CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Pacific Ocean lacked authenticity to Alex. Standing waist deep, facing out to sea, he thought the breaking waves sounded a little dulled, too many random objects—shells, seaweeds, disturbed sand—marked the bed. The smell of salt overpowered the air, as well. Wearing only shorts, holding the cord to a boogie board, Alex wanted to turn down the scent, remove the tug of current around his legs.
“One more time,” Steve, Rosa’s brother-in-law, said as he waded past Alex, dragging his own boogie board.
Was this the real world?
Alex turned to shore. The cottage proved he inhabited God’s reality. Rosa chased her three-year-old nephew. Two other children and six adults—Rosa’s family—populated the private beach.
Alex’s lungs burned from fatigue; his shoulders from the sun.
Steve reached a depth, hopped atop his board and kicked.
Alex wanted to do one more. He enjoyed boogie boarding enough to repeat the act all day, but his legs quaked with each step.
When he reached the deep end and placed his weight atop his board, his level of weariness instructed him to turn back, or just sleep.
Steve rode a wave past him, yelling his enthusiasm. That, and the smile on his face propelled Alex to continue.
Today’s waves crested at six to eight feet. The sky cloudless. The temperature a balmy eighty-two degrees—the same setting Alex would have chosen in the Lobby.
Reaching a launching point, he bobbed on the sea for ten minutes, resting. Paddling to catch a desired wave with arms like limp noodles amplified his fear he’d paddled out one too many times.
When the wave broke, he rode it north. Body boarding required relatively low energy, low impact (a reason the forty pound overweight Steve competed against him) but halfway to shore, Alex succumbed to his exhaustion, and biffed.
Three tumbles under the wave separated him from his floatation device, and disoriented. The water couldn’t be more than twelve feet deep, but he found no footing, felt miles from air. A few random flails stoked panic.
Remembering a surfing instructor from inside the Lobby’s technique, he expelled air. Bubbles rose toward safety. He followed them up.
Alex broke the surface with nothing left in the tank. His feeble yell for help carried inches. He’d already drifted a fair ways to the north, a bit further from shore.
Rolling to his back, he filled his lungs to help buoyancy, intending to kick toward shore. Movement reminded him of the board velcroed to his ankle.
He exhaled in relief, winced in frustration at the generous effort needed to reel in his safety net.
Using the board, and every drop of available energy, he kicked until his toes banged sand, in three feet of water.
Reaching shore, he lay in range of lapping waves for ten minutes before he heard approaching footsteps.
“Takin’ a little breather, are ya?” Steve was Italian and so hairy curls outlined his looming shadow. “Thought a shark might have got cha.”
Too tired to speak, Alex only shook his head. Not a shark, but death by drowning had been a real possibility.
Steve dragged Alex out of the water, plopped him on the sand, face down.
Alex rolled to his back.
“You gonna be okay?” Steve asked.
The shame of being dragged motivated Alex to rise, speak, walk on his own.
Instead, he laid there, nodded.
“Gonna hit another wave. I’ll scoop you up after you’ve caught your breath.”
Steve went out an additional two times before Alex enough of his strength returned for him to head back. In his excruciating kick to shore, he had traveled a hundred and fifty yards from their property.
Alex saw Rosa with her nephew and two other children. They had dug a trench six feet up the beach and worked on erecting a castle.
Alex trudged to the picnic table and sat. One glass of lemonade, a sandwich, and a dozen shrimp replenished him enough to think.
“You need to get some more block on that pasty skin.” Steve said to Alex.
Agreeing, Alex layered sun block on his shoulders and nose. Applying the white cream to his arms contrasted his lack of color. Had I ever been this pale growing up?
“You seem to be having fun,” Rosa said, stepping behind Alex to apply sunscreen to his back.
Excluding the near drowning, he had been enjoying himself. He addressed the eyes on him. “Family, friends, and a beautiful setting. What’s not to love.”
He felt Rosa’s smile.
“I could recreate this in the Lobby,” Alex said. “Lose the few negatives, turn down the breeze-”
Rosa pinched his side, stopping him. “You’re always joking.”
Checking the faces around the table and seeing confusion, surprise, and downward glances, Alex said, “Not for us. We have the real thing, but I’m sure people who can’t afford Malibu property would enjoy this setting.”
”You’re a madman, Alex,” Steve said. His baritone voice jiggled with mild laughter. “Name it, living like the Cutlers, and you’ll have a hit.”
Alex grinned.
