by Ken Renshaw
She then produced a bunch of grapes, some cheese and crackers, and sandwiches, as she smiled broadly.
"I was expecting a bag lunch," I said
"Not for a beautiful setting like this," she replied.
I was struck by how beautiful she looked, even with little makeup, glowing with some inner exuberance. I seemed to see a yellow golden glow around her face, and feel a soft, beautiful vibration while I looked at her. I also felt a strange energy on my chest, right above my heart.
We ate without saying much. She was taking in the view and the day, and I was watching her.
After a while, I volunteered, "I had another visit from Uriel today."
Her beautiful pale–blue eyes grew wide, she smiled with an expression of delight, and said, "What did he say?"
"He wants to be my client in some strange alien sort of way. He says my reward will be learning something valuable and having dreams-come-true." I said.
"Dreams-come-true is not all that bad," She said as she seemed to blush a little bit. "What dreams do you have?"
"I have to admit I don't have a big list now." I replied. "Everything seems good. Oh, win this big patent case I have been working on for a year and work the way up the letterhead of the firm. I have still to make that ultimate soaring flight. That kind of stuff. How about you?"
She looked a little embarrassed or maybe disappointed and said, "I love to teach. That is my dream. Beverly Hills is a good, safe school."
"Safe?" I asked.
"In many schools in LA, women teachers are at risk. The only problem I have ever had was with a husky rich kid from a Middle Eastern country, where his family was the ruling class and don't think much of women's rights. He accosted me in a stairwell, before another teacher came along and broke up what the kid called a 'party.' I am more careful now, but anyway, that was three years ago, not the sort of thing that happens at that school."
"I do love teaching. Also, I like to explore many new ideas, learn the secrets of life. There is a spiritual thing there. Maybe, there is a vine covered cottage with a picket fence and a golden retriever out there somewhere."
I silently observed that neither one of us mentioned anything about a relationship.
"I'm not too sure how a spiritual entity for a client fits in all that," I said. "I'm not ready to take that up with a Senior Partner yet."
She seemed to sense my sudden shift in mood and said, "I saw an Antelope Jack Rabbit today. They're bigger than a regular Jack Rabbit and have giant ears."
She looked at me inquisitively and said, "You want to talk about your Uriel friend?"
"I am a little shaken by the experience," I replied. "It doesn't seem as if I am hallucinating. It seems too real to be a dream. There is no logical or scientific explanation for it. Do you have any explanation for it?"
She replied, "I have a metaphysical bent. You must suspect with my meditating. I have avoided talking about it because the subject seems to upset you, and I really enjoy being with you. But, I have been to channeling sessions and have a friend, Elise, who is doing a dissertation on the study of people who channel. Your contact with Uriel seems to be some kind of channeling, maybe you are the channel."
"I guess I'm not ready for any of this yet, I'll have to find out about this later," I replied with kind of a stiff tone.
"I thought so," she said looking away. "When you are ready...I know some people."
"Thanks," I said glancing at my watch. I noticed she had lost that beautiful glow.
After a long and somewhat awkward silence she said, "Maybe we could get back early. I really could use some more time to prepare for next weeks teaching. Tomorrow is another school day," she said in a sort of stiff tone of voice.
We finished our lunch, without much conversation, loaded the car a drove to LA. She slept most of the way.
****
Chapter Two
BEING A LAWYER
Monday traffic was normal on Santa Monica Boulevard, typical of LA, everyone hectically driving above the speed limit of 45 with only a few car lengths between them, while conducting important business on cell phones. I wanted silence this morning.
I turned into the driveway of the Century City building, drove down two floors to my parking spot, took the elevator to the lobby, and joined the rush into the elevators to the upper floors. At my floor, I exited the elevator and walked down the hall to our office door. The spacious lobby had a modern feel, with large black leather and chrome chairs, large tan ceramic planters with well-tended plants, and a large mahogany faced counter, behind which sat Carolyn, a blond who wore makeup like a professional model, and today, a navy blue business suit and a crimson scarf tied loosely around her neck.
