Targeted Demographics

by Joseph Sciuto

  “Are you insane?”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that.”

  “Go get your passport. We need to leave the country. I’ll have a private plane waiting for us at the airport in less than an hour.”

  “Sorry, Joe, but I can’t leave. I’m too close to my greatest achievement ever, and it’s all because of you. You were right; I can’t create an atomic bomb that discriminates between good guys and bad guys, but I can create a conventional bomb with a radius of two miles, with specific genetic coding that can, with an 80 percent probability, kill the bad guys with limited civilian causalities. I promise we can go on a long vacation once I’m finished.”

  I looked at her, dumbfounded, hoping that this was just an add-on to my recurring nightmare. How could she be so beautiful and intelligent while also being so friggin’ deranged?

  “I’ve already spoken with scientists in Israel, Britain, and here in the United States about my breakthrough. They are all greatly impressed.”

  “And exactly when did you get in touch with them?”

  “Just recently, in the last few days.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Not a thing to worry about, my wonderful, adorable husband.”

  A few seconds later, I heard loud banging on the front door and police helicopters circling above the house. I opened the door and was handed two search warrants: one from the police and one from the FBI. Less than a minute later, Nancy and I were handcuffed and read our rights. I didn’t even bother to remind her to keep her mouth shut and not answer any questions. That would have been a waste of time.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I was released on half-a-million-dollars bail. Nancy was denied bail as the prosecution claimed she posed a real threat to national security. It was painful to watch the court officers escort her back to jail. Since getting back home, we hadn’t spoken, but her lawyer, a high-powered Los Angeles attorney and friend, was confident that she’d eventually be exonerated, if that was what I truly wanted …

  I took a beer out of the refrigerator and drank it quickly as I walked through the living room. I opened the sliding door, walked outside, and sat beside the pool. After a few days behind bars, I felt like a different man. Suddenly I appreciated all the things I had taken for granted, such as closing the bathroom door, eating food that actually had taste, and falling asleep in the quiet of my own house without hearing the other inmates.

  After about ten beers, while I sat counting the ripples across the pool, my lawyer called. He told me that after further review, the prosecution had dropped all the charges against me. The military said the charges of treason and sedition were absurd, and the government played dumb. My bail money was already being transferred back into my account. I was relieved but not greatly surprised. I was a friend to the military and had recently put together an uplifting and patriotic ad campaign. Recruitment and enlistment were way up, which was especially impressive after all the negative coverage after Vietnam. “Morning in America” was real, at least to those young recruits listening to President Reagan’s masterful ability to communicate. I had also put together a winning campaign for the LAPD, which highlighted their very special and dangerous job protecting the citizens of our great city. Personally, I think I was helped by divine intervention, because there were so many negatives to deal with that even I was shocked by its success.

  I asked about Nancy, and the lawyer said he had seen her earlier, but she was extremely difficult and threatening to defend herself. I told him not to argue with her and act as though he agreed with her. “She has a way of wiggling out of the worst messes. I bet she already has you obsessing about how wonderful it would be to have sex with her.” A very long pause on the other end confirmed I was right.

  I was asleep when the phone rang. It was three o’clock in the morning, Nancy’s favorite time to call. She was ranting and terribly upset that I hadn’t come to visit her when I was released. I tried to explain that I had had enough of jail after spending two days behind bars. I needed a day off, but I promised I would definitely be there tomorrow. I told her that all the charges against me had been dropped, which sent her into another insane rant about why I was sleeping and horsing around instead of working on a way to get her free. I reminded her that she had been denied bail and there was nothing I could do. She laughed crazily and screamed, “Don’t you give me that, you son of a bitch! You’re more connected than the President of the United States.”

  “That may be so, sweetheart, but in this case everyone is running for cover. Espionage and treason are serious crimes. You should have thought about that before making contact with foreign governments and trying to sell them weapons of mass destruction.”

  “Oh, give me a break. The only governments I had contact with were friends of the United States. I’m the most patriotic person in this whole country.”

  “Okay, well, next time you see the judge, don’t forget to mention that. I’m sure he’ll feel the same pain for you that I do.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I got you the best lawyer in town. You’re in good hands.”

  “The only thing that son of a bitch is interested in is fucking me. Your wife!”

  That was true, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her. “Give the man a chance. He’s worked miracles for clients nearly as deranged as you.”

  “Get me the hell out of here, Joe,” she started to cry. “I can’t last here much longer.”

  “Don’t worry about it, doll. I’ll start working on it first thing tomorrow morning, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. You be careful in there. I’m sure your fellow inmates haven’t seen a piece of ass like yours in a long time. Probably never! I love you, Nancy.”

  She hung up the phone without a reply and I went back to sleep.

  The following morning I woke up again to the beautiful California sunshine pouring in my bedroom window. I felt rejuvenated. I got up, made myself some coffee, picked up the Los Angeles Times from my lawn, and saw the front-page picture of my wife being escorted out of the courtroom, handcuffed, back to jail. Even in jail attire and wearing no makeup, she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I skipped the article about Nancy and went straight to the sports section.

