All Over Creation (44 page)

Frankie was thoroughly jazzed, and he just couldn't come down. “This is
it!
” he said, punching the pillow. “I can't explain it, but I know. This is the kind of shit I gotta do. I was born for it.”

Charmey curled up against him and yawned. He draped his arm over her belly and let it hang there, absently rubbing, as he went over the day in his mind. Sometimes when he skated, when his feet hit the board and the wheels started to spin, there'd be this moment when time would stop and the world stopped with it—all movement, all sound—and he'd be the only one, soaring alone through the silence. Everything would be so clear and beautiful he just wanted to howl. That was what it had felt like as he floated across that hotel lobby, only even more intense. He sighed. It was good to find your passion.

When Geek and Y told him they were heading back to Liberty Falls, Frankie went ballistic. Geek worked to reassure him. “Don't worry, little brother. We're planning something big.”

In the thick, humid days of an early D.C. summer, Elliot missed the dry air of Idaho, even in the air-conditioned comfort of his office.

“So fuck D.C.,” Jillie said, loosening his tie. “Fuck PR! Go farm potatoes.” She looked at him critically. “You're such a hick, Elliot. I can see you being quite good at it.”

“A propensity for potatoes?” he suggested, weighing her breast.

“A talent for tubers,” she rejoined, dropping her hand to his crotch. “A soft spot for spuds.”

But his heart wasn't in it. He'd lost his sparkle, the keen edge of his enthusiasm for her, which, sadly, seemed only to sharpen Jillie's appetite for him. Ever polite, he never failed to rally, but even as he slipped his hands down the small of her back and around the curve of her buttocks, lifting her onto his desk, he was aware of a thinness to their interaction. Together they had a slick veneer. What they lacked was history. So when his phone rang just as he was leaning her back onto his blotter and parting her legs, he hesitated first, but he reached across the desk and picked it up.

“Pied?” he said.

He stepped back and studied Jillie's scowling face as he listened, then sat down heavily in his chair and started to swivel. She leaned on her elbows and watched him go 'round and 'round. He hung up and groaned.

“Who was it?” Jillie asked.

He raised his face from his hands. “A guy dressed like Mr. Potato Head threw a pie at the CEO of Cynaco.”

“Ah, yes. Pied.”

He dropped his hands and stared at her. “You
knew
about this?”

“Actually,” she said, sitting all the way up now, “I had heard, yes. They sent out quite a detailed press release.”

“You
heard
and you didn't tell me?”

“I figured you already knew.”

“I didn't. Why should I know?”

“Maybe because it's your job? I thought Mr. Potato Head was your beat. Those kids you were tracking. The Seeds of Resistance . . .”

“They're in Idaho,” he said. “Besides, they don't pie. Unless of course it's an alliance. With that other group, you know, the corporate crime police.”

“The ones who pied Bill Gates.”

“Yeah.” He looked over at her, reclining splay-legged on his desk. “Wait a minute. Wurtz isn't running this story, is he?”

“Well, yes.”

“And you're writing it?”

“Mmm.”

“Why didn't you
tell
me?”

“I thought we could have sex
first
and
then
talk about it.”

He groaned and covered his face again. “I can't, Jillie. My heart's not in it.”

“Since when has your heart had anything to do with it?”

When she didn't get an answer, she brought her legs together and tugged down her skirt.

“So,” she said, trying again, “I gather they nailed their target?”

“Smack in the face,” he said through his hands. His voice was muffled.

“Tofu crème, huh?”

He just continued to swivel.

“Well,” she said, hopping off the desk, “this conversation certainly isn't going anywhere. I'm going to get something to eat.” She grabbed her purse and paused at the door. “Maybe you
should
consider potato farming, Elliot,” she said. “Because you're kind of losing what it takes for a career in public relations.”

He sat there peering at her through his spread fingers, watching the way her tight butt twitched as she walked away. You're telling me, he thought, and then he groaned. Duncan was going to kill him if it came out in the press that the Seeds of Resistance had anything to do with this.

“Jillie!” he called, jumping up. He needed to ask her what was in her story, but the only response he got was the computerized voice of the elevator as the doors closed behind her: “Going down.”

Elliot went back to his office and picked up the phone. Duncan was away on a spiritual retreat in New Mexico, which bought him a little time. He couldn't do anything to kill the story, but at least he could find out why the fuck he hadn't been informed. He dialed the Pinkerton's number. Rodney picked up. He sounded quite miffed at Elliot's question.

“Sure I knew they'd taken off,” he said.

“You were supposed to be watching them! What happened?”

There was a long silence. When Rodney finally spoke, his voice sounded distant. “Word got out about that pornography Web site of theirs. Folks here don't think much of that kind of thing, if you know what I mean, and let 'em know. They left town shortly after.”

“I specifically said
not
to run them out of town. Why didn't you tell me they were going to San Francisco?”

“Well, now, Mr. Rhodes, I didn't know where they were going, did I? Besides, San Francisco is outside of my jurisdiction.”

