Season 2 Chapter 22

We found our way over to the “Towne Square”, which was one of the fully realized buildings to eat. The Royal Hall, as the sign announced, was deceptively small on the outside, but after passing into the foyer, a series of stairwells and ramps inside led to a massive subterranean complex. It was like a Union Station for corndogs and churros. Our group had gone down the different directions, but all of them put us at the base of a central stem, which we circled, noting the various thoroughfares that dumped you at Victoria’s Kitchen or the Pizza of Parliament. Marcus led us into the area called Tiny’s Tavern, which had long benches and tables and an impressive mahogany bar that wrapped along the walls and created a enclosure to the main dining area. Where we had entered looked like a pair of large doors and the grungy face of a watering hole, but being on the other side revealed the exterior to be some kind of one-sided mirror, allowing a clear view of the other eateries and diminishing the claustrophobic feelings that would occur once these chambers filled will thousands of people.

“Nice design with the walls,” I said to Marcus, who looked impressed at his accomplishments – even if he was manipulating the hands that designed and built it.

“It’s something that we wanted to do to create a private, intimate dining area but not seal it off from the rest of the space. Lets light in but keeps you from being able to look through, unless we want to change the opacity. We put the same stuff in the ceilings to give the impression that you’re not underground.”

“Sure, that too. I was actually marveling at the bar tops lining the joint,” I admitted, hoping he’d magically produce somebody behind there to get a pint or three. We were in a tavern.

Marcus ignored my meaning and went right on ahead with the scheme he intended, trying to impress Nell and show off his playground. “You can see in the skylights and even in the windows,” which Marcus pointed to as he proudly waltzed between the rows of furniture, “it looks just like you’re in an above-ground building.” He turned to Tawny, “We also have mirrors reflecting through.”

Gorin interrupted the display, “Yes. A periscope. We all know how that works. Do you have somebody who can get us a something to eat?”

Marcus pulled out a touchscreen phone and jabbed at it before burying it in his frock. A gaggle of wenches came out with plastinated parchments with our dining options. A man in a period suit observed from the recesses of the bar, and after they returned to him with our orders it appeared they were in training. More servers appeared to deliver the food and clear the plates, and aside from the random workman crossing outside, we were undisturbed.

The conversation was forgettable, and I had little to add as Marcus attempted to charm the literal pants off Nell while Gorin made his subtle digs, trying to dispel the magic and nuance that was being built up around us. Fortunately, the food was better than anticipated, and in addition to each of the entrées we wanted, the rest of the menu was made, allowing us to taste such epicurean delights as roasted suckling and rare fowls. My greatest hit was commending Marcus for providing utensils so that we didn’t need to eat with our hands like they did at Medieval Times, which sparked a lengthy oration on the historical detail he was paying to this project. It allowed for my mind to wander and shut off unnecessary parts to conserve energy. Currently, it was all power to the guts to process the feast.

I was thinking it was close to midnight, but we were only on the cusp of nine, and the coffee enema I’d had earlier was fading, coupled with the food coma. I still had that pill from Nell, and figured I wouldn’t need it if we spent much longer. By some miracle, Marcus stood and graciously elicited thanks for the meal, and told us to explore the rest of the grounds, but to be mindful of the construction and only go where it was not taped off. Nell got up to leave as well, but Marcus gently restrained her by the arm. I could see the disparagement in her eyes, but as our leader, she sacrificed herself to the clumsy charms of our host in order for us to make a clean break for freedom.

“We’ve got to be back by 10:30, so let’s reconvene at the gate mouth by 10,” she instructed, fashioning her own exit strategy.

The bickering between Gorin and Tawny continued once we got away from Nell, losing it’s charm and driving me into the heart of jolly ol’ nineteenth century England. It was nice to see so much disposable income and wealth being funneled into a boyhood fantasy that, when completed, could bilk families of their vacation dollars and create more delusion in the minds of children experiencing the park. I stopped by Yorkshire Park, which was only paved paths around an unfilled lake and post-braced saplings. A hedge maze was still being shaped, but the sod was partially rolled out and piles of it were still waiting to be spread in different parts of the quad.

Beyond that was what was probably their version of the Thames, which was filled with water, and there were some men in hip-waders making adjustments to the London Bridge supports, though they waved me across towards Big Ben Plaza, dispelling my concern that it was falling down. Below the clock tower was a post full of signs, their arrows directing traffic to almost a dozen side streets and alleys. It was a brisk evening – why not head down Jack’s Alley to cut through the buildings to get back to where everybody else is?

In my overtired mind, I was followed by a sheet of fog, and midway down the 500 winding yards of businesses and buildings, that cool film was quite real as it settled in around chest and head level. Behind me, I heard the echo of construction, but ahead there were some shapes moving in the vapor, outlined by the gas lamps periodically spaced down the row. About 15 feet away from the forms it became clear it was two people getting amorous on top of a barrel. Wearing period clothing. I tried to blend back into the shadows and mist, but my modern shoes made enough noise to call attention to my intrusion, and the obviously dressed prostitute turned to cry for help as she kept flailing beneath a man who was wearing a long coat.

“Sorry there guv’nah,” I said for interrupting their little scene, “but if the park’s not open, ain’t it a little early to be dispatching whores?”

Jack the Wannabe turned and scowled at me, and even in the shitty, replicated conditions of London weather, I could see the anger and mayhem in his eyes. He raised a ham hock sized fist and struck the whore-girl to quiet her before giving me his full attention. He menaced me with that fist, and fished a decently long shank out of his coat, gripping the rag-wrapped handle tightly. If you told me this morning I would be staring down a man wearing nothing but a coat and emulating one of history’s most enthralling killers, I’d have first laughed at the preposterousness of it, and then figured I was still on that bender from the night before.

