by John Hunt
She, in turn, could not prevent herself from teasing him with her smile. “I would love a piña colada. Dark rum please; Mount Gay, if you have it.”
“Certainly, ma’am. I’ll have it here in a jiffy.” She noticed that he was now standing more erect and that he was thrusting his chest out, self-consciously. He walked quickly toward the bar.
Sophia turned around in her seat and looked over at the band. They played a melodic and sensitive love song. No one conducted them, but they all kept perfect timing: percussion, trumpets, trombones, saxophones, and a piano. With all that brass, if the room had not been so large, the horns’ volume would have blocked the customers’ attempts to talk.
Distracted by the band, Sophia did not notice when someone sat down at her table. When she turned to see if her waiter was bringing her drink, she was surprised to find a woman smiling at her from the other chair.
“Hello, mind if I join you?” asked the woman.
She was a brunette, with medium-length hair that surrounded a pretty face. She wore a black outfit made of a lightweight material, with short sleeves and a deep-cut neckline revealing well-tanned and smooth skin. She gave the impression of confidence and poise, as if she were a duchess, born to wealth. Sophia hoped she was not trying to pick her up. She had much experience brushing off men, but no experience brushing off women. The prospect discomfited her. Perhaps it was because she could empathize more with women. She did not want to bruise egos.
“Certainly. That would be nice. I am Sophia.” Across the table, she offered her hand, which her companion readily reached out and clasped strongly.
The woman smiled again. “I have to admit that I already know that. It is why I came over. My name is Elisa.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you. Might I inquire how you know who I am?”
“You are Petur Bjarnasson’s sister. I have read quite a bit about him. I am, unbeknownst to your brother, one of the early investors in his Island Project.”
“Oh?” replied Sophia, inviting more details.
Elisa stopped smiling, and said, “I insisted that I remain anonymous, for reasons that I cannot disclose to you. He was not enthusiastic about that, but a large amount of money convinced him. We have never even met.”
She had an accent that Sophia could not place; something European, she thought. Or perhaps South African?
“He mentioned an anonymous investor. Why are you coming out now?”
Elisa smiled again. “Actually, I am not coming out, except to you. I’m here as a resort guest on vacation. It seemed an appropriate place to visit. By email, I have stayed informed throughout the construction phase of this marvelous place. I wanted to see it in person.”
The young waiter stood by their table with Sophia’s piña colada on a tray. He placed it before her. “Shall I start a tab for you ma’am?” he asked.
Sophia nodded her head, but Elisa waved her hand and told the boy, “Put it on my room please. It’s Bungalow 16. Okay?”
“Certainly ma’am,” he said to her, again trying without success to avoid being caught as he peered at Sophia and Elisa’s cleavage before he stepped away.
“I just had one a few moments ago.” Elisa smiled and motioned with her hands, tipping an imaginary glass to her lips to indicate that Sophia should drink.
Sophia nodded and took a sip of the cool milky concoction. She said again, “I don’t understand why you are coming out now.”
“Ah, yes. Well, as I said, I am not really — just to you. I still don’t want Petur, or anyone else, to know. But on the other hand, I need your help.”
“I’ll be happy to help, if I can,” Sophia replied hesitantly.
“I hope you can. You see, as with the other investors, I share your brother’s concern about and vision of the future. And I, too, want to participate, but not just as a financier. I want to do some work that helps out. I would like to stay here on the Island.”
“I am sure that can be arranged. Do you want me to talk to Petur?”
“No. Well, at least not without more information. You see, I would like to be hired for my skills, not my money. But that is not very likely. I am a sociologist by training — I have a Ph.D. — but my social standing has stood in the way of my professional development. I have published no papers in over eight years. But my knowledge is sound, and if I may say so, I believe I am a visionary social thinker.” She paused, looked down for a moment at her lap, and then continued. “Unfortunately, having been out of academia for so long, my credentials are unlikely to be enough to get me hired as a bellhop. But Petur needs to have someone working on the sociological aspects of this huge endeavor, and he doesn’t have anybody to do that now — at least not formally. This place is starting to feel like a utopia, and utopias always fail.”
