Altered Seasons_MONSOONRISE

by Paul Briggs

  “Nope. The state has the property and he has an IOU. Our lawyer is already on it, but the case is moving pretty slowly.”

  “Well, I can send you bigger and scarier lawyers, but that won’t help right away.” Sandy looked Isabel up and down. “You know what? I have a little one-time gig in mind for you, and the pay happens to be exactly seventy-five grand.”

  Isabel couldn’t think of anything to say. That would do it. That would clear her own debts, get Pop and the family out of that damn camp, and at least get them a rental property until he could get back on his boat and start bringing in money again.

  “Thank you,” she said. “If there’s ever anything I can—”

  Sandy lifted a hand in a stop gesture. “This is a job, I said. You are doing a thing that will benefit me, and I am giving you money for it. Okay? One more word out of you about paying me back and I’ll personally tie you up and sell you to a lesbian sex dungeon just so you don’t feel like a freeloader.”

  Isabel chuckled. “That… would be sort of a solution to my relationship problems.” That, of course, turned the conversation over to the subjects of Hunter and Laurie, which kept them busy until dinner.

  Before she even heard the delivery person enter Olivia’s little domain, Isabel noticed the smell. It was a delicious smell of spices and hot grease that pulled her up out of her chair. It was funny how hunger worked. You went through the whole day thinking about everything except food, no appetite at all, not even really seeing why you needed to eat anything today… and then the right smell hit your nose and your eyes opened wide and your mouth started to water and this beast woke up inside you, and went ARRRGH BLAARGH BRING ME BEEF AND BRING ME PORK AND BRING ME ALL MANNER OF MEAT. Maybe if you were a vegetarian it went ARRRGH BLAARGH BRING ME SALAD. Isabel didn’t know. All she knew was, she’d had a protein shake for breakfast, nothing for lunch and not a whole lot yesterday, and she was ready to do some serious feasting.

  Sandy took the tray and set it on the table between the chairs. It took up the table all by itself.

  “We’ve got beef, lamb, blackened chicken, marinated chicken, duck, fish, shrimp, and tofu,” said Sandy. “We’ve also got peanut sauce, cucumber yogurt dip, and some sriracha that’ll burn the roof off your mouth. God, I love these things. Let’s eat.”

  Feeling like a complete sponger, Isabel started with the duck. Oh god it’s got the skin on it and the skin is brown and crunchy all over but not burned anywhere and I think my mouth just had an orgasm… It was so good she had to put it aside so she could eat some beef and marinated chicken and come back to the duck when she was ready to slow down and savor it. The rest of the meal was a succession of exquisite experiences washed down with coconut water.

  Finally, they were both getting full. “I’ve got a fridge in the office,” said Sandy, “but we should finish the fish and shrimp. They won’t be so good tomorrow.” Isabel was a little surprised at how much was left. This hadn’t looked like such a massive amount of food at first glance. But if every satay stick contained four ounces of whatever, and there were eight groups of five sticks, that was ten pounds of rich food for two women, one of them quite small. No wonder they couldn’t finish it.

  The last of the satay eaten or put away, Isabel discreetly took a paper napkin and wiped the peanut sauce off her face. Sandy got up, walked over to the window, and stood there for a moment, just looking out. Her arms were folded behind her back.

  “To really appreciate this city,” she said, “you have to see it from the ninetieth-floor window.”

  “Good thing we’ve got one of those,” said Isabel, getting up.

  “Actually, the observation deck has a better view, but here we’ve got a little more privacy.”

  Isabel stood next to Sandy and looked out the window. The view really was spectacular, especially on a night when the snow was just starting and was creating haloes around all the different lights of the city and the sky had that purple-orange urban glow to it, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Sandy was about to say something like “tell me what you see” and she wouldn’t have anything insightful to respond with.

  “Try clasping your hands behind your back,” said Sandy.

  Isabel did so, straightening her back and letting the knuckles of her left hand rest on the slope of her butt.

  “There you go. Now we’re rocking the power look.”

  “Too bad nobody’s watching.”

  They just stood there for another moment. Isabel was about to sit back down again when Sandy said something completely out of the blue. “Ever think about… prepping?”

  Isabel had to think for a moment.

  “Prepping?” she said. “You mean those guys who stockpile food and ammo and stuff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, my family always kept some supplies and a generator on hand in case we lost power for a few days. Being prepared for two to three weeks without basic services… I don’t see anything wrong with that. Especially these days. In fact, I think you’d have to be a fool not to make a few plans.” Isabel hesitated. “Are you thinking about getting ready for a more… long-term crisis?” Considering how smart Sandy was and how much information she had access to, if she thought the world was headed for a major breakdown, that was enough to scare the hell out of Isabel.

  “I considered it,” said Sandy. “For about five minutes. Long enough to see the problems.

  “Suppose I buy a farm out in the country. While I’m learning how to farm, I build up a huge stockpile of canned goods, guns, ammo, medical supplies, whatever else I need to get by on my own.