I can’t speak too much for fight styles, technique, or having much experience in dust ups, but there are two things that I could recall at the moment. The first was an interview with Charlie Iron Horse, a bare-knuckle fighting champion on the Jemez Puelbo. He was a spirited old fella who was still tossing blows with guys a third his age. I asked him what the best advice he could give to somebody who knew nothing of pugilism.

“Sometimes, you’re just going to have to take a hit,” he said. “But, you can minimize how bad it will be if you’re moving towards your attacker. It makes it harder for them to hit you if you’re not in the place they were aiming for, and they may miss you entirely.”

“But if you still get hit?”

“What would you rather have, a car accelerating 10 feet and hit you, or give it another 50 or 60?”

“Can I just not get hit,” I asked.

“If you can, then you’re not in a fight.”

The second thing I recall was a gal who was my neighbor some years back. She and her roommate were living in El Paso before they came to know me, and this was back around the time there was a guy doing B+E’s the local papers called the Naked Burglar; yes, on account of his buck naked ass rummaging through homes. He picked the wrong window to pop the screen off and found himself bleeding from the groin when he realized the place wasn’t empty as he’d thought. Having something dangling and unprotected makes for a good target, and takes the spirit right outta ya.

So back to my predicament…

Lunging towards me was the madman, coat flapping like a cape, bits waving like a flag, looking to ventilate me more than I already was. Running, which is always a great option didn’t sound so great, because getting stabbed in the back, defenseless, is probably the worst way to start and finish a fight. So was getting stabbed in the face, bur you could throw more punches that way. I took and few steps forward, threw up my left forearm in anticipation of his thrust. I came off my feet and drove my right hand up. My balled fist made contact with Jack’s jaw and his head rolled back as my momentum pushed him off the ground and backwards. He landed hard on his back with me falling on top of him even harder. We were both winded, but he was stunned. And vulnerable.

I was happy to have the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my fist as well as the numbing shock of jawbone on bones, because the feeling of stranger’s cock against your hand is something you definitely do not want much sensation of. A few major league swings and there was no joy in Mudville for Jack. He was moaning and no longer as eager to dimple me with his shank, so I got up and went to check on the streetwalker, who was shivering with fear.

“You’re okay now,” I said, offering her my hand to help her up.

---

“Way to go, hero.”

There wasn’t a whole lot of pride in the way Nell said it. I was in a hospital bed, with a large roll of gauze wrapped around my left thigh.

“That definitely changed my plans for the evening,” Nell admitted to me.

“Yeah,” I said, pushing myself in to a sitting position. “I was really looking forward to going to sleep in a bigger bed. I thought the park wasn’t open. How’d I end up in the show?”

“As you probably figured, Marcus had employees there doing training while the construction was being done. But those two were having too much fun on their break.”

“It didn’t look like much fun.”

“And it probably won’t feel like it either when they both get out of here. They’re on another floor getting detoxified.”

“Detox?”

“Yes. Apparently a little angel dust goes a long way,” Nell said unimpressed.

“That’s not going to go over too well as an attraction once they open.”

“They’ve been fired and are going to have drug and assault charges brought up. I told Marcus that this isn’t going to me an issue for you…you’re not going to make a liar out of me?”

“You mean, make it a press issue?”

“Correct.”

“How about I not do the Burnett Media gig and we call it even?”

“Nice try, Sheldon. I feel bad this happened to you, but you to get Burnett for us, and it will go a long way for both of us.”

“Really,” I questioned.

“This isn’t a gilded cage I’m keeping you in,” Nell argued. “You may want to return to the business one day, and showing them you’ve moved past what happened won’t hurt those chances.”

“You’ve got an answer for every time I tell you I don’t want to do it, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. You can keep fighting it, and I’ll come right back at you with more reasons why you’re going to do it. Good reasons.”

“Fine,” I said defeated, as I rubbed my leg and didn’t feel any pain. “I don’t remember too much after taking Jackie-boy down.”

“That’s shock. You wandered out of there with that blade sticking into your leg, not to mention plenty of blood you lost along the way. Add the morphine that you’ve got in you, and right there’s a good couple of hazy hours you’re not going getting back right away.

“Just keep me on this drip for another week and I won’t bring up the Burnett gig again.”

“You may get to dodge the last day of the convention, but you’re coming back with us after. I need you to be clear headed and thinking about what you’re going to say. Once we get back, your only focus is going to be that night. So for the next two weeks, all you have to do is prepare the best speech you’ve ever made for me, and not pick at your stitches.”

Season 2 Chapter 21

The end of my shift working the booth seemed like it took a couple revolutions around the sun before it finally arrived. Usually I could keep a conversation going from starting whistle to quitting whistle. In my hazy condition, I was a bit off my game. It didn’t help that I was able to condense our core message around perfecting the art of success into a one minute spiel. I checked my watch—11:04. An interested conference attendee ambled up to have a chat. I went through the motions, smiling, nodding, raising my eyebrows, and calling on the power of Thor to keep from wincing. I handed him one of our information packets. I figured that had to have taken five or six minutes. I checked my watch—11:06. Was it the coke, the caffeine, or me just wanting to draw the shades and climb back under the covers? Stimulants had their place in the theory of relativity. The booze last night helped, but I really should have asked one of the boys for an Ambien, Xanax, Valium, or even a joint. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I made it back to my room. The previous bouts of sleep were rare gifts squashed by my early morning.