Sophia nodded. Jeff had said the same thing. Petur had likewise been concerned about that issue years ago, but he seemed to have ignored it since.
Elisa continued, “Petur knows this, but is relying too much on his own understanding of the sociology. This undertaking is too major to do without input from people who have studied the history of utopian efforts.”
Sophia looked over her drink at Elisa. “How do you think I can help?”
“I would appreciate it if you could perhaps hire me to work with you. I could function as your girl Friday for a time — settle in here and then gradually transition to work on sociological issues. I would like to have a chance to practice my calling in a project I greatly support. But Petur wouldn’t hire me on credentials alone. So I am pulling strings in the one way I can without sacrificing my anonymity. It is a difficult situation. I had to tell someone who could help — but only one person. I chose you. In turn, so you won’t lose money for having an extra person on your payroll, I would provide a sizeable investment in your fusion project.
Sophia considered for a moment, and then said, “How do I know you are really the anonymous investor you say you are?”
Elisa was taken aback. “Well, I just am.” She was quiet for a minute. “I do have a letter from him, forwarded by my bank, back in my bungalow. It’s a recent financial statement, with some personal comments added. I’ll go get it.” And she was off.
Sophia hadn’t meant to ask for proof, but the woman had gone off so fast that she hadn’t had time to stop her. She sipped her drink and listened to the band. The place gradually got more crowded. People settled in for the informal supper and snacks that were available from the bar’s menu. The bar stools were still filled, with one man persistently staring at her. She turned her eyes away rapidly, and tried to put on her most uninterested face. But it was to no avail. He was standing next to her within a moment.
Sophia eyed him. He was not tall, but then he was not small. He was swarthy and unattractive, with crooked teeth within a crooked smile below a crooked nose. That nose was large as well. The eyes were beady. And he smelled as if he might have bathed last week. He might be Tunisian, or Moroccan, somewhere from North Africa, she thought. He might have been a welcome part of the atmosphere in this bar, but he was certainly not welcome at this table.
With faulty English, he said, “Good evening, pretty woman. I would like to join you for a while. Okay?” And he sat down in Elisa’s chair before Sophia could wave him off.
He waved to a passing waiter and requested a rum Collins. Obviously, he was not a practicing Muslim. He stared at her lasciviously. He was pretty drunk for so early in the evening.
“I’m sorry, but that chair is taken. My friend will be back momentarily.” Sophia tried to repel him.
He smiled his crooked smile. “It is okay. You are pretty. Someone should tell you that. I like you.” He laughed, and kicked at her foot under the table as he stared intently at her breasts.
“Look, why don’t you go sober up, okay? I’m not interested. There are dozens of other girls here who would love to have you by their side. I am simply unavailable. Don’t take it personally.” This was Sophia’s standard anti-pick-up line, and it usually
was successful, protecting the pursuer’s ego. This time, her tried-and-true response did nothing at all. The man slid his chair around the table toward her. Within a moment, he was right next to her, and their legs were touching.
She could smell his breath as he said, “We could have great fun together tonight. I ask for very little. I will give you much. Come on, now. Let’s go play.”
His hand was on her leg — quite high on her thigh, actually. Sophia was not weak, but her strength was no match for this man’s. She attempted to push his hand away, without success. Then she tried to stand, but the hand on her thigh held her firmly in place. Sophia looked around anxiously to see if anyone was paying attention — someone she could call to for help without making a scene. This kind of thing was not supposed to happen on Paradise.
Suddenly, her leg was free. The man lay belly down on the floor. Sophia had heard no noise at all, nor had she even seen the motion. Nor had anyone else, apparently, for nobody was looking toward them. Elisa stood above the foul man, with the sharp, tall heel of her shoe inserted in his right ear. His face betrayed terror and pain. Slowly, she pulled her foot upward, releasing the man. He scurried away, looking guiltily around him as he retreated from the building.
