"Exactly the opposite."
I changed into gym trunks and a T-shirt and joined Meredith in the workout room between our bedrooms. Meredith was hard at it under the bench press machine. Even her loose sweatpants couldn't hide the well-formed thighs and soft mound of flesh where they met. I tore my gaze away, and seized the nearest weights – a pair of thirty pound dumbbells. I did some lateral lifts and then curls, not stopping until my muscles burned. It had been exactly one week, six days since I'd last had any...relief. I'd zoned out on Melatin as needed – just enough to take the edge off, as in Juvie Hall – but the edge was growing sharper and more deadly with each passing day.
I focused on the unsexiest images I could think of – my seventy-something fifth grade geometry teacher and some weird caterpillar thing I'd squashed on my bedroom floor – but I guessed I secretly lusted after elderly geometry teachers and furry bugs because my gym trunks strained outward by the end of my set.
I dropped the dumbbells and jogged as casually as I could from the room, to return semi-relieved and freshly scrubbed ten minutes later.
Meredith watched me with droll eyes from the fly machine. I avoided those eyes as I grabbed a pair of forty pound dumbbells and started jumping with them.
"Impressive," said Meredith. "Let me guess: building yourself up to be able to dunk?" As if that were some predictable, universal ambition.
"I already can dunk."
"Really? You'll have to show me. I played varsity in high school and college. Tell you what – I'll challenge you to a one-on-one."
"Is there a basketball court here?"
"Two of them. Along with ten tennis courts and a world-class golf course. Let's do this thing – the basketball court's a short walk from here."
"Like right now?"
"Why not? We've got a few hours, and I'm feeling cooped up. It's gorgeous outside."
She emerged from her room seconds later, sleek and muscular in black Spandex.
"You work out," I said.
"As if I had a choice." Her smile held a dark edge.
We picked up a basketball inside the huge recreation building. It had a regulation-sized indoor court, but we stuck with the plan of playing outside. Four women were playing tennis nearby, but the basketball court was empty.
"Be patient," said Meredith. "It's been awhile."
She dribbled to the nearest basket and laid it in. We took turns shooting. Meredith might've been rusty, but she obviously knew her way around the court. She had a nice jump shot, could get off the ground a respectable distance, and might've been a better ball-handler than I was. Still, I was a long ways from my former identity as "Mr. Clutz" with the roundball – my sessions with Jim and Ragnar had remedied that. I might only have an inch or two on Meredith, but she didn't stand a chance against me in a game of one-on-one.
"Okay, Woody Harrelson." She tossed the ball to me. "Time to put up or shut up.
"You've seen the movie?"
"It's a classic."
I'd gained an inch in height and a few inches in my vertical since my inaugural dunk in juvie, but I was still more than a little nervous as this beautiful, successful business woman stood with her arms folded and a skeptical smile etched on her sculpted lips. Maybe my legs or my coordination would desert me today?
I guessed fear could be a great motivator, because as I drove in for a two-legged jump – unlike Jim, I wasn't as comfortable jumping with one leg – I exploded upward, rising higher than I ever had. A good thing, because I'd jumped too early, and had to stretch my time in the air to reach the rim and jam the ball home.
At first I assumed the whistle and applause was from Meredith, but it was the women at the tennis court. I gave a mock bow while Meredith laughed and raised a hand in acknowledgment. She offered me a high-five, which I slapped after a moment's hesitation.
"Good PR work, Mr. Hyper," she said in a lowered voice. "You just impressed four of the most powerful women in the known universe."
She plucked the ball out my hands and retreated to half-court. I squared up with her.
She dribbled in, working her way toward the basket with her back to me. I'd never been so tempted to body-check in my life as her muscular derriere bobbed and weaved in front of me, but as a gentleman and a future scholar I confined myself to a gentle touch or two on her lower back. Then she spun around, her eyes on the basket, and made what I thought was a move to shoot.
I jumped. From my vantage point two feet in the air, I watched Meredith sprint by with a big grin for a lay-up. By the time I'd landed, I'd worked up a good case of face-burn.
