by J.P Jackson
*
After drinks, socializing and more drinks, a wobbly Taylor took an automated cab back to the Gladio, the world's only 8 star hotel, located in downtown L.A.
Taylor entered the lobby with a bottle of Macallan under his left arm and a battered hardback under his right. He signed a girl's autograph on his route to the elevator, sending her away with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the ass.
A lanky teenager in a suit too large for him stood at the elevator door panel. The glass elevator scaled the exterior of the Gladio, and when Taylor entered, the kid activated their ascent to the Penthouse. The kid opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, seeming to think better of it.
"How are you?” Taylor asked, taking the bottle and book from under his arm. “Want a swig?”
The kid continued to eye the carpet. “Forgive me sir, I'm not allowed to speak to guests.”
"Bollocks to that shite! What do you need? You saw me on Jungle Fever, right? Want a photo? An autograph?”
The boy shifted nervously. “I don't watch T.V., sir. It's all made up lies anyway.”
"We all lie,” Taylor said, chugging from the bottle. “At least theirs are halfway entertaining.”
The boy turned, feeling brave. "Dr. Taylor, I'm an undergraduate at UCLA. I've read all your books.”
Taylor pressed his head against the glass and snickered. “That's a nice change. I talk all day to media people who have never read a single page. They take snippets and sexy soundbites but it's all bullshit. No-one reads anymore.”
The kid sprang from his post to join Taylor at the window. “I think your work is the most important being done, bigger than the Manhattan Project. You can change the world, Dr. Taylor. I hope...to help you some day. Maybe.”
Taylor smiled, watching the twinkling night lights and late-shift workers calibrating a new advertisement 100 floors below. It featured a bare chested Taylor with the slogan: Making science sexy!
"If you don't mind me saying, Dr. Taylor, why do you waste your time with all that stuff? Your work is so much more important.”
"That's not my torso,” he muttered, ignoring the question. “No Scotsman has a gut like that.”
The boy nodded, and they remained silent for the remainder of the journey.
As the elevator reached the Penthouse, the doors parted and Taylor nudged the boy's arm. "Here,” he said, passing over a signed copy of his book. “Maybe you can do something better with the information than I have.”
The kid held the book close to his chest as Taylor left the elevator. After a brief walk under shimmering crystal and over gleaming marble, he reached his room and the door clicked open.
The lights were on and a fire roared in an ornate fireplace.
"I'm back!” he said, placing his scotch on the table. “You still here?”
Taylor cricked his neck and grinned at the sound of the shower squeaking off. Pulling off his tie and throwing his coat over the sofa, he poured two drinks as a towel-wrapped Melissa Godright emerged from the bathroom. She was a beautiful brunette half Taylor's age.
"I watched you,” she said, coming to take her drink. “You should have seen your face when Ron asked you about us!”
“Jungle Fever. That asshole show is all they want to talk about.”
"Hey,” she moaned, kissing his stubbly neck. “If it wasn't for that asshole show then you wouldn't have met me!”
"Yeah,” he grumbled, pouring himself another as Melissa moved to the bed.
"You're still wearing the ring,” she noted. “I thought you were going to talk to that bitch?”
"You don't know what you're talking about.”
"What?” Melissa said, turning her head.
Taylor kept his feelings to himself, but silence only irritated his young lover.
"I've made space in my apartment, just bring your bags over and you're moved in. When do we make this official?”
Taylor took another drink and watched as Melissa sauntered to the bed and threw off the towel, exposing her firm young body. Taylor grinned, downed the last of his drink, then turned off the lights.
Yellow Jack watched the final scenes play in fragments, just like Taylor's memory of them.
He witnessed Taylor take the call informing him of Penelope's disappearance. He saw alcohol, guilt and grief fuel Taylor's personal and academic disintegration.
Taylor's hopes of finding Penelope guided him down many false leads. Each failure was followed by despair, then alcohol to counter the despair.
Yellow Jack perused Taylor's memories, watching as Taylor tried to kill himself, his awakening in the hospital, his panicked search for his brother, his rescue of the orphans, and his jump through time.
The mental projection dispersed and Jack was back before the monolithic interface. The tendrils dislodged themselves from his head and ascended to the rafters.
Jack had seen everything he wanted to see. There was only one thing left to do.
— CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —