Chocolate Chocolate Moons (22 page)

That evening the guests enter the ballroom. Heels click on a clear plexi-bridge suspended over a pool filled with darting lighted robotic sea creatures and women with flowing hair in topless mermaid costumes. Everyone becomes everyone’s best friend for fifteen seconds.

Planetarium Jewelers, “the jewelers to the stars,” lent Solaria an emerald necklace that matches her dress, a flowing pale green chiffon gown that shifts with her body. Her blond hair is swept up, with one piece dangling down her back.

She greets Drew and Kandy and leads them to a front table. Sandy would have preferred that Drew sit in the back with the rest of his staff, but he doesn’t object, because Kandy, a former Miss Universe, is sitting where everyone can see her. Craig arrives and is seated on the other side of Kandy.

Solaria’s parents, Salami and Lasagna Pastrami, are at the head table with other family members.

Sandy sits with the ambassador from Earth, Pontius Nimbus. His wife, Vaporous Nimbus, is seated to his left. Her nude-colored dress matches her skin tone so well, it’s hard to see where the fabric ends and her skin begins.

Across the table is Venus’s ambassador, who invited Sandy and Solaria to Venus last year because of Sandy’s success with the solar clock. Solaria was ecstatic because she got to stay at the embassy’s guesthouse and not the Hotel de Milo, where she had once slipped in the hotel’s theater before a performance of the
Merchant of Venus
when someone yelled “Break an arm!” and she did.

The meal begins. Everyone gets an amuse-bouche of a warm oyster with hazelnuts and sherry butter on a slice of brioche. The soup is a clear broth with a generous portion of
fois gras
and a large truffle in its center. Sandy turns to Ambassador Nimbus. “Solaria got the chef from Mars’s best restaurant, Argon Forty, to make dinner. Critic Sagging Guts gave Argon Forty five mushroom clouds.”

Vaporous Nimbus chirps, “Ooh, mushroom clouds! I love mushroom clouds.” This gives everyone a chance to stare at her hanging out of her dress.

This is followed by tortellini of skate and crab with lemongrass and crab volute and a salad of baby bib lettuce with thin crisps of macadamia-nut flatbread. There are “oohs” and “ahhs” when the main course, whole roasted boned duck resting in a broth smelling of smoked hickory, mesquite and cherry wood arrives.

The dessert, a dark chocolate beer mug with “Mars Malt: 200 Years” in white chocolate printed on the side, is filled with a tangy mousse made from Mars Malt’s version of Kriek, a sweet cherry beer. Finally the lights dim; a drum rolls and the orchestra plays “Hail to the Chief.” An enormous tiered cake with two hundred candles is placed next to Solaria’s father, who rises. Everyone sings “Happy birthday, Salami Pastrami.” He rises, clutches his napkin, tearfully thanks everyone, blows kisses, and sits.

The lights dim again. The room quiets. A spotlight shines on the MC for the evening, Jamie Faxx. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” He puts his hand to the side of his mouth and booms, “Heeeeeeeere’s Max!”

Max, bathed in purple light, in a croaky battered voice accompanied by sounds from fuzz-toned instruments, sings “Dead No More.” Holos of dead animals float around the room like icebergs circling the
Titanic.
People close their eyes because their rocking motion, after such a rich meal, makes them queasy.

When the band members chant “Art, mart, fart,” turn their backs to the audience, and let out an unfortunate sound, everyone groans except Ambassador Gingivitis, from Jupiter’s moon Io, the only true art lover in the audience, who—being from a world that is nothing but a floating rock, and trying to promote it as a sculpture center—insists it’s an offstage bagpipe.

Sandy, who can’t stand it anymore, gets up and corners Solaria. He grabs her arm so hard, it leaves fingerprints. “This had better get better!”

Jamie Faxx says, “Fresh from this year’s Documenta on Jupiter’s moon Calisto, let’s hear it for Neils and the Bohrs, who’ll perform ‘It’s More Blessed to Receive than to Give.’”

Women rise and join a ladies’-room line that looks like it began a nanosecond after Eve left the Garden of Eden.

Solaria’s assistants bring earplugs and eye masks and distribute them before Niels’s finale, “I Ain’t Got No Persecution.”

Cortland and I are bathed in nervous sweat. Flo and Billings are twisting their napkins. We fear that by the time Becky and Lois perform, the audience wouldn’t know the difference between their performance and a kindergarten class singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

Jamie Faxx manages a clever monologue that coaxes people to their seats.

The room dims and quiets.

The twins, dressed in their sparkling gowns, are slowly lowered to the stage on a beam of light. Holographs of Mars’s moons, Deimos and Phobos, circle them like angels then move and circle the audience. Harmonic sounds sooth tired ears. Their lyrics contain the word
love
348 times. They smile and flirt. They blow kisses. By the time they end with the hyperkinetic beat of “Moon Rover,” the audience (including high school guidance counselors) can’t contain themselves and jump to their feet, twisting and shouting, “Let the good times roll!”

“My IQ just went into a free fall,” Max says to Niels. “An intellectual travesty.”

It takes a while for the audience to quiet, but it doesn’t take long for the audience to press a button on the arms of their chairs that signals a vote. A few moments later, Jamie Faxx teases, pauses, and with a full academy flourish announces, “And the winners are…” Drum-roll. “The Lunar Tunes!”

Becky and Lois scream and jump.

“Come up here, twins,” Jamie cries. The band plays excerpts from “Moon Rover” as the girls climb to the stage. Jamie put his arms around Becky and Lois and kisses them on the cheeks. “Let’s hear it for the Lunar Tunes!”

The audience leaps, claps, cheers, stomps. It’s a long snapshot moment.

