Chocolate Chocolate Moons (17 page)

Cortland shakes his head. “You would have thought voice-message hell would be eliminated by the twenty-fourth century.” He peers into a mirror and runs his hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s freshen up and go to the Starbright Lounge for a drink. We can stop at the front desk and ask for towels on our way back.”

23

T
HE NOISY, CROWDED
Starbright Lounge feels as it always does, like the moment before midnight on New Year’s Eve. Rocket sits at a favorite table in the center near the bar. He faces the door so he can see everyone who enters. His fluorescent green suit stands out in a sea of conservative grays. Rocket believes there’s no point dressing up if no one notices what you wear.

Kandy and Drew enter. Rocket stands and waves his hands over his head. “Over here, Drew,” he shouts. “Over here.” Drew touches a blue-and-yellow paisley scarf wrapped artfully around his neck, a small nervous gesture stemming from his insecurities about once being fat.

Rocket takes Kandy’s hand bends toward her face and gives her an air-kiss. She wears a crisp pink blouse with a navy blue pleated skirt that ends just above her ankles, showing off black gladiator heels and pink polished toes. Her long dark hair falls straight down her back. A blue-ice sapphire necklace adorns her neck. Perfect.

Rocket pulls out her chair and zeros in on her necklace. “Beautiful blue-ice sapphires.” He leans closer and recognizes the expensive smell of Springtime on Venus perfume. “Business must be good, Drew.”

Kandy moves her hand to her throat and beams.

“This calls for a Red Spot of Jupiter on the rocks. You’ve put me in a good mood.”

Rocket holds up three fingers, catches a waiter’s eye, and points to the table. He gives him the order, picks up the empty dish of macadamia nuts, and waves it in front of the waiter’s face. Drew looks away.

Kandy and Drew sip their drinks. Yum. Delicious. Elegant. Hints of ripe raspberry and soft jasmine float on their tongues. Everyone relaxes. Suddenly Rocket, who hasn’t taken his eyes off the door except for the few seconds he looked at Kandy, jumps up from his seat, waves his hands over his head again, and shouts, “Craig! Craig Cashew, over here!” Before Drew or Kandy can say anything, Rocket jumps up from the table and starts threading his way through the crowd toward Craig. He waves at a number of people and pretends to ignore their lack of reciprocal smiles but he makes mental notes.

Cortland and I arrive and stand in the doorway of the Starbright Lounge and wait. We watch the head waiter air-kiss his regulars and ignore us. Cortland reaches into his pocket and palms him fifty solars. “Ah, follow me,” he says without smiling.

We make our way past clinking glasses, waving scarves, and trays held high to an empty table near the bar. I grab Cortland’s arm and pull back. “They’re here!”

“Who, sweetheart, Jersey and Trenton?”

“No, not Jersey and Trenton.” I turn and hide behind Cortland. “Do you have another table?” I ask the head waiter as he starts to walk away.

Cortland gives me a strange look. “This is one of their best tables and it cost me fifty solars to get it.” He nods to the head waiter and palms him another twenty-five. “This is fine. We’ll take it.”

I move quickly toward a chair where my back faces the other table.

“Well, sweetheart,” Cortland says, eyeing Kandy over my shoulder. “Here we are. What’s this all about?”

“Don’t you recognize him?”

“Who?”

“It’s Drew Barron with the woman we saw in the lobby. They’re behind me at the next table.”

Cortland peers at Kandy over my shoulder again. I put my finger to my lips. “Stop looking. You’ll draw attention to us.”

A waiter approaches. He gives me the “Flo frown.” I pull my long black tunic top over my flabby arms and glare at him. “Greetings,” he says changing his frown to a company smile. “I’m your waiter, Bermuda Triangle, but those who are superstitious call me Bernie. You’re from Earth or Earth’s moon. Right?”

“Is it that obvious?” Cortland asks.