"Good morning Mr. Willard!" said Carolyn cheerfully as she covertly buzzed my secretary's phone to warn of my arrival and gave me her "your the most interesting person...and I'm available" smile.
"Good morning!" I replied as I walked past her down the hall to my office. The mahogany–walled suite had two offices, in front of which the secretary, Zaza, sat at a chrome and ebony desk. Her desk, as usual, was clear except for a wireless keyboard and mouse, and display, and the single pile of papers she was typing from. She wore an almost invisible telephone headset.
Zaza Green, whose real name was Zahavia, is in her late forties, plump in a post-menopausal way, with grey hair in a perm style that she was probably married in. Her skin is sallow and wrinkled as it would be for a formerly pack-a-day smoker who had almost quit. Her blouse exposed some of her abundant cleavage of the type I really don't want to see. Her manner ran from businesslike to covertly hostile, and I usually got the latter. She wouldn't have been my choice as a secretary, but she came with the office. Someone had informed me she had earned a special "in" with one of the partners a long time ago.
"Good morning," she said in two descending tones. "How was your weekend in the desert? Did Flopsy go with you?"
"Tina Quail," I corrected.
"Flopsy, Popsy or Cotton Tail, I can't keep your desert rabbits straight," replied Zaza. "Are flowers in order?"
I thought for a second and replied, "Yes that would be a good idea. Send her a bouquet of daisies or something cheerful like that. On the card say, 'for a delightful picnic.'"
Zaza replied with slight scorn, "Popsy usually got roses. I have Tina's address."
I went into my office, and started going through my email. After a while, Zaza buzzed my phone, and said, "George Downey has arrived and is in the conference room."
"OK," I replied.
I was grateful that scheduled visitors were charmed by Carolyn and then shown to the conference room. I didn't like Zaza representing me.
George is one of the technical experts we often use in our patent trials. He has two PhDs that I know of and is an expert on electromagnetic devices. Today he was, as usual, dressed as a scientist would be expected to, with a tweed sport coat that he wore in all seasons, and did not quite match his slacks, with leather patches sewn on the elbows, and a plastic pocket protector with several pens in the inside pocket. He was tan with balding grey hair and intense blue eyes, and today, as usual, he looked very serious.
We discussed some of the technical issues in the patent case I was working on, and talked about how we could present the information in lay terms in a trial. As he was getting ready to leave, we were chatting about cell phones and where they worked and where they didn't, when I thought I felt some sort of vibration from him.
I started to think about Tina and how I seemed to sense her vibrations. I said to George, "Sometimes I feel vibrations from people. Do you have any kind of idea what it might be?"
George looked incredulous, and I knew that I had just said something that was outside his scientific belief system. I got the same reaction that I would have if I said that I had been talking to a Mason jar.
George said, "There is nothing in electromagnetic theory that would explain that."
I thought I observed that his vibration had dropped.
"What theory is that?" I asked.
George grew stiff and said, "Anything like that is against the laws of Physics as expressed by Maxwell's equations."
"Maxwell?" I inquired.
"He was a nineteenth century mathematician who wrote the equations about how all electromagnetic waves and even light behave. For the cell phones we were talking about, Maxwell’s equations say that as you get farther from a cell tower, the signal, or number of bars you get goes down exponentially. If you are one mile from a cell tower and you move to two miles, the signal level drops by a factor of eight. If you move from one mile to three miles, the signal drops by a factor of twenty-eight.
"The human nervous system generates very low frequency signals, which can be detected with electrodes when thousands of cells, such as heart cells, fire in synchronism. The signal levels are so low they can't be radiated from the body with any strength that is detectable by even the most sensitive electronic instrument. I am not a physiologist, but I am certain that no antennas or sensitive receivers have been dissected from bodies. Although two human bodies might be jammed together there could not be enough electrical energy transmitted to be observable," George lectured.
