by Jim Stark
As they started walking again towards the Beach Barn, Winnie saw one of her girlfriends coming up the road and excused herself for a minute.
Buck fired a couple of warning squirts in the general direction of Victor and Annette. “Now y'all behave yurselves in there, or I'll have ta give youse all another fine,” he hollered.
"For a guy who invented a lie detector, you're quite the liar,” Annette said as they sauntered on, waiting for Winnie.
"I'm going to lie to everybody tonight, about everything,” said Victor as he wiggled his fingers at the traffic lady. Ginette soberly pushed the front deck of her cowboy hat up a tad with the tip of an index finger, and gave a slight nod as they passed by.
"But ... why?” asked Annette.
"Because this is one of the last times in history when a person can do that and get away with it,” said Victor.
"I ... guess that's true,” she said, laughing ... well, half-laughing.
"Listen,” said Victor seriously, “there's something I wanted to ask you about. It's just that ... well, I wish I could tell Winnie about the LieDeck ... about who I am."
Annette wondered whether she should get into this situation, but figured she probably should have handled it earlier and might as well do it now. “Actually, everybody who works at the lodge has to have security clearance,” she said. “Winnie already knows the score."
Victor was surprised. “Well spoil my fun, why don't you? How come you didn't—"
"Look,” said Annette, “security work is quite difficult. With Winnie there was a need to know. You don't have to agree with us on that, but we know our jobs, and that's the way we called it. Don't make an issue of it, okay? Besides, I—uh—probably shouldn't tell you this, but I think Winnie sort of—uh—likes you."
"Let's go,” said Winnie as she returned from her chat with her friend. “That girl I was talking to, she was one of the people I was supposed to have supper with tonight, before I got dragooned into helping Noel out at the lodge. Her name's Sal. She'll meet us inside a bit later."
Steve had wandered back outside and was standing under his brand new cardboard hat by the sales table, feeling a bit foolish and very much alone. He was glad to see the three familiar faces walking in from the parking lot and coming up the steps. “Howdy,” he said, a lot less convincingly than he had hoped.
"How are you doing, cowboy?” said Victor. “This is so exciting for me. I haven't gone out in twelve years."
"I've got you there,” smiled Steve. “I haven't been drinking and dancing since before I was ordained, and that's thirty-some years ago."
"I'd better warn all the local ladies to watch out for you two,” said Annette.
"Oh, I think the ladies are pretty safe with me,” said Steve.
Winnie went over to the sales table to try on hats. Annette went over too, leaving “the boys” alone.
"You told me you're not a priest any more, Steve,” said Victor. “Don't rule anything out."
"Please, I'm over fifty, and I'm still a Catholic ... sort of."
"So, you do the wild thing and then go to confession,” offered Victor teasingly. “Isn't that how Catholics handle it?"
"The wild thing!?” said Steve.
"Let's go, campers,” hollered Annette.
Inside the Beach Barn, the Raccoons on Ice were cranked up full tilt. Winnie found her girlfriends, who had saved four seats at the end of their table. It was impossible to talk, so they used hand gestures to sort out which seats were vacant. It didn't work very well, but the newcomers finally realized the unclaimed seats were the ones without any half-eaten drinks or burning cigarettes in front of them.
After putting his bowling jacket on the back of a chair, Victor shouted into Annette's ear, “I'll go get us a couple of beers each. Don't let Steve be a party-pooper, eh?"
As he left to elbow his way to the bar, one of Winnie's friends shouted at her over the music, “Where'd you pick up Danny DeVito?"
"What?” Winnie shouted back, turning her head to hear better.
"Your friend ... he looks like Danny DeVito, but with hair."
"Yeah,” Winnie laughed, swapping positions to shout into her friend's ear. “He said I looked like a white Whoopi Goldberg with a Cher wig."
"Eh?"
Winnie declined to try again. She made a hand movement that meant “later,” although it looked a bit like she was trying to swat a fly out of the air.
