by Taylor Kole
“You should feed Cain after we eat,” Rosa said.
He felt a tremor of mirth at the prospect. Their six-thousand-gallon tank spanned fifty feet. It was stuffed with living coral and pretty much sustained itself. For continued stability, it needed the occasional pH modification, salt equalizer, and rock rearrangement. For pleasure, it needed the introduction of feeder fish or bloodworms. Alex particularly loved watching their moray eel, Cain, eat. Rosa named the long fish after the famous biblical character because if their Cain wasn’t fed on time, he ate his brothers.
Her Catholic beliefs, strong yet modern, initially confused him. Not because Jesus’s teachings conflicted with the virtuous and caring woman he’d grown to love. She was simply his first exposure to someone who integrated the Bible into his or her daily life. She read from it every morning, prayed every night, and truly believed its tenets.
Whereas he placed every biblical story he’d heard in the same category as all the other stories: good yarns with moral lessons.
He likened his reactions to the uncomfortable moments when she attempted to interest him in the Bible, to humoring a child with an imaginary friend.
He didn’t regard her faith as a character flaw. Same as the sincere child with the imaginary friend, it endeared her to Alex. He often marveled at her power to forgive any of the multitudes of human monsters. Regardless of Divine authenticity, her levels of empathy, love, and acceptance provided a testament to living as a decent person.
He longed to believe in an afterlife, and by extension, a purpose to waking each day.
Human suffering, corruption, and greed denied him a belief in an omnipotent Being who cheered for His children.
He understood the counterargument: we were born into sin, possess free will, and must contend with the devil’s influence. He just didn’t buy it.
“We’re going to be okay, Alex. God guides through the heart. Do what’s right, repent when wrong, and you’ll be rewarded.”
He smirked, and nodded.
They ate to the sounds of classic rock and utensils scraping on ceramic. Afterward, they cleared the table, ignored the fancy dishwasher, and cleaned the dishes together.
Cain’s diet consisted of fish who wandered too close and frozen bloodworms, which came in small cubes contained in a plastic tray, with the back half protected by a thin layer of aluminum.
Three light taps on the aquarium brought Cain from his hiding spot near the bottom of the rocks. The slender, dragon-like mouth opening and closing fascinated Alex.
Something about watching animals eat captivated him. Maybe seeing the universal necessity for food created a connection between all species and acted as proof of our commonality. That, or Rosa’s mystical preaching was having an effect and this was part of the hidden beauty unearthed through faith.
Rosa watched from the couch, the latest Janet Evanovich novel poised for consumption. Halfway through the feeding, a trill, indicating a telephone call, sounded through their home speakers.
The sound rerouted the synapses in his brain, diverting its attention from the enchantment of feeding, to curiosity at the call.
Victor’s voice followed. “Tara Capaldi is on the line.”
Rosa retrieved the cordless phone from the end of the couch and offered it to Alex, who rushed over and answered.
“Hello?”
Rosa accepted the bloodworms and continued to the tank.
“Alex, how are you?” Tara asked.
“We’re surviving.” However, this phone call could tip him to an extreme, one way or the other. “We’ll be a lot better if you have good news for us.”
“That’s why I’m calling—to give you good news. The best news actually.”
Alex backed into the couch, plopped down, and exhaled.
“It’s over, Alex. They’re going to lift residential confinements in the morning.”
Her general statement eased his tension in a long powerful burst, like air being released from an inflated balloon.
Leaning back, he vacillated between tears and laughter. “What about the Lobby, all the employees? Broumgard?”
“Everything is okay. And you’re much more than a employee, Alex. The past week has been one hypersession after the next, between our representatives and officials from various government departments.” She huffed. “It’s been a madhouse. Brutal. But we reached an agreement. I’ll proudly state: we won. And as proof of your importance, you’re my first phone call.”
Rosa stepped into his line of vision. Still unsure what Tara’s phone call meant, he wiped a joyful tear from his eye and gave her a thumbs up. Rosa headed into the kitchen.
