The Dream Virgin

by Don Quine

  Leah challenged Amarosa, “If you had to write sixty million lines of code to create nine programed caricatures for the Mirror’s 100 Famous Farces, that means you’re looking at like what, seven hundred million more lines?”

  Amarosa raised her hand. “Please! I need two dozen programmers knocking out four Farces each; should take six months at a cost of roughly a million and a half.”

  “Have you budgeted customer acquisitions?” Wayne inquired.

  “At this point, I’m focused on circuitry, Wayne, not customer acquisitions.”

  Bob said, “Not being picky, Amarosa, but careful using the word “roughly.” Clarity’s crucial when you’re talking to risk money.”

  “There’s at least a hundred high-tech companies valued at more than a billion in private financing and that’s despite the fact that not one of them has yet to make a profit,” Didjano said, then turned to the Greenhorn. “What does a software programmer at DreamWorks make?”

  Almost before she finished asking, the $102,222 base salary not including cash and stock bonuses appeared on the Nestling’s screens.

  “What matters is seeing the Funny Mirror reflect us into one of your Farces,” said Manny who wore The Workout Vest. Pumping his muscles he made a fierce face, said in a bad Austrian accent, “I am the Termenegger.”

  Amarosa said, “The Nest loaned me a configuration engineer and design architect, so no problem, we’ll get you guys all farced up in the next few days.”

  The Greenhorn, a young gal with a bright outlook, got up from the table and said politely, “Lunch time. Back at one.”

  Bob said, “I’ll be whipping up a unique Yum-Yum over at the Raw Deal, shredded almonds sprinkled on caramel cake with melted lemon drops.”

  Elfri and Leah had burgers and fries at Meat Me.

  Except for Didjano, Leah made it clear to the other Nestlings that if they snubbed Elfri they snubbed her. Seeing that she’d made more money than all the other Nestlings put together, her Rags To Riches clothing lines worth millions, had a limo, Leah’s business opinions were respected.

  They didn’t want to snub her.

  So the Nestlings dropped their cold-shoulder routine with Elfri and when they began relating to her, saw the change. Not just trading in her boots and jeans for rompers and skater skirts, which made Elfri look with it, but the change in how she related to them.

  Her lucidity work picturing herself being nice and caring like Jimmy Stewart paid off. It really wasn’t all that hard because it was the way Elfri naturally was when she worked with kids. When she let down her guard.

  After lunch, Elfri was It.

  The Nestlings had stopped talking about comic book conventions, possible ways to get Dream Zoo into a larger chunk of the 120,000 American libraries, why it was dumb to make the dream dots in China when American Made was the way to go—Homeland of Dreamers, suggestions that could further the defunct comic’s cause.

  They accepted Elfri’s explanation for not drawing anymore DZ comics because she no longer had dreams with her Imaganimals in them like she did when she was younger. They knew that now she was dreaming of romance and sex and dangerous encounters because all the Nestlings, except for Didjano, came to her dream circles where Elfri shared that with them.

  After everyone hammered and hammered and hammered her about how long was she going to wait before she grew Slumber up, Elfri decided to show and tell them she already had. She hoped the Nestlings wouldn’t make too big a thing over Sky looking so much like Oliver, and if they did all she could do was tell the truth.

  So she opened her backpack and passed out Dream Lovers comics.

  After considerable page turning, the Nestlings looking at the comic books and each other in surprise, disbelief, and awe, Didjano put down her Dream Lovers comic and stared at Elfri a long time.

  Didjano had never responded to the note of regret that Elfri slipped in Didjano’s knapsack during a Round Two meeting for Work It Up, the once-a-week meeting where they showed each other what they’d accomplished in putting their plans into action. Elfri had written Didjano that she respected what she had to say about everyone stepping up and doing his or her part for the planet and admitted her apology on the shuttle was chickenshit, not straightforward. She signed off saying she was sorry for what she did, that if Didjano would give her a chance, Elfri would try to make it up to her.

