Dreams Of The Golden Age Part 13

"Nine-one-one dispatch, what is your emergency?"

"Um, yeah, I'm at the corner of Vineland and Fifty-third, and there's a couple of guys breaking into a building here. They've got crowbars and stuff and they're wrenching the door open."

The thunk of the paintgun firing sounded up ahead, right in front of the loading dock door. No sign of Teddy. Point-blank range, and they didn't see him. He fired four or five shots, and all of them hit. The guys writhed and shouted, but when they turned to look for their a.s.sailant, they saw nothing. Anna saw nothing. Teddy fired another two shots, which hit, and the guys doubled over at the impact, straight in their guts. Had to hurt.

"Ma'am? Are you still there?" the dispatcher asked.

"Um, yeah. These guys? One's white, one's black. They're dressed in black coats and stocking caps. And, um ... they're splattered with yellow paint. Really bright yellow paint."

"Did you say paint?"

"Yeah. Like from a paintball gun."

"I'm sending a patrol car to that location now. Are you in any danger?"

"No, I'm fine. I ... I have to get going, bye." She switched off the phone.

Unable to figure out who was attacking them with paintb.a.l.l.s, the hoodlums ran. The problem was, they ran right toward her and would be on her in seconds. She turned and charged for the nearest likely hiding place-the stairwell down to a garden-level doorway. They probably wouldn't take well to having a witness and were still hefting the crowbar and bolt cutters.

Hunched down on the concrete steps, she listened to their footsteps pound away. Much closer than she expected, a police siren howled. A patrol car, right in the neighborhood. One of the crooks cursed, and this was all going to get very exciting in a couple of minutes.

The actual pursuit and arrest happened a couple of blocks away, so Anna didn't get to see it. If the guys were still holding their array of tools, they were sure to be taken in and charged. She imagined the stray yellow paint spatters would tell the cops exactly what door they'd been attacking.

She wanted to get out of the area entirely, but she didn't feel like leaving her hiding s.p.a.ce until she was absolutely sure she wouldn't be spotted. Teddy had it easy.

Finally, a voice hissed above her. "Hey, you can come out now."

As she tromped up the stairs, Teddy flashed into visibility. It was like switching on a TV.

He was grinning. "Wasn't that cool?"

She handed the phone back to him. "You could have told me you had a plan."

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

She rolled her eyes.

"So now we have a system," he insisted.

"That isn't a system, it's-" She threw up her hands and glared, because she couldn't think of what that was. "We still need the cops to do all the work, you know?"

"You're no fun."

"I'm sorry I'm no fun." She walked off. She was tired, frustrated, and she wanted to go home.

"Anna-I mean, Rose! Wait up!"

"I'll talk to you later," she said and caught her own bus home.

ELEVEN.

CELIA'S schedule was full. She liked it that way, now more than ever.

Second and third opinions on the leukemia diagnosis were acquired, confirming the first diagnosis. She and Arthur spent an afternoon poring over treatment options and survival statistics. The prognosis was generally good. If the chemotherapy worked, she'd probably be fine. If it didn't, treatment options remained, but her odds decreased. It felt like rolling dice. Nothing to do then but roll and get it over with. Arthur made discreet phone calls and they arranged for her to receive treatments in one of the penthouse's unused guest rooms. She hired a nurse and paid very well for her secrecy. Celia would receive her first round of chemotherapy by infusion on Friday afternoon, have the weekend to deal with side effects, and do everything she could to be back on her feet by Monday. No one would ever know, not until she was good and ready to let them know.

In the meantime, she had a company to run.

At the next city planning meeting, the committee would vote on which contract to award: West Corp's downtown development project or one of the sprawling suburban expansion plans, including the one backed by Danton Majors's company.

The meeting itself looked much like the previous one-same people, same room, same bitter coffee smell, same political subtexts. The vote didn't cause much tension because the outcome was predictable. She'd worked hard for this, on behalf of the company and the city, and the committee wouldn't award the contract to an outsider with a misguided agenda. This vote was just a formality. Celia hoped.

When she entered the room, she noticed Danton Majors right off. It might have been her imagination, but he seemed to be watching for her. His face was turned to the doorway, and his dark eyes lit up when she entered. He gave her a moment to exchange pleasantries with the deputy mayor's a.s.sistant and chair of the city planning committee before he strolled over to have his own words with her.

