Renaissance 2.0: The Entire Series (books 1 thru 5)

by Dean C. Moore

  And underneath all the good times, the good cheer, the many tonics for the soul, festered unaddressed issues. Fears, anxieties, phobias, self-hate, self-abandonment, hopelessness, and all the wretchedness of life remained forever tucked away in a lockbox in back of their minds. It all boiled down to a sense they could neither change nor affect whatever it was in their lives they just couldn’t live with, and couldn’t live without. Worse, AA was right: there was a genetic component that just made their self-destructive coping mechanisms doubly difficult to get over. What a mess.

  Her vacation was turning out to be another day in the life of Robin Wakefield, of getting hit from both sides—her career choice, and her relationship choice—at the same time. It hadn’t taken Drew long to abandon self-awareness and the slow, painful work of behavior modification, in favor or forgetting his troubles.

  If Robin didn’t play her cards right, pardon the pun, she’d be booted out of the club, and would fail to make a dent in their bulletproof psyches. She was going to have to play this like a spy; better yet, like a double agent, making them think she was one of them, while interjecting just enough revelations into the ribbing to show them how to deal with their demons with the same generosity of spirit.

  She wasn’t much at playing people, as was Drew, but this was her reprieve, too, from a case that just wouldn’t end until the shakeout of her psyche was complete. She could add “playing people” to her repertoire to help heal her soul, as she gingerly reduced their reliance on their addictions.

  After all, rolling her sleeves up, digging deep into interpersonal dynamics, was part of her emerging feminine side, even if male-Robin couldn’t be bothered, preferring the transpersonal “big picture” realm, and to live by the credo, “Humanity I love; it’s people I hate.”

  “All right, who’s staking me?” Robin said. Waverly pulled out a chair for her next to him, and gave her a pile of his money. “Why so generous?” Robin asked.

  “He gets high smelling pussy,” Chester explained.

  Robin made a sour face and took another stack of bills for herself, to howls from the others. “I see everyone pays for their pleasures around here.” And so began her needling little remarks, her double entendre, which would one day filter down to the deepest strata of their psyches and affect lasting change—in theory.

  “So, share with me the personal histories. Nothing but the dirty laundry, please,” Robin said.

  Drew sucked on his cigar, from the looks of him, already on to the game she was playing, and going along to avoid a blow up in front of the joy boys.

  “Waverly here lost his pecker in the latest Iraqi war,” Chester informed her. “Like a blind man, his other senses have stepped up to compensate. So now he can smell pussy at a hundred klicks, and go down on it like a beaver building a dam.”

  “What does he use to get off?” Robin asked, not missing a beat.

  “He’s got this electronic apparatus wired to his drainage pipes that I hear works better than the real thing,” Chester explained.

  “They say bionic is better,” Robin jibed.

  Waverly held up his glass in toast. They clinked glasses and laughed.

  “He’s awfully good looking,” Robin said, regarding Waverly’s dark curly hair and cobra-yellow eyes. Designer contacts, presumably. They gave him a mischievous If you only knew half the story look. “I suppose if I go down on him I’ll get electrocuted.”

  “Works great for perming the hair, though,” Waverly joked.

  Mission Critical seemed to be progressing fine so far, Robin thought. So far no missteps. And the boys were already joking about their pain-points, which meant they were coping in a healthier-than-normal manner. She reminded herself the drugs helped numb the pain enough so they could make light of things. Small steps, Robin.

  “And what makes Chester so in need of pussy pacifying?” Robin asked. All eyes went up from their cards at once, everyone fighting to hold on to their game faces. Some bit their lips, some reached for the liquor. “Don’t pretend like Waverly is the only one.”

  Dominic played a card, and threw in some chips. “Sore subject.”