  Now Didjano responded. She got up from her seat at the round table and walked over to Elfri with a deadly serious face.

  The Nestlings put down their comic books.

  Didjano held hers up in front of Elfri’s face.

  “Are you and your Dream Lovers comics showing us you created this Sky character before you ever met Oliver, ever saw any photos of him or anything that’d clue you into matching the two of them up to look alike like they do here?”

  Elfri said, “Nothing but my dreams.”

  Didjano took her time before she said, like she was in court, “You swear to God by everyone you love that you drew this Dream Lovers comic before you came to Ventures Nest?”

  Elfri stood, placed her hand over her heart.

  “I swear to God.”

  Didjano put the comic down, grinned like she just solved a crime, threw up her hands and pointed at Elfri.

  “So you losing it in the bowling alley, punching out Oliver, ripping on me, all of it makes total sense!”

  Each in their own fashion, the Nestlings agreed and accepted the unreal Sky-Oliver connection, blown away that dreams could do such an amazing thing.

  Leah got up, walked over and placed her hand on Elfri’s shoulder.

  “Elfri ‘s dreams are the real goddamn deal.”

  Didjano put her hand on Elfri’s other shoulder, let her big soul show, tapped her heart and said to Leah, “Sister, I’m a believer.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Leon and Nicole arrived in Portland late in the morning, checked into the Hotel Monaco, and then had a frustrating early afternoon meeting with the Foundation attorney and nine guardians of the trust who attended the conference via video from around the globe.

  Strange group, the guardians. Some looked like they needed a shave or a haircut; some looked half-asleep.

  Leon wanted to know from the guardians if Oliver’s legal status at twenty-one would change his current investment in the partnership agreement he had with the Foundation. Leon had spent eight years of his life investing in Oliver, had grown close to him, God forbid anything should happen, an unexpected accident, a health issue, then Leon needed to know who he’d be dealing with in exercising the exit option in their agreements.

  Leon made it clear that he thought Ventures Nest would not flourish without Oliver and wanted to add an addendum to his partnerships with the Foundation that would protect him from any financial adversities that might result from Oliver reaching twenty-one and the consequences of his coming of age. The guardians asked Nicole, since she was much closer to the matter, to speak on their behalf. Nicole told Leon that the Foundation respected his concerns, that they were doing what was in the best interests of Oliver as directed by the mandates of the Trust, and they did not have the authority to add any addendum. If Oliver should, for whatever reason, become incapable of running Ventures Nest, it was likely the Foundation would take the same position as Leon and want to sell the enterprise.

  Leon loved the way that Nicole explained things. Loved how she was able to convince the guardians to give Oliver an additional million for his project.

  The guardian from Ethiopia complimented Leon on his Aloha shirt and said he’d like to learn to do the hula, but in the Great Rift Valley, grass skirts were hard to come by.

  The Brazilian guardian told the one from Ethiopia to try the samba.

  CHAPTER 30

  Leon dropped Nicole off at the Washington Square Mall in the late afternoon. She needed to shop for a new summer
outfit and some sandals.

  Leon needed to check out suspenders.

  He took a cab to a small pawnshop in a brick office building on the southeast side of Portland, near the I-5, a seedy side of the city.

  The swarthy pawnbroker behind the EZ Pawn counter had suspicious eyes and a dark turban. He glanced at Leon, who walked over to a collection of unique suspenders, most handcrafted, some antiques. The pawnbroker asked the scraggly woman with a pair of candlesticks what she wanted for them and gave her the money. She left. He flipped the Open door sign to Closed as Leon walked from the suspender display to the corner of the shop and opened a heavy-duty combo-lock door marked Employees Only.

  It took Leon less than ten minutes to open the fake bathroom wall that led to a room with a large changing closet, slip out of his Aloha outfit into ragged sweatpants, a torn shirt, jacket, and sneakers.