I had just collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes when my phone began to make noises. Nell wanted to make sure I was going to make it to the lecture on web-based presentations. She really wanted me to get familiar with the latest tech. Had she been talking to Fran? She also had a special surprise for me and the rest of the Tanner gang. I rolled off my bed, slipped my shoes back on, and took the long elevator ride back down. Web-based presentation technology I could care less about, but oh, how I loved surprises. I had time for the three block walk to the convention center. Some dweeb rolled past me on a Segway scooter. I guess he really wanted a good seat.

The lecture turned out to be some decent entertainment. Most of the presentation was delivered via a high resolution projection. Some kid in jeans and a tight-fitting plaid shirt on the other side of the country conversed seamlessly with his khaki-wearing counterpart in Orlando. The kid was even able to field questions from the crowd hearing them through a microphone and spying the questioners’ expressions through a digital camera. After a while, I almost forgot he wasn’t actually in the room with us. I wanted to know who their ISP was. I try to stream porn, and I end up vacuuming the house while I wait for the video to buffer.

After the presentation, we reassembled at the booth, and Nell filled us all in on her little surprise.

“I have a little fun lined up for us tonight.”

Don’t tell me she was taking us to the Slit.

“A friend of mine works for one of the theme parks around here. He’s working on a new attraction and has invited us to come by for a sneak peek and dinner.”

Tawny started freaking out as if John, Paul, George, and Ringo walked into the room.

“Oh my God! I love Disneyworld! Omygawd. Omygawd.”

Nell smiled and almost looked like she enjoyed deflating Tawny.

“It’s not Disneyworld, dear.”

Maybe it was the Slit.

Gorin grunted. “This is Marcus Rhys Goodrich you speak of. I will come.” Beneath that beard I could sense a jaw of titanium-coated granite. I couldn’t tell if Gorin liked or wanted to kill this Marcus character.

Nell nodded.

She had also surmised what state I was in. As we dispersed, Nell handed me a little pill and whispered, “Just make sure you make it to the lobby by seven. The train won’t wait, and Marcus assures me, we will be impressed. You might want to cut that in half.”

Now my boss was my pill supplier.

---

I decided to save the whole pill for bedtime and managed to down quite a few cups of coffee before seven o’clock crept up on me. There was a time in my life when I could palpably sense a large dose of caffeine actively coursing through me. I think I was twelve.

I was looking forward to spending more time with the boss lady, but I had mixed feelings about getting cozy with Gorin and Tawny. We all piled into a plush limousine which magically transported us to our surprise destination.

Tawny was visibly excited. There was a twinkle in her eyes. I found it incredible how she had been able to hold on to that innocence and enthusiasm after coming down from that gold medal podium so long ago never to return. I don’t think I ever had that level of hopefulness even when I was a wee lad.

“Did I tell you guys I’m not really all that into surprises?”

“Afraid of the unknown, Shel?” Gorin asked.

“I just like to have all known information revealed as soon as possible, so I can act on it appropriately.”

“That’s not very much fun,” Tawny said.

“Yeah, it’s also not a lot of fun when the surprise is a block of blue cheese when I fucking hate blue cheese.”

“I think Sheldon has trust issues,” suggested Nell.

“You got me.”

“You have to open yourself up enough to let someone know you enough, so that person can invent a worthy surprise for you. Shall I reveal the details, Sheldon, and ruin the surprise for everyone?”

“Please, don’t, Nell,” cried Tawny.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s a surprise for me too. Marcus wouldn’t tell me anything about it, and I haven’t talked to him in over two years, so I have no idea what he has been working on. What I can say is that Marcus has worked on some amazing theme park experiences in the past. He knows how to please a crowd.”

“There are countless pop culture phenomena that do absolutely nothing for me. And the past does not automatically guarantee future success. I’m just saying.”

“So it’s the cynical Sheldon with us in the limo today.”

“Even if this elevates my consciousness to a previously unreachable dimension, I’ll be annoyed that I wasn’t better prepared to take full advantage of its enlightening powers.”

“No one ever threw you a surprise party?” Tawny asked.

“Someone has. Many have tried. It pisses me off every time.”

Tawny had to know. “Tell us about the worst surprise party anyone has ever thrown for you.”

If I couldn’t ruin the surprise for her, at least I could ruin her optimism over surprise parties.

“Well, my ex-wife pulled off quite a doozy when we were married, and she should have known better. It started off with her claiming that she had to go out of town on business during my birthday. No big deal. ‘You have to work. We’ll celebrate when you get back.’ So (A) I’m not even that sad about it. It’s not like my mamma telling me that it doesn’t look like she can afford to get me the camera I want for Christmas with me walking around dejected up until Christmas only to find out she could afford it, and now I’m angry at her for lying to me. I mean I was happy to get the camera, but I had already written it off and moved on with my life, and now she’s dumping it on me expecting me to be overjoyed. Sorry, Ma. It would have been nice to know you had gotten me the camera before I had already slipped a demo into my backpack at the store with my five finger discount. I can’t undo becoming a thief.

“So let me get back to the story. (B) I don’t think my wife is going to be home, so it’s not like I have to get home right away. I end up telling one of the few people at my work that wasn’t invited to the party about how my wife is out of town on my birthday. I mention that it’s no big deal. I’m not down in the dumps about it. I’m a little miffed that all my friends have shit going on. (They’re really going to my party.) This girl at work thinks, ‘Oh, you can’t be alone on your birthday. I’ll take you out drinking.’ This is a perfectly noble gesture. I’m not going to turn her down. It was my birthday. I was going to knock a few back regardless, and it’s a little less pathetic when you have someone to drink with.