“Can my team go back to work?” he asked.
“Soon. There’s still a fair amount of flux. One of our concessions involves you interacting with an Agent Andrews, the FBI’s software expert. I should warn you, that won’t be fun. The man’s… special.”
“That’s not going to be a problem.” Alex would grant the entire O’Doyle family rule if it meant returning to Lobby code.
“I’m also calling at Adisah’s request, to invite you and Rosa to dinner at his house tonight, seven o’clock. Once there, we’ll outline the many specifics.”
Pulling his phone away, he checked the time on the display: 5:07. Plenty of time to replenish an appetite.
“That sounds great. But to clarify, the Lobby will continue on at the Atrium?”
Tara hesitated. Each hundredth of a second in silence was like a torture to Alex. She took a deep breath. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Before he absorbed the vague response, she added, “It’s not going to be what you’re used to, Alex. That’s all I can say right now. Adisah has such great respect for you, he wants to explain things to you personally, over dinner.”
Perfect for softening a breakup, Alex thought.
“I understand,” he said despondently. “What about the other workers—Rosa, those working at La Berce?”
“We’ll talk tonight,” Tara said. “Dress nice, be on time, and cheer up. We fought hard, and from where we started, and where things could have gone, you’re going to be a happy, happy man.”
“Thanks for calling,” he said. “We’ll see you at seven.”
Knowing the Lobby lived on alleviated stress, but the majority of it shifted to new worries.
Rosa sat next to him, giving him strength.
Tara’s words echoed: It’s not going to be what you’re used to … You’re going to be a happy, happy man.
Did the change mean fewer vacationers? What if the military weaponize the Lobby? They could easily convert it to a training simulator that allowed soldiers to train without fear of satellite recognizance?
The Lobby’s survival met his most pressing want, but he didn’t know if he could spend his life helping soldiers predict outcomes against a people he didn’t accept as villains.
Rosa held his hand, a nonverbal plea to be updated.
“We have a dinner date at Adisah’s, tonight at seven.”
“Tonight? At Adisah’s?”
“Yeah. Tara said to dress nice.”
“And you’re going back to work?”
He shrugged.
“And me?”
Another shrug.
Rosa checked the time on her watch. “We’ve been invited to the secret lair, huh? Dress nice? That means a shower, make up.”
Hardly anyone visited Adisah’s home. The thought of bringing Rosa there brought a smile to his face. He was bound for a dinner date, where the discussions would impact his and Rosa’s future. Come to think of it, tonight’s discussion might impact the entire world.
Chapter Eleven
The previous week’s stress had sapped Alex and Rosa’s mood as much as if a psychic vampire haunted the condo, feeding off their comfort. And this, dressing up, going somewhere exclusive, preparing for important news, acted as a life loofah, scrubbing away the past week’s grime.
A BMW 745il chauffeured the couple to the ground-floor entrance of La Berce.
It was strange how an extra eight inches of legroom in the backseat could make Alex feel like a king. Did modern life cram us so tight, offer us so little, that being gifted eight additional inches doubled the value of an already expensive car?
Exiting, Alex wiped wrinkles from his collared shirt and microfiber pants. He checked the sheen of his loafers by lifting one foot at a time. Embracing what an honor it was to be invited to the reclusive visionary’s home helped overshadow the fear of tonight’s dinner topic about his future.
He met Rosa’s eyes over the car roof. She wore a rose-colored silk dress and a small metal cross. Her beauty stole his breath. She was the first woman he’d ever loved, the first he’d shared a home with, and the first he could count on. Using all the imagination that helped him aggregate data into worlds of fantasy reality, he couldn’t picture them separating.
They linked hands behind the trunk and walked under the towering tram tracks toward La Berce’s well-lit entrance.
“I’ve worked in this building for years and only used the ground entrance one other time,” she said.