  After all of them refused to spill, Robin said, “Ah, the code of silence. Okay, fine. I’ll take some stabs at it, see if I hit a nerve.” Chester stonewalled her with his best poker face. His red hair crowned a fair-skinned skeletal facade that was nonetheless quite handsome. He had to be six-foot-six if he was an inch, though it was hard to tell, exactly, with him sitting down. He looked hard and defined under the clothes, but, again, their loose fit maintained a certain mystery as to the details. He was so determined to have her not see the truth, it just popped out at her—probably telecasted on every neuron, along every nerve. “Ah, premature ejaculator.”

  The table erupted. “Oh, my God!” Dominic exclaimed. “On the first try, no less.” He pounded the table with excitement and nearly choked on his gin.

  “Enough, Robin,” Drew said sternly.

  “Are you kidding? We’re switching to tarot cards after this round.” Dominic chortled. “I can’t wait to see what dirt she digs up on the rest of this crew.”

  “You didn’t tell us she was psychic,” Chester said, sounding hurt.

  “Did they tell you what was on the other side of that hill when they told you to storm it in Iraq?” Drew said.

  “Point taken.” Chester returned his eyes to his cards.

  “Don’t mind Robin,” Drew said, greasing the wheels. “She was locked in a house with a psycho-killer for days on end, saw enough brutal murders to permanently damage her mind. But she came away with some perks from the ordeal, too.”

  “Just so she’s damaged goods like the rest of us, so she can’t feel superior,” Waverly said, “that’s the main thing.”

  Dominic laughed. “Around here, that’s the only thing.”

  “Dominic’s turn at bat,” Robin said.

  Chester absently rearranged his cards. “Good luck with that one. No one’s been able to crack that nut, and I’ve been with him since grade school.” He swilled his drink.

  “Ah! He’s in love with you, Chester,” Robin said. Chester and Dominic spit out their drinks.

  “That’s one more card on the table than I expected,” Chester said. He turned to Dominic. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have been busting your balls all this time. Here, massage my shoulders, darling. They’re tight.”

  “You are so dead,” Dominic said to Robin, his face red. “From here on out it’s going to be: ‘Get me another drink, honey;’ ‘Oh, my neck hurts, sweetheart, give it a rub.’”

  Everyone laughed.

  “God, it makes so much sense,” Chester said. “Why didn’t I see that?”

  Dominic shook his head in disbelief. “We wrestled one another in high school? You didn’t notice I was hard the whole time?”

  “Hey, I thought it was the cup,” Chester said.

  Dominic let his chair collapse back onto all four legs. “You feed off it, you damn psychic vampire. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  Nervous chuckles were softened with another round of drinks.

  “Hey, could cure your premature ejaculation,” Robin suggested. “Just let him go down on you until the desensitization therapy takes on your dick.”

  “Yeah, wanta bet he comes even faster,” Dominic said.

  “You could do threeways with the girls,” Robin advised, undeterred. “Get them hot letting Dominic go down on you, then, after the dick’s good and conditioned, you can pump her all night long.” She could tell Chester was taking to the idea despite grimaces and loud protests to the contrary. So could everyone else. She was racking up points with Dominic, as well.

  Chester looked straight at Robin, then retreated into himself, and played a card. “Ah, you’re all so full of shit.”

  Dominic smirked at Robin. “I love this pragmatic school of philosophy you come from. All the pining teen angst, the unfulfilled sexual frustration, was getting a little old, to tell you the truth.”

&
nbsp; “No, it wasn’t,” Robin said. “You’re a complete masochist. This is going to be just as much of an adjustment for you as it is for him. Don’t worry. I’ll be there to guide you through it with condescension and wicked gossip.”

  Thunderous laughs resounded around the table. Nervousness rose and fell in waves. But all in all, they were hanging in there. Except for Drew, who just kept clamping down on his jaw the rest of the night. Robin could tell she was in for it as soon as the boys left. That meant the best thing for her was to keep the party going. Long enough anyway for Drew to surrender to her plotting and scheming. Either he’d deem it harmless enough, certain she’d never get anywhere, or something he could take advantage of by being a better game player. Meaning, he’d intervene as necessary to corral the joy boys in the direction he wanted. He wasn’t taking any shit without the booze and drugging to numb the pain, moreover, so exactly how much complaining did he really need to do?

