Grabbing the marble edge, a tall man hops out of the glass-bottomed swimming pool on the balcony of the presidential room. Muscles pop out from every corner of his body, including his inner thighs, which resemble those of NFL football players. He does not have any kind of swimwear on, au naturel. Two beautiful young women in bikinis help him put on a fuzzy white chenille robe. Kneeling before him, one of them ties the robe belt around his waist while smiling and maintaining eye-contact. He thanks her by patting her head.
The glass door opens, and the beefy man enters, escorted by the two gorgeous girls.
“Senator. Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says in his most formal voice. “Doctor’s orders. You’d understand if you ever had a bad back.”
“Here is the next soldier,” Senator replies with an agitated tone, pointing to Ryan. He unbuttons his suit and sits on the corner of a 4-seater, leather couch. Clothed in a suit of the same color, he appears united with the dark blue sofa. With his right hand, he pushes in the yellow pocket square that pokes out from his chest pocket.
A 2-yard-wide creek that runs below the spacious room’s glass floor separates Senator from Ryan, who stands next to seven modest chairs facing the sofa. The creek starts from the royal desk at the top of the room and disappears near the balcony, where the man in the robe stands with the two attractive girls.
“Oh, Mr. Ryan Public. It’s a true pleasure to meet you.” The huge man extends his hand. Standing still, he is about nine to ten feet away. After an awkward moment, Ryan impulsively approaches him, his right hand extended. When shaking hands, Ryan feels his hand is being devoured. This was the same feeling he had as a child when shaking hands with his dads—i.e., mom’s boyfriends.
“You know me?” Ryan says excitedly, eyes dilated.
“Are you kidding? The 4th highest score in Mars II. The 3rd place in last year’s national game competition. And not to mention, the only gamer who has ever finished all the levels in Jupiter IX. You are absolutely my personal hero, Mr. Public.”
“Thank you. And… and you are?”
“James Mo-ney, the producer of the aforementioned games. But you can call me President. Kidding. Ha Ha Ha. Call me Mr. Mo-ney. It’s spelled like money, but it’s pronounced mow-nay. It’s French. Do you know any French?”
“No.”
“Any French kiss?”
“Ah…—”
“Yeah, you do, you dog. Ha Ha Ha. I like you, Mr. Public. You and I are alike. I can see one day you would become a great producer like me. Yeah, I know, I know; nobody knows who the producer is. I might not get the well-deserved credit for creating those worlds, but I do get the final reward,” he says, his arms wrapped around the necks of the two girls. “That glass-bottomed pool alone costs seven million dollars.”
Gesturing to the pool, President turns toward the balcony. The two girls turn as well. Ryan’s gaze, however, is glued to them.
“Wow!” Ryan exclaims.
“Wow indeed. Wanna try?” President asks, arms still wrapped around the two girls. They both smile at Ryan.
“Which one?” Ryan asks, feeling butterflies in his stomach. His gaze wanders between the two girls in bikinis, never quite settling on either.
“The pool.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, letting out a relaxed breath. “No, I’m good.”
“Come on. You gotta try it. Girls, help him change.”
“No, no, no. Really,” Ryan insists, pulling up his pants. “Thank you.”
“Seriously. Mi piscina es tu piscina. Anytime you want.”
“That’s OK.”
“Alexi, take a note,” President tells the voice assistant. “A free entrance to the glass-bottomed swimming pool in Uranus for Mr. Ryan Public.”
“In Uranus?!”
“You’re gonna love it. I’ve ordered the coders to make an exact replica. It is actually better than the real one since there will be no pollution or fog so you could actually see the city while swimming.” President approaches his royal desk, and the two girls follow. The light-brown partners desk resembles the Resolute desk in the White House. Behind it is a large portrait of President holding the Earth in his palm.
“Wow!” Ryan exclaims.
“Wow indeed. Wanna try it now?” President asks, picking up an erect silver rod from his desk.
“Can I?”
“Here.” President hands over the one-feet-long rod. “Insert this wireless connector and you will be in the game instantly.”
“Insert?!” bewildered Ryan asks, holding the thick rod in his hand.
“That would go into your anus.”
The girls are no longer smiling.
Ryan takes a step back, his butt clenched. “Ah… Ah… I… Is…”
“Kidding,” President says, roaring in laughter. “You should have seen the look on your face. It’s priceless.” The girls too fake a laugh with him.
Holding the rod in his hand, Ryan watches President laugh at his own joke.
Senator does not seem amused. Holding his wristwatch before his face, he stares at it with grinding teeth. With every second that President’s laughter drags on the furrows on Senator’s brow grow deeper and deeper.
“It’s just a rod made of aluminum,” President says finally, trying to stop his laughter. “Best 100 bucks I’ve ever spent. Here. This wireless helmet is the magic that interfaces your brain to Uranus.”
“As long as it does not interface to yours.”
“To mine?… You mean like… Oh. Ho Ha Ha Ha. I get it now. Your-anus. Ha Ha Ha. It’s funny. It’s funny and smart. I like you, Mr. Public. I can see one day you’ll become a great me.”
“Speaking of Uranus—” Senator jumps in, gesturing to his wristwatch.
“Oh, yes. The matter at hand. That’s where I hand things off to Michele,” he says, pointing to a 30-ish-year-old woman, who has been silently observing from the back. “I might be the hottest person in the room, but not the smartest. Ha Ha Ha. Michele here is the brain, the CTO of the Uranus project, the one who knows everything from the top to the bottom. One of the best female leaders in our industry. Michele, all yours. Oh, and she is also a lesbian, although I’ve yet to see a video to back that up.” President winks at Michele. She responds with a bitter smile and quickly turns away, approaching Ryan.
“Mr. Public. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, extending her hand.