A gust of wind swept her hair in his direction. He stared at the wavering ends, which seemed to be reaching out to him, as if they too shared in the couple’s bond and yearned for contact with their life partner.
“I found Mary Aberdeen crying outside her apartment about two months before you arrived,” Rosa said. “She learned her father had passed the night before, and for some reason, she was going to work like normal. As soon as she reached the hall, the grief hit her.”
Alex stopped at the entrance and kept his hand on the handle, allowing her time to finish.
“I took her to my place. We both cried, and then talked for an hour. I convinced her to ask for a leave to attend her father’s funeral.” Rosa smiled. Her eyes softened, as if she were reliving the sympathy she experienced for her neighbor, perhaps for all of humanity. “Once she left, I called work to tell them I missed the tram. They sent a car for me, and I used this entrance.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say, Well, that’s my story.
He stayed quiet as he searched her eyes. A million compliments caromed off one another, leaving him biting his lower lip.
She leaned forward and kissed him. “Are you ready?”
Even the ground entrance to Laberce, which was more for Eridu residents than guests, displayed high-end opulence. Soft music played over the pitter of a running fountain. A glass ceiling, three levels up, doubled as the floor on the tram level.
Shopping and dining options abounded on the tram, or “main” level. The lower three floors offered more pragmatic venues: dry cleaners, dental office, optometrist, a wide range of doctors, and postal services, along with other necessities.
Rosa pointed at a suite on the second floor. “There’s where the orthodontic magic happens.”
Alex had met her there twice over the past year and had bumped into her boss in San Francisco 1968 on as many occasions.
A bellhop approached the couple. “Welcome, Mr. Cutler, Miss Newberg.” He motioned to a double-door elevator entrance with a lone, unmanned desk stationed next to it. “Mr Boomul is expecting you.”
The bellhop inserted a key that opened the doors. Boarding, Alex felt like Charlie stepping into the chocolate factory. He and his programmers were the makers of music, the dreamers of dreams.
Rosa pulsed his hand as the elevator climbed.
Adisah had visited his Atrium office perhaps five times over the past year. Everyone knew he never vacationed inside the Lobby. Most assumed him a workaholic, that he secretly toiled away, designing a grand world. By the downward flick of the eyes when Alex invited Adisah along for Lobby visits, he knew Adisah avoided the Lobby for more personal reasons. Perhaps, like Rosa, the machine’s inventor disliked the enhancement of it all?
Alex hoped like crazy that Adisah was working on some super world, but worried Adisah knew troubling aspects about the Lobby, or envisioned some portentous evolution on the horizon and stayed away to avoid speeding up some inevitable outcome.
The elevator stopped at the top floor. They adjusted themselves using their reflections on the doors, shared eye contact, and childish grins. As the door slid open it felt like being a front-row witness to the parting of red sea.
Adisah, with his ever-pleasant smile, allowed the couple room to debark and shook hands with Alex, then Rosa.
Alex worried he’d underdressed. Adisah wore a modern suit with one of those top button straps that clasped across the neck.
“Welcome,” Tara said with a handshake for Alex and a friendly hug for Rosa. Tara wore her normal attire—clothes appropriate to chair a board meeting. With her blond hair fashioned in a bun, he couldn’t imagine her relaxed in sweatpants with her feet on the couch, binge watching the hottest show, shifting her hips to release a blast of methane.
“Welcome to my home,” Adisah said.
The scope of the condo stunned Alex. Muted lighting showed four floors of open space, designed as if constructed in zero gravity. Timber of all shades covered floors, ceiling, and walls. Stairs led to a floating island of a second floor, others to the closed door of a single room. The far wall, which was forty feet high and made entirely of glass, afforded Adisah a center view of Eridu.
It was as if Adisah had commissioned Tim Burton to design his own Grand Central Station with an Eastern motif.
Adisah guided them over a six-foot-wide stream, teeming with fish, by way of a quaint teak bridge. Alex spotted a workstation in the distance. A chalkboard scribed with code, and drawings of odd-looking machinery taped to the wall. It was definitely not drawings used for Lobby code. Before he built the courage to ask what Adisah was working on, the group veered in the opposite direction.