Sophia shook her head in awe. “Just how did you do that?”
Elisa rubbed her hands together and smiled sheepishly. “He was drunk. I just helped him fall over.”
“Well, whatever you did, thanks. I was starting to get pretty uncomfortable.”
Elisa had an envelope tucked through her thin belt by her left hip. As she sat down, she pulled it out and gave it to Sophia. It had the very familiar Island Project logo on the flap. And it was addressed to a bank in the Grand Caymans.
Sophia removed the papers. Scanning the sheets, she saw that they consisted of a personal letter outlining the fairly recent activities on Paradise. When the letter had been written, they were still expecting the OTEC’s on-time arrival. The last page had Petur’s very recognizable signature.
“Well, looks genuine enough. I still don’t see why you can’t just tell Petur, though. I am sure he would be discreet.”
Elisa shook her head slowly. “I can’t tell him at this time. It would not help his cause to know, believe me. Unfortunately, I also cannot tell you why this is. But, you can see my sincerity in helping out the Project or else I would not have already invested so much money here. Will you help me?”
Sophia took a deep breath. “I suppose I can try, although I’m not sure what to say to him if it comes up. He will wonder why I need a girl Friday.”
“Perhaps you could just say that you met me here at the resort, and you were impressed enough by me to want to hire me as your administrative assistant based on a gut instinct that I would add value to the Island Project as a whole. Petur has a lot of trust in gut instincts, so I bet that would work.”
After a moment of consideration, Sophia nodded. “You’re right. He won’t question me. But, on the other hand, we do extensive background checks on people before we hire them, and there is an interview designed to assure that people are committed and understand the way this place works. You will have to get through that on your own.”
“Yes, I will. I know. I think that will work out well. I don’t have to fake anything in regards to commitment. I can use my real name too, just covering up my assets a bit.”
Sophia asked, “Will you truly want to work as my administrative assistant? That will include menial tasks, no doubt.”
Elisa nodded, “I know. I need to work. I’ve been vacationing long enough. I will work hard for you. In my free time, I will analyze some sociological issues that I think are important, and perhaps I will manage to bring them to Petur’s attention.” She looked thoughtful. “I think this will work. It is important to me. Will you do it?” She paused. “I don’t need an answer right now. I plan on being here for a week.”
Sophia also was pensive. “I can tell you right now that I have only one reason to hesitate, which is that I would be keeping a secret from my brother — it really amounts to putting one over on him. He deserves better. But I can see the other perspective too. And you certainly deserve something for your generosity. Being my worker bee seems an appropriate award for a multimillion-dollar donation!”
Elisa laughed with her new boss.
They decided to have dinner together and elected to have a simple meal at the Blue Parrot. There were plenty of light entrees from which to choose. Over a dinner of greens and lamb, they talked about everything. Sophia learned that Elisa was unmarried and had never been significantly attached. Her wealth was family money, which apparently was extensive. She had lived mostly in Europe, primarily in Belgium and the Netherlands. And she spoke several languages fluently. Her sociology training was at the University in Warsaw, Poland, which she had chosen because the constant changes occurring in that country during her years in school were great fodder for research.
A last attempt to ascertain Elisa’s reasons for staying anonymous foundered. Elisa politely stated that she simply could not say more. Sophia was left with the impression that the requirement for secrecy had something to do with the family from whom the wealth flowed. She would not ask again. But perhaps somehow she would find out. Petur’s friend Isaac seemed always to know everything about everyone. Without revealing Elisa’s secret, she would ensure that Isaac was involved in a thoroughly detailed personally conducted background investigation of this woman.
After an ice-cream dessert, the women bid each other good night, and went their separate ways. Sophia did not have the sort of evening that she anticipated, but perhaps this one was more interesting. She grew to like Elisa in that short time. She was bright and witty and thoughtful. Secretive, for sure, but that perhaps made her even more interesting. She would have to introduce Petur to her soon. With her deep brown hair and lovely eyes, Elisa was a beautiful woman, and just Petur’s type.
