“No.”
“Well, I’m gonna try and go back to sleep. Punch me if I snore too loudly.”
And as his seatmate snored again in less than twenty seconds, Brad just stared out the window.
Before the quake (BQ), a trip from Brad Miller’s condo to Pasadena would have taken twenty minutes, half an hour at most. After the quake (AQ), the trip took almost four hours. Since every road in Los Angeles was severely damaged, decisions had to be made about what to fix first, how much of it to fix, and how permanent the fixes would be. Mostly, with the help from the federal government, roads were patched that were considered the most vital arteries in the city. Where a twelve-lane freeway had once stood, now only one or two lanes were functioning, so people just didn’t travel unless it was an emergency.
When the bus finally pulled into Pasadena, it moved at one or two miles an hour, as surface streets were in just as bad a shape as the freeways. A town like Pasadena, which had hundreds of streets, now had only one or two that were passable. And then Brad saw the sign: ROSE BOWL 2 MILES.
“They’re putting us in the goddamn Rose Bowl!” he said out loud. “I’m not living in the Rose Bowl! I’d rather sleep in the park than sleep in that crummy old place!”
Fatty woke up. “They can’t be putting us in the Rose Bowl.”
“Why?”
“Because it fell down, it was leveled. I saw pictures. That and Dodger Stadium, they were both destroyed.” And then, as the bus turned onto the Rose Bowl grounds, they saw their new home. A tent the size of a football field.
The Rose Bowl had indeed been leveled, and one of the first construction projects the Army Corp of Engineers completed was to push aside the crumbled cement and put up a temporary structure. It wasn’t really a structure; it looked more as if the biggest circus in the world was in town. It was designed to house up to four thousand people.
Inside were rows of bunk beds stacked four high holding three hundred people on each level. There were one hundred toilets, four areas of food service, and eight designated areas where people could sit and watch images coming from one of the ten large screens. It was noisy, but had no real odor. The one thing they had perfected over the years was how to properly ventilate these kinds of temporary structures, but it was still hot.
Brad just couldn’t believe it. How long is this for? He was a goddamn home owner, for Christ’s sake, not a kid going into the army. Were they just going to keep him there forever? He wanted answers. He wanted out of there. He hoped he was not going to share a bunk with Fatty, although he sort of liked the guy. Anybody who could sleep on a bus as he was being driven to a concentration camp couldn’t be all bad. But right now all Brad really cared about was information. What is the plan? Do I get my money? Every employee he asked told him the same thing: “That will be addressed later.” The only real information he was given was his bunk number and the rules of the tent. He was also given a food card and a key to a small chest of drawers. He went from anger to confusion to a sort of passive state, which lasted only ten minutes, until he saw the line for the bathroom.
* * *
“There are people I need to tell about my father,” Kathy said as she sat holding Max’s hand, never wanting to let go.
“I understand. Can I help you?”
“I need to tell Brian.”
“I’ll give you some time alone. Will you call me when you feel like it?”
“I feel like it now.” They walked to the door and they kissed. So passionately, so beautifully, she just couldn’t get over how life could deliver so many emotions in one day.
When Max left, Kathy sat down. She started to cry. For her dad, for herself, for breaking Brian’s heart. For everything.
“Hello?” Brian said, looking at his watch.
“Hi.”
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“My dad died.”
“What?! You’re kidding? How? When? I’m coming over.”
And before Kathy could answer, he disconnected. Not that she would have tried to stop him anyway.
Brian was there in ten minutes. The door was unlocked and Kathy was in the kitchen, where she was making tea. Brian walked over and gave her a hug. He didn’t try to kiss her and she wouldn’t have let him anyway. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “How did it happen?”
“Just suddenly. It happened right here. He was having breakfast.”
“Breakfast? It happened at breakfast? Why didn’t you call me?” Kathy said nothing. She took her tea and went into the living room. Brian followed her. He asked again. “That was six hours ago, how come you didn’t call me?” Kathy sat down and tears began welling up. “I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I don’t want to see you cry. I just wanted to be here to help. That’s what people do when they’re close. I just wanted to be here. You should have called me.”
Kathy couldn’t hear this anymore. She took advantage of her state of mind and just blurted it out. “I don’t love you.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Brian, you’re the most wonderful guy and I have had some amazing times with you, but I don’t love you.”
“When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. It happened.” In the past it was moments like this when Kathy would say something like, “I’m just confused right now,” or “I just need time to think.” But she didn’t. She said, “I’m in love with Max Leonard.”
And now Brian had a moment that everyone goes through at least once. A moment when someone is told something that he already knew but never wanted to hear, and when he does hear it, he is forced to act shocked, as if it were a surprise.
“What? What the fuck? The guy from the meeting?”
“Yes.”
“When did this happen?”
“It just happened. Probably instantly, I don’t know.”
“So you called him?”
“That’s not important.”
“It is to me. Your father died and you called him?”
“Yes.”
