29. Midnight Meetings

MIDNIGHT MEETINGS

ANDREW

Burning Man as a model for a community is only good so far as the basic ideas. But there is merit to the idea of creating a village to "raise" our city people to a different way of life.

"Where are you planning to put together this village?" I ask.

"I've recently acquired several acres of desert," Richard says. "It has reasonably good soil, just sandy and dry. I'd had it in mind to hire Charles and his company to put solar collectors and windmills on it. But I think we might extend the idea to include earth ships designed by Kate's brother, James."

"That is an idea," I say. "And I like it. Just one problem: What are you going to do for water? I don't suppose this place has a handy oasis in the middle of it?"

"Not exactly," Charles says. "But I am interested in various experimental water collection methods. Also, it is not far from the ocean. While sea water is not potable, it can be distilled. That would create an industry for the community."

Old Emily leans forward and catches my eye. "Uh-huh. What kind of industry?"

"Sea salt," I return. "Otherwise known as sodium chloride, or common table salt. It does contain some trace elements, and considering the condition of the California coast, it would probably need quite a bit of cleanup."

"At least it's not gold or diamonds," she says. "Are you going to peddle it like snake oil?"

Catriona looks puzzled. "What's snake oil?"

The men at the table all get solemn looks on their faces. Kate, Maddy, and Kandis all try to smother their giggles. Rylie shakes her finger at them. "Not nice, ladies," she says. "It's an idiomatic expression meaning something sold as a cure-all, even though it has not a bit of medicinal value. I'll blow the whistle on you, gentlemen, if you even try it."

Austin places his hand over hers. "They wouldn't, dearest mermaid. But they can market it, absolutely truthfully, as salt distilled from sea water. Some people place a high value on sea salt."

"Oh. All right," she says. "I guess that would be ok."

Old Emily grins at her. "It would be better than ok. It would be smart upselling of something pretty ordinary. With a little testing, I bet we could show that it has iodine in it, even."

"Old Emily," I say, "You are one sharp cookie."

"Of course I am," she says. "I eluded your grandfather's matrimonial plans for me, and still made a place for myself in the corporation. So let me point out, if you aren't careful, you'll have a community of wise guys, made-men and their molls, and it will be a repeat of history."

"Point taken," I say soberly.

With Burning Man safely tabled, we got down to the brass tacks of planning a model community, including a governing body, a qualified police force as well as security patrol. It was thirsty, hungry work, and we sent out to the kitchen several times for refreshments.

By midnight, the boardroom table had been transformed with models, small houses, water color marker roads, and more. There is nothing like getting a think tank like Lane Enterprises, Spindizzy, and the elders from small countries together to plan a model community. Like all plans, it would change when impacted by reality, but it was a start.

Around one o'clock in the morning when everyone agrees we've done as much as we can for the night. Maddy and I ride the elevator up to our secure apartment.

Julia waits for us in our living room.

"How is Paul?" Maddy asked.

"Asleep," Julia yawns. "And I'm nearly there. The LAN party was a huge success. After they found Lord Britain, and conquered the whatever he was, they divided up into twos and fours and played virtual boxing, checkers, and chess. The littles had toys and games, too, so everyone had fun, but were tired enough to go to bed at nine. I think Mrs. Hubbard was, too, although she said that being around so many youngsters made her feel young."

There was a knock on the door. "It's Dad," Julia said. "Or Momlee."

"Why do you call your mother that?" I ask.

"Because she's my second mom. My first mom died, and Dad had an awful time finding me in the foster system. When they married, I didn't want to call her Mom or Lee, so for a while I called her Mama Lee. Then it got shortened to Momlee because Albert couldn't quite say ‘Mama Lee' when he was learning to talk."

The knock on the door came again. While we'd been talking, Maddy checked the security camera. She now opens the door to let Austin in.

"Do I have a daughter here?" he asks.

"You do," Julia answered. "You didn't have to come get me."

"Ah, but I wanted to," Austin said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Good night, everyone. I'm bushed. Come on, Judy-Rudy. Lee is waiting up for us."

After they depart, we go down the hall, and peek in at Paul. As usual, he is cuddled with Angel and Carousel. The big dog raises her head when we look in, and the cat opens one eye. Seeing that it is just us, they both settle back down. Paul doesn't stir, except for the rise and fall of the sheet over him, showing that he is breathing.

"Worn out, indeed," Maddy says. Then she yawns mightily.