"Mr. Majors," she said. "One might think you've decided to move permanently to Commerce City."

"I confess, I'm tempted," he answered, his smile charming, his gaze predatory. "I had no idea there were so many opportunities here."

"Oh, yes. Endless opportunities."

"Ready for round two, then?"

"Is that what you're calling it?" She tried to look thoughtful without laughing.

Mark was here again as part of the committee and gave her an encouraging smile across the room. Her heart sank at the sight of him. He was another person she'd have to tell about her illness, another person who would kick her a.s.s for keeping it secret. She put on a good face and returned the smile. A good face: That was the whole point of keeping the secret.

She made a decision then, sudden and abrupt, which was unlike her. But right now, she felt like she was drowning and had to do something. Arthur was right. She couldn't keep the secret for long. The committee vote was the important thing, the business could run itself after that. After the vote, she could hand the whole project over to her managers, tell everyone she had cancer, and focus on taking care of herself. Just a few more hours.

The chairman of the committee consulted with Mayor Edleston, who then made his way to the podium and called the meeting to order. The shuffling of papers and file folders rained throughout the room, which amused Celia because everyone also had laptops and netbooks open.

As the mayor began his opening remarks, a very young man, probably fresh out of law school, came into the room, fidgeting and seeming out of place despite his nice suit and fas.h.i.+onable haircut. Intern, she pegged him. He glanced around, swallowed, and found the courage to approach the planning committee chair, sitting at the head of a long table at the side of the room. He handed the chair one of several manila envelopes he carried, they whispered a moment, and the chair looked across the room to Celia. The guy blanched, then came toward her, holding another slim envelope like a s.h.i.+eld. The mayor hesitated, trickled out a few more words of his opening remarks, then fell silent. Everyone watched her like she was on stage.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the package. She drew out the contents in what she hoped was a confident manner, without fuss. It was a clipped stack of papers. She read the cover page, flipped to the page behind it, flipped back. The format was familiar, she knew what it said, but she couldn't quite seem to take it in. The words made sense, but their meaning didn't. Her brow furrowed, and she attempted to strategize on the fly.

"Mrs. West?" Majors asked. "Is something wrong?"

Leave it to him to poke at her. She made a noncommittal hum and tried to wave him off. She'd just been served papers, and she couldn't think of why. The language was dense legalese, she needed to pa.r.s.e it, and wasn't at all inclined to discuss it with a rival like Majors. Though the man seemed suspiciously pleased, like he already knew what the packet said.

It was the committee chair who said, "West Corp is being sued."

Might as well have said her cat had died, the way everyone looked at her with shock and pity. She scowled back. The plaintiff was a small contracting company, Superior Construction. She'd heard of them, barely, but they'd dropped out of the city development talks early on. Too big a pond for them to play in. Now, they were suing West Corp for monopolistic practices that excluded fair trade and compet.i.tion. The company had also applied for an injunction against any further planning committee activities until West Corp's role in the proceedings and the true extent of the company's monopoly on city development could be determined.

While the meaning of the pages sank in, the committee chair, city attorney, and mayor huddled together in a conference. She wished they hadn't been clever enough to move away from the podium's microphone, so she could hear what they were saying.

Danton Majors sat with his hands steepled, resting on his chin, examining the scene like a chess player, revealing no emotion but studious interest.

Celia couldn't say a word until she got her own lawyers on the case. And figured out what Superior Construction was really trying to do. This smelled fishy.

The mayor, looking a bit green around the gills-the results of the planning committee's work was supposed to be his big triumph this term, with his reelection bid coming up next year-returned to the podium microphone, clearing his throat. "In light of this new development, we have decided that it is in the city's best interest to postpone the planning committee's vote on pending projects until the matter can be investigated and details brought to light. Thank you all for understanding. We'll be in touch with your various offices when we know more."

Someone wanted to sabotage West Corp's plans. That was all this was. Celia was certain she could get the whole lawsuit thrown out, but in the meantime the vote would be delayed, and anything could happen in the interim. First thing, get the suit dismissed, then she'd figure out who was behind it, and why. So much for her vacation. So much for letting go of the project, letting go of the secret ... She could see the worst-case scenario play out if her medical news went public now: Superior Construction would accuse her of making a play for sympathy, demand to see her records, her right to privacy be d.a.m.ned, and there'd be yet another court fight over the whole thing. The best solution: maintain status quo for as long as possible. Keep pretending that all was well. Don't give them the least little crack to dig their claws into.