  Dominic smiled wickedly at Robin. “Your turn.”

  “You asked for it,” Chester said, keeping his eyes on his cards.

  Robin bit her lip. “Go ahead, hit me with your best shot.”

  After a while of staring her down, Dominic said, “Nah, forget it. I think you know we all play this game as well as you do. That’s why you’re here. Trying to provoke an attack. Why do you need us to hurt you, Robin?”

  There was a tense silence in the room, which had the boys squirming in their chairs.

  Robin realized he was right. Addicts excelled at ripping one another’s masks off, if provoked. Who was she kidding? It had to end like this, with her getting hurt. The revelation bruised her worse than an actual attack.

  “You’re right. I deserved that,” Robin said. “I’ll play nice, unless sufficiently baited, of course.”

  “In that case, I’m in for another round,” Waverly said. “But first I need to piss up a storm with my bionic dick. Deal me out o’ this round.” He got up.

  “Wait, you’re missing the floor show.” Dominic’s smirk spread. “Unbelievable. I say we make her our new mascot.”

  Robin had slipped into catatonia. Dominic was the first to catch it.

  She had drifted off as she explored the reasons why she needed to provoke an attack from the boys. Maybe, in a similar vein, she had used her sixth sense to avoid taking every precaution before entering Hartman’s house, drawn to psychic abusers like her father because it had been unconsciously programmed into her.

  The thought that there was some unexamined trauma driving her behavior, caused her to slip down the rabbit hole in her mind. The catatonia would give her the undistracted thinking time she needed to perform the exorcism on herself.

  Already their voices were fading into the background. She knew she was processing what they were saying on some level. She would never pinch off the pipeline of information flowing to her brain. That part of her that just had to know wouldn’t allow it.

  ***

  Waverly flopped back into the chair. “Whoa. She’s really something.”

  Drew, exhaling smoke, laid down his cigarette. “Think of her as one of those Matryoshka dolls. Everytime you open her up, you find a smaller one just like it inside.” He played a card, laying it down with just enough force to convey his annoyance.

  Waverly stared at Robin, flabbergasted. “I want to whisper my deepest darkest secrets into her ear, my wildest fears. Let her suck them out of me like a leech.”

  Drew gave it some thought. “Not a bad idea. God knows, she takes it out of me.”

  Dominic replied with an I’m going to let that one go smile.

  “Yes!” Waverly exclaimed, pumping his fist.

  Drew swilled his drink. “Fair warning.”

  Looking straight at Drew, Dominic said, “She draws the rescuer out in you, so you forget about your own problems.” Playing a card, he added, “God, we’re so transparent. Makes you wonder why we have all these people-reading skills.”

  Chester held up his glass. “Hear, hear.”

  Drew played a card. “If you can manage to be particularly needy, might draw the rescuer out in her. If anything will get her to snap out of the catatonia, that’ll be it. So show a little compassion. Dump on her.”

  The others laughed.

  Drew could tell they were cozying up to the idea of having someone to talk to that wouldn’t judge them, couldn’t talk back. Better than a therapist that just pretended to be indifferent. Drew wouldn’t be surprised if they all took him up on the idea. And if indeed it didn’t work as the best remedy for her catatonia.

  Of course, he’d been talking out his ass, wasn’t sure if there was a word of truth to any of it. Even her psychic abilities he’d gone on about… He had had nothing but a hunch based on her ever-so perceptive arguments this last month that seemed a little too intuitively inspired.

  He couldn’t believe they were so dialed into one another after all this time, that even if they blinded themselves to the truth, out their mouths it came. It was as if they were running some self-exorcism program at the level of their unconscious as their own personal marriage contract.

