AZOTUSLAND Chapter Seventy-Six

Jim rolled out of bed and walked naked over to the monolithic shower and drenched his head with water as hot as he could take it. Rachel stirred in the bed but fell back asleep.

He dressed in an tattered Old Navy shirt he liked and worn jeans and walked by and out the way around to Silo 2 in bare feet. As he passed the door to Silo 1 he wondered if Maugham ever slept as he heard the clatter of multiple keyboards.

He slumped into his chair in a new despair. How could a man so trained in human nature and so loving be so bad when it came to lasting intimacy? He thought about his charts and studies and how worthless they were next to the older couple who ran the bakery down the street and seemed to never miss a beat. He thought of Renata and Rand, Cara and her husband, Sex and her man, and the way Roo seemed to naturally get on with her new partner. He thought of Maugham and Martine and how he was none of these and never would be.

Maybe his "lover" was supposed to be God alone. He did not know. Rachel had hit him in an unforseen soft spot. He was "the woman" in the story, and she more like a man, a good one, at the table on a night out.

He was not Simon in either sense. Not like Templar, tall and gallant with always the right intentions; nor was he the hardened religious man at the head of the table when the woman braved the crowd to break the alabaster vial. A man who had probably "known" her many times, and for whom the perfume was necessary to cover his dark scent and those of others at that table.

As he lay back he thought about the night and the dream. In this one he was in a huge stadium with incredibly steep walls up many tiers. There were perhaps a million people below and all around the rims and the playing field was so far into vertigo that it could not even be seen. He was simply at the top.

It was at night but everything was lighted up. He had ventured to the side and thought about slinging over to just feel what it was like to be that endangered...to be that high and know that if you let go you would probably die in the fall.

He wanted to feel the wind in his hair and the grip in his fingers...and if they gave? So what, he knew death was inevitable. Why not with such a crowd?

Except it would be foolish. A meaningless death he thought. Like an accident. "Man Slips on Orange Squishy and Tumbles into Eternity" would be the headline. He saw Matisse reading it in tears well into her twenties.

Later in the dream he was in a small toy-like Jeep and there was a traffic jam. He let others in ahead of him. Then he had to go to the bank and hit an ATM. There were 50 people waiting for two ATM machines and he managed to choose the line that actually moved. When he finished making a feverish deposit (as those behind him grumbled loudly) he walked to the window and wondered about falling and about bank deposits and how dehumanized the world had become or had always been.

Then he turned at saw two young men in costumes. They were both obviously black under heavy makeup but made-up like ...well, the closest thing Jim could think of was the puffy pink Hostess-thingies...or like humanoid Dalamatians with a thyroid condition. In either case he wanted nothing to do with them.

But one of them knew Jim.

"You don't remember me do you?" he asked.

"Uh, now...I'm sorry."

"We use to study Kierkegaard together in Seminary," said the one. The other disappeared (probably had to make the deposit).

"Well, seems to be working for both of us," Jim said.

"Don't you remember man?"

Jim studied his face trying to delve through the layers of makeup to what he may have once known many years ago sitting in a dank library.

He was a vague memory...like a scent you haven't smelled for 20 years. Familair yet not so at all. A stranger, yet not one.

Jim woke up at that point when Rachel stirred and he looked at the clock and realized it was 5:15 a.m. That is when he got up.

********

When Jim was ready he came into Maugham's office and found him slumped in his chair snoozing. Martine was in a big arm chair that had obviously been added for such nights.

"They are human after all," he said as he hit return keys on the cpus and stirred them. Jim went through the browser histories as Maugham stirred.

"Bro, shower down here?"

"Not today...but most days sure.," Jim said.

Maugham stood his long body and stretched high and lumbered to the fridge and grabbed a sports bottle. "Wanna?"

"Hornsby."

"You might kill yerself."

"one thing at a time," Jim said.

Martine stirred then pouted.

"You people are nuts," she said, then draped a blanket around herself, looked at Maugham and said "key."

*********

On the way up, draped in the cold dark morning Martine slumped into the wall outside the Gallery. She was tired and wondered if things would ever slow down. She moved around to the elevator and got on. At the top she slogged into the former Ops and fell hard into bed. Her eyes burned and she heard a dull buzz in her ears. She prayed for sleep.

**********

Down in the War Room Jim reviewed Maugham's considerable work. It was impressive.

"Who you gonna start with?" Jim asked.

"Jim Wilkins from Maine," Maugham grinned. "Then Steven Hardstedt from Atlanta, then tomorrow, Brian Cox from Seattle, er, Redmond."

"The dodge?" Jim asked.

"Each of them makes at least six figures and I've managed to post numerous press releases, create home pages, post on bulletin boards and create profiles on four to six services for each."

"What do they look like?" Jim asked.

"Better looking than you...but just by a bit," he said.

"Thanks."

**************

Martine dreamed about the ocean. It was daytime with a light rain and the large looming waves were being sheared off by the wind off the cliffs before they pounded down hard on North Beach. The sun peered through regularly amidst the light mist, rain and made the sand glow a light brown. She smelled the fresh salted air and little girl in a warm beach dress walked up to her with a bowl of strawberries and cream and sat down next to her.

Martine looked down at her and they both crinkled their noses at each other and laughed then shared the bowl with a big spoon, tasting the brightness of the tart fruit with the silky weight of the rich cream.