“Hours go by. Everyone is wondering where the hell I am. I’m getting drunker by the minute with my new best friend and her girlfriends. No one can call me to see where I’m at because they’re all supposed to have ‘other plans’. Finally one of my buddies calls me up saying his schedule freed up and he wants to hang out. Maybe we could get a card game going with the other guys or watch a Stallone movie or Caddyshack or Blazing Saddles at my place. Of course I’m cool with that. I figure it wouldn’t be cool to just ditch my colleague and her crew, so I bring them with me. I open the door to my place at like a quarter to eleven surrounded by three young women, and there behind the door is everyone I know. You can kind of imagine how that looked to everyone at the party.”

“Well, Sheldon, being married means no more carousing with other women,” retorted Tawny.

“Yeah, I can understand that to certain degree, but this girl was trying to do something nice for me. I doubt she had any machinations for me. Yeah, I’m always walking a tightrope when women and intoxicating substances are involved, but in this case it was a pretty thick rope.”

“You need to hone your sixth sense, my friend,” advised Gorin.

“Up to that point I had told my wife many times how much I was not down for surprises. I figured someone who supposedly loved me would never consciously do something to me I admittedly despised. But you’re right, with all the other shit she did to me that I despised, I should have seen it coming. I was a little naïve.”

Nell reassured me, “Sheldon, this surprise should be nothing like your unfortunate past experiences.”

We finally arrived at a security gate and were promptly allowed to pass into the subterranean section of a rather large parking structure. A spunky minder and not Marcus Rhys Goodrich himself was there to meet us at the unloading zone. She guided us through a series of underground tunnels until we ascended a staircase back to the open air into what appeared to be a re-creation of a street in an idealized Victorian London with a touch of Dickens, a touch of Goth, and a touch of whimsy. Some of the facades were still incomplete, and the entire street was vacant except for a few anachronistic construction workers. We followed our minder and a row of gas lamps up the street to a grand gothic castle. The level of detail was awe-inspiring. We were in a world that nowadays in Hollywood would be rendered with a computer. We crossed the drawbridge and passed under the portcullis into the courtyard filled with multiple grotesque statues. We entered the main hall of the castle keep, and then our minder bid us adieu closing the giant door behind us.

“If I was in the fifth grade, this would be pretty fucking awesome.”

“This is kind of freaky,” whimpered Tawny.

Suddenly a series of multicolored flashing lights filled the room, and an explosion of thick smoke filled the other end of the room. As the smoke cleared, we saw a small very late middle aged man holding a wooden staff in what could only be called a wizard’s robe. He spoke in a loud and nasally voice. His accent was a Scottish/English hybrid.

“Welcome to MERLIN’S CASTLE!”

Then he had a puzzled look on his face.

“Nell, I didn’t know you were bringing friends.”

“I emailed. I texted. I left you a voicemail. I told you I was bringing my staff. You never got back to me. I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. You’re always such a gracious host, Marcus.”

It looked like Marcus was the one who was surprised.

“No. No problem at all. One second, while I make some adjustments.”

Marcus pulled up his robe to fish out his phone from a pocket in his jeans. He called to give new instructions to the kitchen and then returned his attention to our group.

“Um, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you all. I recognize you, Mister, uh, Sheldon and of course the great Ms. Tawny Prietch. Hello, Gorin. It’s always a pleasure. Uh, dinner will be arriving a little later, so please feel free to explore the castle while Nell and I discuss some matters. Come back in half hour and everything will be ready.”

Marcus extended his hand to each of us. Tawny gushed. Gorin, Marcus, and Nell exchanged glances as if to make sure Marcus’ suggestion was satisfactory. Apparently it was, so Tawny and I followed Gorin deeper into the castle to let Nell and Marcus talk about whatever it was they needed to talk about.

“Hey, Gorin, you seem to be a little more tuned in to what’s going on around here. I don’t want to pry, but what the hell is going on around here?”

“Marcus is genius, but he is idiot when it comes to women. I am certain he is infatuated with Nell.”

“And you? You’re a genius with the ladies.”

“I am practical.”

Gorin pulled out his mobile phone to show me a picture of him looking like a bearded douche bag on his yacht with a group of Ukrainian models.

“Can we talk about something else?” whined Tawny as we traversed the parapets.

“Okay, Tawny, let’s talk about your fat ass,” said Gorin out of left field.

“Fuck off, Gorin.”

“Uh, Gorin, Tawny is the antithesis of fat,” I said coming to Tawny’s defense.

“Tell him, Tawny.”

Tawny appeared defeated. Here I was with an extremely rich dude and a world class athlete, and it felt like they were rehearsing their lines for a crappy reality show.

“Tawny, I don’t know what Gorin is talking about, and it really doesn’t matter.”

“No, it’s okay. After I won the gold, I kind of went a little downhill trying to get my life together. After the constant routine of gymnastics dominating most of my life up until that point starting from early childhood, it was quite a shock to me emotionally and physically to not have that routine there. My metabolism was super screwed up from all the training and dieting. I just couldn’t stay thin and ballooned up fifty pounds—maybe sixty at the most. I was pretty miserable. If it wasn’t for Nell, I’d probably still be fat and sad.”

“So why are you trying to bring Tawny down, Gorin?”

“She steals my gigs all the time. She doesn’t have business, entrepreneurial background like me, but she does Fortune 500 events. Is silly.”