  Leon used the dressing table to paste on a stubby beard and put on a cap. He took $100,000 in two packs of C-Bills out of a safe, each about two inches thick, put them in the false bottom of a take-home box with leftover chicken and stuck it on top of a sleeping bag with ratty clothes inside a black garbage bag. Leon slid a pistol into a hip holster, then walked back into the shop and said something in Farsi to the pawnbroker who nodded, walked to the door, opened it, walked outside, looked around, came back in the shop, nodded to Leon and flipped the Closed door sign to Open.

  Leon gimped out of the pawn shop and over to a corner liquor store four blocks east, on his way he put down his garbage bag to look and ruffle around in a trash can, made out like he found the take-home box there and put it back on top inside his bag.

  After that, Leon bought a pint of Four Roses and gimped out of the liquor store to the nearby bus bench. He took a belt as a hooker walked out of an apartment building with a handbag, strutted across the street and sat next to Leon in her short shorts and high heels. She had a twinkle in her Asian eyes and told Leon he was a cutie. Mind sharing that bottle? She could get him off for two twenties?

  Leon gave the hooker a belt, told her he couldn’t get it up if his life depended. He rubbed his stubby beard, got up from the bench, reached in his black bag, handed the hooker the Styrofoam box from the trash and wished her good luck.

  The hooker watched Leon gimp away, opened the take-home box, took a bite of chicken leg, nodded, put it back in the box, put the box in her handbag, and strutted back across the street to the apartment building.

  On the third floor of the hooker’s apartment building an Asian man in a black suit with a scar on his cheek stepped back from the open window with an assault rifle.

  On the fifth floor of the For Lease office building across the street from the bus stop, two buildings from the hooker’s apartment building, the pawnbroker stepped back from the broken window with his assault rifle.

  He didn’t have on his turban, but his rifle had a scope.

  Nicole sat at the bar in the Hotel Monaco and thought about what to do. Thirty-seven was not Spring Chicken time. It was Mother Hen time. And Nicole could not sit on more than one nest at a time.

  When Dr. Stilton called to tell her that she tested positive and needed to schedule an appointment, Nicole was in her office talking with Hunter about what the effects of gambling would have on Lake Meadows if Randall had his way with a floating casino.

  She pointed to her cell phone, raised a hold-on finger to Hunter and headed to the hallway, into a restroom stall where she could quietly cry.

  That was a week ago. Tomorrow Dr. Stilton would talk about her options.

  It was her own fault. Maybe a blessing. Who in hell knows?

  It depended on how she approached having the baby, which everyone does know is a life changer. Especially if you raise the child on your own and are almost forty. She would have to move somewhere. Tell everyone she needed time away from business. Spend a year in Tahiti and paint seascapes. Go back to Michigan and Aunt Shirley who owned a farm.

  Nicole wanted to tell Leon, but wouldn’t. Like so many fools, she fell in love with Leon the minute she and Oliver arrived in Lake Meadows. Leon was hip, smart, came from old money, and was a risk taker. He invested in a young boy’s vision, which paid off substantially. He flew helicopters and did yoga and knew how to handle problems.

  Nicole had a recurring dream of Leon riding a surfboard in the nude down a mountain, dodging trees and boulders and grizzly bears.

  The chemistry between them was instant and took five years to yield to. Leon was an incredible lover, treated Nicole with respect and gratitude, but wouldn’t let her get too close. She thought maybe Chip was all the love Leon’s heart had room for. He’d never been married.

  Nicole knew Leon long enough to know she’d didn’t really know who he really was. Probably never would. They had both agreed to curtail their lovemaking to once a month when they went to Portland on business.

  It worked for what it was, but it wasn’t what Nicole wanted.

  Bedside companionship wasn’t it. She wanted his heart and soul.

  So Nicole told Leon before the Nestlings arrived and the summer got going that she needed to end their arrangement. Oliver was almost twenty-one, Ventures Nest was in good shape, and she wanted to do some traveling.

  It was time to move along.

  Leon was surprised, but said she needed to do what she thought was best for her.

  A week later, Nicole missed her period.