"Winner keeps ball?" she asked.
"Okay," I said sourly.
I soon learned that Meredith had a lot of feints and hesitation moves – as well as a deadly outside shot, despite her supposed "rust" – and for the first few points I was clueless about stopping her. Then, down 3 – 0, I hatched a plan: just take a few steps back from her, so she couldn't fake around me and I'd have time to react to her shot and hopefully block it.
Weirdly enough – unlike most of my best-laid plans – the strategy paid off instantly. Unable to fake me out or drive around me, she settled on a jump shot as I expected. That would've sunk me if I hadn't been able to jump high enough to deflect the ball and then chase it down before it went out of bounds.
Now it's my turn! I thought, a big shit-eating smile on my face, pointing myself toward the basket as Meredith jumped in front of me. I faked left, and drove right, envisioning two steps and a thunderous, triumphant slam-dunk. That would show her!
Sadly, a perfectly timed slap by my drop-dead nemesis bounced the ball off my knee and out of bounds.
"Shit!" I growled.
"Careful, big boy," Meredith laughed. "As the spokesman for LifeEvolve, you need to keep your cool."
As she spoke, by some unpleasant coincidence, the women from the tennis courts came strolling up. I was surprised by two things: first, they were a lot younger than I expected – maybe forties tops – and second, they were a lot better-looking. But maybe a third thing was the most surprising: they looked and acted just like normal people.
"Watching you makes me feel old," an Asian lady said to me, though I couldn't locate one wrinkle on her face. "Hello, Mere, haven't seen you since the Tokyo conference."
"True. We haven't even spoken of your decision to steer Lee Hou out of programming into hardware – a decision which proved right, despite all the naysayers."
"Blessed are the naysayers," said the Asian woman with a smile. "For they shall soon drop off."
"That doesn't sound like Confucius."
"Nietzsche." She turned to me, extending a hand. "I'm Chrissie Hayashi. This is Roberta, Allison, and Elise."
I shook hands with her, a redhead with freckles, a brunette who could've been a model or an actress, and a pretty blond with intense blue eyes who was probably the youngest of the group.
"I could use a drink," said Allison, the modelesque brunette, fanning herself. "Why don't you and Aiden join us?"
"I could drink something," said Meredith, smiling at me as if she knew how desperate I was to continue our game. Of course I could only nod and smile as we followed the women to an umbrella-shaded table by the tennis court. I thought it strange that I was surrounded by beautiful women and that my big fantasy was getting Meredith back out on the court and getting revenge.
"Do you play tennis, Aiden?" Roberta, the redhead, asked.
"Not really."
"Ah, but being what he is, I have no doubt he could pick it up quickly enough," said Allison.
A server – a young woman in a blue pantsuit – appeared. The women ordered drinks, but my request for a beer was nixed by Meredith, so I settled for a Cherry Coke instead.
"The way you were abusing him, I think the boy deserves something stronger," Allison laughed.
"Not on my watch," said Meredith, smiling, but in a way that brooked no argument.
"You're a little young to be my mom," I muttered.
"I don't know, she didn't look much older than me. I'm thirty-four. What is she, thirty-six?"
"Thirty-eight."
"See, I am old enough to be your mom."
"I hate to say what I'm old enough for," snorted Chrissie Hayashi.
"I don't think you look old at all," I said. From the tolerant smiles and subtle glances, I guessed I'd said something wrong or committed an amusing faux pas. But then Chrissie Hayashi smiled.
"That's very kind of you to say," she said.
I decided to keep my mouth shut unless directly spoken to from then on. I didn't have much to add to their conversation anyway. Except for a few passing references, they didn't talk about business, though I was able to piece together roughly that Allison owned and operated Aphrodisia, the famous fashion magazine, Chrissie headed a major computer firm based in Taiwan, Roberta the redhead served on the board of Goldman-Sachs, and the young blond, Elise – who rarely spoke, and had a cool German accent – did something important in Ogle.
