by T. C. Clover
allure like something holy and comforting. His hands shook when he turned and saw Stoney and CKB carrying on like a couple of war buddies twenty feet to his right. They had carved out a territory near the stage where a band was playing festive country dance music. The cop and criminal were dressed in black tuxedos, which matched in color and style. Other than their obvious distinction in muscle mass, the only difference between the two was CKB’s bright yellow tie that contrasted with Stoney’s navy blue bowtie.
Richard pounded his fist on the banquet table in front of him during a moment of clouded desperation. He saw Jazzy and Fassim standing near a makeshift bar fifteen feet to his left, and was awestruck by their platonic attitudes during an energetic discussion. The conservative film editor peered down at his lap and wiped his forehead, sensing that he was sweating. However, when his hand brushed over the skin above his eyebrows, it came across completely dry.
He glanced at the wine again, swirling in a pristine glass wielded by the intricate hand of a beautiful redheaded woman. Richard made an O shape with his lips and blew out a stream of cool air, shifting his gaze away from the wine. The troubled man regretted this when he saw Litz and her new boyfriend Jason come into focus just beyond where he was staring. Litz was wearing a tight lime green T-shirt to show off her bust, along with a black leather skirt and lime green high heels. Her debonair companion was masculinity incarnate in his black designer suit and orange tie.
Richard tightened his right hand around his knee, sensing that his brain was screaming for alcohol. Over the past few days, he had become an island in relation to his fellow cast members. While the trip had helped the others to grow closer, Richard managed to have social sanctions applied against him. The actions of his co-stars, in preparation for the farewell fundraiser at NASA headquarters, had been nothing less than an embargo of affection.
“And here we sit, my old friend,” Richard said to the red wine as it rocked hypnotically back and forth in the young woman’s glass ten feet away. “Everyone else has someone tonight; maybe I should too.” The film editor experienced coldness at his center that was worse than hunger, and the alcohol cried out to ease his pain like a siren in a pirate’s tale.
Jason observed his new companion with mixed emotions as Litz waved to him on her way to the ladies’ room. He returned the wave and blew her a kiss, attempting to suspend the regret that would follow in the next few days. Although their love affair had been ethereal in ways, his first test mission to the moon in preparation for Mars was in less than a week. If that mission went well, the engineers would give them another month, at best, before sending them up to take on the real thing. The astronaut smiled as he realized that, were it not for the deadlines, they might never have made up so fast after fighting the previous day. He shook his head after considering the horrid state of the man that had attacked them at the hotel. Jason took a moment to reflect on how many cases of Sunset Syndrome had been reported in the news each day. Dozens of men and women would break down and live out a fight or flight reaction to their fate.
The astronaut saw Richard glaring at him from the center of the room and raised his eyebrows in an expression of offense. He put his hands into the deep pockets of his black Armani suit jacket and decided to stroll over to where Richard was sitting. Jason watched the orange tie bouncing under the fabric of his high-thread-count suit jacket and smiled at the thought of a little competition. His better senses told him that making peace with everyone before going on a mission was good luck.
The excitement of the party was building throughout the cavernous meeting hall at the NASA executive office complex. Jason was careful to navigate through round tables with elegant white toppers and guests from all backgrounds that were enjoying the event. He noted the live music and full bar as signs that private investors had made life at NASA more enjoyable. The executive staff had also taken the time to add some mood lighting and a temporary dance floor to host the television stars. It was an enchanting event with only the finest accommodations.
Richard saw the astronaut coming toward him and wondered why he seemed approachable to the last person with whom he wanted to speak. The television star locked his gaze on a half-emptied glass of white wine on the table. He presumed that it was abandoned by one of the couples that vacated the table to have fun on the dance floor. The beleaguered man mustered all of his strength, but it wasn’t enough, and he reached out for the glass of wine like a tattered life jacket in a raging sea. His fingers gripped the glass with the methodical muscle memory of a longtime addict, and the alcohol tipped down his throat as if it were yellow kerosene running into a furnace.