Elliot hung up, then dialed again. “Can I talk to your mom?” he said.

“Yummy!” he heard Ocean cry. “It's for you. It's the man in the suit. The one from the nation's capital.”

Yummy picked up an extension and yelled at her daughter to hang up, but Ocean had wandered off. Elliot could hear her singing her song in the background. “Going to the garden to eat worms, yum, yum, yum. . . .”

“Why didn't you tell me the Seeds had left?” he asked. “Did you know about this action in San Francisco?”

“You mean the one with the pies?”

Apparently everyone had known about this except him. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought you wanted to know what they were doing here. In Idaho. So that you could come back and see me. I thought that was the point.”

“It was. It is. But I'll need more than just that for an article, you know.”

“Oh. Well, I didn't think you'd be interested in pies. It seemed silly.”

“Pies are never silly.”

“They're not?”

“No. I mean, yes. Silly is what makes them so insidious. Pies are like stealth bombs on the battleground of public opinion. Media Molotov cocktails that can home in on a CEO and do more damage to that corporation's image in one televised instant than half a dozen articles in the
Times.
”

“Oh.” She didn't sound at all impressed.

“It's terrorism,” he said. “It's assault and battery. It's breaking the law.”

“Elliot, whose side are you on, anyway?”

“I'm not on anyone's side. I'm a journalist. I'm impartial.”

“Well, I'm sorry. Things got a little out of control here after you left, and they split, but now they want to come back. They just called from San Francisco. They have some crazy idea they want Lloyd's help with. I don't know . . .”

Elliot sat up. “That's good,” he said, leaning forward. “You need their help, too, right? It's too much for you to handle alone. Do you know when they'll be coming back?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I was going to tell them to forget it,” she said. “I don't trust them.”

He sat back and swiveled around in his chair. He took a deep breath. “Sure,” he said. “I can see that.” He paused. “Too bad, though. I'd like to hear what they're up to. It might be interesting, and of course it would be great to see you. . . .”

On the morning of the Seeds' return, I woke to the smell of baking muffins and the sound of Charmey in the kitchen.

“—mostly fried,” Ocean was telling her. “In butter.”

I sat up in bed. From the bathroom I heard the sound of water running. I got up and stood outside the closed door. The sweet, humid smell of steam and bath soap wafted from under the door. “Oh . . .” I heard Lloyd sigh. “That feels real good. Haven't had a proper bath since you left.”

“Well, you just lie back and enjoy while I go help Lilith change your sheets.”

“Melvin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don't you go running off like that again, you hear?”

“I'll try not to, sir.”

I made it back to my bedroom before Melvin saw me in the hall. I turned up the volume on the baby monitor, and from Lloyd's bedroom I heard Lilith whispering, “This place is a
mess. . . .
”

I went to the window and looked out. Below me was the graceless shape of the Spudnik. Beyond, in the garden, Geek was following Momoko down the rows, nodding as she pointed to the beanstalks climbing vigorously up their poles toward the sky. I had meant to spend more time with her, maybe help her weed a little, but I hadn't gotten around to it.

The Spudnik door slammed and Phoenix came tearing out, wearing a T-shirt I'd never seen before. I heard him take the porch steps in twos.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Look what Frankie got me in Frisco!”

“What's Thrasher?” Ocean asked.

“Skate 'zine. Totally rad.”

I heard the oven door open, then close. “Oh, wow! Awesome muffins!”

I sat on the edge of the bed trying to decide whether I felt hurt or relieved. Then I heard my son say proudly, through a mouthful of muffin, “Hey, Char, guess what? I was just telling Frankie. After you guys left? I got arrested and put in the slammer!”

I lay back down and pulled up the covers.

 

 

A week or so later they called a council meeting on the porch. Melvin helped Lloyd into an old rocking chair, and Momoko sat beside him. It was a warm summer evening. Sprinklers dotted the lawn, and the rainbirds spanned the green fields of potatoes and wheat, as far as the eye could see, pumping pixels of water into the air. A fine spray hung over the earth, catching the last deep angles of light.

Carefully, Geek prepared us. He outlined the political and social agenda of the Seeds. He gave a brief recap of the hazards of biotech, then he explained the idea behind the Fourth of July action.

“We envision something like the Boston Tea Party,” he said. “They threw tea into Boston Harbor to protest taxation without representation. We're digging up potatoes to protest genetic engineering without our consent. It'll be an educational event, like a teach-in, to wake people up to the magnitude of this hazardous corporate agenda that is being implemented behind our backs. We'll call it the Idaho Potato Party.”

“Cool,” Phoenix said. “I'll help.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Whose potatoes, exactly, are you planning to dig up?”

“Well, that's still to be decided,” Geek said. “We've closed the Garden of Earthly Delights part of the Web site, by the way . . .”

“Good.”

“. . . and we're planning to open a Potato Party site with real-time links, so that people can participate online.”