"Really? What percentage?"
"I'll have to let you know. But I'm confident that you'll be quite happy with it."
I rubbed my face, still feeling as if I was missing something. The kind of thing you miss when you trade with the Devil. But...fifty thousand dollars and a possible percentage...!?
"Okay," I said. "Where do I sign?"
I FINALLY got Xandra to go out with me. That is, if you define "watching a movie as friends" (her words) as going out. Also, if you define "Girl cheats on her abusive husband, then frames him for murder" as a movie. I'd wanted to see Avatar 4, but she'd made watching Gone Boy a condition of our date that wasn't a date. When I'd asked her why, she'd replied with a thin smile: "Because I want to make you suffer."
We walked to the nearest parking lot after calculus. Her bike was still locked up by the Math Building.
"I'm surprised you didn't insist on running with me piggyback to the theater," said Xandra. "You know, for an even better workout."
"I thought of that, but I didn't want to, you know, mess up your clothes."
"That's very gallant of you."
As we crossed the parking lot, I keyed the BMW, triggering a honk and blinking headlights. I hadn't mentioned what I drove, and was looking forward to her reaction.
"Holy shit," she said, as we paused before my German chariot. "Is this a loaner or something?"
"Nope. I own it."
"For real?"
"Yup." I grinned. Her reaction was everything I'd hoped for.
I held open the door, and she climbed in, caressing the leather seats. I slid into the driver's seat beside her.
"So what is it again you're doing at CellEvolve?" she asked, a hint of wariness in her voice.
"Selling my soul one day at a time?"
Her smile was uncertain. "I'm serious, Aiden."
"I've been helping with some important research." I shrugged. "They seem to think I made a valuable contribution, I guess."
"I'll say. Any chance of elaborating on 'important research'?"
"I will at some point, but right now I've been kind of sworn to silence."
I guided my sleek vehicle out of the university parking lot.
"Want to know what I drive?" Xandra asked.
"A Mercedes?"
"Ha. A 1997 Volvo station wagon."
"Sounds like a classic."
"Ya, well, its paint is flaking in only a few spots, and it does start on most days, so..."
I felt a mixture of guilt – what had I done, really, to deserve a BMW? – and a smug sense of satisfaction. I'd wanted to impress her, and I couldn't deny kind of liking the fact that I drove a fancy new sports car while she putted about in an old Volvo. Not a feeling of superiority so much as balancing the power between us – she the older, experienced college girl while I was the wet behind the ears high school student. Though if she knew what I did, I wondered if she'd just consider me plain all wet.
I'd been on the verge of telling her the truth a dozen times, but so far had shied away. I liked her liking me for who I really was, not as some hormonal freak. Not that I was quite sure who or what I was these days. Maybe I just liked the way she saw me – as a smart nerd who'd lucked into an apprentice program with CellEvolve.
Gone Boy had everything I hated in a movie: twisted people, warped romance, and a dark, pointless ending. No wonder it was the "#1 Movie In America!" People seemed to eat up that crap.
Luckily, I had Xandra to watch instead. That beautiful profile of hers...man, did I ever envy the popcorn she was stuffing into her sensuous mouth. No, I told myself. Don't think of her like that, you jerk! But it was kind of reassuring, since I'd actually gotten bored with sex – something I would never have believed was possible. Being with Xandra made me realize that there were things about people you'd probably never get bored with.
"You hated it, didn't you?" Xandra asked as we walked out of the theater.
"What you said about making me suffer? Consider it 'job done.'"
She laughed. "I wouldn't say I liked it, either. It was cathartic – kind of like the good, clean, burning pain when you apply alcohol to a cut."
"That's what I always look for in a movie."
She elbowed me. "Sometimes I feel like scratching my dark side. What can I say?"
A parking ticket was waiting on my Beamer's windshield, tucked under a wiper. Apparently that wretched movie had been over two hours. I snatched the ticket and stuffed it in my pants.