And that was the worst thing Brian could hear. He knew it was over. He knew how significant that was. He was so torn. He wanted to say something mean to try to hurt her for hurting him, but her dad had just died, and more important, he knew that nothing he could say would change a thing. He got up. He made a small attempt at keeping his dignity, using probably the most overused line in breakup history: “No one will love you like me, Kathy. No one you will ever meet.” And then he left her house and cried all the way home. He was so crazy about that girl.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
His wrist made a small vibrating noise. Robert Golden looked down and saw a disturbing story. Almost two years had gone by since the bus massacre where old people were killed for no apparent reason, and now it had happened again. This time in Arizona, near a retirement community. A young man had boarded a city bus and shot eight people he thought were over the age of sixty. Seven were; one was a forty-six-year-old man who had obviously had a long night. Just when the first incident had slowly faded from people’s memory, here it was again.
Robert Golden had recently turned sixty-five and, as head of AARP, was one of the go-to people regarding anything involving aging. AARP had grown from an organization that claimed thirty-five million members in 2010 to one that had almost a hundred million in 2030. Their power in Washington, always legendary, was stronger than ever, and whenever they felt threatened by laws that would impinge on their age group, they went into action. They were excellent at organizing protests and bothering Congress and everything that one does to remain the squeaky wheel.
Golden called into his office his trusted underling, Paul Prescott, one of the few younger people on the board. Paul was fifty, no spring chicken, but he was considered the link to the younger generation, which of course he knew nothing about. A gay man with no children, he would brag about how his nieces and nephews loved him to death but he basically hated everything that young people did and had always felt old even
when he was a kid.
“Did you hear about this?” Golden asked.
Paul looked at the screen and replayed the story. “This was at an Indian casino?”
“No,” Golden said, “a retirement home. People are trying to say it was an isolated incident, but it sure looks a lot like the one two years ago.”
“I never believe in isolated incidents,” Paul said. “I don’t think the human race is capable of those.”
“What do you mean?”
“People aren’t that unique. It would be impossible for only one person to do something, no matter what it is. A person needs other people to even think of an idea, whether it’s art or an atrocity or anything. Single, unique events are really nonexistent.” Golden was impressed. Maybe it was the fact that Paul made the dean’s list at Harvard or that he had written some of the most popular articles for AARP magazine, but whatever it was, Robert Golden thought he was a genius.
“I never thought of that,” Golden said. “But what about the Mona Lisa?”
“What about it?”
“Well, no one ever painted that again. Wasn’t that unique?”
“No, Bob. Of course not. For that to be unique it would mean that people stopped painting altogether. Just because no one ever captured an unhappy woman in quite the same way, it doesn’t mean that thousands didn’t try.”
“I get your point,” Robert said, wanting to get back to the subject. “Why don’t you look into this incident and see what you can find. See if there might be a trend. I’m hoping it’s just a copycat crime and it won’t amount to much.”
“Copycat crimes usually come in the first few months. Two years later doesn’t suggest copycat.”
“Fine. So maybe it’s bigger than a copycat. Check it out. I’ll want you to write something to put the members at ease. Let’s not let this blow up if we can help it.”
“I hear you,” Paul said. And he left the office.
What a brilliant guy, Golden thought. If I were gay, that would be my kind of man. Actually, I probably would go for a body-builder type. I don’t know, maybe … and before he could continue with his once-every-six-months who-would-I-like-if-I-were-gay thoughts, his intercom rang. “Yes?”
“Dr. Mueller’s lawyer wants you.”
“Thank you.” Robert prayed Mueller wasn’t canceling. He swiveled his chair to face the wall screen. “Hello, Carl, what’s up?”
“Hi, Bob. Sam is bringing his son to the lecture in Chicago, so either change his suite to a three-bedroom or get a suite for the kid.”
“That’s all? No problem.”
“He also wanted to confirm that he was doing the ‘Aging Without Pain’ lecture.”
“That’s right.”
“Fine. Are you sold out?”
“Everything but some balcony seats way in the back, and those will be gone, too, I’m sure.”
“What does the gross look like?”
“A million and a half, not including downloads.”
“Great. Sam will be pleased. He’ll see you Friday.”
“Thanks.” And with that Robert clicked off. He still thought Dr. Sam Mueller was greedy. Ninety percent of the gross. Hell, here he was arranging for everything, doing all the advertising, and only getting ten percent. Bupkis. But then he reminded himself that this was the man who’d cured cancer. By simply doing that, Sam Mueller single-handedly added fifty million people to AARP. Just give him what he wants.
* * *
Kathy and Max were sitting outside of her home in the early evening. She felt so guilty for hurting Brian, but Max handled it perfectly. He was not just a charismatic speaker, he knew when to listen, and he let her vent her feelings without saying a word. And on her own she always came to the same conclusion, that she didn’t love Brian and therefore wasn’t leaving one person for another, and that Brian had never been the right one anyway. Of course, she was leaving one person for another.