"Looks like we should get you to bed, too," I say. Then I yawn. "Contagious," I add.

She smiles at me, a mere ghost of her usual grin.

We get into night clothes, and I feel myself stirring at the sight of her in her soft, satin pajamas. I fold back the covers, and she slides in, scooting over to make room for me.

I lie down, cuddling her up to me, and kiss her forehead. My hope is to catch a little midnight delight, and it would seem we are on the same wavelength. She tilts up her face, and I kiss her lips, then begin little nibble kisses across her jaw toward her ear.

I cup the back of her head with my hand. It is a perfect fit. We roll to face each other. We don't say anything; we really don't need to. Our eyes say it all. Maddy's face is weary, but she has never looked more beautiful to me.

She strokes my cheek, and runs her thumb over my lips. I open them, and catch it, sucking on it. Her breath catches in her throat, and I can feel her nipples harden against my chest.

She wriggles to extract herself from her pajama bottoms. I help her slide out of the soft, silky garment. I can't decide what is silkier; her pajamas, or her lush skin. Bare from the waist down, I can feel the heat of her against me.

I slide out of my boxers, my penis springing erect between us. She reaches down, cups my balls in her hand, then slides her grip upward in a slow gentle caress. I feel that she has claimed me, and I am truly hers. Her firm strokes along my shaft feel so good that I know I need to stop her before she makes me come.

I roll her onto my stomach. She is heavier than she looks, with muscles developed from being on her feet all day, but scarcely an ounce of fat beyond that needed to give her feminine curves.

She lifts herself on her knees, helping me slide into her. We fit perfectly, and quickly find our rhythm. Her eyes are closed, her face flushed, lips slightly parted. The sight of her makes me even more excited, but I strive to keep my movements gentle this time. I catch a hold of her hips, trying to slow down her movements.

She's not having any of that. She makes a noise of disapproval and yanks my hands off her waist, lacing her fingers with mine as she rides me harder. Her hair falls over her shoulders, partially obscuring her breasts as she chases her release selfishly. She looks glorious to me as she works herself up and down my length, and I reach up to grab her hair in my fist.

I tug her down to me, interrupting the cadence of her thrusting against me, and claim her lips in a bruising kiss. She nips my bottom lip hard enough that she might have drawn blood, and I growl and seize her shoulders so I can roll on top.

"Slow down," I order her. "You're always making things happen too fast."

She scoffs at me. "I do not! You always hurry us along!"

Her hands come up to grip my biceps as she arches against me like a cat, inviting me to thrust more deeply, to claim her more fully. I slow down my movements, tantalizing her with deep, hard thrusts. Each time I press home within her, her pussy clenches around me, and she gasps with pleasure. She twists her body and rises to meet my thrusts, a smile on her lips between each shout of pleasure. I follow her unspoken directions, increasing my rhythm, pushing even harder and deeper into her.

Then there is no harder or deeper, there is just her, just the movement of our bodies, just the sharing of two people in love, chasing after the promise of beautiful oblivion that is rising within us with each stroke and each cry.

"I love you," I say to her, my voice rough with emotion, and tension.

"I love you more," she gasps out as she races toward her climax.

"Oh my god, oh…ohh. She screams, my name on her lips over and over as her body clenches around my cock, and it pushes me precipitously over the edge. We climax together, joyously joined in purpose and caring, our voices mingling as waves of ecstasy flow over us in tandem.

I roll to her side, turning her so we remain connected. I wish that I could stay inside the welcoming heat of her body for the rest of my life. My dick twitches in answer to this thought, but for the moment, I'm too spent to hustle us toward another round. She snuggles her face into the side of my neck, her breath hot against my collarbone.

"Will you truly marry me?" I ask, tracing my finger along her cheek.

"Yes," she says drowsily. "You've proven yourself to be an honorable gentleman in every way, and I love your sense of humor, and the way you tell stories, and the way you stand up to your grandfather."

"Thank you," I say, trying to infuse the simple words with all the gratitude and love that I feel for my Maddy, who says "Pooh, pooh" to lions and to fierce old men.

I hold her, cherishing her. I wonder if I should ask her if she needs anything.

But her breath evens out, and her warm body is heavy and relaxed against me. She is asleep. Paul is not the only one who is worn out. Briefly, I consider waking her so we can both clean up, but sleep mugs me and I am out.

