Super Born: Seduction of Being (19 page)

“
Like I said, always remember a good
tip…but you ain’t always been a good tipper now, have ya? Must be
doin’ all right for yourself.”

“
Respectable,” I said, looking
around and noting that the bar looked just as it did in the B.I.B.
Pub Crawler game, right down to the tablecloths with stains and the
RFD’s running head long into pillars.

* * *

Little did he know that while he and the
barkeep reminisced, no more than two blocks away, I sat drinking
with my friends from work at Flanagan’s. Paige was at Kelly’s house
for the weekend, so I felt I was due some fun, a break from the
intensity of recent days I didn’t get out all that often, but on
the occasions when I was available, my colleagues welcomed the
opportunity to “put the antlers on” with me. I would transform from
a shy, quiet type into a wise cracking showboat. Even if the only
men we met were RFDs, we still had a good time.

On this night, I was feeling hemmed in with
frustration. I knew I had helped, in fact, saved the lives of
hundreds of people recently.. I had kept an airliner from crashing,
brought a kidnapped little girl home to her mother, brought down a
crime family, and exposed an inept and corrupt mayor, all within a
matter of weeks. I had learned to use and focus my power. I had
inspired the coolest video games, my fave being the Pub Crawler.
Yet through it all, I felt empty.

Strange as it sounded, there it was. I did not
feel joyous but, instead, frustrated and empty. Some crucial part
of my life was missing. If I couldn’t even find myself on Pub
Crawler, how would I ever find my purpose in the real
world?

While my friends laughed and blew off steam
from work, I sat and brooded.

I thought of Paige with her arms folded
defensively, pouting about how little I understood her or satisfied
her needs, while I had spent my entire life trying to do just
that.

And what about my needs? In recent months, it
had begun to take more and more to get me off. Sexual release of
any type began to seem like a distant train disappearing in the
night.

Then I remembered Old Prune Face and saw her
stuffed in my beer bottle, her little head saying, “I have not been
laid in sixty-seven point nine years!” I took a big sip from the
bottle just to get rid of her. Now way I could let myself end up
like her.

Despite the fact that I was surrounded by my
friends, I felt totally alone. I had no one with whom I could share
this mess. I’d become isolated. It was frustrating to be so
powerful, yet feel so helpless.

I concluded that I just needed some time to
blow off some steam, not overanalyze, and just “be” for the next
few days. I was going to have some fun—real fun. The kind that had
become difficult for me recently. . I downed the remaining half of
my Miner’s Lite in one long drag. “I deserve some fun,” I said to
myself and struck a perfect fish face, complete with moving mouth,
for my friends, who roared their approval.

* * *

I sat at my kitchen table accompanied by a
twelve-ounce, tasty bottled friend, checking out the news on my
laptop when the first reports started coming in of Miner’s Lite
beer trucks falling from the sky—minus their drivers and their
cargo. The first couple of news reports came in time for the late
night news, and were covered the way one would cover an elaborate
practical joke or an event like a charity domino fall. But when
they continued all weekend, the tone of the coverage gained
concern, and commentators began to discuss criminal charges. As the
B.I.B. had dropped a beer truck before—and was forever bonded to
Miner’s Lite in the public imagination by the picture from Skelly’s
featured on the B.I.B. T-shirts—it became a foregone conclusion
that the B.I.B. was responsible. In fact, there was no other
suspect possible as far as most people were concerned. As the media
loves to tarnish and bring down the image of actors charged with
DUIs or caught in affairs with nannies, they loved to rip at the
image of the B.I.B. When a truck fell in the playground of a
then-closed day care center, smashing the swings and teeter-totter,
the local news outlets erupted in an uproar over what could have
happened, had the center been open.

Over the weekend, more and more people were
saying that the B.I.B. was not above the law and needed to be
brought to justice. It was the random, unsuspecting appearance of
the trucks that made their menace frightening, like walking into a
minefield, where any step a person took could be their last,
without warning; even while just sitting in their houses, no one
felt safe.

Sunday night’s news reported that the mayor
would hold a news conference the next morning.

Rebecca added falling beer trucks to the
hazards on the B.I.B. Rescue game.* * *

I awoke uncertainly, not feeling much like a
super hero. My eyes were fogged and my head pounded. I felt my
stomach rumbling. I knew I was lying in a dark, cluttered bedroom,
but that was about the extent of my knowledge. Where it was, when
it was, or how it had become so, I had no idea. Next, I put
together that I was naked, lying on my stomach, and the heavy
drapes had been drawn. Beyond them, I could see sunshine through
the cracks. With effort, I righted myself and sat on the edge of
the bed, resting my head in my hands, then pushing back a mop of
hair. I sighed and then rose, with considerable effort. I staggered
a few feet to the window, fingered back the drape, and saw a midday
street in Las Vegas below. The row of theme hotels and casinos made
it unmistakable.

“
Holy shit,” I mumbled to myself,
sobering up some. I moved around the hotel room finding my clothes,
yet somehow missed my panties. I decided to get dressed anyway and
venture out to find whatever enlightening discoveries awaited me
outside the door.

I paused at the door and then pulled it open to
reveal the living room of a hotel suite. Ten feet to my left stood
a young, thin, college-aged man in his boxer shorts. When he looked
over and saw me, panic ran over his face. He groaned, cupped his
hands around his genitals, and slowly backed away from me, as if I
were an enraged bear. He backed into the bathroom and closed and
locked the door. To my right, another young man dropped from the
sofa like a fish dropping to the deck of a boat. He grunted,
dragging himself and a nonfunctioning leg behind the protection of
the sofa. I stood in startled amazement, trying to figure out the
scene. Then, from the kitchen, a third college boy wearing only
sweat pants slid toward me and spoke. “Good afternoon,” was all he
said.