I quickly thought of Tina, bodies jammed together, and then Uriel. It was obvious George was getting upset so I tried to change the subject by saying, "How difficult would it be to learn about...?" I felt a kind of ragged feeling vibration coming from George.
George interrupted and said, "That's why all that crazy stuff about ESP is pure ignorance, superstition, or the tricks of charlatans. It is all against the laws of physics. It doesn't happen except for people with limited critical thinking skills and a gullible imagination."
I could see that George would make a great witness in a trial on this subject.
"Thanks, George," I said, steering him toward the door. His eyes were beady, and it didn't look as though he knew where he was. I walked him out to Carolyn to make sure he got his parking ticket validated. Carolyn did her shy act with her eyes lowered and chin down and started chatting and attracted his attention. He seemed to be coming back to normal so I said goodbye, shook his hand, and went back to my office.
I regretted that I had brought the subject of vibrations up with George. He got very upset. I'm sure he thinks less of me for broaching a metaphysical subject. Tina must be a bad influence on me. I am starting to talk like her.
I spent the rest of the morning working on my case.
After lunch, Zaza buzzed me and said, "Mr. Bracken want to see you."
"Right now?" I asked.
"'Immediately' was what they said," replied Zaza with her sarcastic tone.
When I arrived at Phil Bracken's office his secretary, Patty, gave me a look that said something wonderful has happened. I walked into Phil's office, and he met me with a big smile and left his chair to give be an enthusiastic handshake.
"Congratulations! They settled! Have a seat," he said gesturing to a chair. "I guess after they saw your witness list and witness backgrounds they caved. They met with Paul in our Washington office and offered a settlement. Paul talked it over with his friend Robert Sampson, the CEO at Genstem and he said he would accept their offer. We won! Here is their offer."
He pushed a copy of the email across the desk to me. As I read it, I was surprised. It was more than I had expected.
"So, we don't have to trial." I said somewhat in a state of shock, feeling a letdown from having a whole year's work evaporate.
"Don't worry," Phil said. "Paul and the Washington office will take it from here. Why don't you take a few days off. You like to spend time in the desert this time of year. If they need anything, we can call you there. Have Zaza keep Patty informed of where to contact you." He got up and shook my hand again and said, "Good work! Congratulations! We will talk more when I get back. I have to leave for Detroit in a couple of minutes."
I walked back to my office still a little bit stunned.
Zaza greeted me with, "Patty told me the news. You're unemployed!"
That made me despair.
"I am going to the desert for a couple of days. You can call me anytime out there," I said. "You forgot your briefcase," said Zaza as I walked to the entrance.
When I walked into my apartment, I checked my phone for voicemail. I pressed the play code and heard Tina's voice:
"Thanks for the flowers. I called to thank you on your cell phone with no answer, and then I tried at your office. Your secretary said you had just left, and she didn't know when you would be back. I asked whether you were on a business trip. All she said is 'No.' She sounded very abrupt. Is everything OK?"
'That's Zaza,' I thought. I must have missed the cell call while I was in the parking garage. I knew that Tina was in class today, so I called her home phone and left a message, explaining that I had finished a case, was taking a few days off, and everything was fine.
On the way to the desert, I felt very alone and uncertain. I wished Tina had come with me. Zaza was right, 'I am unemployed.' Fortunately, I still draw a salary. Settling a case is like landing on a dry lake, stopping short.
It was just beginning to get dark when I got to CrystalAire. I parked the car and got my bag from the trunk. Glancing at the sky, I said to myself, 'Good evening, Hesperus!' Most people referred to the evening star as Venus. I like the Greek male version, Hesperus, because he is the leader of the stars as they march into the evening sky, obviously a great leader with that many followers, He has great organizational powers and gets everyone in place in the clear desert sky. I wondered if he was on Facebook.