Everyone came up to her wanting to talk. She shoved the summons into her attache case, smiled nicely at them all, and didn't budge from the standard line: "I'm sorry, I can't comment until I've discussed this with West Corp's lawyers. I'm sure you understand."

Mark was on hand to deftly block the bulk of the crowd from her path.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Annoyed," she said, smiling confidently for anyone who might be watching. "It'll be fine. Someone threw red tape in front of us, I just have to cut through it."

"Anything I can do?"

"Better not, someone will accuse you of a conflict of interest for just standing here. But thanks."

The good luck expression he gave still seemed worried, but she waved him off.

Celia gathered her things, personally thanked the mayor for delaying the vote, said a few una.s.suming words to the rest of the committee, and avoided talking to anyone she didn't absolutely have to. Danton Majors was the last in the line waiting to ambush her on the way out. She couldn't dodge.

"An unexpected round two, I take it," he said. His smile was maybe meant to be sympathetic. Or smug. Or both.

She smugged back. "I'm sorry, I can't comment until I've spoken with West Corp's lawyers."

"Ah. Of course. Well then, until round three, Mrs. West."

Mrs. West was her mother, not her. She saved her ire for a more important argument and left the room.

Reporters were waiting in the lobby. Tipped off by Superior Construction, no doubt. Maybe this was all a stupid publicity stunt. She wouldn't put that kind of thing past anyone.

She spent a stunned moment standing frozen in the elevator after the door opened, confronted by a crowd of photographers snapping pictures and reporters holding out recorders. Maybe only five or six of them, but the group seemed immense when they were all standing in front of her. Shades of days gone by, when they'd shout questions about her joining the Destructor and expect her to say something coherent.

Then she smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I can't comment until I've spoken with West Corp's lawyers." Marched straight through the middle of them to the car waiting outside, where Tom ran interference, blocking the way while she escaped into the back.

She never understood it, but she'd come to appreciate it over the years. Warren West's grave had started as a simple granite block at the edge of the family plot, where his own parents were buried. A square gray headstone read: WARREN WEST.

CAPTAIN OLYMPUS.

HUSBAND, FATHER, HERO.

Green lawn covered the s.p.a.ce and sloped down a hill to the rest of the cemetery, rows and rows of headstones dating back a hundred years. But his grave had acquired additions: a couple of extra blocks announcing "in honor of"; tributes from the city and other organizations; a statue of a heroic, stylized figure standing tall and looking skyward-not exactly Captain Olympus but certainly meant to recall him. After twenty years, the grave site had become a shrine. It was always covered with flowers.

Usually when Celia went to visit, she did so early in the morning to make sure she didn't have to share the s.p.a.ce with any of the hundreds-maybe even thousands-of Captain Olympus's admirers trooping through to pay their respects. She stopped by a couple of times a year. Sometimes on his birthday, sometimes on the anniversary of his death. Sometimes, like this afternoon, just because. A couple was already there, standing before the headstone, snapping pictures. Celia waited some distance away until they were finished before approaching and settling on the lawn, legs folded to the side.

"Hey, Dad." She didn't like to think about how much easier he was to talk to now than he had been when he was alive. He was in a box, six feet under, rotted. She didn't like to think of that, either. "I've got a lot of stuff going on right now. I know I always say that. But this time ... I don't know. I want to walk away from it all. Grab Arthur and the kids and just go. But I can't. I keep wondering if you ever felt like that. Like throwing out the suit and just being you. I know you'd never say it out loud. Maybe I should ask Arthur if you ever thought it.

"The kids ... well, they're teenagers, they just have to get through it. I can't make it any easier for them, but G.o.d, I wish I could. Anna-you know what I keep thinking? That Anna would talk to you. She won't talk to any of us, not even Mom. But maybe, if you were still here, she could talk to you. It wouldn't even bother me, because then at least she'd have someone. Isn't it crazy? That I just keep thinking how much easier this would all be if you were here? And I know that isn't right, because you weren't really like that, you never made anything easier, you would just keep telling me that I was doing everything wrong, and that I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm talking about-"

She shook her head, wiping her eyes before tears could fall. Gazed at the heroic statue with the smooth features that wasn't even supposed to look like her father and realized that that was what her memories of him had turned into: a featureless palette upon which she could map any emotion, a.s.sumption, supposition she wanted.

