by Taylor Kole
“You need to get some more block on that pasty skin,” Steve said to him.
Agreeing, Alex layered sunblock on his shoulders and nose. Applying the white cream to his arms contrasted his lack of color. Was I ever this pale, even as a child in Chicago?
“You seem to be having fun,” Rosa said, stepping behind Alex and applying sunscreen to his back.
Excluding the near drowning, he had been enjoying himself. He addressed the eyes on him. “Family, friends, and a beautiful setting. What’s not to love.”
He felt Rosa’s smile.
“I could recreate this in the Lobby,” Alex said. “Lose the few negatives, turn down the breeze—”
Rosa pinched his shoulder, stopping him. “You’re always joking,” she said.
Checking the faces around the table and seeing confusion, surprise, and downward glances, Alex said, “Not for us, of course. We have the real thing, but I’m sure people who can’t afford Malibu property would enjoy this setting.”
”You’re a madman, Alex,” Steve said. His baritone voice jiggled with mild laughter. “Name it ‘Living Like the Cutlers,’ and you’ll have a hit.”
Alex grinned.
“Aunt Rosa,” Anthony, Rosa’s (and apparently his?) nephew, patted her leg. “Will you come help? The wall’s falling down.”
“Sure will.” Rosa followed the running child.
“Are you open to having children, Alex?” Steve asked.
“They’re such a blessing,” Rosa’s sister added.
Watching the young boy run, so care-free and full of enthusiasm, tugged at Alex’s heart. He wasn’t sure scheduling a child fit with his personality, but said, “I’m not opposed to the idea.”
Rosa’s sister perked up. “That’s so nice to hear. Rosa will make a great mother.”
“For sure,” Alex said.
They ate dinner outdoors, near the cottage.
The evening passed with a game of Trivial Pursuit, Entertainment Edition. Alex nailed many of the Lobby-related questions. He and Rosa still came in third out of four teams.
He retired to his bed as the others gathered around the campfire. Sore, he listened to the murmur of voices and occasional laughter with mixed feelings. He felt closer to everyone there, more connected with everyday life, but he had almost died. Judging from his aches, he’d be sore as hell tomorrow. He couldn’t help but think back on everyone’s reaction when he’d mentioned doing this inside the Lobby. Was it really such a wild idea? Or was the whole world ass backwards?
Alex enjoyed driving along the eight lanes of I-605 in Los Angeles. The limousine tint allowed him to mingle amongst the people, look into their faces, and with the window cracked, hear their voices at a stoplight, all without harassment.
“How are you feeling?” Rosa asked from the driver’s seat.
“My muscles ache.” He blushed. Eight to twelve trips to a wave and back fell short of great exertion. “The funny thing is my stomach muscles hurt the most.”
“Gotta work on that core, hun. There’s a list of fun exercises we can do to help you there.”
“Yeah…” Alex needed to work on his fitness, but he couldn’t join Rosa for a workout. She exercised six days a week. He once tried to keep pace with one of the videos she watched. He literally lasted less than two minutes, and woke up sore for the next two days.
Inhaling deeply, as if sensing his deflection, Rosa said, “Are you telling me being a little sore wasn’t worth that weekend?”
“No, it was. I can’t help but smile when I think of how nice it was to be around you every minute for three whole days.”
“Everyone commented on how relaxed you seemed.”
“It was a great weekend. What do you think about keeping it going by joining me in the Lobby?”
“The Lobby?”
The car swerved a tick as she exited the highway.
“Well, yeah. It could be as much fun, and I’ve had this vacation with Roy planned.”
“Thirty minutes after a great time, and you’re daydreaming of going in that machine.”
“I’m not daydreaming. It’s just on my schedule.”
“Oh… just don’t,” Rosa stopped her thought by clenching her jaw. “I’m married to an addict.”
Alex huffed. The idea lacked the merit to comment.
“A junkie,” Rosa said with more frustration.
Mentioning the Lobby at that moment had been dumb. It seemed every time they had something good, he messed it up. A stretch of the drive passed in silence. Then Alex said, “You know I love you.”