"Bummer," said Xandra.
"Yeah."
The ticket annoyed me, but knowing I had over twenty thousand dollars on my debit card and another freshly installed fifty thousand dollars in my checking account soon washed away my irritation. I decided against mentioning that to Xandra, however.
I drove her back on campus and walked her to her bike at the Math Building.
"Thanks for being a good sport," she said.
"No problem. As long as I get to pick the next movie."
"The next movie? You make it sound as if it's going to be a regular thing."
She was smiling, but I heard the edge in her voice. Or was it a challenge?
"Would you like it to be a regular thing?" I asked.
"That's rather a slippery slope, isn't it?"
"I guess I should be flattered you consider me a slope you could possibly slide down on."
She laughed. "You're such a wiseass. Anyway, I had a good time, and we can talk more about that at an unspecified future date."
When we reached her bike, she spun and gave me a quick hug before I could even react.
"See you in class," she said, turning to unlock her bike.
"I'M NOT liking the sound of this at all," my mom stated over dinner after I'd filled her in on Dr. Blumenthal's proposal.
"I thought you'd be happy I'm no longer doing what I was, uh, doing," I said.
"Professional sperm donor," Melanie snickered on cue, drawing the usual glare from our mom.
"The people Alan was talking about..." She shook her head. "They're sharks, Aiden – of the Great White variety. Trust me when I say that you're not prepared to deal with these people."
"What are they going to do – have their valets beat me up?"
My sister snickered again, though more favorably. Mom's thin smile acknowledged my riposte.
"I don't know," she sighed. "I guess I just don't like the idea of you rubbing elbows with so many high-powered, ethically challenged individuals."
"Afraid some of it will rub off on me?" I was only half-joking.
My mom's painful smile was not reassuring. "Maybe I am, a little. I'm not saying you aren’t a good boy – man, almost. But what you've been doing – what you've been exposed to – is a lot to take in at your age."
"I read that hypers suffer from depression and commit suicide three times as often as normal people," Melanie chimed in.
Mom's fork thwacked down on her plate. I had to smile and shake my head. Mel really had a talent.
"You're like that girl on Saturday Night Live," I said. "Debbie Downer. You could be Melanie Mournful or something."
"I prefer Mordant Melanie."
"Good choice."
We ate for a while in silence. I'd known my mom wouldn't like Dr. Blumenthal's idea, and she wasn't too fond of my fifty thousand dollar cash infusion, either. She probably worried I'd want to buy another sports car or otherwise act like a stupid teenager with it.
"But it will be nice to have you home more," Mom allowed.
Melanie ducked out, and I asked in a lowered voice, "Have you heard anything about the treatment – Revive – having problems? Dr. Blumenthal mentioned there were some issues with the FDA and other government people."
"I didn't want to bring it up with you until I had something definite," she said, "but yes, it's looking like we could face an uphill struggle. Suddenly everyone's concerned about population increases, as though it wasn't common knowledge that any successful treatment of MES would cause that."
"It'
s like saying 'We can't cure cancer' because it would increase the population," I snorted. "That reasoning would destroy any medical progress."
"Exactly." My mom held up her hands. "But logical consistency is never a high priority with these people."
Chapter 17
MEREDITH BAXTER, MY APPOINTED "escort" for the Rocky Mountain Conference, picked me up Thursday afternoon for a flight to Aspen, Colorado. I wasn't even slightly surprised that she was stunning, though in a weirdly homespun way. She looked like the girl next door – after an extreme makeover, plastic surgery, and several doses of beauty steroids. Her bushy hair appeared wild and untamed even while being neatly coiled behind her head. She wore a dress and vest, which seemed awfully hot for the eighty-three degrees outside, but I couldn't spot a molecule of H20 on her butter-smooth skin.
She and my mom squared off briefly, while "Mordant Melanie" lurked in the background with her predictable sardonic smirk.
"What did you say you are again?" Mom asked, as they shook hands. "An executive assistant'?"