Rice paper partitions demarcated the main floor’s rooms. Aromas and the sizzle-sound of cooking meat passed through the material and scented the penthouse. Employees carried dishes to a stately mahogany table.
“Looks as if the food is ready.” Adisah motioned to four waiting places. He nestled into the head, Alex and Rosa to his left, Tara to his right.
The courses arrived in waves. For a while, Alex lost himself in a bonanza of flavors. He forgot about the Lobby, the FBI, all that nonsense. He and Rosa chatted often during the meal, about this or that dish.
Once everyone’s stomach was filled to bursting, servants cleared the table with precision.
Desserts were intensely begged off. The overhead lighting increased.
Tara accepted a glass of white wine, and Rosa tried one of Adisah’s pomegranate-sweetened hot chocolates.
A servant placed two paper cups next to Adisah, presumably with pills inside.
Adisah thanked the man, washed them down, and smiled at Alex. “The food was good, yes?”
“Excellent,” Alex said.
“A treat I’ll remember for the rest of my life,” Rosa said.
With his stomach bulging, and the smiles all around him, Alex couldn’t help but think the Spaniards, Italians, and French had life figured out. It was not predicated on physical appearance or financial achievements. Flamboyant meals of exceptional taste with family and friends brought true happiness. With that secret life knowledge, no wonder they trailed America in areas the U.S. considered important: innovation, entertainment, and athletics.
“Tonight is a special night, Alex,” Adisah said. “You must know how dear you’ve become to me. I’m so grateful for you pushing this company to a new height. And having a fan as influential as Roy only bolsters your position.”
“Thank you, but the pleasure has been all mine,” Alex said. “Roy’s the best. He’s been helping with my golf game, and he’s like a kid on Christmas when we discuss the Battle of Gettysburg world.”
“Yes, yes. I’ve been meaning to join you, Roy, and Charles, but…” He breathed deeply, and then smiled halfheartedly.
Alex doubted he’d ever see Adisah in the Lobby. Judging from the man’s relaxed nature, joining Alex, Roy, and Roy’s longtime assistant, Charles A
rnold, for a day of competition, would make him uncomfortable.
Remembering their last vacation, where Roy and Charles—two elderly men—had been slap boxing, brought a contrasting image of seeing them later, outside the Lobby.
The frail man occupying the wheelchair and his hunched-over assistant hardly resembled the fit, rambunctious men he intended to join the Confederacy with on Gettysburg launch day.
“My point,” Adisah said, “is that without you or Ms. Capaldi, Broumgard would be a shadow of what we are today. I know the last few days have been difficult, and I apologize for the inconveniences. I could have headed this off years ago.”
“As I advised,” Tara said.
“Yes, as you advised.” Adisah winked at Tara, “Ms. Capaldi, would you care to bring Alex and his lovely companion up to speed?”
Tara clasped her hands in front of her and stiffened her back. “This afternoon concluded our negotiations with the government.”
Underneath the table, Alex grabbed Rosa’s hand. She guided their hands onto the tabletop.
“The first thing to know is that you’re not going to jail or being fired—no one is, really—and the Lobby will continue to serve our clients.”
“That’s wonderful,” Alex said as his chest decompressed with a heavy exhale. He smiled at Rosa. She sipped her pomegranate hot cocoa without looking at him, set her mug down, and massaged the back of her head. Noticing Alex’s look, she lowered her hand and forced a smile.
“I’m afraid some concessions had to be made,” Tara continued, drawing Alex away from dissecting Rosa’s reaction. Tara’s comment conjured the memory of an armed Marine guarding his building’s entrance this past week. Of course you had to give concessions when your opponent had armed soldiers willing to kill on command.
“Things will never be the same, for any of us,” Tara said.
Alex glanced at Adisah, who directed Alex’s attention back to Tara.