22. Mexican Threat
PETUR SAT UP in his bed. Sweat poured down his face, and his hair was drenched. That dream again. God, he was sick of that dream.
He looked over at his clock. It was 0330. He needed to get some more sleep, for today was going to be a big day. Today he would fly out to the new OTEC, for which they had all waited for four months, and stay on board the tug until the giant machine was nestled snugly in its new home tomorrow.
It had not sunk, at least not yet. Petur reached behind him and knocked on the wooden headboard of his bed.
After five minutes of waiting for his heart to slow back down, and another fifteen trying to fall asleep, Petur conceded that it was a lost cause. Clambering out of bed, he trudged through the darkness toward the bathroom. He flipped the light switch.
“Damn!” The brightness of the light pained him. He reached up and guarded his eyes with his hand. Petur remembered once again the value of those gentle red overhead lights that were occasionally found in the bathrooms of hotel rooms. He wanted one — now.
Barely able to see through the little slits between his fingers, and only opening one eye at a time, Petur found the controls for the shower and turned it on. He then waited patiently for the hot water to climb through the pipes. It came fast enough, and in the meantime, Petur’s eyes became accustomed to the bright light. A warm shower rinsed the residual tiredness from his body, and by 0400, he was ready to start the day.
The problem was, nobody else was ready. The rest of the people on the island were asleep, with only a very few exceptions. Petur settled back in his bed, propped up on several pillows, and pulled open his book. He liked ebooks. Someday this would be the way reading was done in space. Mass came at a premium in space, whereas energy would be dirt cheap. And much of humanity would have to get to space someday soon. Convenience, portability, and flexibility earned the ebook its place as one of the revolutionary consumer products of the century.
He downloaded a report and began to read. He had promised his sister to read it by this morning. It was a treatise written by his sister�
�s assistant on the effects of recycling of solid waste on the psychology of small communities. He was not terribly eager to read it — it was not especially glamorous — but he needed to do it nonetheless. He hoped that it would be well-thought-out and relatively concise — neither of which he could be sure to expect from a sociologist. If nothing else, it might put him back to sleep.
Although sleep continued to elude him, Petur did get a good read; he was impressed with the logic of Elisa’s report and recommendations. He could tell that the author was intelligent and visionary. Elisa had been working with Sophia for several months, so it was strange that he had yet to meet her. But he expected to meet her this morning for breakfast.
Time passed, and soon dawn came, suddenly, as it always does in the tropics. Although sleep-deprived, he had unbridled excitement that he would be flying out to the OTEC today. This was something for which he had planned his whole life, a goal in and of itself. When it started functioning, it would power all energy-hungry research projects of the island, and still have ample reserves for some other, hopefully unnecessary, functions.
He finished the last page of Elisa’s work, nodded his head, and clicked the power off. He stretched as he stood, and he felt a bit stiff. Nodding his head slightly again, Petur scowled as he realized that, though he was still young, age was beginning to take its toll on his muscles and joints. Then he pulled on a pair of khaki, knee-length shorts, and a thin green short-sleeved button-down shirt, and headed out for breakfast. He would eat at the Guest House today: eggs, bacon, and a couple of pancakes. Salivating as he visualized this morning’s meal, he reflected that the little things in life are the source of the greatest pleasures.
He walked from his home near Science Hall’s driveway up the road that led toward the airstrip. All the roads were paved now, and the company had fought and tamed and replaced the jungle with houses and short wooden fences. The jungle no longer obstructed the sun from reaching the ground in this residential area, and the soil, happy that its human tenants fertilized it generously, rewarded them with the most beautiful, soft, and green grass lawns Petur had ever seen. The lush grass grew without any need for extra watering, as the brief midday tropical shower daily provided just enough.