“
Good afternoon,” I said, walking
toward him slowly. “This may sound a bit silly, but maybe you can
help me out here.”

“
Shoot.”

“
I’ve figured out that this is Las
Vegas, but I have no idea what day it is, or who you
are.”

The young man took a couple of steps toward me,
hunched over with dark circles surrounding his eyes. “I’m Kevin.
The dude in the bathroom is Josh. Cory’s behind the sofa. And Matt
was the guy we dropped off at the hospital.”

“
Hospital?”

“
Oh right, dude, you probably don’t
remember him. That’s cool…Anyway, they say he should be able to
walk again with some good old physical therapy.”

I pointed at him and his hunched back. “Did I
do this to you?”

Kevin smiled, “Oh yeah, dude. You drained me,
I’ll bet…just got raisins down there now. But it’s
cool.”

“
Sorry, I’m really sorry…Rough
night, I guess.”

“
Rough? Oh yeah, rough…” He smiled
again, nodding. “You know, rough doesn’t really cover it….awesome,
it was awesome. I never saw a chick move like that.” Then he stared
at the floor. “They’ll probably make us pay for those holes in the
ceiling. My dad’s really gonna be pissed…But still, it was worth
it.”

“
What day is this?” I asked, running
my fingers through my hair.

“
It’s a righteous Sunday afternoon
in Vegas, man…” He took a drink from a beer. “Can I get you one?
You were downing them like a pro last night. Never seen a chick
drink like that before either.” He indicated the table, which was
covered with empty Miner’s Lite bottles, and a few that were
unopened as well.

“
Have you seen my coat, my
bag?”

“
Over by the door.”

“
Well, thank you…Kevin. I best be
going,” I said, backing away, red faced and awkward.

When I reached the door, Kevin took a couple of
steps forward and asked, ”Hey, can I call you in a month if my back
is up to it?”

“
Sweet…but I don’t think that’s ever
gonna happen.”

“
It’s cool.”

With that, I left the college boys and headed
down the hotel hallway, trying to figure out what the hell had
happened. It made sense that I, in my drunken logic, had picked Las
Vegas, because no one knew me there; what happens in Vegas…you
know. But why the college boys? Probably because of my recent
problems with men—I had reasoned that maybe four or five healthy
young men might get the job done. But by the looks of those boys
that morning—and the general feeling of dissatisfaction I had from
the night before—I could cross that theory off the list.

When I reached the window and the
elevators at the end of the hall, it was decision time. Paige would
be home at 7:00 p.m. Should I fly home, or should I
fly
home?

Chapter 15

Hazel Eyes, My Ass!

As a website owner/media mogul, I was front and
center at the mayor’s news conference the next morning wearing my
laminated press pass. I had even worn a suit jacket and an
expensive new dress shirt, but I hadn’t completely sold out so I
wasn’t to the tie stage just yet. I was armed with my briefcase,
laptop, mobile phone, and a combative reporter’s attitude. I even
had a digital recorder to turn on: scary. Christ, I was even forty
minutes early. I’ve never been early for anything in my life, but
there I was with my choice of front row seats. Part of me was proud
of my newfound skills. The rest of me was just waiting for the
crash.

Over time, the room filled, the camera lights
went on, and the room bustled with noise and activity. Then exactly
at ten o’clock with no annoucement or fanfare, the mayor and his
team filed in and sat behind a long table with a podium and
microphone at its center. Among the team members was Dr. Jones.
Apparently, the mayor preferred his scientific mumbo jumbo to my
streetwise expertise.

“
I would like to start by saying
good morning to all the members of the media and to the people of
Scranton,” the mayor said. “Thank you all for coming.

“
At nine o’clock last night, in a
closed session of the City Council, using the emergency powers
granted me, I signed an executive order that prohibits the
manufacture, transportation, distribution, sale, and consumption of
all Miner’s Lite beer products within city limits. I further
ordered the confiscation of these same products, an endeavor that
was carried out by law enforcement personnel throughout the
evening. We have done this in the name of public safety in response
to the series of incidents involving Miner’s Lite beer trucks that
have fallen from the sky onto the property of the city’s landowners
and threatened to harm residents who may be in the random path of
these vehicles. I have further impounded all trucks in the Miner’s
delivery fleet. This ordinance is temporary and will expire when
conditions of public safety have been reinstated. Penalties for not
complying with the new ordinance are outlined in the copy of the
ordinance that will be made available to you all.
I will now take your questions.”

Hands went up all over the room.

“
Yes, here in the second
row.”

“
Has your administration determined
that the B.I.B is behind these falling beer trucks, and are there
any plans to issue a warrant for her arrest?” asked a young
reporter behind me.

“
Sorry, Bill. As you know, I cannot
comment on an ongoing investigation. I can say, however, that she
is a person of interest in the case,” BS’ed the mayor.

Voices rang out from all over. “Have you made
contact with her?”

“
Let’s do this one at a time. How
about you, Colin?” he said, pointing across the room.

“
Is it safe to say that your
administration is beginning to change its attitude toward the
benevolence of the B.I.B.? And as a follow-up, what plans do you
have to deal with her?”

The mayor smiled and gave a short laugh.
“Colin, let me start by saying that there have been a number of
incidents that have shown the B.I.B. to have allegedly helped law
enforcement. However, her refusal to communicate and these recent,
highly dangerous events may force us to rethink our interpretation
of past events.”

“
Are you saying that she is a danger
to the community?” the reporter continued.

The mayor smiled again. “I can only let you
decide that for yourself once justice has taken its course.” Then
the mayor pointed to me.

“
Mr. Mayor, haven’t you really
instituted this Miner’s Beer embargo as an attempt to ‘starve out’
the B.I.B., knowing of her fondness for Miner’s Lite?”