It was already chilly. I hurried into the mobile home, put my bag in the bedroom, and went to the closet to get a down jacket, choosing the lighter one of two. I kept the warmer down jacket in a plastic wardrobe bag, bathed in the aroma of cedar chips and sage in the bottom of the bag, placed there to hide the scent of whoever had worn the jacket last, lately Tina.
I poured myself a brandy, went out onto the patio with the view of the desert, sat down in one of the white plastic chairs, put my feet up on a table, rocked back and looked at the zillions of stars in the clear desert sky. Despair was my only companion.
"Space-time," I said to myself, "there is a lot of it out there. Spaces are measured in millions of light-years. Time is measured in billions of years." I remembered that Einstein's theory of relativity and space-time had first been supported by measuring the bending of light from a distant star as it passed the sun during an eclipse. 'I don't see how there is a patent law case in the subject,' I said to myself.
I felt lonely.
I called Tina on my cell phone. She answered, and I said, "Hi, Tina, I am calling you from the desert. How are you doing?"
"Oh, thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful, my favorite kind; they were there when I got home from school."
I wondered what Zaza had sent.
Tina continued, "How is the weather out there? I got your message about taking a few days off. Is settling the case bad? You sound sort of down."
"It is beautiful, cold, and clear." I replied. "Settling a case is good–at least for the client–but I won't get to go to trial. That's where I really have my fun. Now, I get to start all over with a new client."
"More heavy scientific stuff?" Tina asked and then answered she, "Of course, that's what you do."
I sensed the cold tone in her voice. I asked, "Any chance you might like to visit the desert again?"
"I really can't right now; my end–of–school–year testing and grading, and my night school courses, will keep me buried until the end of the term," she replied stiffly. "There is someone at the door; I have to go now. Say hello to the kangaroo rats for me. Goodbye."
I felt deflated. I would have to start over in that department also.
"Too bad," I thought, 'Tina was fun to be with, unless she was talking nonsense about metaphysical things. No long-term future there.’
I sat quietly for a few minutes, just Hesperus and me, and watched his fol
lowers deploy. 'Hesperus, does your life ever come apart,' I wondered.
Then, I heard, "Good evening (as you believe time to exist), we are happy to be able to communicate with you again."
I thought, 'Oh, no. I don't need this now.'
It was Uriel, I looked around and saw a sandstone boulder that the landscapers had placed near the patio. It had a bright spark of light on the side of it. "Congratulations on the settlement of your patent case," said Uriel.
"How do you know about that?" I asked, somewhat intimidated.
"For now, we shall only say that we could see it coming when we last communicated. It was a probable future."
"I believed wining the case was a certainty. I have to believe that when I am working on a case," I rebutted.
"That's the way it works," Uriel's sound continued, "Belief causes a probable future to manifest. We will get to that later."
I was surprised. I was starting to feel that talking to a speck of light and an extra-dimensional intelligence was a natural thing to do. This time it couldn't be a dream.
"I have been sitting here looking at the stars and thinking about space-time," I interrupted, "That subject is about black holes, the Big Bang, galaxies, mathematics that few understand, not anything I am trained or interested in. It is too abstract for my thinking."
"You have correctly identified the problem," said Uriel. "Space and time in the sense of the cosmos are incomprehensible to all but a few of your species. Let's talk about space and time in terms of what you call a movie film.
"There is a story recorded on the frames of the film. Suppose that story starts with a man looking at the stars in a desert, then moves to a woman talking to him on the telephone, in Los Angeles, then moves back to the man in the desert, then to a restaurant, where he has dinner. The next day he travels back to his office, the story ends with the man returning to the same desert where he talks to a speck of light. When the movie film in on the reel, stored in the movie company's vault, there is no time or space in the movie. On the film, frames in the desert looking at the stars come first and the frames of the woman in LA are next, and the frames of the restaurant are next etc. There is no physical time, there is only a sequence of film frames: there is only timing; some things happen before others."