She peeked at him and then back to the road.
“And I had such an amazing time with you and your family. I honestly can’t wait until we do it again.”
She kept her eyes ahead of her, but slowed their speed through the posh, well-shaded Bel Air neighborhood.
“It’s just, I made these plans with Roy when I left last week, and if I don’t show, he’ll sit there all confused and worried.”
“Oh, don’t give me that baloney. Roy’s a big boy. He’d be just fine without you.”
True, but he couldn’t tell her the truth—that he was excited to escape this sore body and enter a world where he couldn’t die.
“I just want a husband who’s present. Do you know what it’s like to walk past that room and picture you in there half dead?”
His face grew warm. He wiped his moist palms on his pants. “I hate myself for being gone so much. I do. And here’s my promise: if you let me visit him without any guilt this one time, I’ll give the Lobby a ninety-day break.” His stomach clenched. Why did I say that?
Rosa stopped the SUV short of the guard shack outside their extensive driveway and faced him. “You’ll do that? Three months without going inside? Maybe visit one of those counselors who specialize in Lobby addiction?”
Doing the math, and being that three months covered July and August, her amendment extended his original pledge of ninety days to ninety-two days—an underhanded maneuver. He decided to leave it alone. “I not only swear it, I think it’ll be great. I hate upsetting you this much. Sometimes… I feel worthless. I’m learning my health needs attention.” He shrugged, knowing his pale, emaciated look was a stampeding elephant in their lives. “Maybe if I clear my mind, I’ll be able to handle future Lobby breaks with more control.”
“If you’re serious, I agree to your terms, but I don’t want a battle, Alex. When you’re out, we get you some help.”
“I’m serious, babe. No fights, no nothing. You deserve this. You’re worth any sacrifice, and this break will prove it.” It sounded good. He meant the words, but what would he do for ninety-two days?
Thinking deeper, he thought it was kind of selfish of her to ask him to suffer for months just to show his affection? Perhaps, like an addict of opiates, once he escaped the fog of the high, clarity would follow, and he’d gain a new appreciation for life.
Rose leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Well, I hope you have a great time with your artificially recreated friend.” She then pulled past the gate house and drove up the five-hundred-foot horseshoe-shaped drive. “I’ll make you a turkey and cheese croissant. Extra cheese, heavy mayo. Maybe throw on those pink shorts you love and help you relax before you go in?”
He picked up on her double-entendre, and he loved the way the fabric of those shorts slipped in between her fit backside, but the time on the dash told him he only had twenty-two minutes until Roy expected him. He’d planned on leaving the cottage hours earlier.
Rosa followed his gaze. Her shoulders sagged as she presumably read his thoughts. “Let me at least run in and get the sandwich ready. You need to eat something solid.”
The nurses who would be attending him for the next week might disagree, but he reached over and rubbed her arm. “I love you.”
She parked in front of the main doors, kissed him, and hurried inside.
Stepping out of the SUV, he marveled at the home before him. He tried his best to shun the fame and lim
elight that came with being the face of the Broumgard Group, but if anonymity had been his true objective, he’d done himself a disservice when designing their Bel Air estate.
The Cutler home had become the most-known residence in the modern world. The media had dubbed it “Legion” for its many faces. Needless to say, Rosa barred the moniker from their vocabulary. Like now, the name always made him grin.
Shortly after he’d signed on to be a partner of Broumgard, it became apparent money would never be a concern. Legion had followed that reality. He’d purchased three lots in the exclusive Beverly Glen section of Bel Air, where the land was worth more than the opulent estates built atop them. After leveling the mansions, pools, sheds—everything—construction had begun.
Roy had also financed a twenty-eight-thousand-square-foot guest home on Alex’s property, where he and Charles lived. Rustic in design, their home easily impressed, but it paled when juxtaposed against the main attraction.