“Well, Sheldon is doing Burnett Media. How does that make you feel?”

“Yeah, Gorin, what’s your take on Burnett Media? I’ve got a checkered past with them, and somehow I’m in the hot seat on this one.”

“I also have past with Burnett Media. I immediately recuse myself from any dealings with them.”

“Really? You got to tell me about this.”

“After wall come down, I think I can help shape new free market in my home country. I buy radio and TV station in Russia. I always love TV. I like travel shows and information. But running honest station in Russia is very hard. Very early, Burnett Media wants to buy my station. They want into Russian market. Of course I refuse. A few years pass, and is more difficult to ignore suggestions from the state. Sometimes they ask me to change things nicely. Sometimes not so nicely. Sometimes my people get hurt. I need support from global power. I turn back to Burnett. They want majority share. Only way I accept is to remain as CEO. They agree. How long before I step down? Not one year. Manufactured evidence, doctored photographs, implicating me in human trafficking ring. I have to step down. This is Burnett Media. I do not like Burnett Media.”

“Holy fuck, Gorin. I have to say your Burnett Media story totally trumps mine.”

Season 2 Chapter 20

My head was throbbing from hours of hard partying up in the Slit.

Ask any one of those perfect specimines of soft, honey colored skin, legs a yard long, gravity-resistant breasts, and the just-right strength of cucumber melon scent wafting off them and they’d thrust for your crotch and coo how they could take care of a throbbing head. Aspirin? It did not exist there, even if you wanted it. Cocaine was what you took if yo weren’t feeling so hot, and I could tell there was a lot of if going around. The bump I took probably gave me the goddamned headache in the first place. Somebody probably cut it with just the right amount of baking soda so that it felt potent but held firm on the cusp of becoming an inferior blend. I rubbed my forehead and took a swift gulp of watery scotch, twirling the lone shrunken cube of ice in my mouth before sending down with the rest of the liquid.

It was still before dawn, but the festivities were no longer in the VIP area of the club, and had dragged themselves to the posh suites atop the Ritz-Carlton. There was a small part of me that thought this elaborate display of decadence and was Mason and Jeff’s way of showing how benevolently superior they were. My own empirical nature was also destructive because it was too easy to let the facts become warped in my mind and believe them to be correct. Realistically, the whole wild affair was just a testing of the boundaries of money and power, and my self-centering of the focus was just my cynical side trying to find fault. I tried to turn that part of my brain off, but there are times like this when, while you have a hard time believing how absurd your conclusions are, you’re glad to acknowledge then even if they are far fetched. This is how I came to have a gorgeous young girl convincingly feign attention to me who looked the spitting image of Nell from decades ago, questioning the chances of coincidence.

I feel that compared to most men, I’m probably hyper-sexual, but that is probably like saying you’re a frat boy who has a serious drinking problem or a reality television star who is a serious douchebag. But I do have sex and women on my mind far too much. I’m thankful that it’s not just repeating in my mind like an emergency beacon or mantra, “tits – ass – vagina”, because I’d go nuts. However it seems to manifest in more bizarre ways. Like having the honest belief that you can find a “porn” version of almost any woman. I guess mathematically, the genetic variation favors the likelihood of there being similarities, and with such a high population, the odds don’t seem so unlikely. Yes, Teagan Presley did really look like Brittany Spears – at least, before she got too much plastic surgery like most adult actresses, and was able to capitalize on that likeness, but what are the chances a stripper is going to look like my boss from half a lifetime ago? According to me, very high. You could compare their pictures and think they were the same person at different times, or but them side by side and swear it was a mother daughter. It was crazy. Shit, I’m drunk.

In my periphery, there were close to a dozen other objects wandering around the suite, which looked like it could fit my place in the walk-in closet. Ian was holding court in a far corner of the suite, arm around a pair of girls and a third boxing him in. Mason and Jeff were in the other end of the massive room, entertaining twins. Jim Hebert, who turned out to be a marketing veep for the convention organizers, gave me more information about himself by observing him in the corner then we spent within arm’s reach earlier. He had a fetish for Asian women, drank rosé, and had half the bladder capacity of the tiny Korean girl who he was chatting with. There were a handful of other guys who seemed to have glommed onto our group, and I wasn’t sure if they were conventioneers or just strip joint attendees. A tiny French man was wearing a chef’s coat and shaving various cheeses over a platter and tending to a propane burner on his cart that a petite filet was being pan-seared in.

Not Nell was telling me how she was in Mallorca last week on the yacht of a Yemeni sheik, and I didn’t bat an eye, as the real one could have done the same. I was consciously aware of our conversation but was not really involved in it, even though most other guys would follow up and ask how her cousin came to know Prince Alphabet and got her and her similarly hot, young girlfriends to spend a few days partying. I was concentrating on not unleashing pent up sexual tension on the doppelganger because I was sure that the next day or at some point later I would grab Nell’s breast or pat her ass in a horrific display of muscle memory. I was also torturing myself with the chaste notion of acting honorable for Carla’s sake, which existed as true and lopsided in my mind as the desire for my boss. I hadn’t made my mind up completely, but I took the strongest step so far in the direction of finding myself a woman who was actually available, or at least to indulge carnal pleasures without worrying about non-relationships they might effect.

