CHAPTER FIVE
“Keep staring out that peep hole and there’ll be a ring around your eye when they get inside,” Kole said from behind Alex. The cathedral ceilings and smooth design lines of Alex’s condominium granted a clean pitch to Kole’s voice.
Alex bit his bottom lip. Prior to the ding of the arriving elevator, he’d paced the entryway. Holding his breath, he spied on the load of people who poured forth: a young lady he’d never seen carried a covered dish; nervous Carl, Big Jason. Denise whistled as she stepped out and yelled, “We’re movin’ on up, Weezy!” Rosa exited last. Alex exhaled.
As expected, the group gathered before the nine-foot tall, nine-foot wide piece of moving art, Patterned Creation. A massive globe the size of an elephant that continually rotated. The vast oceans, crafted in dimpled crystal stained a light blue, allowed glimpses of the hollow center and opposite side. Each country’s national stone delineated their borders; a green and textured, high-polished granite for America. A plate-sized section of cubic zirconium cast a rainbow of sparkle each time South Africa met the light. The red of Myanmar’s ruby outline shined enough to reflect Alex’s image, when close. Even with artificial gemstones, he imagined Patterned Creation’s worth floated in the mid-to-high six figures and accepted he might be short by a zero or two.
“Did you watch me like that when I checked out your globe?” Kole said.
“Yes,” Alex replied, just not for this long.
Rosa stood in the rear of the pack; a pink envelope in her hand. She wore a violet blouse and tight jeans. Her shapely hips increased his heart rate. She turned to the door. Alex jumped back and bumped into Kole, who gripped his shoulders and moved him to the side.
Kole peeked out of the lens, jerked as the knock arrived.
“Go back there, out of sight,” Kole whispered. “Act like you’re coming from the deck.”
The entrance in Alex’s condominium ended with two sets of six steps, splitting right and left around a seven-foot tall glass case. The illuminated trench coat from the movie, The Matrix, acted as his home’s welcoming mat.
Out of sight at the bottom of the steps, voices clashed in greeting. Alex resisted his urge to meet them at the door. Heeding Kole’s advice, he raced to the open slider but stopped short of exiting to the evening sun. The strong winds of his fifth floor balcony would drown out his guests’ voices.
The smell of seasoned meats cooking on low flames distracted him.
“Ohhs,” perked Alex’s hearing.
Kole proudly explained the trench coat’s authenticity. He told one of the women, “I’ll have you take a picture of me wearing that, and nothing else.”
Shoes padded down the hard tiled steps, bringing Rosa into view. Alex forced out a breath and moved toward her.
She stopped at the edge of his open floor plan. Dining, living, and sunroom shared a generous space of modern design. Framed sci-fi movie posters, starting with Metropolis, centered with his favorite, Hackers, lined the far south wall. Beneath them, an aquarium that stretched twenty feet. At five ten, Rosa stood an inch below Alex. Her dark brown eyes swirled like hot coffee finished with crème.
“Hi, Alex.” She extended the envelope. “I brought you a card.”
“That’s really thoughtful.” A small bow decorated the front. The card, an A-frame home with a small garden and bent gardener raised on a green front. Printed inside, “So glad you’re finally here. Welcome home.” Written below, “Welcome to our sacred city. You’re going to love it! Rosa.”
“It was the only card in the gift shop that fit.” Rosa said.
“It’s awesome.” He stepped to the nearest table: white with a single drawer, a bowl of white faux fruit on top. He pushed the bowl to the side and propped the card up. It felt like a female to male example of a bouquet of roses. He blushed so hard he feared facing her.
“It smells good, what’s cooking?” she asked.
Between them? No, she means the food. He swallowed. “I don’t even know.”
“Didn’t you just come from the grill?”
Looking at the door, he tried to remember what Kole had been thawing in the sink. Coming up empty, he winced bashfully, “I’m pretty sure it’s meat.”
She smirked, “That’s a safe bet.”
Feeling overwhelmed with attraction, he extended his hand to initiate contact, “Nice to see you again.”
They shook once up, once down. He smiled so wide he feared he looked goofy, but didn’t care.
“There’s the man of the house right there.” Kole guided a woman by her shoulders. “This is Melissa. You’ll soon learn she’s the best hostess at Mountaintop Steakhouse.”
She blushed. “I seat customers. It’s a pretty simple job.”
“I’ve seen those seating charts, com-pli-ca-ted,” Kole said. “Have a seat around this kingly table. I’ll check the grill.”