“Aunt Rosa,” Anthony, Rosa’s (and apparently his?) nephew patted her leg. “Will you come help. The wall’s falling down.”
“Sure will, buddy.” Rosa followed the running child.
“You guys looking to have a kid?” Steve asked.
“They’re such a blessing,” Rosa’s sister added.
Watching the young boy run, care-free and full of enthusiasm, tugged at Alex’s heart. He wasn’t sure scheduling a child fit with his personality. “I’m not opposed to the idea.”
Rosa’s sister perked up, “That’s so nice to hear. Rosa will make a great mother.”
Alex agreed.
They ate dinner outdoors, near the cottage.
The evening passed with a game of trivial pursuit, Entertainment Edition. Alex nailed many of the Lobby related questions. He and Rosa still came in third out of three teams.
He retired to his bed as the others gathered around the campfire. Sore, Alex listened to the murmur of voices and occasional laughter with mixed feelings. He felt closer to everyone there, more connected with everyday life, but he had brushed against death. By his aches, pain waited for him on the morrow, and he couldn’t help but think back on everyone’s reaction when he mentioned doing this inside the Lobby. Was it really such a wild idea? or was the whole world ass backwards?.
* * * *
Alex enjoyed driving along the eight lanes of I-605 in Los Angeles. The limousine tint allowed him to mingle among the people, look into faces, hear their voices at a stoplight, all without harassment.
“How are you feeling?” Rosa asked from the driver’s seat.
“My muscles ache,” he blushed. Four trips to a wave and back fell short of great exertion. “The funny thing is my stomach muscles hurt the most.”
“Gotta work on that core, hun. There’s a list of fun exercises we can do to help you there.”
“Yeah…” Alex needed to work on his fitness, but he couldn’t join Rosa. She employed a six day a week routine that left her covered in sweat.
Inhaling deeply, as if sensing his deflection, Rosa said, “Are you telling me being a little sore wasn’t worth that weekend?”
“No, it was. I am smiling thinking of how nice it was to be around you every minute for three whole days.”
“Everyone commented on how relaxed you seemed.”
“It was a nice weekend. What do you think about keeping it going, by joining me in the Lobby?”
“The Lobby?” The car swerved a tick as she exited the highway.
“Well, yeah. It could be as much fun and I’ve had this vacation with Roy planned.”
“Thirty minutes after a great time and you’re daydreaming of going in that machine.”
“I’m not daydreaming. It’s just on my schedule.”
“Oh…don’t,” Rosa stopped her thought by clenching her jaw. “I’m married to an addict.”
Alex huffed. The idea lacked the merit to comment.
“A junkie,” Rosa said with more frustration.
Mentioning the Lobby, at that moment, had been dumb. It seemed every time they had something good, he found a way to mess it up. A stretch of the drive passed in silence. Alex said, “You know I love you.”
She peeked at him and then back to the road.
“And I had such an amazing time with you and your family. I honestly can’t wait until we do it again.”
She kept her eyes ahead of her, but slowed their speed through the posh, well-shaded Bel Air neighborhood.
“It’s just, I made these plans with Roy when I left last week and if I don’t show, he’ll sit there all confused and worried.”
“Oh, don’t give me that baloney. Roy’s a big boy. He’d be just fine without you.”
True, but how do you speak the truth—that the idea of escaping his pain and unease thrilled him—when it could stop her heart?
“I just want a husband who’s present. Do you know what it’s like to walk past that room and picture you in there devoid of life, night after night?”
His face grew warm. He wiped his moist palms on his pants. “I hate myself for being gone so much. I do. And here’s my promise: If you let me visit him without any guilt this one time, I’ll give the Lobby a ninety day break.” His stomach clenched. Why did I say that?
Rosa stopped short of the guard shack outside their extensive driveway, faced him. “You’ll do that? Three months without going inside? Maybe visit one of those counselors who specialize in the powers of Lobby addiction?”
Doing the math, and being that three months covered July and August, her amendment extended his original pledge of ninety days, to ninety-two days—an underhanded maneuver. He decided to leave it alone. “I not only swear it, I think it’ll be great. I hate upsetting you this much. Sometimes…I feel worthless. Learning my health needs attention.” He shrugged, knowing his pale, emaciated look acted as a stampeding elephant in their lives. “Maybe if I clear my mind, I’ll be able to handle future Lobby breaks with more control.”
“If you’re serious, I agree to your terms, but I don’t want a battle, Alex. When you’re out, we get you some help.”
“I’m serious, babe. No fights, no nothing. You deserve this. You’re worth any sacrifice I can think of, and this break will prove it.” It sounded good. He meant the words, but what would he do for ninety-two days?
