~ * ~
In the Range Rover, Henry presses a wet napkin against the gash on the right side of his forehead.
“
What the hell was that?
”
he asks, checking to see how much blood the napkin has sopped up.
“
That,
”
Madden says,
“
was an impassioned plea for the preservation of art and culture.
”
Henry stares at the napkin and decides, based on the size of the blood spot, that the cut, other than being a festering ground for any one of a half-dozen indigenous and potentially fatal infections, isn
’
t serious.
“
So
howzit
feel, mate?
”
“
How does
what
feel?
”
“
Bashing a bloke in the face like you just did. Like a bloody man, I imagine.
”
“
I beat a Buddhist with a life-saving water purifier endorsed by UNICEF.
”
“
When
’
s the last time you knocked a bloke on his arse like that?
”
Henry stares out the window. They
’
re on the road back toward the call center, USAVille, and Maya.
“
I don
’
t know. Fifth, sixth grade. I don
’
t think we should play together anymore.
”
“
You should be proud of yourself, Henry Tuhoe. You negotiated a damned nice deal to get your bloody water thingamajigs in time for your little event. You stood your ground against an angry mob. And you brought down two men with your bare hands.
”
“
And a LifeStraw.
”
Madden smiles, and after a while Henry does as well.
~ * ~
For the next five minutes they drive without speaking. Madden breaks the silence when he says,
“
She
’
s a good woman, mate.
”
“
We
’
ve already covered that territory, mate.
”
“
Truth. But you know, I never lied to her. Never told her I was gonna marry her or be true to her. Shit, she knew I still had a wife back in
‘
stralia
.
”
“
Forget it.
”
“
I can be a cutthroat motherfucker, Tuhoe. But I
’
m no liar.
”
“
That
’
s fine, but you should know
”
—Henry stares at Madden until Madden decides to look back—
”
in those rare instances that I truly care about something or someone, I can be as cutthroat a motherfucker as anybody.
”
Madden nods and returns his gaze to the road. At the bottom of the next hill they can see the newly shingled roof of the call center. Madden stops the Range Rover some seventy-five yards from the building and says,
“
Why push it, right?
”
Henry shrugs. He holds out his hand, and Madden accepts it.
“
Getting these straws is huge, Mister Madden.
”
“
I
’
m glad to help and glad for you.
”
“
And that
’
s it? No strings attached?
”
“
Oh, there are strings.
”
“
Shoot.
”
“
Well, for starters, I
’
d like an invite to this fancy conference for the corporate titans at the palace. Much opportunity to be harvested there.
”
“
Shouldn
’
t be a problem. That it?
”
Madden shakes his head and squeezes Henry
’
s hand harder.
“
I want you to promise me you
’
ll keep at it, Tuhoe. You may not ever get to it. You may fall on your arse and fail. You may die. But the key is to never stop. I stopped a long time ago in just about every conceivable way, and as much as I may lead people to believe otherwise, the state I
’
m in, I
’
m fucking done, mate. But for you, I can tell, it
’
s not too late.
”
~ * ~
IV
~ * ~
Rehearsing the Lie
They do not rehearse reality.
Instead they concentrate on depicting a short-term facsimile of it. Just enough to make Pat and Audrey believe. And the dignitaries. And the cameras.
“
If we
’
re not convincing enough to make people believe that this thing is going to work,
”
Henry is telling Maya and Mahesh, out of earshot of the others in the call center,
“
we at least want to prevent them from dwelling on the fact that it
’
s doomed.
”
“
But it
’
s not doomed,
”
Maya says.
He smiles.
“
You
’
re right. It isn
’
t. But it will be if we try to do too much and reveal the true situation here. If those phones were to start ringing tomorrow, for real, we
’
d be ruined. We have little time left to properly rehearse. For now, for the next few days, we just have to be able to
demonstrate
competence. Not
be
competent. Okay?
”
Maya nods. Mahesh twists two thumbs up and says,
“
You
’
re the boss.