Legion was twenty-four thousand square feet—conservative when compared to the sixty-six-thousand-square-foot dwelling belonging to Bill Gates. But Bill didn’t have private access chairs, located within his master suite. Only Adisah, who still lived at Eridu, could also boast of having private access terminals, but Alex assumed those only gathered dust. Legion, however, was more famous for its exterior. The inside, outside, top, and flooring were constructed of eighteen-inch-thick OLED Gorilla Glass, capable of being modified to display a crisp viewing surface. Every section of the home conformed visually, to any concept.
The first day he’d unveiled the home to Rosa, he’d projected the property behind the house onto the front, essentially making the long-awaited abode and its interior invisible. Then, as she’d stood perplexed, a stone castle from sixteenth century France had materialized, causing her to shed tears of amazement. Unlike the Lobby, she’d embraced this technology.
Movement in his peripheral turned Alex. He saw a man in a sports coat strolling the property. Though he hated needing them, Legion’s security pooled from the same ranks as the secret service. The head of his team, Luke Dean, had grown into a trusted confidant. He was a source of immeasurable knowledge and a man able to solve any problem.
The snapping sound of the Land Rover’s hatch paused his rumination. He turned to find Glen retrieving the luggage. “Hey, man, how’s it going?” Alex asked loud enough to be heard.
Glen lifted two bags simultaneously. Without acknowledging he’d heard Alex, he trudged toward the house.
Alex didn’t understand Rosa’s issue with the kid. Yeah, Glen was quiet and kept to himself—same as Alex at that age. Alex had another connection with Glen. They’d both learned of death and loss at too young of an age.
“How do you like the door?” he asked as Glen approached.
Rosa enjoyed transforming Legion so much that she only allowed Alex to mold the double-doors. Today, they displayed a montage of surfers riding the break near their Malibu property.
“I like them,” Glen said as he passed.
Alex smiled at the kid’s economy of words.
The main doors opened at Glen’s approach.
Remembering Rosa wanted him to eat before he logged in, Alex hurried inside and headed toward the kitchen. As he thought about his vow to Rosa, he felt ill, and his feet grew heavy. Roy counted on Alex’s company. With Charles, they were the three amigos.
Alex ground his teeth to help strengthen his resolve. Rosa’s feelings had to be as important to him as Roy’s. After this one vacation, he’d prove it to her—and to himself.
Chapter Sixteen
Driving a NASCAR-sanctioned race car was Alex’s most invigorating Lobby experience to date. Starting his first engine created a lifelong speed-seeker. When traveling at 212 miles per hour, the grip on the wheel was so tight the car became an extension of himself. One wrong twitch sent you flying.
Even with simulated racers set to intermediate, if Alex or Roy finished within ten laps of the leader, they considered that a win. Whereas Charles had multiple victories and many top-ten finishes.
Charles was a natural racer, and because of his dominance, Roy and Alex decided to experiment with Formula one cars on the rare occasions their friend wasn’t around. They thought if they had a few weeks of experience under their belt, they could compete—at least for a few races—with Charles.
Today, Alex and Roy had selected corso di fantasia a course imagined and designed by Broumgard employees stationed in Sicily. Standing beside his low-to-the-ground vehicle, Alex angled his face toward the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The winds were surprisingly strong, which would affect his driving, but like most days in the Lobby, it was an ideal setting.
Alex wore a white fireproof jumpsuit with a red stripe flaring down each side. Sponsor decals speckled his front and back. Twenty-five Formula One cars rested in race positions on a two-lane road in a village near Milan, Italy.
Quaint A-framed homes with paned windows and no screens, painted in lime, rose, and lemon colors, lined either side. A population of men and women greater than the homes allowed gathered on lawns, clapping and shouting cheers in Italian.
Roy waved to a gathered crowd and then climbed into his cherry-red A-26 Turbo, outfitted with a Ferrari engine in its rear fuselage.
Alex shimmied on his helmet and squeezed into his Model L-7 Lamborghini-powered machine. Gripping the hard steering wheel, he rocked it left and right. That minor leeway percolated his blood vessels until they danced.
A flagman stepped into the road ahead of them.
Again, Alex sought out Roy. This time, he found his friend waiting for his glance. They shared thumbs up.