Thinking deeper, he wondered how him suffering for months represented a sign of affection? Perhaps, like an addict of opiates, once he escaped the fog of the high, clarity would follow, and he’d gain a new appreciation for each breath taken free of control. He somehow doubted it.
Rose leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Well, I hope you have a great time with your artificially recreated friend.” She then pulled past the gate house and drove up the five hundred foot horseshoe-shaped drive. “I’ll make you a turkey and cheese croissant. Extra cheese, heavy mayo. Maybe throw on those pink shorts you love, help you relax before you go in?”
He picked up on her double-entendre, and loved the way the fabric of those shorts slipped in between her fit backside, but the time on the dash told him he only had twenty-two minutes until Roy expected him. He’d planned on leaving the cottage hours earlier.
Rosa followed his gaze. Her shoulders sagged as she presumably read his thoughts. “Let me at least run in and get the sandwich ready. You need to eat something solid.”
The nurses who attended him during his trip might disagree, but he reached over and rubbed her arm. “I love you.”
She parked in front of the main doors, kissed him, and hurried in.
Stepping out of the SUV, he marveled at the home before him. He tried his best to shun the fame and limelight that came with being the face of the Broumgard Group, but if anonymity had been his true objective, he did himself a disservice when fabricating their Bel Air Estate.
The Cutler home had become the most known residence in the modern world. The media dubbed it, “Legion,” for its many faces. Needless to say, Rosa barred the moniker from their vocabulary. Like now, the name always made him grin.
Shortly after he signed on to be a partner of Broumgard, it became apparent money would never be a concern. Legion followed that reality. He purchased three lots in the exclusive Beverly Glen section of Bel Air where the land carried more value than the opulent estates built atop them. After leveling the mansions, pools, sheds—everything—construction began.
Roy had financed a twenty-eight-thousand square foot guest home where he and Charles lived. Rustic in design, their home easily impressed, but it paled when juxtaposed against the main attraction.
Twenty-four thousand square feet comprised Legion. Conservative when compared to the sixty-six-thousand square foot dwelling belonging to Bill Gates; and that square footage equaled a wing in many Middle Eastern palaces.
The private access chairs, located within their master suite represented his most treasured amenity. Only Adisah, who converted Eridu into his own private residence, could also boast of having private access terminals. A moot concept seeing as how Adisah continued to avoid the Lobby.
As expected for the man many believed designed and created the Lobby single-handedly, Alex-Cutler-designed software caused Legion to grace the cover of over four hundred magazines, and millions of webpages, worldwide. The inside, outside, top, and bottom were constructed of eighteen-inch-thick OLED Gorilla Glass, modified to display a crisp viewing surface. Every section of the home conformed, visually, to exquisite detail.
The first day he unveiled it to Rosa, he projected the property behind the house onto the front, essentially making the long awaited abode, and its interior, invisible. Then, as she stood perplexed, a stone castle from sixteenth century France materialized, causing Rosa to shed tears of amazement. Unlike the Lobby, she embraced this technology.
Alex spotted men in sport coats roaming the property. Though he hated needing them, Legion’s security emanated from the same ranks as the secret service. The head of his team, Patrick Dean, grew into a trusted confidant, a source of immeasurable knowledge, and a man able to solve any problem.
The snapping sound of the Land Rover’s hatch paused his rumination. He turned to find Glen retrieving the luggage. “Hey, man, how’s it going?” He asked loud enough to be heard.
Glen lifted two bags simultaneously. Without acknowledging he’d heard Alex, he trudged toward the house.
Alex didn’t understand Rosa’s issue with the kid. Yeah, he stayed quiet and to himself—same as Alex at that age. He also empathized with Glen. They’d both learned of death and loss at too young of an age.
“How do you like the door?” he asked as Glen approached.
Rosa enjoyed transforming Legion so much, she only allowed Alex to mold the double-doors. Today, they displayed a montage of surfers riding the break near their Malibu property.
“I like them,” Glen said in passing.
Alex smiled at the kid’s economy of words.
The main doors opened at Glen’s approach.
Remembering Rosa wanted him to eat before he logged in, he hurried inside, headed toward the kitchen. As he thought about his vow to Rosa, his stomach knotted and his feet transmuted to lead. Roy counted on Alex’s company. With Charles, they were the three amigos.
Alex ground his teeth. Rosa’s feelings had to be as important to him as Roy’s. After this one vacation, he’d prove it to her, and himself.