”
Behind them the operators are rehearsing. To avoid overloading them, Henry split them into three groups of four and had each group memorize two basic customer service scenarios. Maya spent the morning decorating the interior walls with Happy Mountain Springs posters. A four-foot-by-four-foot logo banner hangs from the ceiling behind the worktables: the first thing a visitor will see upon entering. Outside, workers are raking the scrub lawn and setting up a small stage for tomorrow morning
’
s ceremony. A man on a stepladder is nailing another banner along the edge of the fence behind the stage. It reads,
Happy Mountain Springs: The Purity Runs Through Us All.
There was anxiety about the LifeStraws until they arrived, early. There
’
s still anxiety about whether the prince will attend, but that
’
s beyond their control, and they
’
ve been assured that someone from the palace will attend if the prince is indisposed,
“
not to be confused with
predeposed
,
”
Henry said to the person on the line. This was met with silence.
Just before lunch a van drives through the gate. It
’
s driven by Maya
’
s cousin, the restaurant owner. With Madden
’
s help and without Maya
’
s knowledge, Henry contacted him and arranged for him to cater tomorrow
’
s event as well as this surprise luncheon for the employees.
“
Was this okayed in the budget?
”
Maya asks.
He shakes his head.
“
I made an executive decision.
”
~ * ~
They gather to eat lunch under bright sunshine at a group of folding tables set beneath a row of cypress trees. Mahesh has set up a boom box playing what he
’
s calling an
“
American party mix
”
CD. Maya
’
s cousin is busy cooking over two
fl
aming, wood-fired, halved fifty-gallon drums and two long serving tables covered with hot trays containing a half-dozen different local delicacies.
After filling their plates, Henry and Maya sit at a table with Mahesh and three women. Maya speaks to them in Galadonian and then translates their replies for Henry. How many kids do they have. Where do they live. While they are talking a female operator named
Teara
approaches, lays a white lily beside his plate, then kisses him on the cheek. A few moments later Henry excuses himself, not because he isn
’
t interested in their stories but because he doesn
’
t want them to feel as if they have to perform for his benefit. He wants them to enjoy their lunch as much as those at the other tables without having to suck up to their flaky American boss.
~ * ~
Alone inside the call center, he walks to the lone network-connected desktop computer and stoops to check his messages. Meredith wrote to him this morning with the latest itinerary for Pat and Audrey, from takeoff at JFK to tomorrow
’
s call center ceremonies, the audience at the palace, and perhaps even the hospitality cruise on the river before they catch the first flight out the following morning. Also from Meredith, under the subject heading
“
No shit,
”
is a confidential document for his eyes only titled
“
Audrey and Pat
’
s Etiquette Manifesto,
”
a six-page missive detailing special dietary requirements (organic, hormone-free meats, filtered, distilled water served in sterilized Happy Mountain Springs bottles) and procedural dos (nothing smaller than a town car, stick to the corporate bio when introducing them), don
’
ts (ask for autographs, look them in the eye), and
nevers
(ask personal questions, touch them, call them Ms. or Ma
’
am).
He
’
s still laughing as he moves on to the next e-mail, from Gerard back home, of all people. Inside is a group picture from the Son of Meat Night, a Cajun feast in Marcus LeBlanc
’
s backyard. They
’
re all there—Marcus, Gerard, Victor, and the brothers Osborne, each toasting him with what were no doubt meticulously prepared hurricanes. The note at the bottom reads:
“
To Tyler Dur-den, aka the Kid, aka H
2
0, we miss your belligerent spirit! Cheers, from Sub-Bourbon Street!
”
He smiles, but only for a moment. Sentimentality is soon replaced by regret. For the way he treated them, despite the way they treated him. And for never writing that note of apology. Who did he think he was? Staring at the life
he left behind, the life he rejected and disparaged and in many ways ran from, he feels like crying.
As he reaches to click offline, a new message flashes up. Another note from Meredith, sent seconds ago, but not from her work account. It
’
s from Eva @
landofeeee.com
and titled
“
EEEEnormously
Entertaining New Content.
”
Because it
’
s not work-related and he should be getting back outside—it sounds like Mahesh has
them doing some kind of group dance—he almost decides to ignore it. But because it
’
s not simply from Meredith but from Eva, who hasn
’
t updated her content in months, he doesn
’
t. And immediately upon opening it he sees that it has nothing to do with new content, or Eva, or entertainment.