"I am the co-owner of Executive Assistant, Inc. In this case, Mrs. Stevens, you could translate my job as 'professional hand holder.'"
"Is that all you're going to be holding?"
Meredith gave her a cool smile and took a moment before answering: "I may need to hold him by the scruff of his neck at times. But I promise you that I will not sully his innocent purity."
"As if that would be possible," Melanie snorted in the background.
Meredith smiled a little. "Maybe now would be a good time to mention that I have a business law degree, as well as a B.S. in psychology."
My mom's scowl relaxed a notch. "I can see Dr. Blumenthal and the Board are taking this all very seriously."
"Since billions of dollars might be at stake, who can blame them? In all honesty, Mrs. Stevens, I'm here to guide him through airport security to his private jet, check him in at his resort unit, and help make his introduction into 'high society' as painless and productive as possible."
I hugged my mom and told her goodbye to shut her up, while Melanie stood by with folded arms. What the heck. I wrapped her in a hug, too. After an initial resistance, her body melted in my arms.
"Be safe, brother," she whispered.
They walked with us out to the black limo, where a uniformed female driver loaded my small suitcase into the back beside a much larger suitcase. Some final farewells – tearful on my mother's part – and we were cruising out of the neighborhood. I breathed a large sigh of relief, which drew a dry smile from my "executive assistant."
"Isn't it a bit late for your mom to be so protective of you?" Meredith asked. "I mean, given your work at CE."
I felt a spark of defensiveness. "She tried her best to keep me away from the worst of things, but once we made the decision to work with CellEvolve, it all kind of got out of control." I thought of Xandra's comment. "A slippery slope, I guess you could say."
"I get it." Meredith smiled. "We have a few hours before we arrive in Aspen. If you'd like, we could discuss some of the people you'll probably be meeting. I've even prepared a 'dossier' on them for you."
She opened her briefcase and handed me a leather-bound binder. A guy with long curly blond hair who looked more like a surfer adorned the first page. Alex Anders, born 1963 in Escondido, California, attended University of California at Berkeley...
"Wow," I muttered. "They really are serious. Am I supposed to memorize all this?"
"No. I would just use it as a reference manual. But if you need details, they're there. And I'll be there, too."
I flipped through the binder for a few moments, recognizing two or three people, including one of CellEvolve's majority owners and founders, Max Emanuel.
"You put this together yourself?"
"With another employee, yes."
"So you really know all these people? I mean, personally?"
"Most of them. First, through my family – you may have heard of the Baxters in connection with Baxter Pharmaceuticals – then through a couple of law firms I worked with, and finally through this business."
"Oh," I said.
"You could say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth," she said with a thin smile. "But I transformed it into platinum."
My view of Meredith Baxter was rapidly evolving. "What are these people like?"
"The very rich in general or the very rich who are also high-powered business people? They aren't the same."
"I was thinking mostly the high-powered business types, I guess."
"They're a breed apart – particularly those who built their own businesses, such as your Max Emanuel. Though you obviously don't need to sell him, as a founder of CellEvolve, he'd be useful to talk to. Anyway, those people are what I'd call highly focused and driven. They believe it's their destiny to succeed, and consider any setback to be temporary. They believe they deserve to win, which is something I took a while to understand and appreciate."
"I'm not sure I do," I muttered, frowning at myself. "I mean, deserve it."
"Because you did nothing to deserve being hyper?"
"Right. It's just pure random chance, right?"
"What isn't? Who made us the way we are or gave us what we have? We're all winners or losers through dumb blind luck. I don't see anything fair about it, but that's how life is."
"Yeah, I guess so. But I don't like the feeling that it's not fair."
"I had to struggle with that myself. I grew up feeling guilty about having so much more than most other people. Believe it or not, having rich parents is not a ticket to paradise."
"I never really thought about that," I said.
"But after years of therapy, I finally said fuck it. It is what it is. Might as well make the most of it. It helps that I've created something on my own. A level of confidence and satisfaction comes from that which might have eluded me otherwise."