Despite their poise, I thought I detected the telltale signs of "hyper fever" in their flushed faces, dilated pupils, and frequent, warm glances in my direction. Even Meredith, while making a point of not glancing at me, fanned her face a few times and dabbed at sweat on her forehead. Still, it was subtle. They didn't fawn over me or anything. If I weren't hyper, I would've thought they were just being excited and enthusiastic.
After a half-hour or so, the women took their leave, promising to stay in touch during the conference. Meredith and I remained at the table, sipping our drinks as a cool breeze wafted over us.
"Good work," she said.
"Thanks. But I didn't say hardly anything."
"Exactly." She gave me a dry smile. "You just sat there looking pretty and putting out your hyper pheromones."
I found myself eyeing the basketball court longingly. I picked up the ball.
"Do you want to continue our game?" I asked, patting the ball. "We still have time, don't we?"
"Ha. You really want to get me back out there and kick my butt, don't you?"
I had to smile. "How did you know?"
"It's my business to know what people want. Look, Aiden, I might eek out another point or two from my little bag of tricks, but then you'd figure me out and it would be a slaughter, believe me. I don't think you're the sort of person who needs to actually slaughter me to cure his male angst."
I found myself nodding along with her words and feeling better. Once the contest turned lopsided, as I was sure it would, I wouldn't take any pleasure in it.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
I smiled. "I think so."
"Good. Now HORSE, that's a different matter." She grinned. "I think I could go seriously medieval on your heinie there."
MAX EMANUEL stopped by an hour before the big dinner, dressed in casual slacks and sandals, his long, silver-streaked brown hair freed from its former ponytail.
"How's it going?" he asked. "I heard you made something of a splash down at the tennis courts, Aiden."
"He did," said Meredith, who was now decked out in a mouthwatering deep blue evening gown. "Any suggestions for tonight?"
"You're going to be at a table with Frank Liston and his wife, Diane Palin – plus Jillian Durst, Chrissie Hayashi, Malcolm Weinberg, and myself. You might have our young prodigy here bone up on them a bit. Especially me." He grinned.
"You're an open book," said Meredith. "And thanks, but I already knew the seating arrangement."
"Of course you did. Me of little faith."
Max paced around the room, hands behind his back, glancing out the window facing the grounds before circling back to us. That was how he'd been on the plane, moving from seat to seat, never sitting still. I wondered if he was a bit ADHD, or maybe on something.
"Frank's the one with the biggest wallet," he said. "And by some fortunate coincidence, has the biggest hard-on for staying young. He's a natural for LifeEvolve."
"Good to know."
"Chrissie's pushing fifty, and I'm fairly sure she's already had some work, though it's hard to tell. I know she's obsessed about staying young, though. Ditto for Jillian."
Dinner time finally arrived, and so did we, to no one's particular notice in the auditorium's muted light. As people all around me smiled and laughed and exchanged greetings, I reveled in my role of saying next to nothing. Sometimes it was okay to be treated as a kid.
I guessed the average age in the room was in the fifties. In this crowd, I felt more like a grade schooler than a teenager. After some small talk, the conversation at the table took an interesting turn as Max Emanuel got into a spirited debate with the others – mostly with Malcolm Weinberg, a balding dude who looked more like a monk than the CEO of a high-powered brokerage firm – about the future of humanity. Max took the standard Ray Kurzweil line that humanity would eventually transform itself into non-biological forms that would lead to unimaginable gains in intelligence, while Malcolm Weinberg expressed skepticism, saying that genetic manipulation and other biological enhancements would be the key.
I couldn't resist chiming in a couple of times – once pointing out that science fiction writer Vernor Vinge was actually the originator of the singularity idea, and that he'd been open to what he called "intelligence ampflication" through biological fusion with technology as well as genetic engineering. That earned an appreciative nod from both men, and a congratulatory pat on my knee from Meredith, who was sitting beside me.