The sky outside was changing from indigo to navy, and soon the shade would slip into a bluish grey as the sun prepared to make its ascent. I slowly wound up alone in the sunken entertainment area in the center of the suite, surveying the empty champagne bottles and drained tumblers. Isabella, the real name of the young Nell clone who was passed out on the couch beside me, snored slightly. I was sobering up though it was only because there was nothing left to drink. I should have left as the group thinned, but I observed as I usually do, watching and evaluating the scene as it unfolded. It didn’t leave me with any different insights – businessmen still go to absurd lengths to have fun when traveling since they can’t get away with that close to home, women who keep your company for money care less what you demand of them the more you pay, and that having a fuckload of money can buy happiness if it is a penthouse suite hosting an after-hours party.

---

Mason had a car on hand at the hotel, so it was about ten minutes of sleep I had rather than an hour long walk back past the circle of hotels that dotted the path around the convention center to get back to my room. There were a handful of people milling about, the early risers who you hated just on principle. They went about their morning routines and safely stayed out of mine, seeing the disheveled look in my eyes that matched the state of my clothes. The room had a mini coffee maker, so I loaded it up and set the timer. I scratched out another half hour of sleep in the bathtub soaking thigh-deep hot water, which would have been slightly dangerous if the tub was actually large enough to straighten my legs in. I threw on a khaki pair of pants and a powder blue v-neck tee shirt. It was a little casual, but I was not going to have to spend much time at the booth today, so I aimed for comfort. Besides, I’d seen what some of the others around were wearing, and I could have been much worse off.

I walked into a conference room that had been set up with assorted pastries and breakfast food for the staff of Talking Heads. I received some odd looks, but more for the two cup glass coffee pot from my room that I was drinking out of than for being in restricted territory. I nodded and smirked whenever eye contact was made, but kept to myself as I filled up my deluxe cup with their coffee. There was a plate of muffins that I stood over and had to sniff out banana nut, but I found my bounty and softened the sticky bits of the well done top that I chewed with sips of black coffee.

Tawny passed by the entrance and had a double take before retreating and coming back inside. She pensively checked the card on the outside of the room, peered inside to look at me and then the rest of the inhabitants, before deciding to join me.

“Good morning,” she said in a far too upbeat manner.

I smiled and raised my uber-cup in toast, “I salute thee.”

Tawny giggled like a schoolgirl, which she looked like. She reminded me of those child pageant contestants, looking too dolled up for her age, but without the sultry style of a woman. Her eye shadow was a glittery blue and her lip gloss was a bubblegum pink, which furthered the kiddie pageant look, and once again, she dressed in a mix of workout gear and lay about clothes. The physical toll from gymnastics and the forced development of her body at such a young age gave Tawny her tiny form, but I think that lack of a normal childhood also stunted her maturity. By the time she looked old enough to be taken for a woman would probably be when she grows into one.

“Are you staying in here or coming out to the booth?”

“Do I have a choice?”

She giggled again. I bet she had a sunrise prayer circle with the speakers from the Congregation Mount bureau, ate a cantaloupe with lowfat granola, and did calisthenics in the time it took me to gather the will to live and come downstairs this morning.

“No silly, we have to be the first ones there today!”

“Let me top this off and we can go,” I reasoned with her.

We headed out onto the concourse as more and more badge wearing attendees made their way in every direction. I was thinking of going to sleep after this morning block of standing and smiling, rather than checking out the lectures and workshops as Nell had intended for me. I should have swiped a pinch of that coke, just to keep me sharp for the next hour or two, but I wasn’t back in my early network days, and I was a drinker, not a druggie.

“Congratulations,” Tawny said, giving me a nudge on the arm.

“For what,” I asked.

“I heard Ms. Tanner got a big fish and you’re going to be the one doing the first engagement with them.”

“Really, you heard that? She tell you?”

“No,” she confided, “but I overheard her talking on the phone with Sunday about it. You must be excited!” I wish I could have summoned her enthusiasm over it, and not just because I was running on fumes.

“I should be, right?”

“Yes,” she said with an aw-shucks, wide eyed glee like her pumpkin was getting entered in the county fair.

“Maybe you’re right…I just have my…concerns.”

“Well, it is a big deal.”

“Yeah, but I have a little history with the client, so it’s complicated to say the least.”

“Uh-oh. Is it an ex-girlfriend?”

“Worse. Ex-employer.”

“Oooh, that sounds juicy!” She didn’t quite grasp the severity.

“If I told you the whole thing, perhaps it is kinda juicy, but it is like an ex-girlfriend in a way. The way you’re hoping you went your way and they went theirs.”

Tawny made a frowny face. “That’s no good.”

“No, and I wasn’t too keen to get back together with them.”

“As long as you don’t go all Billy Ransom on them.”

“Who is Billy Ransom?”

“He’s like a legend in the speaker circuit.” She was hesitant about him…there was something else.

“What’d he do? Most consecutive hours talking or something?”

“Not quite. He was a former tobacco exec. One of those guys that was all for their product. Smoked all the time, stood behind it.”

“Sounds typical,” I said. “Where’s the spectacular part?”

“He quit the business because of something that went on with the top brass. Left it all behind and decided to hit the talk circuit. He found out was terminal with cancer and ended up getting booked at his old employer.”

“Must have put them in their place,” I chucked.

“Opened up a manila envelope during his address. Shot six of his former co-workers and then killed himself.”

“I see…not so good for business.”

“No,” Tawny said, looking sad.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I have terrible aim.”

Season 2 Chapter 19

“My newest team member has an instant rapport with my newest client. I don’t believe in luck, Sheldon, but I may have to reconsider.”

Nell seemed quite pleased with herself. Normally I would enjoy defecating all over another’s parade. Not this time. Not with Nell. Not over a perfectly cooked steak. But bad news for me was like diarrhea. It had to get out.