The short man standing in the street pointed to several drivers, received a thumbs ups.
Alex pushed the ignition button.
It felt like he was sitting atop the epicenter of a magnitude 9.9 earthquake. He especially loved this part of the race, when the powerful growl of two dozen machines deafened all other sounds, and left him to his thoughts.
Charles’s absence afforded Alex the privacy needed to initiate the talk with Roy about his planned ninety-two-day hiatus from the Lobby. He’d simply wait until this race was over. They always sat in the pit talking afterwards. Opportunities to inform Roy prior to this race had arisen, but the courage eluded Alex. He knew this news would devastate Roy.
Whichever nurse last attended Roy in Alex’s private access room had left the privacy curtain open, giving Alex a full view as he’d logged in. Roy’s feeble condition had stripped Alex of his conviction to tear off the bandaid right away.
As he inspected the skeletal shape, he had worried Roy was dead.
The liquid nutrients fed to someone while in the Lobby always caused weight loss, which, to many, created an added benefit to vacations. Add mottled skin pulled taut over thin, brittle bones so visible one could teach an anatomy class, a tuft of white hair, all scented with decay and body odor, and you had Roy’s condition, a shape off-putting enough to rival the Crypt Keeper.
Alex required a full minute of staring at the diminutive chest to detect its almost imperceptible rise and fall.
Thinking of his friend’s poor health stressed Alex. What if Roy died during the three-month break? What if their last conversation was a discussion of Alex abandoning him? What if Roy’s last moments were spent wondering why Alex had left him?
Alex could ask Rosa to reconsider, to wait until after Roy passed. One look at Roy and you knew it wouldn’t be long.
No, Alex thought sternly. He had to put Rosa first. Everything else be damned.
But maybe he could at least wait until they logged out to break the news? Exhaling dejectedly, the cowardice of talking to Roy in a wheelchair, when he’d be too tired to respond, shamed Alex. Once they completed this race, he’d raise the subject.
The flagman lowered a small red flag, signifying the start of the wonderful, fabricated tradition of the corso di fantasio race. The drivers would parade through four miles of scenic countryside and three vill
ages in a show of Italian engine supremacy. As they started past the crowd, kids ran along the side barriers. Adults applauded and shouted. The demonic gargle of the engines turned their efforts in a pantomime.
Driving a spaceship on wheels past homes built centuries ago brought Alex back to his childhood, when he and Simon would play make-believe. Alex always chose to be a superhero, flying in the clouds. Funny that he never pictured himself saving anyone, just soaring above the world, appreciating the majesty of it all.
Reaching the starting line, they assumed their positions. Even set to beginner level, Alex had qualified last and now held the twenty-fifth spot, while Roy had managed to secure eighteenth.
Formula One racing presented more dangers than NASCAR. Fatalities were facts of the sport. Both Alex and Roy had totaled their cars on the previous two tracks, and the corso di fantasio, with speeds of 240 miles per hour and winding city streets with limited visibility, was designed to be treacherous.
Crossing the finish line was all Alex was hoping for.
Reaching the official starting line, he breathed deeply as the siren blew. He fixated on the large, five-tiered light system, currently showing red.
Despite wearing Gortex made to limit perspiration, Alex’s entire body, particularly his hands, poured sweat.
There was another bleat of the horn. The red light panel counted down from top to bottom. When the lights reached the bottom, the race commenced.
Twenty-five, twenty-two hundred horse-powered engines, screamed like a team of banshees. That, and the powerful launch, sent Alex’s soul soaring into the heavens.
He’d never grow tired of the Lobby. Nothing in life was this good.
After a few minutes of fierce shifting, the sounds and thrusting g-force infused him with a focus previously accessible only by deciphering code. The bends were tight, and the straightaways lightning fast. Even applying maximum effort, he fell steadily behind the pack.
Disregarding his position, he concentrated; the laps wound on and on. To be successful racing Formula One cars, drivers must stay in the moment, and avoid mental distractions. You needed every neuron to avoid disaster. By lap seven, he had forged a groove and started making up ground.