  “Then civilization collapses, but I’m doing all right. By the time I run out of canned food, my farm will be producing its first crop. So I kick back and laugh… right up until the horde of armed and starving refugees shows up outside my place. What do I do then? Try to fight them all off by myself?”

  “Good question,” said Isabel, “but why would you want to do anything so small? I mean, right now you could use forty or fifty million dollars to buy a whole bunch of something that would come in handy in an emergency. You’d never miss the money, and if shit got real, you’d be richer than ever. You could buy much better defenses. Or you could pay off the starving refugees.”

  “Makes sense. What do you think I should buy?”

  Isabel shrugged. “Medicine? Gold?”

  “I invested a few thousand in gold a few years ago, back when I knew bad shit was going down with the climate but it wasn’t here yet. Sold it at a pretty good profit, too. But even when I had it, it wasn’t literally in my possession. What I had was a certificate saying someone else was holding onto the gold in my name.” Sandy chuckled. “Yeah… I can definitely see myself trekking across a lawless post-apocalyptic wasteland, fighting off attacks by the cast of Mad Max the whole way, reaching the front door of the vault, waving my little certificate in front of the security camera, and saying, ‘Hey, you in there! Gimme my gold or I’m calling the police!’”

  Isabel laughed. “Now that I think about it,” she said, “if law and order really did break down, the last place I’d want to be is sitting on top of a giant heap of gold. Scratch that off the list.”

  “Exactly,” said Sandy. “And no matter what you stockpile, you’re going to run into the same problem. Food… antibiotics… if it’s valuable to you, it’s valuable to others, and there’s nothing much to stop them from coming and taking it.”

  “Even if it’s guns and ammo?”

  “Especially guns and ammo. The thing about guns is, you can have a hundred of them, but the only one you can rely on is the one in your hands right at the moment. All the rest of them are just sitting around waiting to be stolen.”

  “What about drones?”

  “Drones need maintenance, which I don’t know how to do. I’d have to hire some guys to staff my own private repair shop and hope civilization rose again before their tools wore out.”

  “For that matter, you could hire guys with guns.”
>
  “Yeah, what I’d really need is an army of henchpersons. The trouble with henchpersons is, you’ve got to pay them. And what could I pay them with when money isn’t any good? Canned goods? Seed corn? Fertile… members of the opposite sex? What could I give them that they couldn’t just kill me and take?”

  “I guess you’d just have to make sure everybody was loyal to you first.” Even as Isabel said it, it sounded stupid.

  “Exactly,” said Sandy, smiling a little. “And how about that. In the absence of a working central government, the only thing worth hoarding, worth stockpiling… is loyalty. Bone-deep, irrational, inarguable, literally in-value-able loyalty. The one thing nobody can steal. And also the one thing I can’t buy and have never been that good at earning.

  “So at this point I realized the only good way to prepare for the apocalypse—the only way that really makes sense—is to not let it happen in the first place. To keep it all together. To sustain civilization as a going concern. And I think a lot of the people who prep—the smarter ones, anyway—they realize this. Trouble is, they personally can’t do anything about it. They don’t know how to save the world, and even if they did they wouldn’t have the resources.”

  Isabel looked at Sandy with newfound awe.

  “But you do,” she said softly. She’d known in an intellectual way how rich Sandy was, but she hadn’t really understood it until now. “Billionaire” was just a word. “Multibillionaire” was a slightly longer word. The power Sandy had, and the apparent scope of her ambition… it was staggering. Her old babysitter was literally trying to save the world. It was too much to take in all at once.

  “Well, up to a point,” said Sandy. “But I have to really plan ahead. I mean yes, I have an enormous amount of money, but… the U.S. government has passed economic stimulus packages larger than my entire net worth. If I want to accomplish more than they did, I have to be smarter than the government. The whole government, not just the stupid parts that get in the news.” She turned to Isabel. “And I can’t do it alone.”

  “Um… you think I can help?”

  “I think lots of people can help, and you’re one of them,” said Sandy.

  “Well, I’d love to help, but what can I do?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’ve followed your career and it seems like you can do whatever you set your mind to. And I can trust you. I know you’re not just after my money. You have no idea how special that makes you.”

  “Excuse me. Didn’t I come here to basically hit you up for money?”

  “Only out of desperation. Listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past couple years, it’s which of my old friends are motivated by greed and which ones are not. You’re on the good list.”

  “Sounds like you’re considering me for a job.”

  “I did mention that little gig. Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?”

  “No,” said Isabel, “but my car’s in a parking garage in Wilmington. If you want me to stay the next few days, I’ll have to pay the garage.” She took out her armphone. “And this is one expense I can handle myself.”

  * * *

  It was one of those towering, ultra-mega-upscale apartment buildings that overlooked Central Park. In addition to the two bodyguards inside Sandy’s self-driving McLaren, there were several formidable-looking guards outside the building.

  “This is Isabel Bradshaw,” she said. “She’s a friend. Remember her face. She has access.” The guards looked at her as if to say are you sure? If you need friends, we can get you some much classier ones.

  “Yes, I mean it,” Sandy said. Then she planted a hand between Isabel’s shoulders and gently escorted her in. The lobby was all white marble and polished ebony or some other wood that was about the same color. There was a guestbook Isabel had to sign.