Jamie hands Becky the microphone. “I want to thank my parents and family for making this day happen, and all the boys at King Tut School of Music for letting us rehearse in their locker room.” She hands the microphone to Lois.

And Lois says the words parents wait their entire lives to hear, if ever, “Mom and Dad, you were right! All the hard work was worth it!”

“Stand up, Mr. and Mrs. Summers, and take a bow,” Jamie says. The spotlight finds Cortland and me. Teary-eyed, we stand and wave.

Drew moves his chair and cranes to get a better view. He drops his glass. “Oh my God, Molly!”

Everyone at the table says, “Who’s Molly?”

“We were students at Armstrong University on the Moon. I almost married her. I haven’t seen her in more than twenty years.”

The room empties. Becky and Lois thread their way through the crowd, signing autographs. “I love their gowns,” says Velveeta Kraftchick, the mayor of New Chicago, to Flo, who is standing next to them. “You must be their mother.” Flo points to me, and I wave back.

“Amazing,” Velveeta says, narrowing her eyes—a sure sign she is calculating my weight.

Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and hear. “When was the last time you heard ‘When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie’?” I turn to the voice I remember so well.

“Hi, Molly,” Drew says, smiling broadly. “Long time no see. You haven’t changed a bit.”

I feel myself blush. “Well, you have,” I say. “You look wonderful.”

Drew lowers his voice. “Takes lots of time and even more money to stay this way. I still love food, but Chocolate Moons, or should I say,” he looks deeply into my eyes and whispers, “Chocolate
Chocolate
Moons, are my only indulgence. Freedom Plan ones taste—”

“I know, a little gritty.”

We laugh.

Kandy pushes through the crowd and finds us. Drew puts his arm around her shoulder. “This is my girlfriend, Kandy Kane. We’re having a party and would love you and your husband to come with the twins. Don’t worry; I won’t serve any onion rings or green cheese. What do you say?”

My heart skips a beat and I smile. But only for a moment.

CC, who had been circling the room with her cameraman, stops next to us and chimes, “Am I invited too?”

30

C
RAIG CASHEW CROUCHES
in a corner, hidden behind a mountain of fries and burgers at McMooner, a fast-food shop located as far away from the Culinary Institute as possible. When he sees Breezy and Pluto enter, he rises and waves. They sit and eye the food. “I don’t know how anyone can eat this stuff,” he sneers pushing the food toward them.

Breezy swirls a few fries in blood-red ketchup, puts them in her mouth, and deliberately makes loud chewing sounds. She glares at Craig suspiciously because she knows he must want something; otherwise, why won’t he just give them the remote.

Craig removes the device from his pocket and puts it on the table. “If this is what I think it is, it could link the two of you to the case of the Chocolate Moons. You were both seen on the security holo near one of the chocolate vats.” He turns to Pluto. “And you were seen with your arm raised when an alarm sounded.” Craig slides the remote back into his pocket.

Pluto stiffens. “Thanks for not going to the police. How much do you want for it?”

“I don’t want money. Rocket is blackmailing me with something that happened when our paths crossed in college long ago. Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“You and Rocket went to the same school?” Pluto says finding it impossible to imagine.

Craig continues, “Rocket has an apartment on Titan. There’s a transport to Titan, where I’m opening a Culinary satellite. Rocket was always a health-food nut. Back then he actually smoked multivitamins.”

“Still does,” Pluto quips.

“I heard that he was in the hospital recently because he overdosed on health-food supplements. His system may be very fragile.” Craig looks at Breezy. “Your father is a very creative scientist.”

“So?” Breezy says wondering what Craig is after.

“So, I’m in a jam with Rocket. And you are in a jam with me, because I won’t give back the remote unless you help me do something about Rocket. Maybe your father would consider giving Rocket a little something that could alter how he saw his options. The outcome may help all of us to resolve our problems.”

Breezy looks at Craig and stays quiet for a long time. Then she takes another fry and swirls it in more ketchup and says, “I guess I could ask him.” She lowers her eyes chews for a long time and swallows.

“Do more than guess,” Craig says rising from the table.

Breezy says nothing. Then she points to the food. “Mind if we take the rest of this stuff out?”

Craig sits at his desk eating lunch. He’s adding some wasabi mayonnaise to a lobster-salad sandwich when his secretary says, “Decibel Point on line one.”

“Let me get straight to the point. You have something my daughter, Breezy, owns and wants back,” Decibel says quickly. “Breezy and Pluto are in a difficult situation with you, and I want to help them.”

“I’m listening.”

“Breezy knows I’ve had issues with Rocket in the past that I want resolved.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“I also want to confront Rocket about a nagging feeling that I have had about the poisoning of the Chocolate Moons. I was in the process of testing some anti-flavonoids at Congress Drugs. Next thing I know, someone took a sample of the stuff and people are getting poisoned all over the planet. I have a feeling Rocket may have something to do with this.”

Craig slides his plate away with the back of his hand. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Breezy told me that Rocket tried to blackmail you with something that happened a long time ago.”

“That’s true.”

“I understand that Rocket takes the transport to Titan, where he has an apartment and where you are opening a Culinary satellite. Rocket has been after me to work at a lab he just bought on Titan. I want to check it out.”

Craig dabs his mouth with a beige linen napkin. “So you are saying that we all have good legitimate reasons to take the Mars–Titan transport. And, we all have good reasons to confront Rocket.”

“Right. Seeing us together may unnerve him and make him more receptive to what we have to say. It’s not hard for us to book a trip to Titan when Rocket will be on board and not hard to get a passenger list. Breezy can travel as my assistant. Her boyfriend, Pluto, can fit her with one of his disguises. Rocket shouldn’t be hard to find. He’s bound to show up at their duty-free health-food store.”