Annette signaled Steve to get up and boogie, and he nervously stood and followed her into the fray. They just got wiggling to a fast song when it ended. A slow song began, and Annette put both arms around his neck, smiled at him, rested her face on his chest, and moved with the music. With some reluctance, Steve put his hands lightly on her ribcage. A few seconds later, he started to feel embarrassed and moved his hips away from hers by bending slightly at the waist. Annette pressed her cheek against his, caressed the back of his neck, and shouted directly into his ear, “It's okay for you to enjoy this, you know, and it's okay for me to like it too. Look around you. It's sort of like kicking the tires when you're buying a car, except...” She wasn't sure how much of this was getting through, so she let it go at that.
Steve must have got the message, verbally or otherwise, because he allowed the full contact to re-occur. Unseen by Annette, he made a face that seemed to indicate at once a glorious pleasure and a horror; a pleasure that he hadn't known since ... he had to think about it ... since grade twelve ... and a horror that he might not be able to control his feelings ... or his dangly bits!
Chapter 13
A REASONABLE PRICE
The north wing of the Whiteside plant had been sealed off for the production of the LieDeck, and the entire operation was being videotaped by hidden cameras—partly for posterity, but most immediately for reasons of security. A section of the Patriot quarters in the office tower had also been declared off-limits to all but those directly involved in monitoring the LieDeck project.
While ordinary mortals from the Quyon area were enjoying Barn Dance ‘14, Randall Whiteside was at the office in Kanata. After his meeting in the administrative tower, he had driven an electric golf cart through the tunnel over to the plant, intending to spend a few minutes with Helen Kozinski, whom he'd asked to personally supervise the Patriot aspect of the LieDeck production program. He pulled up a chair beside her as she scanned the eight screens that were receiving feeds from the north wing. She flipped the sound from her headset to the speaker system, for Randall's benefit, and brought his attention to the screen that covered the lunchroom. “That's where most of the talking takes place,” she explained, “the non-scientific talking."
It was 10:00 p.m. A balding man in a smock got a cup from a shelf, poured himself a coffee, sat down, and rubbed his eyes. The workers who had been sequestered were encountering a few more difficulties than anticipated. It wasn't a matter of not having the parts on hand, but of coordinating a group of cranky professionals and keeping a firm handle on the big picture, the overall assignment. Laurent Gauthier, Whiteside Tech's chief engineer, was brilliant in his area of expertise, but a leader of staff he was not. Still, things were only two hours behind schedule, and the first real production LieDecks were expected to come off the line any minute now.
"This should be interesting,” said Randall, “how they react."
"Yeah,” said Helen as she turned a dial adjusting the focus of the concealed camera.
"Who's he?” Randall asked, pointing to the bald man.
"Fred somebody, a sound technician ... and that big guy coming in now is Luigi ... sorry, I'm not too good at last names. I can get it from the computer if..."
The second worker, Luigi, poured himself a coffee. “How long do you figure we'll be held captive here?” he asked his workmate.
"A few weeks maybe,” said Fred.
"Quite the little gizmo, eh? I mean, there's nothing much to it."
"Sure wish I'd have invented it."
"No shit. That sucker's gonna make Whites
ide a bundle."
"I talked to Gauthier about doubling the work force in here,” said Fred. “I told him he should bring in a whole other shift, you know. I think he's going to ask the old man about it."
"Good idea,” said Randall in the security office as he turned down the volume and gave it some thought. “Helen,” he asked, “would it be an insurmountable problem for security if we let the workers go home after their shift?"
Helen cranked the sound halfway back to where it was—this was, after all, her turf. “Well,” she said, “we can verify intentions now."
"Come again?"
"Well, of course we can use the LieDeck to verify whether they told anybody else what they're making ... after the fact ... but we can also ask if they have any intentions of telling anybody about the LieDeck ... verify that on their way out of the plant. The only problem I see is if one of them says ‘no’ and their answer registers as a lie. What do we do then? We can't exactly kidnap the person."
"We'll ... deal with that when and as we have to,” said Randall. “I think we could even look at three shifts a day, round-the-clock production.” Jesus! He thought. That's a wrinkle I hadn't anticipated ... verifying a person's intentions! Immigration control! All kinds of other applications!
