Jim?
She felt helpless and filled with anxiety. Events had moved so fast over the past few days that there’d been little opportunity to share these complex feelings with Julia.
As usual, she arrived early at the office and began her daily routine in a vain attempt to distract herself from other pressing concerns.
Most of Bill Moyer’s appointments had been cancelled today—a situation that had become the norm, of late. Even his ridiculous commercials had dried up, recently, and she’d often found herself alone all day. When he did decide to grace the business with his disheveled presence, he would bury himself away in the paper–strewn pit that had become his office, presumably getting high and neglecting his duties. It was becoming painfully obvious that the once–proud lawyer had lost any semblance of control.
Anna felt certain that a complete crash would follow soon, leaving her jobless and, in the unladylike words of her gran, “without a pot to piss in.” In truth, she cared less about that depressing conclusion than the poor unfortunates who relied on her useless employer—especially, the legal case raised by the Tonto National Forest trust. As Jim feared, there seemed scant evidence of a strong case being mounted against the Vaudrillion Corporation in the case files. The implications for the natural wilderness couldn’t be greater: if the trust lost, no obstacles would remain to prevent large–scale fracking.
As a child, Anna visited the beautiful Tonto with her parents and Julia. She still had vague memories of a tranquil ponderosa pine forest with a stuffed picnic basket and the sweet sounds of laughter. The idea that such a wonderful place could be violated was an appalling thought made worse because a hopeless junkie named Bill Moyer had been entrusted to stop it from happening. Of course, she’d continued to report to Jim, as promised, but his tricky political position had resulted in no firm action. With her frustration rising, she knew something needed to be done.
By two PM, Bill still hadn’t arrived, and she considered closing the office early, since there was little point in staying. As she reached for the keys, the lawyer stumbled through the door, only to fall face–first onto the faded, green carpet in the lobby.
“Help me up, will ya?” He slurred, helplessly rolling around.
Anger exploded in Anna, job be damned. “You need rehab,” she shouted, ignoring his call for aid.
“Fuck you!” He moaned. “Give me a damn hand, woman!” His portly cheeks blew beet red.
Although his tone sounded harsh, she felt sorry for this poor excuse for a human being. Against her better judgement, she approached him and offered a hand. “You need to sort this out, Bill,” she insisted, while helping the grunting man to his feet. Without a word of thanks, he shuffled through his office door.
On impulse, Anna followed and watched from the doorway as he fell into the leather recliner. Without noticing her presence, he swiped the papers on his desk aside and produced the glass pipe she’d seen before, clutching it like a holy relic.
He bunged a white crystal into the small bowl and flicked at a grimy lighter, only to grunt in frustration at the uncooperative flint.
“What the hell happened to you?” She asked.
Bill paused his frantic motions and faced her. “None of your fucking business, that’s what,” he replied. “Don’t forget I’m still in charge here, girl. What I do in my office has nothing to do with you!”
“It is my business when I lose my job because my employer is a fucking tweaker!” She shouted, her frustration finally spilling out.
“What do you care? Hmm? A pretty little ass like yours will open most doors, right?” He replied, sneering.
“What about your clients? Don’t you care that they’re depending on you?”
A flash of guilty recognition passed over his face. “I do my best,” he protested, running a shaking hand through his wispy hair.
“You’re doing your best in the forest trust case?”
“Those tree–fucking hippies!” The outburst betrayed his sensitivity toward the subject.
/> “Bill, it’s important. You know it is!” She protested. “Why don’t you resign from the case before it’s too late?”
“I can’t!” He retorted.
She found the note of sincere despair in his voice puzzling. “I’m not going to let you ruin the case. It needs someone who is… well, in a fit state to take it on.” Anna said, amazed at how calm her voice sounded.
Bill’s expression twisted into a grimace. “And what are you going to do? Hmm? You’re just a fucking woman!” He spat the words like an insult.
She hesitated, flushing at the contempt in his tone. “I’ll tell James Peterson,” she said finally, certain that he feared the young congressman.