He gives a knowing wink. “You guys look like you could use a light beer. We have over a hundred on tap.”

“Two double Kir Royals,” Cortland orders.

I finger a small dish of salted peanuts and take out my handkerchief to cover part of my face. I pretend to blow my nose and sneak another peek at Drew whom I have never seen so impeccably groomed and Hollywood handsome.

Craig and CC stand in the doorway to the Starbright Lounge. They look quickly around then enter. Craig sees a fluorescent green jacket zooming toward him. He sucks in his breath. He recognizes Rocket, older than he remembered but nonetheless definitely Rocket. CC senses tension. “Who is that?” she asks. Do you know him?”

“His name is Rocket Packarod, and frankly I haven’t seen him since college. Not someone I wanted to meet again.”

“You know, I know that name,” says CC. Craig’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding. Where from? A gambling casino or a police blotter?”

“No, really. I did a special for Carbon Copies Media on a community for people with developmental disabilities in Utopia Plantia. I remember there was a Rocket Packarod listed in their highest category, Big Bang Patrons. His son, Zeus Packarod, lives there. Their director told me that Rocket never comes to any of their events or ever visits Zeus but sends a weekly holographic cube with a message and gifts.”

Rocket closes in.

“Well, well, Craig Cashew, now big shot and CEO of the Culinary Institute. Long time no see,” says Rocket pounding Craig on the back.

Rocket turns and extends a hand to CC. “Rocket Packarod,” he says. “And I know who you are. You’re Colorful Copies of Carbon Copies Media. Saw your interview with Nova Scotia. Nice work.”

CC shakes Rocket’s hand.

Craig feels the romance of his weekend melt like an ice sculpture on a hot buffet. Rocket says to CC, “Did you know that Craig and I were classmates at Why U?” He grabs her hand before she can answer and gently pulls till she takes a step. “Come sit at my table. There’s someone both of you should meet.”

Craig and CC follow Rocket to his table. Rocket waves at more people whose response is suddenly more animated seeing him with Craig and CC.

“Oh my God!” I say to Cortland, drink in hand frozen in midair.

“What now?” he says in a low, dark voice reserved for bad news.

“It’s Craig Cashew, my boss at the Culinary, with CC and I think Rocket Packarod. They’re headed this way. I wonder why they’re all here together. Craig won’t recognize me. I’m too low in the Culinary’s pecking order for him to pay attention. Rocket and I have never met. And there’s a good chance CC won’t remember me. You have to help me keep out of Drew’s sight, Cortland.”

“Relax. No problem. Your back is toward them. Stop being so paranoid. No one is looking at you, not when they have Drew’s beautiful girlfriend to look at.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, you’re beautiful too, sweetheart. But, in a different way.”

Yeah,
I think. Like the difference between the sun and an asteroid. Drew stands, seeing Rocket, Craig Cashew, and CC.

“Drew Barron and Kandy Kane, meet Colorful Copies and Craig Cashew. Craig Cashew is the CEO of the Culinary Institute.” Drew looks at Craig and CC. They shake hands. Drew knows who Craig Cashew is and that he outbid him for the Giacometti at Park Bengay. He also knows that CC is his hysterical, jilted former girlfriend.

“Kandy,” says Kandy, who does not get up but extends her hand across the drinks and flowers on the table.

“Weren’t you in the gift shop this afternoon?” Craig asks. “I thought I recognized you.”

“Guess I wasn’t paying attention,” Kandy says smiling.

Drew stares at her and says nothing. Everyone sits. A waiter replaces the nuts with a better selection in a much larger dish and a plate of mushrooms marinated in aquavit from Ganymede and tri-colored sweet olives the size of small plums.

Drew looks at CC. “You look wonderful, CC. Strange meeting here after all this time.”

With a smile on her face but a grudge in her heart, CC extends her hand to Drew, who takes it.

“You two know each other?” Rocket asks.