"That's not fair, I know. I'm sorry. I just ... you'd love the girls, Dad. I wish you could have met them. And I miss you. I miss what we all might have turned into. And ... I have leukemia. Because of the radiation from Paulson's device. I'm sick and I don't know what to do."

Her father didn't say anything.

She pursed her lips, sighed. Got up from the gra.s.s, brushed herself off, and walked away.

Almost her whole life, people came up to her-at business meetings, symphony galas, museum fund-raisers, everywhere-and grabbed her hand, squeezing it with an emotional desperation, the look in their eyes sharp as needles, and thanked her. "Your father saved my life. I can't thank him, so please, let me thank you. He saved my life." They'd been on a school bus that caught fire, they'd been held hostage at the baseball stadium when the Destructor sealed it in his electrified force field, they'd fallen from a cras.h.i.+ng airplane, and Captain Olympus had been there to catch them, to save them.

She would offer a sincere smile and tell them that she understood.

Once, exactly once in the last twenty years, at the ribbon cutting of a new hospital that West Corp had built, a woman with a teenage daughter approached Celia and thanked her. Not her parents, her. "You probably don't remember us, it's been so long and it was such a mess. But that day the bus was hijacked, and you stopped it from going into the river-we were there. I'm the one with the baby. This is my baby." She put her hand on the girl's shoulder, gripping her like a prize.

Of course Celia remembered, and just the mention of the baby brought the scene back: the overheated bus, the baby screaming loud enough to rattle gla.s.s, the horrific moment when they all believed they were going to die, the bus launched into the harbor by a homicidal driver. Celia had stopped him. Killed him, actually, but no one seemed to mind that part. The faint scar on her forehead from her own injuries twinged at the memory.

The girl, a skinny thing who hadn't grown into herself yet, smiled awkwardly and looked both embarra.s.sed and awestruck. "You saved us," the mother said, tearfully. "You saved us."

Celia had hugged them both. The girl was just a few years older than Anna, and she was alive because of Celia. For a moment, she understood her father a little better.

When she got back to her office, she found a message waiting from Director Benitez at Elmwood. Please call back, no details. This was almost certainly about Anna. Celia checked the time-the kids should be getting home from school soon. Steeling herself, she called the director.

"h.e.l.lo, Ms. West? Thank you so much for returning my call. I wanted to talk to you about Anna."

"Yes, I expected that you would," Celia said. "What's the problem now?"

"She fell asleep in two different cla.s.s periods today. If it had only happened once, I wouldn't worry, I know how teens are. But this really isn't like her. Ms. West, I'm sorry for asking this-but is everything all right at home?"

No, it wasn't. Of course it wasn't. Might not ever be again. But she couldn't say that to this woman. "I appreciate your concern, Ms. Benetiz, really I do. I'll talk to her, I promise."

Celia could hear frustration in the director's reply. "Yes, I'm sure you will, but there's only so much a simple talk can do, if the underlying issues aren't resolved."

"What do you suggest then, Ms. Benitez?"

"Have you considered counseling for Anna? She comes from a high-profile family, and I'm afraid she may be finding ways to act out in response to that."

Oh, honey, you haven't seen acting out. More polite, she said, "You may be right. I'll definitely consider it and speak with her father about it. Thank you very much for calling." She hoped the dismissal was obvious, and sure enough, the director signed off, and Celia sighed.

She didn't want to deal with this. Her daughter was falling asleep in cla.s.s, neglecting her studies, and Celia somehow couldn't care all that much. Anna was a good kid. Falling asleep in cla.s.s was not a moral failing. She wasn't getting enough sleep, obviously. Because she was running around all night hiding the fact she had superpowers. Mark called her-two kids matching Anna's and Teddy's descriptions had been seen wearing masks and wandering City Park. No, not wandering, Celia had told him. Walking patrol, like good little superheroes. Mark hadn't done anything about it, thank goodness. The cops were keeping tabs, letting the kids practice, that was the whole point.

What the h.e.l.l kind of superpowers Anna had that she needed to practice using-that was Celia's real concern, her most pressing question. If only Anna would just tell her. Which was really rich, considering what Celia was hiding.

This had gotten very complicated.