The threat didn’t have the effect she expected. For a moment, he looked confused then burst into an unpleasant hacking laugh.
“James Peterson! So, he’s the one diddling ya, hey, girly?” Anna blushed while the horrid chuckle continued. “What did he tell you? Hmm?” Bill dug deeper, sensing her weakness. “Oh, I’m so concerned about the lovely forests and all the cute, fluffy animals living there? And, by the way, why not check out the leather at the back of my limo?” He said, slamming the pipe down on his desk and stroking the arms of his chair in a leery gesture.
“It wasn’t like that…” she began, the tremble in her voice betraying her growing disquiet.
“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t.” His sneer deepened. Tell me, Miss Price, you stupid, blonde bimbo, did you even bother to check his voting record in Congress? Or who actually funded lover boy’s last election campaign?”
“James wouldn’t lie…” she replied, knowing how gullible it sounded.
“Jim is a fucking politician, you dumb bitch: of course he lies! The whole Congress is a pit of vipers, and he’s the king cobra.”
Against her will, the facts fell into place. Yet, her heart still clung to a forlorn hope. “But why?” She whispered, fearing that she already knew the answer.
“You want me to spell it out? Congressman Big Dick is blackmailing me. He wants the trust case to fail.”
The truth was stark, making her feel utterly ashamed for being so foolish. “How did he blackmail you?” She asked, slumping against the door frame in shocked resignation.
He picked up the glass pipe and threw it at her feet. The fragile glass shattered on impact, showering Anna’s polished, red stilettos with its burned filth.
Her lingering doubts vanished in that final, pitiable action. Every awful thing he’d just said was so obvious, in hindsight. It left her feeling sick with embarrassment at the thought that she’d almost slept with the corrupt scumbag.
Now that his outburst had run its course; Moyer sat hunched in his chair, looking every inch the defeated, old man. They remained silent for a few moments, with Anna lost in her own sea of guilt and sense of stinging betrayal. Refusing to bow to the shame, she wrestled her mind onto dealing with the situation, however painful its resolution. She’d vowed before never to allow another man to use her, and this would not be the time to break that promise.
“I quit,” she said, her voice low. He stared back blankly, his hands twitching. “Oh, and you can tell Jim—his game is finished,” she added, the words sounding surprisingly firm.
He seemed to focus again at the comment, and a shadow of apprehension passed over his watery gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I think it’s perfect for my first article.”
“Article?” His mocking tone was gone.
“I’m studying to be a journalist. Did I not mention that, Mr. Moyer?” Despite the light delivery of the statement, inside she brimmed with outrage. A satisfying expression of panic appeared on the lawyer’s face. “Goodbye, Bill. I hope your business gets all the success it deserves.” She said before striding out.
“Anna!” He called.
She ignored his alarmed appeal and continued marching to the reception desk. Reaching down to collect her car keys, she also, on a whim, picked up a USB stick from the desk drawer and plugged it into the desktop PC. She copied a file marked “Forest trust v Vaudrillion” and then left her job at the law firm for good.
Chapter 12
Anna sat in the gaudy college cafeteria, staring at a freshly–brewed Americano, and pondering what to do. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, the implications of her forthright decision–making began to sink in. Not only had she just kissed her paycheck goodbye, but she’d also made a powerful enemy: a congressman of the United States of America, no less.
Welcome to the city of FUBAR, Population: one stupid dumbass called Anna Price, she thought with a sense of rising dread.
Following the confrontation with Bill Moyer, she’d gone back to Julia’s and confirmed everything he’d said. There was no doubting James Peterson’s public record. He’d always sided with big business when voting on legislation, even going so far as to over–turn old public health laws. And it didn’t take a genius to work out why: his twenty ten election campaign had received millions of dollars from none other than Vaudrillion Corp. The system had become so corrupt that he’d not bothered to disguise the obvious conflict of interest. Worse still, as the chair of the congressional energy committee, he had enough influence to sway the process in favor of his paymasters.