Jason wore a gray Star Wars T-shirt. In silence, he took the table’s head position. Denise continued on, inspecting the place, opening doors, mumbling (compliments?) under her breath.
Alex considered holding a chair out for Rosa, decided it was too cordial, thought about where to sit—one spot from her, directly next to, across from? He bit the end of his thumb.
“Where are you going to sit?” Rosa asked.
“Right here,” he grabbed the back of the nearest chair.
“Then I’ll sit here.” She grabbed the one next to him.
“Thirty minutes until we eat,” Kole said as he returned carrying a fifth of Captain Morgan’s and a two-liter of Coke. “Who wants to play Presidents and assholes?”
Remembering the Asian man, Alex asked, “Is Song coming?”
“No, man.” Kole said, “I like the dude, but you can’t understand him unless we’re in—”
He and Alex locked eyes.
Carl busied himself opening one of three decks of cards, as if oblivious to Kole’s near slip.
Rosa and Melissa lacked proper security clearance. They had never heard of the Lobby, had no idea what clients experienced at the Atrium, or why they arrived at Eridu in such good spirits.
The ladies focused their inquisitive looks at Kole.
Alex understood what Kole had planned to say, “You can’t understand Song unless we’re in the Lobby.” All languages translated to the clients’ original language to make communication fluid. The Lobby erased age gaps and stature and looks and dialects, making it a place where friendships formed solely on compatibility.
“Can’t understand him unless what?” Melissa asked.
Rosa glanced at Alex and squinted as if trying to read something in his features.
“Unless his girl’s hanging on his arm to translate,” Denise said as she pulled out a chair and glared at Alex. “You must be damned important for all this bling.”
“How many cards do I deal?” Jason asked, the cards poised in his outstretched hand. Perhaps he heard the slip and now ran cover.
“Deal out the deck,” Kole sat, ending the mishap. “The rules are simple. Jason leads off by playing his lowest card. Going to his right, you must play a card higher. If you can’t, pairs trump singles, triples and quads go on pairs, two’s clear the pile and you lead out. First person to play all their cards is the President during the next game. Second person out is the Vice President, third the Governor, etc. The last guy is the asshole. They have to shuffle and deal, and everyone must do what anyone above them says.”
“So if I win,” Melissa said, “You have to do what I tell you?”
“When I win, you’ll have to do what I tell you,” Kole said.
Intended as a drinking game, Kole bummed at the realization only he, Melissa, and Denise were drinking. The group substituted commands to drink for silly acts: Carl was made to quack like a duck each time someone played a card for a full turn. Denise ordered Kole to do a chicken dance while the table sung the beat. Alex failed miserably when Rosa (their VP) ordered him (the lowly mayor) to do a Kamarinskaya, the traditional Russian dance. With arms crossed, he went low as the men clapped in time.
The ladies yelled, “Lower, go lower, lower,” until he plopped back on his bum. Instead of red-hot embarrassment, Alex laughed with the room; cut short by Rosa bending to help him up.
Her palms on his forearm and back arm added to his bliss.
Table cleared, food on the way, Rosa said, “We’ll get the side dish,” and tapped Alex’s arm.
Melissa passed them on the way to the kitchen, carrying the casserole they intended to grab, but Rosa continued on. “I want to see what you have to drink besides soda.”
His forty-nine cubic foot of storage, Turbo Air refrigerator opened outward from the middle. They each grabbed a handle, pulled, leaned in to inspect. The immediate result placed their heads inches apart. He stared at the Tropicana label. She stared at him. The cool air of the opened refrigerator helped chill his soaring body temperature. “I have OJ, bottled water, a V-8.”
She watched him. If he turned, he’d practically be kissing her. That seemed way too forward, despite the idea’s appeal.
Perhaps she wanted to kiss? Just pecking her lips in front of an open refrigerator seemed juvenile.
Intending to find out why she still faced him, he rotated. She turned to pursue the beverages.
“I’ll take a bottle of water,” Rosa reached inside. “You want something?” She asked as they both rose and closed the doors.
He knew staring into her eyes showed his hand: that he found her breathtakingly beautiful; that he wanted to lean forward and kiss her; that he’d never detected an energy similar to what pulsed between them.
Turning, she cracked open the bottled water, sipped, and said, “I’m starving,” before moving toward the other room.
“Do you want to eat here again tomorrow,” Alex blurted.
Stopping at the steps, she inspected him, her eyes squinted, her lips pursed, “That depends on how good the food is.” She pattered to the other room.
Smiling, Alex interpreted that as a yes: they had cheddar-filled bratwurst.