“Well, Nell, luck moves in both directions. If you knew my complete history with the Burnett Media crew, you’d understand that you may have actually created a dilemma. When it comes to Burnett Media, I’m actually more of a liability to you than an asset.”

In my brief time away from CNC, Burnett Media had predictably swooped in to acquire the plucky upstart cable channel in a stock trade. Jeff got exactly what he wanted. He was now on the fast track to becoming Burnett Media royalty, bringing his brother-in-law along for the ride. Mason Burnett inevitably had made the move from the bush league pyramid scheme that was Ephimria to Papa Burnett’s multi-national mega-corporation. I had mentioned to Nell, shortly after meeting her for the first time, a little bit about my acrimonious departure from CNC. Burnett Media’s recent acquisition was a minor blip in world news. I could see how it could slip past her radar. I filled her in, reiterated my CNC departure saga, and marveled at the irony of Burnett’s Talking Heads delegation. Nell’s reaction caught me off guard.

After a heartfelt laugh, she said as she pushed her papaya salad around her plate, “I think we’re both very lucky.”

“Bad lucky? I didn’t sense any sarcasm there.”

“You have an excellent opportunity to make peace with your former colleagues.”

“I’ll have to show you the agreement I signed when I left CNC. It’s not one of those sappy goodbye and good luck cards you get at your going away party. Hell, they didn’t even throw me a going away party.”

“Sheldon, I tend to steer clear of coarse language, but quite some time ago I once told a former rival that she could take her arrogant smile and put it in the warm, dark, disease-infested place between her legs… not so eloquently. I then proceeded to poach a majority of her clientele. Now she is probably one of my closest friends—a BFF as you would say.”

“Wow. Who extended the olive branch first in that little exchange?”

“I don’t quite remember. It was a very mutual reconciliation. Our paths crossed many years after the outburst, and there was no room in the world for the old animosity to exist.”

“There is plenty of room in my world. I’m pretty much against most of what Burnett Media stands for. We’re not going to see eye to eye on anything, and getting Burnett Media to change direction would be like trying to steer the Titanic.”

“You’re no iceberg, Sheldon. Sometimes we can promote change more easily from inside an organization. This negative energy towards Burnett Media needs to stop. Millions of dollars are at stake.”

“I don’t know. Can’t I just stick to lecturing the downtrodden and underprivileged? I’m really hitting my stride in that arena.”

“We would all love to help those who need it the most. There is just no money in it. I can’t have one of my team members running around involved in all the pro bono work, subsidized by the dollars the rest of my team is earning. I don’t have much use for you if you can’t operate in the corporate world. This is reality, Sheldon. I can reach thousands more downtrodden and underprivileged people by whispering into the ear of one millionaire. You are a celebrity, Sheldon, because people want to hear what you have to say. Someone needs to pay for your wisdom. Eventually, you could be charging hundreds, maybe thousands, of dollars for one seat in a room full of many seats for people that want to hear you speak.”

“And then we start putting out Sheldon DVD’s and CD’s and books and t-shirts. I get it. Little kids will find little plastic Sheldon’s in their Happy Meals.”

“Don’t dismiss it. Better you than someone else. You know your message, your worldview, has value.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to rush to cheapen and dilute that message. The monetary rewards might be awesome, but there is this little thing called integrity that ranks pretty high with me and many other like-minded folks.”

“I would never ask you to compromise your precious integrity, Sheldon. Just look at this Burnett Media deal as a chance to make the world a better place. The fact that it earns us a great deal of money is secondary.”

“Just remember, Nell, non-delusional honesty is my M.O. Think about that before you put me up in front of the wolves.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

I wasn’t sure if the excuses Gorin and Tawny provided for not making it to dinner were manufactured by them or by Nell. It was starting to look like Nell was keen to focus on the new Burnett Media deal. Damn the torpedoes. Nell wanted to ram me right into the bow of one of the largest media corporations in the world.

Surprisingly we did squeeze in some personal talk throughout the course of the meal. I learned that Michael Haneke was Nell’s favorite director. I didn’t think the woman had time to watch movies. It would have been a great conversation starter had I actually seen any of Haneke’s films. Instead, I listened while Nell told me how badass a director he is. I made a little note to myself as I bid Nell good night to see if any Haneke films were in the pay-per-view listings back in my hotel room. I had a feeling though that I would be trolling the depths of pay-per-view porn once again.

I was starting to come around to Nell’s idea of mending old relationships. I hadn’t spoken with Jeff in a long time, and I truly missed the S.O.B. I grabbed my mobile phone out of my pocket to give him a quick call. As I was about to press the call button, my phone started vibrating and blinking. Jeff’s name and face beamed at me from the tiny screen. Were they running some sort of illegal mind tap over there? This was weirding me out. I was about to call the man, and now I was having trouble picking up his call. I finally convinced my thumb to do its thing and brought the phone up to my ear.

“Well, hello, Jeff. I was just about to call you.”

“Somehow I believe you, Shel. How’s it going?”

“Still trying to figure that out. It was fantastic to see you and the gang earlier today. Such a pleasant surprise.”

“We all got a big kick out of it too. Nell Tanner is a well-respected name. What’s she doing hanging out with a joker like you?”

“Earning her street cred. How’s life with Burnett Media?”

“Lucky for me they had a vacancy—head of Burnett Cable Entertainment. I’m watching over almost a dozen channels now.”

“Is watching over the same as watching? You’re going to rot your brain if it is.”

“I’ll admit some of our properties need a little polishing, but it’s a great opportunity—a great challenge.”