She hadn’t spoken to James since the revelation at the office, for her sense of betrayal remained too great. What is there to say? She thought. You betrayed me. You almost seduced me.
No, she intended to make actions speak louder than words. Lost in thought, Anna barely registered the cafeteria emptying, as her fellow students went to class. She sighed, placing the plastic lid onto the cardboard cup, before heading to the start of her English lesson.
Anna took her seat in the auditorium, still oblivious to her surroundings. She prepped her laptop, considering whether her sudden lack of enthusiasm for education had something to do with the absence of Corey. And with regret, she wished she’d spent more time trying to change his mind during their afternoon together.
“Holy shit. Looks like the oompa loompa has done another tag–team with retard boy,” the acid tone of the class jester announced. The words made Anna’s breath quicken. She looked toward the front of the lecture room, where Corey stood, scrawling a topic in neat, clear letters on the giant white board.
“Rule number one: a writer always writes,” it said.
Again, she found herself struck by the strength of joy generated by seeing him again.
After completing the task, the professor turned his attention to the class. Anna noticed a renewed sense of confidence about him, while he surveyed the waiting audience. Briefly, his gaze fell on her, and a definite smile played across his otherwise serious expression.
“Morning, all,” he announced as the room settled down. “Before you ask,” he stated, “Yes, I’m back, and no, I’m not telling you what was wrong.”
He seemed a different man than the awkward, stuttering individual who’d greeted them before. But she noted with concern, that the offensive class asshole had already raised a pudgy hand to gain the attention of their professor. She had no doubt that the intention was to humiliate Corey. To her surprise, however, he didn’t hesitate to invite the malicious kid to speak.
“Yes, the lady with her hand raised.” Corey indicated politely without any sign of mischief.
Sniggering broke out across the classroom while the curly–haired youth reddened at the apparent blunder. It was true: the curve of the kids face and his soft hair gave him a feminine appearance—a perception not helped by the grubby, pink shirt he always wore.
“I’m a guy,” the boy declared indignantly. More tittering greeted his obvious sensitivity at the subject.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Corey replied. “I didn’t realize,” he added without any obvious guile. A smirk grew on Anna’s face, as her suspicions grew at the unfortunate “mistake.” “What’s your question?” Corey asked.
The expression of the youth sharpened
again at the prospect of upsetting the mild–mannered teacher.
“What does: ’a writer always write’ mean?” He scoffed. “Sounds a bit retarded, to me.” A wall of silence followed the offensive observation. The kid looked rattled.
Corey grinned in response. “Interesting question—sorry I forgot your name?”
“Ryan,” came the sulky reply.
“Oh, of course. I remember your essay Ryan. Hmm, now what was it called?” Corey looked like he was enjoying himself. He placed a finger on his chin, as if attempting to recall. “Oh, of course: ‘I Want to Write Stories About Me.’” The sniggering continued at the visibly crestfallen kid. “So, I suppose, considering your main motivation, you need to consider how to find constant inspiration from oneself.” The tittering became open laughter.
Corey had them, now, and he quieted the room with a few waves of his hand, before launching into an explanation of the importance of consistently producing prose. Anna couldn’t be prouder—it must have been difficult to return with such wit and grace under the cloud of former failures.
Despite enjoying the lecture, Anna couldn’t help but wish away the minutes until they could be alone again. Just to encourage him, she thought.
As the lesson ended, she did her best to look natural, wasting time filing away papers, or pretending to be engrossed with her smart phone, while the other students filed out of the auditorium. But with a mixture of pride and a small measure of jealousy, she noticed a group had gathered around Corey, asking various questions. Her internal green–eyed monster observed that the majority of his new fans were female. She dismissed the selfish thought until a particularly attractive brunette with huge breasts giggled at one of his jests.
After several eye–rolling moments of listening to the well–endowed girl flirt with Corey, the room finally cleared, leaving them alone together.