"I hear they're going to do some kind of impact study before they release the thing,” said Fred as he took off his white smock and threw it over a lunchroom chair.
"Probably best,” said Luigi. “Can you imagine some poor bastard telling his wife, ‘Honest, I was just out with the boys last night,’ and she's got one of those things on her?"
"Yeah,” said Fred.
"I just had a couple of cold ones and shot some pool, honey,” continued Luigi.
"Beep,” said Fred.
A female worker came into the lunchroom just as Fred beeped his pal Luigi, and she joined in the merriment as Randall and Helen took it all in on the TV screen. “Her name is Linda something ... Dicks, I think ... a real pistol,” Helen said to her boss.
"Have you done your homework yet?” Linda asked, pretending to have a conversation with her son. “Yes Mom,” she answered in a child's voice.
"Beep!” bellowed Fred and Luigi, sounding more like a couple of trucks than a pair of LieDecks.
"I won't be able to come in today; I got the flu,” said Fred in a hoarse voice, feigning a phone call.
"Beep!” said Luigi and Linda.
A third male worker entered the lunchroom, his dark face beaming excitement. “Here it is,” he said, “the very first production unit, with the beeper, the flashing light and the pin!"
"Isn't that supposed to go right to Whiteside?” asked Linda.
"Five minutes won't kill the old windbag,” said Fred.
"Windbag?” said Randall as he watched the monitor.
Helen chuckled. “You should hear some of the things my agents say about me behind my back. It's an honorable tradition to badmouth the boss, Mr. Whiteside. The new guy is Raj somebody, by the way. I can never remember Indian names."
"Fantastic!” said Fred, taking the device from Raj. “Is it on?"
"Is the ON/OFF button in the ON position, Einstein?” asked Luigi.
Fred looked stupidly at the Dictaphone casing. “No,” he said.
"Beep,” went the LieDeck.
"So I lied!” bellowed Fred. “So sue me already!"
After the laughter had subsided, Linda said, “Okay wise guy, answer this. If a hostile foreign agent offered you ... say a million bucks for that LieDeck, would you steal it and sell it to him?"
"No way,” said Fred, defensively.
"Beep."
"Would you?” he asked Linda angrily.
"I certainly would not,” she said.
"Beep."
"You see,” said Luigi, “we all have our price, and—"
"Beep."
"Gotcha!” said Linda.
"Okay, so not all people can be bought,” countered Luigi, “but I'd say—uh—most people can. And see? No beep when I said that!"
"That just confirms that you believe that,” said Linda. “Not that it's true."
"I don't like this conversation,” said Raj.
"Would you go to bed with me for a million dollars?” Fred asked Linda, smarmily.
"I'll bloody your face for a freakin’ nickel!” she offered.
"Whoa, no beep!” said Luigi, digging in his pocket for change. “Hey, I'll pay a whole dime to see that."
"The question wasn't fair,” said Raj, the man who had brought the LieDeck into the lunchroom.
"Why not?” asked Luigi. “It would have been fair yesterday or ten minutes ago. If she says ‘no’ and there's no beep, that's the end of it. But if she says ‘no’ and there is a beep, then we can start negotiating a—uh—a more reasonable price."
"You sexist bastard,” Linda screamed.
"Beep,” went the LieDeck ... just for the word “bastard,” one would presume.
"My union steward is going to hear about this, and you won't be able to lie your way out of it, neither."
"Oh come on, Linda,” begged Fred as she stomped out of the lunchroom. “I was only pulling your chain, for Christ's sake,” he hollered at the closing door.
"We're—uh—face to face with reality, aren't we?” said Randall as he turned down the sound.
"It would seem so,” said Helen, “whether we like it or not. Are you ... are you at all worried?"
"Well, yeah ... a little,” admitted Randall. “Still, it's better that we have the LieDeck rather than the government, or the military. At least this way everybody's in the same boat."
"Let's hope she stays afloat,” said Helen as she turned the sound from the monitor back up again.