“Drew and I both went to Armstrong U on Earth’s moon a lifetime ago,” CC explains.

“College? That’s where Craig and I know each other from.” Rocket extends his arms. “Hey, this must be old-home week!” He snaps his fingers at a passing waiter. “Get us a large tray of shrimps wrapped in wonton skins and a round of frozen Cassini Huygens cocktails.”

CC leans toward Kandy and says, “What a beautiful necklace, Kandy. Those are blue-ice sapphires, aren’t they? They’re very rare.”

Kandy nods.

The shrimps in wonton skins arrive. They are deep-fried and crunchy. “Compliments of the chef,” says the waiter. They each crackle a small piece in their mouth and leave the rest on a plate.

Except Rocket, who brings out a small yellow bottle. “A little extra vitamin C with a hint of ginkgo biloba.” He gives his shrimp a spritz. “Any takers?” He waves the bottle back and forth. “Last chance. Going, going…” He opens his mouth wide, inserts the whole shrimp, makes some noisy chews, and swallows. Rocket puts the bottle back in his breast pocket, gives it a few pats, and turns to Craig. “Drew is executive vice president of sales and marketing for Congress Drugs. He also collects art.”

“I know all about Drew and his art collection,” Craig replies. “Drew was the one who outbid me for the Giacometti at Park Bengay. Didn’t you, Drew?”

Drew lowers his eyes.

“You don’t say,” Rocket exclaims.

A waiter clears glasses and hands each a Cassini Huygens cocktail. Each has a silver swizzle stick in the shape of a space probe.

Rocket takes the swizzle stick from his glass. “Looks like a listening device. I don’t like listening devices.” He snaps it, drops it on the floor and crushes it with the heel of his shoe.

Craig gives Drew a serious look and continues, “You must know, that Mars is a haven for stolen art and fakes. I’m sure you got the real thing at Park Bengay. But—and I’m not just saying this because I missed out on the Giacometti—you should have it appraised by an independent appraiser.”

Rocket winks at Craig. “Remember Scheherazade?”

Craig gives an icy stare.

“After all these years, she’s still one of my best friends.”

Craig says nothing.

Rocket adds, “Maybe you’ve all heard of the ABC, her underground storage facility and art workshop.”

No one responds.

“The ABC, Ali Baba Caves,” Rocket repeats louder. She sold me a copy of Andy Warhol’s
Dollar Sign
and a copy of his
Electric Chair.
They spoke right to my soul.”

Good observation,
CC thinks. Whoever Scheherazade is, she sure read Rocket right.

“And what do you do, Rocket?” she asks.

Rocket crunches a few walnuts. “I’m a wholesale pharmacist.” He reaches into his pocket hands her a card and winks. “Good prices. No questions asked.”

“Did you hear that, Cortland?” I say, sipping my Kir Royal. “Rocket and Craig Cashew know Scheherazade. I bet Drew knows a lot more than he’s letting on.”

Cortland signals the waiter. “We’ll have a tray of what you just brought to the next table.”

“Shrimp wontons. Our most expensive appetizer. Are you sure that’s what you want? We have a lovely low fat dip.”

“That’s what we want,” says Cortland, calculating the waiter’s tip downward.

We clink glasses. Cortland says, “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.” I blow him a kiss.

“What are they doing now, Cortland? I don’t want to turn around.”

“I see Rocket fingering all the nuts in the dish. Now he’s passing them around.”

We hear Rocket boom. “Any takers?”

Suddenly the dish slips from Rocket’s hand and crashes to the table. The round filberts move with electron velocity into the air. Two land in Craig’s drink, two land in Drew’s hair, three hit Rocket in the forehead and bounce back to the table and leap toward CC, who raises her hand and swats them away, where they fly over my head and nestle between my breasts like little eggs.

I try to decide if I should leave the nuts alone, pluck them out, or cover them with a napkin. But then they slide lower and drop out of sight.