Chocolate Chocolate Moons (23 page)

“And if Rocket is not so receptive?” Craig asks.

“As you told Breezy, maybe I could give him something that would make him more receptive. Nothing long lasting, mind you, just something that would change his perceptions of reality.”

“It’s as good an idea as any,” Craig says, pushing his empty plate farther away.

“Then we’re united. Let’s fly the friendly skies.”

Trenton sits in Lamont’s office, going over reports. “Did you know that Molly Summers is the mother of the Lunar Tunes, the beautiful twins who won the Mars Malt music contest?”

Lamont’s eyebrows rise. “Molly Summers, that large woman who brings me all that food? Hmm. They must take after her husband.”

“She also used to date Drew Barron when they were in college. He has invited her and her family to a party at his apartment.”

“Dated Drew Barron in college? You’re kidding! What a break! See that she’s fitted for an eye cam before she goes.”

A week before Drew’s party, the twins have publicity shots taken. Becky and Lois look so sophisticated, having taken Flo’s suggestion of coloring their bodies the way they did when we arrived—two different colors that meet in the center of their bodies—but instead of using harsh, bright colors they used soft pastels. Cortland and I can’t believe they are our formerly gum-cracking, hair-twirling, nail-picking, eye-rolling children.

I drive everyone crazy deciding what to wear. Finally I settle on a black suit with thin vertical silver stripes and silver-and-black open-toed sandals. Flo lets me borrow her expensive watch that beeps the minute food touches her lips. I pin it to my suit, where everyone can see its jewels, and turn off the alarm.

A limo brings us to Drew’s building. The driver gets out and opens the door. The doorman peeks in. “And you are?” he says in a manner trained to intimidate everyone but other doormen.

“The Lunar Tunes and their family,” Cortland replies.

Becky and Lois extend long legs.

The doorman springs to attention. “The Lunar Tunes! My daughter loves your music. Can I get your autographs?”

Becky and Lois sign with a flourish. “I can’t believe this,” Lois giggles.

Cortland and I nod and smile.

An elevator attendant, who can’t stop staring at the twins, takes us to the tower floor.

Drew and Kandy open the door and introduce us to their guests, who ignore me but circle the girls and smile at Cortland. Champagne glasses clink; small scallops encrusted in crunchy candied nori and water chestnuts wrapped in whiskey-smoked bacon are passed around.

A few moments later, an overly made-up CC in a skintight metallic snakeskin dress arrives. People make flattering remarks about her and how they love to watch Mars Media ever since her father acquired it. When she finally pulls away and starts circling the room, I approach.

“Could you ever imagine this?” I say to CC. “I mean, being here together with Drew.”

“No, never.”

“Just goes to show you, time heals all wounds.” CC gives me a long cold stare. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

CC leans toward me conspiratorially and says, “About old times, right?”

“No, about your visit to Congress Drugs and San Andreas Farms.”

“Oh, that. It was several weeks ago. Did you see me on Nova Scotia’s program?”

“I did. Ever find the charm from your bracelet?”

CC holds up her arm. “Good as new. Daddy replaced my lost one.”

“What’s Decibel Point like? You said you met him at Congress Drugs. I’ve heard that he’s a brilliant scientist.”

“Well, he’s very fat, which is amazing since he created those Freedom Plan foods.”

“Do you think he’s right when he said Congress Drugs should test its products more thoroughly?”

“Sounds like a good idea, but I know nothing about that.” She starts to pull away.

“One last question. Did you spend a lot of time on San Andreas Farms?”

“Yes. After I left Congress Drugs, I was given a tour of the farms and then I had the afternoon to wander. It is amazing how those chocolate nibs are ground before they send them to the Candy Universe.”

Drew, seeing us talking together walks over. “You two thinking about poisoning my drink?”

“Too late for that,” CC laughs. She puts her hand on his arm and walks away with him while I head toward the ladies’ room.

I enter the bathroom, lock the door, and palm Jersey and Trenton.

“You should see this place. It could be on the cover of
Architectural Indigestion.
”

“Take any shots?” Trenton asks.

“Everyone is making a big fuss over the sculpture of a scrawny person and ignoring the beautiful marble table that it sits on. If the sculpture were a Niki de Saint Phalle’s colorful fat Nana or a plus-size creation by Fernando Botero, I could understand the fuss, but the Giacometti…Come on! It’s a stick figure, totally anorexic. Anyway, I took a picture of it. I also snapped shots of the buffet.”

“We don’t need any shots of the buffet,” Jersey snaps.

“Too late. I already clicked. There are also the latest supplements sitting in a glass bowl. I put some in my bag for you.”

“Hmm.”

“I spoke to CC and recorded the conversation. But she didn’t reveal much that was new. She did spend much more time than I thought at San Andreas Farms after being inside Congress Drugs, and she admitted to being near the area where they grind the chocolate nibs. Kandy is wearing a gorgeous necklace. Becky told me it was blue-ice sapphires, very rare and expensive. Someone is knocking on the bathroom door. Gotta go—I mean, gotta
leave
—now.”

Chairs are set up in the wood-paneled den off the living room, with a small raised platform in front. Becky and Lois sing while Cortland accompanies them on the pianolyn.

“You must be so proud of the twins,” Drew says, looking at me with affection. “I guess the old saying is true: the moon doesn’t fall too far from the planet.” I blush and turn away.

“Come back and see us sometime,” Kandy says at the end of the night, giving the twins a hug. She turns to Drew and murmurs, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have children?”

Drew says nothing. But Kandy already knows his answer and says no more.