SATURDAY, APRIL 19, 2014
Chapter 14
LOVE AT FIRST LIGHT
"How come your Dad lets him stay?” asked Rebecca Donovan of the string-bean teenager she had pleased so well. “And that woman ... that Annette person! I mean, where does she—"
"I'm not supposed to talk about it,” said Michael, defensively. “If Dad found out I said anything, he'd ground me into the twenty-second century."
"Yeah, I know,” said Becky, “but jeeze, like this guy just ends up living at the lodge and taking over. I bet your mom's in a major snit."
Michael didn't respond. He regretted telling his girlfriend about these happenings on the home front, but he had no one else to talk to, to really talk to, and God, she was so good to him.
The small cottage on the west bank of Wilson Lake was Michael's, and it was very private. The two naked teenagers leaned quietly against the wood railing of the elevated patio, staring east across the lake towards Whiteside Lodge, taking special pleasure from the absence of mosquitoes, and taking pleasure even more in the fact that they could stand there, nude, and just enjoy life. The sun was almost ready to make its grand entrance, and the pink-freckled, deep blue sky was doubled back in the unbreathing surface of the black water. The air was chilly, but so very still. Soon the wind would ruffle things up, and the early spring of 2014 could continue.
"I heard Dad talking to Mr. O'Connor about it,” said Michael. “It's got something to do with some big business deal. He says he can't tell me about it yet. It sounded from the way they were talking like Victor Helliwell invented something that Dad really wanted. I couldn't tell what it was. Humongous secret for now. When Dad gets that look in his eye, you can bet he's got his reasons, but it bugs me that he doesn't trust me enough to tell me what's going on, you know? Like last year when—"
"Mikey,” interrupted Rebecca, “can we go inside? I'm getting goose bumps and ... well, I just want to snuggle, okay?"
They closed the sliding doors behind them and slithered joyfully into the king-sized bed. As they pulled the big comforter up to their necks, Rebecca turned her back to her best friend and first true love, pressing her bum into his groin. He enjoyed spooning that way, and she enjoyed hearing him purr. Michael reached around and cupped a cool, small breast in his h
and.
"Purrrrr,” he whispered as his organ began to grow—again.
"Purrrrr,” she answered.
After a few oddly motionless seconds, Michael found the courage to say what was on his mind. “I ... lied to you, Rebecca,” he admitted. “I ... never did that before, and I hate that I'm good at it. I do know what's going on with Victor, but I can't tell you. I hate it when I can't tell you. I don't want to play the games that other people play, you know what I mean? But Dad is always telling me there are circumstances that force one to—"
While Michael was talking, Rebecca had turned over, and now she put her fingertips gently on Michael's lips. “I knew you lied,” she whispered. “And I know you'd tell me if you could. The day will come when you'll trust me more than you trust yourself, my very sweet man. We're just kids, you and I, but what we have together is—"
Michael smothered her words with his mouth and slowly slipped a hand between her silky young thighs. They could talk any time. This was a moment for making memories.
Chapter 15
MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
A single-engine pontoon plane passed low overhead, its engine fluttering, just south of the cabin. Can't be the company plane, thought Michael. Mr. Eamer would never fly in so low. Cam O'Connor would have him fired, and Dad would have a fit.
He jumped out of bed and bolted to the window to see what was going on. The sun wasn't quite up yet, but it was light enough to make out the letters “RCMP” on the side of the plane. What the hell are they doing out here? he wondered, repeatedly. There has to be something wrong over at the lodge.
His rule for the cabin was “no-tech,” but when he made an exception for a battery-operated fridge a year ago, his father had a basis to compel him to allow the installation of a low-tech battery-operated radio system from back in the 1970s, hidden from view. “It's practically World War II,” his father had emphasized ... as if that made a stronger case. It had seemed like a defeat to Michael at the time, but now—well, circumstances had changed ... just like his father had said they might. He rushed into the bathroom, lifted out the medicine cabinet, put it on the toilet seat, and reviewed the instruments in the wall cavity. He booted up the scrambler and entered 007, their cleverly devised code for the Patriot field office—so “the kids” would remember it.