Jason paused when he reached the table where Richard was seated. He noticed that the television star had an unruly glow in his eyes. It was as though someone had just given him a beating, and Richard was doubling up his fist to come back at them.
“Look, I just want to say that I empathize with your position,” Jason offered as he stretched out the fingers on both of his hands and flexed them in the air. “I know how women can lead a guy on – maybe with a passionate kiss.” He paused and took a moment to deliver a charming smile. “Sometimes they do things out of emotion and have no idea what consequences will come about. That’s why it’s important for us to be adults about this whole arrangement.”
“You’re going to be on a rocket in a few days,” Richard began as he snatched an almost full mimosa from the table and gulped it down. “There’s a twenty-percent chance that your rocket will explode before you get into space. Once you go to the moon, there’s a thirty-percent chance that you won’t come home. There’s another five-percent chance that you won’t survive your reentry,” the film editor announced with frivolous nuances of contempt. “I learned about that on the tour. But after you survive all those things, you’ll have to turn around and do it again on a planet farther away.”
“So your brilliant plan to get the girl comes from winning a death lottery?” The astronaut asked with a spirited chuckle. “Do you know how many missions I’ve survived? Are you aware that the stats they use on the tour are from the late Twentieth Century so that we can get more funding?”
Richard didn’t respond to the challenges offered by Jason. Instead, he decided to inspect the table for more alcohol, finding a Bloody Mary that was melted to an almost inedible mess. Jason shook his head as the man opposite him seemed poised to drown himself in alcohol, even if it meant drinking from a urinal.
“You know the cops told me the other day that the guy with the baseball bat…had been there for a while.” The astronaut accused his companion with a self-righteous gleam in his eyes. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you saw him coming my way, and didn’t bother to give me a heads-up.”
“So what if I did?” Richard inquired with a bit of macho posturing. “What if I wanted him to crack your pretty little head open?”
“It would have been a tragedy; that’s why,” Jason answered in revulsion as he started to turn away from his adversary.
“Oh, really? Why?” The conservative asked with a bold stare, leaning toward the table with his abdominal muscles tightened.
“Because I have a girlfriend and kid!” Jason exclaimed in a heated display of outrage, signaling with his hands for Richard to stop speaking. “Look, I’m gonna’ head out to my office. Go ahead and tell Litz whatever you want,” the middle-aged man added as he tilted his head down and stepped away from the table in a rush.
Richard watched the astronaut depart in a state of panic, wondering whether he had heard the man correctly, or if it was the alcohol speaking to him. He stared at the tablecloth in a daze for a few seconds, and then decided it was time to get a fresh drink.
“So did you hear the one about the comedian that took home a lonely Texas boy?” A lanky Texas millionaire prompted Jazzy with a brazen smile.
“Oh, you mean the one that wound up
pregnant and single, living alone on welfare?” Jazzy retorted with an unflattering squint at the end of her sentence. “Yeah, that is an awesome story! Thanks for playing; now get out of my face!”
The thirty-seven-year-old oil tycoon was undeterred by this statement. Instead, he took a moment to consider her sentiments and blew them off with gruff laughter. He then straightened his cream-colored pants by tugging on a thick, black leather belt. The man was clad in a soft white button-down dress shirt with silver TX cufflinks and a pair of pale snakeskin cowboy boots. Jazzy shuddered at the sound of his laughter, wishing that she were back in New York where men recognized rudeness.
“Look, Texas Jack, or whatever your name is,” Fassim hissed at the lonely stranger, “I need you and your penis to step back five paces so that my friend and I can breathe. No, don’t make a joke about your manhood; that wasn’t an invitation to be raunchy. Just get out of our space, okay?” The paparazzi photographer put her hands on the man’s shoulders and gave him a light shove, hoping to breach his alcoholic haze.
“You’re one of them Muslims, aren’t you?” He asserted by pointing his right index finger at