  Now she wondered if she could even finish out the summer without showing signs. Nicole took a sip of her virgin Margarita. She wanted to tell the bartender to make it with a triple shot of 1800, but that would not be wise nor responsible.

  Happy Hour just started as Leon walked into the bar and sat down on the stool next to her just as a sharply dressed businessman was about to. The businessman started to say something about this was Portland not Honolulu, but Nicole placed her hand on Leon’s hand and the man walked away.

  After Leon ordered a beer, he told Nicole that Oliver called to tell them someone dressed like a park ranger took the bathroom videos from Scarface. Nicole said she could cancel her doctor’s appointment if he wanted to head back right away.

  Leon said nothing was going to happen until Reimer began the blackmail. He didn’t need to go to Vancouver, was able to take care of business over the phone, and wondered if Nicole felt like eating at the Woodsman Tavern. After dinner, catch a movie. Nicole said a steak sounded good, but wasn’t sure she’d be up for a flick.

  It was hard for Nicole to sit next to Leon without wanting to walk back to the hotel with him, make love, lie in his arms, and whisper that she was carrying their child.

  Leon missed holding Nicole in his arms. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but the timing wasn’t good yet.

  He needed to kill someone first.

  CHAPTER 31

  The Pigs knew a crematory operator in Pendleton, paid the Joe $50 for an arm or a leg; $500 for a dozen. Joked how the Joe had less to burn.

  Stuck the chopped limbs in their camper freezers. When the fear of God had to be put in someone, the Pigs would thaw out a limb and when they clubbed someone it was a bloody bashing right from the get go.

  They’d make the target bite off a thawed toe and chew it, threaten to shove the whole foot up his ass if they didn’t.

  The Oregon Pigs were one of seventeen biker gangs Daddy-O put into business and controlled in nine Western states. The difference between the Pigs and other outlaw biker gangs wasn’t just that they were more ruthless and better organized; it was their ability to disappear after a job.

  Instead of riding street bikes, the Pigs rode camo-colored trail motorcycles that were modified with weapons and provisions for living in forests where they built secret hideouts like Daddy-O taught them. He also taught them that if the heat or anyone they weren’t sure of ever mentioned his name to them, they should look at the person and say, like t
hey were pissed off, “Daddy-O?! You think I hang out with fucking niggers?” Then report who the person inquiring about Daddy-O was.

  Daddy-O taught them silence was golden and duct tape was silver. That he would get in touch with the Pigs when he had something for them. That they should never get in touch with him unless it was a serious emergency and then one of the eunuchs would call a number that had a mechanical voice recording that said, “Leave a message,” and depending on what eunuch you were you’d say, “Sorry, wrong number,” or “I thought this was the plumber,” or “Ah, shit!” and then hang up.

  Then Daddy-O would call back the right eunuch. But it better be serious. The Pigs knew that if you did what Daddy-O told you to do, everything was good, and if you didn’t, too bad for you.

  The Pigs favorite clients to work for were neo-Nazis.

  Drug runners and pimps paid better, but usually they just wanted the fear put into someone, didn’t want them to kill anyone like the skinheads did.

  When the Oregon Pigs went to work on a job, they wore baby masks made out of Hyperflesh and the masks came in three styles; Happy Baby, Disgusted Baby, and Cry Baby. They chose the Cry Babys for unity, but they added nose rings and earrings and skin art to make the masks personal.

  Several newspaper articles were written about the Pigs and they made the TV News more than once. Cry Baby Cannibals is what the media named them, talked about how sick and vicious the gang was. The Oregon Pigs were on Oregon’s Most Wanted list, but the police only had photos of them with their Cry Baby Cannibals masks.

  It was sickening what the Pigs did to the Mexican family who decided to stop paying protection for their restaurant in La Grande, or the black families in Baker City for singing gospel music in the park.

  “There’s rumors the Hell’s Angels have a reward out for these disgusting sociopaths; let’s all pray that the rumors proves true,” one news reporter said, which made the Pigs proud.

  But they had to keep a low profile with statewide searches going on until some wimp blew up a YWCA and took the focus off them.