"Do they care about what's right?"
Meredith's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Now there's one question I didn't expect," she said with a short laugh. "I think most of them have an abiding faith in themselves to make things work, and they definitely share a belief that we'd all be better off if we did things their way."
"When I meet them," I said, "what am I supposed to say?"
"Answer their questions in a friendly way. I wouldn't initiate any conversations. No one expects a sixteen year old boy to be a brilliant conversationalist, and frankly, they wouldn't like it if you tried."
At the Sacramento airport we bypassed airport security down a private corridor straight out to a small jet on the tarmac. Twelve other people, all attendees of the Rocky Mountain Conference, shared our jet. Meredith was on a first-name basis with all of them, greeting them with breezy familiarity while introducing me simply as "Aiden." Everyone seemed to know who I was. I had no idea who they were – except CellEvolve's CEO and co-founder, Max Emanuel, whose photo I'd seen in the dossier and online.
Max Emanuel sat down with us a few seats apart from the others. He was suntanned, lean, youthful-looking, and long-haired – hair drawn back in a pony tail – with sparkling blue eyes and even more sparkling white teeth. I guessed he was in his fifties or maybe sixties, but it was impossible to tell.
"Aiden," he said in a lowered voice, "I've heard so much about your good work at our Sacramento branch. I'm glad to finally meet you. I've been remiss in not doing this earlier."
I was surprised that I was more than a blip on this man's radar. We shook hands.
"Nice to meet you, too," I said.
"I'll leave you in Meredith's more than capable hands." He rose with a nod and a wink at my escort. "I'll stop by for a drink this evening and we'll talk strategy."
By the time we reached Aspen, Meredith had quietly revealed the identity of everyone aboard as we sat off a few seats removed from the others. The passengers included some CEOs of major companies, an heir to a real estate fortune, and some high-ranking executives – about half of them in the company of
wives or girlfriends.
Three stretch limousines carted us out of the airport up to the Elysian Lodge – a hodgepodge of buildings strung up along a mountainside. Valets swarmed out to greet us in the roundabout driveway and load our luggage in electric four-wheelers. We scooted a short distance to the side of a three story building. The valet led us into a large room that I first thought was the lobby, though I didn't see any signs or front desk. As we wound our way through a wide hallway past bedrooms, a mini-gym, and one bathroom where I glimpsed what appeared to a hot tub, I assumed we'd entered some kind of upscale group housing.
The valet left our luggage in two of the bedrooms and departed, wishing us a "great stay."
"Who else is staying with us?" I asked.
"You mean in here?" Meredith's puzzled expression gave way to a smile. "Believe it or not, just you and me. This is our unit – actually one of the cheaper units in the place. I claim the master bedroom, by the way."
She rolled her huge suitcase past me down the hall while I stood there feeling like a dork. I selected one of the nearby bedrooms, which was three times larger than my own and came with a bathroom that had a separate shower and Jacuzzi bath and three sinks. Everywhere I looked was covered with marble or polished hardwood. A movie screen-sized TV hung on one wall. A king-sized bed, desk bearing a computer, a couple of plush chairs, and a tall dresser filled out the room.
I dropped down on the bed. It felt both firm and incredibly soft. I checked out the computer. A click of the mouse and the internet was up and running – more like sprinting as I blazed through a few of my favorite sites at breakneck speed.
Meredith appeared at the door in sweatpants and a tank top.
"I thought I'd get in a workout before the big dinner," she said. "By the way, make sure to shower off the Andrydox before we go. We want you in prime attraction mode from here on out."
"How did you know I was wearing Andrydox?"
"Because I don't want to jump your bones?" Her smile had a thin edge.
"Have you ever been around a hyper before?"
"Once. And yes, I slept with him. Not an experience I'd care to repeat."
"It was that bad?" I felt almost offended on behalf of my hyper brothers.
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