  Sandy’s suite was on the forty-second floor. The living room, if that was what it was, looked to have as much space in it as the house where Isabel had grown up, and most of it was hardly being used. It was dominated by a glass wall that looked out onto the park, and a water feature was burbling away in the middle of the room.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” said Sandy. Isabel took a deep breath and stepped inside. She hung her hat and coat on a twisted-looking wrought-iron coatrack, heard a little splutter of suppressed laughter behind her and turned. Sandy was smiling.

  “What?”

  “Anton Felski,” said Sandy. “One of the more famous artists working in New York City today. Last year he made an abstract metal sculpture called Loneliness Number 4. He said it represented ‘the suffering of the human soul, torn between the need for privacy and the need for connectedness in an age which deprives us of both.’”

  Isabel stood there silently, trying to figure out why Sandy was telling her all this.

  “I was just picturing the look on his face if he saw you using it as a coatrack.”

  At this point, Isabel noticed the rows of wooden coat pegs on either side of the door. She looked back over her shoulder. Sure enough, that wrought-iron thing didn’t exactly look like a normal coatrack. Some of the arms were twisted back as if covering a face, while others were reaching out in a way that did sort of suggest desperation. Her face flushed and hot with embarrassment, Isabel turned to take her coat and hat off.

  Sandy touched Isabel’s arm. “It’s cool,” she said. “Leave it. You found a use for the damn thing, which is more than I’ve done.”

  “I feel like such a hick.” She looked around. The walls were painted white, with polished blond-wood trim. The furniture was white, upholstered in silk. “Why is everything so… white?”

  “I think because so much sun gets in that it’d fade anything with color. Now if you ask why I need such huge windows… that I don’t know.”

  Isabel nodded and looked around some more. There were a few other works of what she could only assume to be art, but the most interesting thing was the fountain. It was a bowl, about five feet wide and two feet deep, filled with smooth river rocks and flat slabs of slate in a pile, with a dozen streams of water playing over them and dripping down into the depths of the thing.

  “Feel a little out of place here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Me too. I sometimes think the interior decorators in this city are part of a communist plot to drive rich people insane. I tried to strike a balance between things that are considered signs of impeccable taste and things I might actually want to look at.” Sandy switched the fountain off. “I really shouldn’t leave this thing on at night. It’s meant to be looked at during the day. When I’m generally not here, of course.”

  * * *

  Isabel had thought she was going to be sleeping on the couch, but it turned out this place had a guest bedroom. It was small, but the bed was so comfortable she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get out of it. Which made it a pretty good metaphor for the whole situation. Or possibly a simile. She couldn’t keep those two straight.

  It felt wrong to be questioning Sandy’s motives when she’d done nothing but offer to help—repeatedly, as it turned out. If anyone needed to be questioned, it was her father and older sister. Especially her older sister. Not asking for help was one thing. Refusing offers of help was something else. Lying about people offering to help you… it was almost too bad they couldn’t leave Chelsey to fend for herself in Texas Foxtrot, but she was Jourdain’s mom.

  But what was Sandy up to? She hadn’t actually told Isabel much about her plans, except for the fact of their existence and the scope of them. Was there some elaborate multi-year strategy that Isabel was supposed to play a part in? Or was Sandy just winging it, trying to push the world in the right direction and reaching for whatever or whoever looked potentially useful? The latter seemed more likely, but with somebody that smart you couldn’t rule out the former.

  And what did Sandy mean by calling her “the girl without fear”? How had she gotten that reputation? From running away from a bear… and then turning around and dropping it with
two tranquilizer darts while everybody else either hid under the deck or just stood there like cardboard cutouts. Getting her ass handed to her on Yuschak’s show… and leaving the set in a more or less dignified manner. Oh, and the time she blew the whistle on her bosses while her bosses were watching. Along with the head of the Corps of Engineers. And the governor. And the president. At this point, maybe she did have something of a reputation. (“I just tell myself it’s what you would do.”)

  But what does she want with me? She must already have a hundred better engineers than me working for her. What do I have to offer that she couldn’t buy in bulk?

  Put that way, the answer was obvious. Friendship. Loyalty. Sandy had told her as much. Hell, she’d practically been screaming it at the top of her lungs.

  Suddenly this place felt like a trap. Isabel’s instincts were telling her to get dressed again, run, not walk, to the nearest exit, hop a train or a bus back to Wilmington, get in her car and head for the hills. Okay, instincts, I’ve about had it with your bullshit, she said to herself. You better start putting your objections into words, and you better do it NOW.

  Her instincts, naturally, failed to do so. All they had to offer was a general impression that friendship was supposed to happen a lot more naturally than this, without so much deliberate effort on the part of either party.

  But we already are friends. It’s not like she’s mad at me. It’s not like we parted on bad terms. We might have fallen out of touch for a while, but we were both busy. There was nothing wrong with Sandy. Her heart was in the right place, and her temper was under control. If she wanted to be closer friends with Isabel, why should that be a problem?