31

C
RAIG
C
ASHEW ANNOUNCES
that he and an advisory team will go to Titan to begin the process that opens Culinary Titan. Sandy Andreas and some associates will join them to plan the gardens.

Jersey and I are chosen as security-team advisors.

Jersey is overjoyed because her sister, Asbury, lives on Titan. Her niece, Meadowlands, is getting married and the Culinary will pay for transportation. Best of all, Trenton can travel free as luggage in his carrying case.

But Trenton doesn’t want to go.

Jersey makes him his favorite silicone milkshake. “Please, Trenton,” she pleads. “Asbury is my only family, and I never see her. Besides, we haven’t been off this planet in ages. I even have the perfect wedding gift.”

“How much?” Trenton asks with eyes spinning like wheels of fortune.

“My sister tells me Meadowlands and her fiancé love pets and surprises.”

“How much?”

“We could give them the Schrödinger Box we got as a wedding present. They’ll never know it was used. It’s always a surprise when you open it. It will cost us nothing, except for buying a new cat to put inside.”

“Well, as long as you put it that way. But don’t you think a box that was created to demonstrate how the uncertainty principle of quantum mechanics works is too esoteric to give as a wedding present? Marriage is uncertain enough. Forget the box. Just give them a cat.”

When I tell Cortland about my upcoming trip to Titan, he decides to stay home and rehearse with the twins, who are swamped with performing engagements.

Jersey and I wait for the space elevator. Jersey’s hand clutches the case where Trenton lies folded like a sheet in a drawer. We scan single round-trip tickets to Titan and enter the elevator.

The elevator rises quickly. At midpoint buzzers blare, announcing a storm. “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” the music programmed into the sound system to ease tensions, makes everyone feel worse. We finally weave off and join a long serpentine check-in line at the transport’s docking station.

A porter approaches and turns to Jersey. “Want me to help you with that case?” He stretches out his arm.

“I’m fine,” Jersey says smiling but her stomach knots. She draws the case closer.

“I see you’re very nervous about having Trenton in the carrying case. Is it really worth the worry? Why don’t you just get two tickets?” I ask.

“Get two tickets when we can travel two for the price of one?” Jersey pats the case. “I don’t think so.”

Farther up the line a thin man in a shocking pink suit shifts from side to side. I nudge Jersey and point. “I think that man is Rocket Packarod. See that turquoise tote slung over his shoulder? It says AK-47 Vitamin and Mineral Company: Protection for your digestion.”

“Definitely Rocket,” she says.

Suddenly from behind we hear a booming voice. “What do you mean you lost my reservation? Do you know who I am? I know the president of your company. Want me to call him?” After a short delay, Sandy Andreas, wearing a dark suit and chunky gold jewelry, marches past us and goes to the head of the line.

I find my room on the transport. It is down the hall from Jersey’s. They are identical. Both have a small window, a comfortable bed, a media wall, bathroom and dining alcove.

Jersey wheels Trenton’s case to their room. She taps a corner twice. It opens. Trenton raises his head slowly. Heat from the case’s walls make tiny tubes in his limbs fill with gelatinous substances. Jersey unpacks and puts on a pink flowered robe while Trenton finishes his process.

Trenton steps out and stretches. Jersey says, “Here, sweetheart, let me give you a good spray with the new and improved WD-40,000.” He bends and twists. She puts the can down, goes to the console, and clicks “Passenger-List Information.”

“Craig Cashew, Sandy Andreas, and Rocket Packarod are all on board.”

“So are nine hundred and ninety-eight other passengers,” Trenton says, sitting on the side of the bed checking his toes.

“Craig’s and Sandy’s cabins are on the upper deck. Rocket’s cabin is on our deck but on the opposite side. There’s also a D. Point and B. Point traveling together. Could it be Decibel Point and Breezy Point? “

Trenton rubs a lubricant into his feet. “Could be.”

“I’ll palm Molly and see what she wants to do about dinner.”

“I’m exhausted, Jersey,” I say when she calls. “I’m going to order something from room service. Their take out menu is encyclopedic. By the way, is your shower as small as mine?”

“I didn’t think it was small. I have plenty of room. As a matter of fact, Trenton and I can both fit inside. See you in the morning.”

Jersey goes into the dining alcove and reads the menu aloud. “How about sliced sturgeon with saffron, lemon, and fennel, or lobster-and-rock-shrimp ravioli with a white-wine-and-pesto sauce or grilled boned Cornish hen in a blood-orange rum sauce, or leg of lamb studded with black garlic with fresh asparagus? Tonight’s special is osso bucco.”

“Not interested,” Trenton says.

“There’s Venusian veal with celery-root puree, porterhouse steak with sautéed Uranium mushrooms in a champagne sauce, and grilled halibut surrounded by miniature baked potatoes stuffed with créme frâiche and red caviar.”

“Too boring.”

“Their featured dessert is a seven-layer cannoli cheesecake with espresso sorbet followed by dark chocolate truffles and candied fruits. They also have grapefruit and pomegranate sorbet served with thin lacy green-tea butter cookies. Anything tempt you, Trenton?”

“No, not really. What else have they got?”

“A plate of shredded iceberg lettuce, a package of Freedom Plan dried pecans with butterscotch supplements on the side, and Cassini Huygens cocktails.”

“Now that sounds delicious. Order that. Makes me feel like we’re on a vacation.”

The next morning, the first thing everyone sees is that their holo screens are blinking a message. Trenton pushes “Play.” A voice says, “Welcome, travelers!”