Most times, if a relationship is not finished and someone leaves for someone else, it colors the new relationship and everything falls apart. But once in a great while, people leave people for someone new and stay with that new person for fifty years. Max pointed that out and Kathy asked, “Are we the fifty-year couple?”
“It sure feels like it to me.” And he kissed her and her guilt just washed away. “Do you want to do something interesting on Friday?”
“Of course,” she said.
“The guy who cured cancer, Sam Mueller, is speaking in front of thousands of olds in Chicago. Want to go?”
“Sure, I guess. Why do you want to hear him?”
“I’d like to know what he has to say. He’s one of the main reasons the country is so fucked up. Guys like him who extend life for others get to be billionaires and then stick the bill for everyone that they cured on us.”
“Interesting. I never thought of it quite that way. I’d love to go. I hate him already.”
“Great. We can make a fun road trip out of it.”
Then Kathy thought a moment. “Do you think it’s too soon after my father died?”
“I think it’s like a tribute to your dad. If they had spent some money helping your father instead of giving it to all the ninety-year-olds, we would still have him.”
“You’re right. They treated him like shit.”
“Resources going to all the wrong places,” Max said. “By the way, what do you want to do with the ashes?”
“I don’t know. I thought I would put them on the mantel or something.”
“I have a great idea. Let’s put them in the backseat and take them with us to Chicago. It’ll be like he’s on the trip, too. Then we can find a beautiful spot on Lake Michigan and let him free.”
Kathy just looked at this man. “You’re so amazing. God.”
And they kissed again. Softly. Not a crazy, passionate kiss, but a kiss that suited the conversation. It was terrific.
* * *
The pilotless jet turned onto the runway at Eagle County Regional Airport. Sam Mueller liked to fly, especially in the privacy his wealth afforded him, but these smaller airports that serviced resorts like Vail were not his favorite. He looked over and saw Mark. This was unusual. They had not had very many father-son activities over the years, and even though Mark might be bored, Sam thought it was great that he was coming to Chicago to hear his dad speak.
Sam Mueller had so many strangers worshipping him, but it never translated to his children. Maybe a little bit with Patty, but Mark seemed unimpressed. Possibly it was the way he was asserting his own identity entering into his teen years, but Sam wished his son looked up to him more. So just the fact that Mark decided to take this trip was a good sign. Maybe he needed a healthy dose of watching thousands of people applaud his father.
The jet made the final turn onto Runway Two Five and stopped for one minute. The face of the captain monitoring the plane back in Denver came on the screen. “Are you all set for takeoff, Dr. Mueller?”
“All set,” Sam said.
“We should have an uneventful flight. If you need anything, Elaine will get it for you. Have a nice trip.”
“Thanks.”
Mark turned around and smiled at Elaine. She smiled back. Jesus, she’s hot. She looks like a model. How cool to have a beautiful woman like that bring you crackers. And then Mark wondered if people had sex with her on the plane. After all, no one else was here. An empty cockpit. Who would ever know? He then asked his dad, “Can the pilots hear you or see you?”
“Only if you want them to. Why?”
“I was just wondering if it was two-way.”
“That’s the passenger’s choice. I like when they can see, but some people don’t.”
“They can’t see in the bathroom, can they?”
“Only if you wanted it.”
“Who would want to be watched going to the bathroom?”
“Probably nobody, but if you had a problem in there they could see it and help.”
At that moment the jet roared down the
runway. This new generation of Gulfstream was ninety-nine percent soundproof. The jets at full power sounded like the hum of air-conditioning. Mark watched his screen in front of him, which he set to “cockpit controls.” He could see everything the remote pilot saw. It was awesome. He couldn’t help but pretend he was flying the plane, although he didn’t want the gorgeous Elaine to think he was a child. “How long have they been flying without pilots?”
“Almost two years,” his dad said.
“Were you scared the first time?”
“It was a little disconcerting, but the systems are so reliable and so redundant that you don’t really think about it. Remember, this plane can do everything itself from its own computers. It doesn’t even need contact with the ground, so having the guys in Denver, you just don’t think about it.”
“Really? But if I wasn’t here you would be all alone with Elaine. Wouldn’t you think about that?”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Mark said, and grinned a little.
Sam was torn. He was a man who did not screw around on his wife, and yet he felt a small male bond with his son over this remark. He was tempted to tell Mark that he didn’t think about other women, but they had so few moments like this, he didn’t want to ruin it. He made a decision to simply answer as if he were Mark’s buddy, instead of his dad. He looked at Elaine and then back at his son. “I guess I would think about it. A lot.”
Mark smiled. A private moment between two guys. For that instant his dad became accessible. He knew it wouldn’t last long, but he loved it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Betsy Bernstein was livid. She had just read the Morton Spiller resignation letter prepared by John Van Dyke for the President’s approval. She thought it sounded far too condescending toward her husband. It said that Spiller admired what the President was trying to achieve but, due to policy differences, he thought it was best to allow the President to bring on someone more in sync with his line of thinking. She got John on the phone. “This is bullshit.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
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