  I called work and told Maggie I was taking the rest of the week off. She had seen the news and asked me fifty questions in twenty seconds, clearly concerned and upset. I assured her that I was safe and everything would turn out okay.

  Jack asked if I could review some ad proposals we had just received from a major corporation that insisted I be in charge. It was worth millions to the company and a large percentage would come to me. Of course I said yes. Who was I to get in the way of making money? Especially now that I had Nancy’s legal defense to pay for, the bonus would be welcome.

  The lawyer called shortly after that and told me he was going to see Nancy. He asked if I wanted to come along, but who was I to get in the way of a budding romance? The poor guy had it bad.

  It was eerie that I could smell Nancy’s perfume all over the house. I summoned the courage to open the door to her study and found it an absolute disaster — papers piled high, books flung randomly across the room, and unrecognizable formulas scribbled on the chalkboards. Most of the action had taken place here when the FBI and local police entered with their search warrants. I must admit, though, it didn’t look any worse than before the intense search. If anything, it seemed as though law enforcement might have tidied up the place.

  Work sent over the new project, an ad campaign for a new drug that dramatically relieved the effects of severe depression. The FDA had just given it final approval following extensive clinical trials. All the test results had come back favorable and with limited side effects. Pharmaceutical companies were incredible; they had no problem throwing tens of millions of dollars into advertising campaigns. Despite the costs of research and advertising, for every dollar spent bringing a drug to market the company made ten, at least for the first seven years i
n which it exclusively held the patent. They could cry wolf all they wanted before an endless stream of congressional committees, but many of these companies were as big as IBM, US Steel, and Apple.

  I arrived at the prison a half hour before visiting time was over. I sat down in a chair facing a glass partition that separated visitors from prisoners, the same setup you see in the movies. Nancy, wearing an orange jumpsuit, was escorted to the chair opposite me. She picked up the phone on her side just as I picked up mine.

  “Hi Nancy, how are you doing? Let me tell you, you look hot in prison garb. Are you wearing panties and a bra under that outfit?”

  “Fuck you!” she replied as she held the telephone in one hand and twirled her hair with the other. I held up the front page of the newspaper so she could see her picture.

  “I thought you might like to see this. I was thinking I’d frame it and hang it beside our bed to remind me to come visit you occasionally over the next twenty-five years.”

  “Funny! What are you doing to get me out of here?”

  “Not much I can do, sweetheart. Espionage and treason are serious crimes; they have a shitload of incriminating evidence against you.”

  “Don’t you give me that shit! You’re walking around free.”

  “That’s because I’m not guilty of anything.”

  “I’m your wife!”

  “I’m aware of that, and it’s a real shame that we’re going to have to spend so much time apart over the next couple of decades.”

  “You motherfucker!”

  “Now, now, Nancy. I know it’s important to pick up the prison lingo to survive, but it doesn’t do you any good to use that language around me. You know how much I hate a foul mouth on a woman.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You piece of shit!”

  I took out my house keys and held them up to the glass partition.

  “Keys, Nancy. Keys lock and unlock doors. Right now, you’re guaranteeing that these keys of yours will never again unlock any door. In fact, I just might lose them.”

  She called the guard to take her back to her cell, turning one last time to give me the finger. Such a peach!

  When I returned home and opened the front door, naturally the first thing I smelled was her. She was inside my head, occupying all my senses, and wreaking havoc on my ability to distinguish between reality and fantasy. I went to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a double of Jack Daniels. I shot it down and immediately felt better. Everything became much clearer. She was my wife and I loved her immensely. “For better or worse” was part of the wedding vows, and I wasn’t the type of guy who went back on his word.

  The upside was surely that it couldn’t get any worse. The downside was that even if I managed to arrange for a more lenient judge, it might cost me at least a million dollars in bail, and it would be just my luck that the spaceship that dropped her off on Earth would return to pick her up, which would mean a lot of wasted money. I poured myself another double and shot it down, then grabbed a beer from the fridge, turned on Frank Sinatra, and walked out to the pool.

  I took off my shoes, sat down on a beach chair, and marveled at Sinatra’s voice. At times it seemed he was speaking directly to me. I don’t know if I’d had this connection with him before or only since meeting Nancy. My guess was that it started after she turned my world upside down.

  My parents would probably have loved Nancy — at first. When she tried, she made a wonderful first impression. Her astonishing beauty gave her an immediate advantage, and my mother would have quickly started preparing for the arrival of her grandchildren. Once they had arrived — and they finally acknowledged the painful truth that their daughter-in-law was off the wall — they most likely would have kidnapped our children, moved to a foreign country like Florida, and raised them correctly with an abundance of love and compassion. It would have been all for the best.