Chrissie Hayashi, sitting on my immediate right, was fanning her flushed face and complaining about the air conditioning, even though a cool breeze was swirling robustly around us. The other women didn't seem to be faring much better under my pheromonal bombardment. I suspected that not having been with a woman for two weeks might be supercharging that effect.
The evening ended with a thirty-minute talk from a dude named Jack Abrams, representing the host of the event, the Council for World Development. He said that we lived on the brink of a "second age of enlightenment," where the ideas of right-thinking people – "the kind of people sitting around you" (which drew genteel laughs and cheers) – had once again achieved the necessary social influence to bring about "wondrous change." At the same time, he warned about the rampant paranoia and "conspiracy theories" raging through the internet, which "pose a significant hazard to the progress of enlightened causes." It all seemed a bit fuzzy and vacuous to me, but the people applauded as though they loved it.
The gathering started to break up a bit after ten. Some people lingered, while others headed to the exits. Max, Malcolm, and Frank wandered off somewhere, still in heated debate.
Chrissie leaned in close to me and whispered: "I have something I'd like to talk to you about in private. Can you break free of your ward for a few minutes?"
"Ah..." I glanced at Meredith, whose expression had turned flat. "Could I leave for a minute? Chrissie wants to talk about something."
"That's up to you," she said. "I'm going to crash back at the unit, myself. It's been a long day." She set a credit-card shaped door "key" on the table. "That's yours. I'll see you whenever."
"Thanks, Mere," said Chrissie. "I'll get him home safely, don't worry."
"I'm not worried." Her voice was cool. "See you mañana."
Meredith glanced back at me once before exiting through the main doors. I couldn't make out a warning or anything in her neutral expression. Chrissie clasped me firmly by the arm.
"Come on, Aiden," she said.
She hooked her arm in mine and walked me out the front doors into the cool night air. She waved off one of the electric four-wheeler drivers who always seemed to be lurking about, and we started off across the immaculate lawn toward a building that looked like a ski chalet.
"So, uh, what did you want to talk about?" I asked.
"The bottom line," she said. "Is it real?"
"What? The MES treatment?"
"Yes."
"I think so." I hesitated as she shivered and squeezed in closer to me. "Didn't Mr. Emanuel t
alk to you about that?"
"Of course I talked with Manny, but I'm tired of his evangelistic run-arounds. He's brilliant, but getting him to sit still and provide details is like getting my cat to sit while I trim her claws. Besides, you strike me as a very honest person."
"Thanks. Though I'm not sure my mom or friends would agree. Not after I turned hyper."
"You had a secret life?"
"Sort of." Thinking about that even now made me wince. I wasn't sure if I wanted to say more, but Chrissie was such a warm, surprisingly sympathetic presence that it felt okay. "I thought I'd lose my friends if I told them the truth. But I ended up losing them anyway."
"I've only recently read up on hypers, but it would seem that the pressures they face are monumental – both physically and socially – especially at such a tender age."
"Yeah, well, I don't really feel like making excuses."
We arrived at the ski chalet building. She opened the door with her keycard.
"Come in," she said. "I'll fix you some warm tea."
I considered declining, but she pulled me inside. Her warm body still brushing against mine was having the predictable results. I instinctively started to battle them, but then thought: What did it matter? What was I afraid of? After days going without, I was ready to explode. If that's what she wanted, why not give it to her?
Then Elise, the reserved blond from the tennis court, glided into the room wearing only a transparent nightgown.
"Oh." She folded her arms across her chest, her voice nearly a squeak. "I did not know we had company."
"You remember Elise," chuckled Chrissie.
"Hi," I said. "I should probably go..."
But Chrissie didn't release her grip. She led me into the room – a kitchen and dining area probably the size of my whole house. Elise drew her near-transparent gown around her, which succeeded in hiding absolutely nothing. I forced my eyes away from the lithe curves of her body.
"Elise and I are partners," said Chrissie. "Though we live on opposite sides of the world."
Elise's smile was faint.
"Join us for tea, darling?" Chrissie motioned to the dining table. "Aiden and I were going to have a serious discussion about investment possibilities."
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