“You deserve it, pal. How’s Another Fifteen coming along without me?”

“Well, we had a little false start there with Stuart and sputtered along. Then Cami talked to me about taking over the show completely a little while ago. Something just clicked with her. You should really check it out. She’s made it her own. It’s not the same show anymore, but it’s good. When I got bumped up to head of all cable TV, I offered her my old job, but she wants to stick with Another Fifteen.”

“I’m actually glad to hear it.”

“Hey, we’re going over to the Slit for a little T&A. You should come by so we can all get our heads around this idea of you working for the Tanner Agency and how this is going to play out. Do you know how to get there?”

“I’m guessing it’s not going to show up on my map search. Text me the address.”

“All right. You’re coming. We’ll be there in an hour. See you then.”

---

Simulated sex. I was going to try my damnedest to avoid it. A rather dim-witted old high school friend of mine spent a couple years’ salary on simulated sex. He had just broken up with his longtime girlfriend and was in a very fragile emotional state. He was above hookers, but not above hitting the local nudey bar. There was dancer there he took a liking to. She promised him they would be together some day when the time was right. It took him two years to figure out the time would never be right. She just strung him along to keep him coming back for more as he tried to buy her love.

As a wee lad, I could only imagine what went on at a strip club. I pictured a stage with a bunch of comfortable seats. A woman would step onto the stage fully clothed. Then she would slowly take off each piece of apparel one after the other while trombone players slid their slides through blue notes and the men in the audience diddled themselves. A long time ago I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it was done. Now the women come on stage completely naked and pretty much fuck whatever object is on the stage. And the stage barely takes up any real estate in the club. Most of the property is dedicated to darkened corridors where pre-whores dry hump the paying customers.

The Slit was actually a notch above most establishments. It was more of speakeasy and operated on the down low. It was quite popular with senators, congressmen, and the clergy. And of course for all the convention-goers in Orlando who were in the know, the Slit was the place to go.

When I walked in, somehow the receptionist recognized me immediately and escorted me to a private executive room where I found Jeff, Mason, Ian, and one other fellow who I did not recognize. It was almost clichéd to see them sipping brandy, smoking cigars, and playing bridge. What made it atypical was that amongst the gentlemen, some of the finest pairs of tits south of the Mason-Dixon Line were waiting on them hand and foot.

“They’ll do anything you want them to, Shel,” smiled Jeff.

“Honey, can you bring my friend here a tall G and T?” Jeff smacked her ass as she left to get my drink.

“Don’t you call your wife, Honey, Jeff?”

“Oh, Honey is her name. Or at least that’s what she told me her name is.”

“I’m sure that’s what her mom named her,” cackled Mason.

“I bet you’re excited to see me, eh, Mason?” I asked the son of Gaston Burnett.

“I’ve always liked you, Shel.”

“But I’ve always thought you were a douche bag. How am I going to get past that?”

Ian almost sprayed his brandy out through his nostrils.

Mason replied, “It’s true. I was raised a douche bag. I can’t deny it. It’s all I know how to be. I need your help, Sheldon. Show me how to not be such a douche bag.”

“I don’t know if it’s something you can fix, but admitting what you are is definitely a step in the right direction. There may be hope for you.”

Ian and the girl attached to him made their way over to me. Ian put his arm around me for a solid guy hug.

“It’s good to see you, Shel. It’s been too long. Can I have Darling here do anything for you?”

Darling was darling.

I said to Darling, “Darling, I try to make it a point these days to be a girl’s number one fuck. I doubt I would be able to fill that spot for you with all the competition I face from your past fucks.”

“Come on, Shel, don’t be dick. I know it’s been a while for you.”

“Actually, it hasn’t. But even it had…”

Jeff took control. “The women are distracting us. Ladies, please leave for a little while the big boys talk.”

After I got my drink, and the girls started clearing out I reminded them, “You don’t have to be objects. You don’t.”

Jeff got down to business.

“So, Shel, this is quite a coincidence. We can’t shake you. You can’t shake us.”

“Un-fucking-believable is what it is.”

“Shel, meet Jim Hebert. Jim is an old friend of mine and Mason as well. He’s in town too for Talking Heads.”

I shook Jim’s hand.

Jeff went on, “My first thought was, ‘We gotta back out of this deal.’ I mean you’re contractually persona non grata. The thing is, we all like you. And if one of the recipients of your drunken tirade hadn’t been Gaston Burnett, most likely, you’d still be at CNC doing what you love doing.”

“So it pretty much boils down to Gaston Burnett.”

“Gaston is the fucking dark prince. You don’t fuck with Gaston. Mason will even tell you. The man has his hands on all the strings. It’s not total conspiracy theory bullshit, but let’s just say that Gaston Burnett is one of the most powerful men in the world.”

“Ephimria?”

Mason explained, “My dad dreamed it up one day. He said, ‘Mason, make it happen.’”

Jeff continued, “I think we’re okay with this. Our deal is with Nell Tanner. So you, Shel, happen to work for Nell—a very minor little itty bitty fact.”

“Why risk it? You guys obviously fear this man a great deal. If he finds out I’m involved in some way, aren’t you all a little fucked?”

“Well, he’s old. We’re thinking your little excommunication might have been a tiny footnote to his day… long forgotten.”

“Maybe I’ll get it someday. Maybe I’ll understand I’m some pawn in a game that’s way above my head. You guys do what you want to do. If I happen to be speaking to a crowd of Burnett people and Gaston comes walking in, I’m not going to change it up one bit. It’s not going to faze me. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he could say.”

All four men were smiling.