  I stood up and walked back into the house to review the proposal for the new drug; suddenly I remembered a picture I kept in my desk at Stony Brook. It was of this beautiful girl with long, shiny dark hair and large brown eyes looking out a window. She was my age, but the look in her eyes was of deep sorrow, unbearable melancholy, and the lost promise of any happiness. I used to think that if I could only meet her, talk with her, and get to know why she was unhappy, maybe I could bring sunshine and promise back to her life. I never knew why, but I was sure of it.

  That picture haunted me throughout my entire time at Stony Brook. At times I saw the same haunted look in Nancy’s eyes, but I couldn’t say I believed for sure that I could ease her pain. I couldn’t say with any certainty that I could ever fully understand her, but her stunning beauty and intelligence had won me over. She was my wife; I loved her, and I felt responsible for her safety.

  I wrote down a few notes about the girl in the picture, her downcast eyes against a dark and depressing background. Slowly, her eyes looked up as rays of sunshine cut across her face, an engaging smile emerged as the sound of laughter and festive music rang out magically across a scenic garden of waterfalls, children playing, and dogs chasing balls across open fields. The girl took the hand of a young man. The fog of depression gone, an illuminating clarity and purpose took hold as they looked into each other’s eyes and kissed. Life reinvented! Life renewed! Rebirth and promise!

  I opened another beer, closed the sliding door, and looked out onto the pool. Ten years ago, I never would have imagined moving to Los Angeles. Then my mother unexpectedly died and before her tombstone was placed, my father died. They had just finished paying off their little palace in the Bronx. By even the most pessimistic measures, they should have lived at least another twenty years. For days, I stared at insurance policies and bank accounts worth nearly half a million dollars. I cashed everything in, sold the house, and put it all into an account I named “Mom and Dad.” And I’ve never taken a penny out of it.

  Before relocating to Los Angeles, I bought a plot in Saint Raymond’s Cemetery next to my parents. In my will, I clearly stated that when I died, my body was to be sent back to the Bronx and buried there. Before I realized the full truth about my wife, I had made her the executor of my will. Considering her altered state of mind, that would have to change; she might use my body for research and toss the remains in the garbage.

  I had a few more beers and called it a night. I didn’t bother setting the alarm clock because I didn’t have to go to work and hadn’t decided when I was going to put the pressure on to get my wife released … certainly not before noon. Naturally, just after I fell into a deep sleep, the phone rang. I picked it up, dazed and confused. “Yes, Nancy?”

  “You sound terrible. Is someone else there?”

  I didn’t bother justifying the question with a reply. “What do you want?”

  “I want to make up. I’m willing to forgive everything you’ve done.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “Exactly. While I’ve been rotting here in jail, you’ve been sitting on your ass, getting drunk.”

  “Goodnight, Nancy. I love you.”

  “Don’t you dare hang up that phone. After you left this afternoon, I got a visit from the FBI and the DOD.”

  “The Department of Defense?”

  “Yes, and they offered me a job. They looked over my research and they’re highly impressed.”

  “Is this some type of joke?”

  “No, you jackass. They recognize genius when they see it.”

  “So when are you getting released?”

  “That’s the problem. The FBI is willing to drop all the charges, but the local authorities are being dicks and won’t go along with it. They still want to charge me with intent to inflict bodily harm on those perverts, even though they’re now totally fine and back to work. It’s time you put some pressure on your friends. The FBI and military will drop all charges once they’re guaranteed that the state prosecutor won’t pursue the case. They have to drop all those inane charges.”

  “Okay,” I said
meekly.

  “Okay? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll do everything I can. Do you really expect me to start making phone calls now?”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I expect you to do.”

  “Love you, Nancy. Bye.” I hung up the phone and blocked incoming calls.

  Only a few minutes before I had been sound asleep, but I couldn’t get back to sleep if someone shot me with an elephant tranquilizer. I went to the refrigerator and did the only thing I could do under such stressful circumstances — I had a beer and then another and another.

  By the time it started getting light outside, I was getting antsy. I picked up the phone and called Nancy’s lawyer. I could hear his wife in the background asking who was calling so early. He assured her it was just a client. I told him everything Nancy had said, and then I had to tell him again because he was in a fog. I told him the best course of action was to threaten the perverts and studio heads with front-page stories of rape and sexual harassment. That would make them rethink the charges they had filed against Nancy. He loved the idea and hung up the phone.

  Hours — and many beers — later, I got a call from the lawyer. The actors and studio heads shit their pants when he threatened to go public with the accusations. Smelling blood and good old-fashioned cash, he told them that his client’s career was over because of the actions of these sexual predators. He would take nothing less than two million dollars in compensation. They countered with a million and settled on a million and a half. All charges against Nancy, federal and state, were dismissed. She called me as they were processing her release paperwork and said she’d regained her faith in me. I decided the best course of action was not to reply and hung up. Then I took a shower, rinsed my mouth a half a dozen times, and called a limousine to pick me up.