  Drew already regretted his smart-assed comments. He’d just given Robin all the enabling she needed to shift the power dynamics of their little group, putting herself at the hub of the wheel. Soon she would erode all that was holy in their escapist-drugging, defeating the entire purpose.

  God, she was like that creature in Aliens, whose acid blood just tore right through everything. And he’d walked straight into the steel trap of her jaws.

  NINE

  The rat pack played strip poker through the night. Every time Robin lost a round, which she couldn’t help doing from her catatonic state, they relieved her of another piece of clothing, and drank to their increasing good fortunes. As each of them lost a round, they stripped in turn, to keep things fair, and in hopes she might be enjoying the game as much as they, even if she couldn’t show it.

  By sun up, they were at the racetrack in an effort to keep the high going, Robin in tow as their mascot, as catatonic as ever. No one had slept in twenty-four hours, which was par for the course. The joy boys never knew when to let up until total system shutdown. They’d sleep for a couple of days straight, then be back at it again. Sometimes they could keep the party going without breaks for a week or more, simply by shifting venues, letting the attraction of the new activity conceal the sameness under it all.

  “Is it true you bet the entire field?” Dominic asked as Drew took his seat beside him on the bleachers.

  Drew stuffed the tickets into his pocket. “What can I say? I like feeling like a winner.”

  Dominic laughed at Drew’s lunacy, which Dominic delighted in because it masked his myriad forms of madness. This was why Drew hated Robin being out of it. He started thinking Robin-thoughts. With Robin conscious and being Robin, so many demonic spirits flocked out of his head to more fertile pastures. Now they had nowhere else to go.

  The cherry sweetness of the mixed drink in Dominic’s hand helped to speed the liquor to his brain. Of all of them, he could hit the sauce the hardest, and hide it the best. Kentucky Derby racehorse genes. No doubt about it. With his long, straight hair and his trim beard, his tight jeans, his cowboy boots, his black leather jacket, and good looks, he looked twenty-five, not forty-five. Perfect teeth, too. Usually, even the well maintained ones couldn’t hide the teeth rotting out of their mouths; the surefire giveaway of a body depleting its internal resources just to fight off the constant onslaught.

  They ogled the galloping horses through the field glasses, Drew shouting, “Go Thunder Thighs!”

  Dominic shouting, “Go Fancy Feet!”

  As Long Legs came up on the inside, passed the other two horses, Drew shouted “God Long Legs!”

  Dominic laughed. “Will you stop?”

  Rolling Thunder nosed out Long Legs, provoking Drew to shout, “Go Rolling Thunder!”

  “You’re incorrigible,” Dominic said.

  Dominic craned his neck to take i
n the front-most row of bleachers in their shaded section of the stadium, the overhead canopy provided as one of the VIP perks. “Will you look at Waverly? Light weight. The guy simply cannot party more than forty-eight hours without falling apart. I think he has Lou Gehrig’s disease. It’s the only explanation for why a third generation alcoholic could just collapse like that.”

  Drew said, “After inheriting a weak set of organs from so many generations of self-abusers, he’s lucky he can stand without scientific intervention. A space hotel is his only chance.”

  Dominic laughed. “I’ve been quietly buying stock for years.”

  They were close enough to hear Waverly pouring his heart out to Robin, his arm draped over her like a scarf around a statue. “It’s true, she really does draw it out of you,” Dominic said.

  Waverly sobbed and said, “How am I supposed to go through life, dickless, answer me that?” Heaving breaths.

  Dominic grabbed the bottle of gin from Drew’s hand, and took a long pull. “God, what a whining wanker.”

  Drew held his hands over his eyes as a visor. “Did you remember to bring a hat? This sun is taking it out of me.”

  Eying the overhead canopy, Dominic made a sour face. He had to admit, with the sun at this low angle, the awning wasn’t doing much. “If I brought my hat I’d have less excuse to drink, wouldn’t I?”

  “There’s no refuting your logic.” Drew grabbed the bottle away from him. “Can’t they run these races any faster? The come down from the last race is really hitting me.”