A phone rings, a jangling discordance. It rings again, my distinctive ring that I set to get my attention no matter how little sleep I have had. I feel about for the infernal thing, then remember I left my pants in the bathroom.

I roll out of the bed, disoriented. My sleep-fogged brain zeroes in on the sound. I find it, and hit the accept button. "Lane." I say.

A woman's panicked voice on the other end. "Dr. Andrew Lane?"

"Yes," I say.

"You've got to come right away. He's awake and coherent and he's called in these awful people."

No doubt in my mind as to who "he" is. "I'll be there as quick as I can," I say.

"He wants. . ." the voice starts to say. But I hang up. I have no intention of taking Paul into whatever is about to go down, and I'd rather not take Maddy.

"Andrew?" Maddy's bare feet pad across the carpet to the bathroom. "What is it?"

"Grandfather," I say. "I think he's called in his lieutenants."

"Ah." It is a soft, drawn out breathy sound. Then, "Should I wake Paul?"

"I'm not taking him," I say. "And you should not go either."

"I won't let you go alone," she says. "I'll call Kate. He will be safe with her and Charles."

I hear the soft rustle as she slides into a robe, and I regret not having time for one more round of pleasure before we must face unpleasantness. But I head for the bathroom, all the same.

It is a brief regret. By the time I get my jeans and polo on, and exit the bathroom, Maddy is dressed in a charcoal gray slack suit that somehow looks like armor. Her hair is damp. She's used the other bathroom to clean up.

"I've called Kate," she says. "Charles is coming down the hall to get Paul. Austin will be our driver. Ark-Ark is riding shotgun, but Austin doesn't want to bring anyone else."

"All right," I say. The arrangements suit me. The fewer people the better. I wish Maddy was not going, but I can see that she will not stay behind. Her loyalty warms me, while her presence fills me with terror for her.

A light tap at the door, and Charles is there. Maddy is walking Paul down the hall, still clad in his pajamas.

"Sure you don't want me to come along?" Charles asks.

"Keep our son safe," I say. "Let's not give the old fiend any more fodder than we can help."

"Keep me on speed dial," Charles says, shepherding a sleepy Paul out the door. The boy looks worried, but does not protest. He is carrying the cat, and Angel goes with him.

We hurry down the stairs, not taking time for the elevator, through the lobby, the garage door, and into a small SUV. Austin is waiting for us in the driver's seat, Ark-Ark is, as promised, riding shotgun.

We do not peel out. Austin guides the armored vehicles at a legal clip through the deserted streets, to the hospice. A variety of vehicles, ranging from a row of motorcycles to a long, sleek Limousine are parked outside.

A pale-faced attendant meets us at the door, beckoning for us to come in quickly. "They have guns," she whispers. "Is the old man in danger?"

"No," I say, "And neither are you or the other patients if you follow directions."

Maddy enters at my side, Austin and Ark-Ark follow. "Sir, the dog . . . " the attendant begins.

"Support animal," Austin says. "He keeps me from going ballistic without assistance from medication."

The attendant takes in Austin's blond hair, surfer-dude muscles, his tattoos, especially the "Semper Fidelis" on his right bicep. "Sure," she says, backing up a little and going a shade paler. "Support animals — always welcome."

We move down the hall at a professional clip, keeping the medical motto, never run to an emergency. As we enter the room, Grandfather Aims is sitting up in bed. Men and women sit in chairs, arranged in a semi-circle around the bed. None of them are visibly armed, but neither are we.

"Where's the boy?" Grandfather asks.

"At home in bed," Maddy says. "He has a strict schedule of sleep, meals, study, and play. It assures good development."

"I thought . . ." Grandfather begins.

"I'm afraid the only instructions I heard were to come at once, that it is important," I say. "Since you have already designated me as his trustee, I will stand in his stead. Should there be something that is appropriate for a nine-year-old child to decide, I will ask him when we return home."

A woman dressed in a miniskirt so short it barely covered her assets gives a giggling snort. "About all a kid that age is good for is choosing refreshments or the color of the flowers at your funeral, old man."

"Shut up, Liza," her companion said, "Before you get yourself killed."

"You gonna do it, Grizzly?" she asks. "Cause I got a black-belt says you can't."

"Enough," Aims put in. "I see now that Andrew is right not to bring his son into this mob. You are all here to meet your new boss."

"Same as the old boss," someone hums.

There is a general hiss of laughter, then all is still.

Show time.