B00DSDUWIQ EBOK (11 page)

Chapter 11

 
The
alarm
woke Robert Wagner promptly at 7:30 AM, the digital numbers seeming to
flick on the radio, merging the last fleeting strands of a dream with the voice
of the announcer. He lolled for a moment in the plush warmth of his Tempur-Pedic
memory foam mattress, hearing that dollar days were almost over at his local
Ford dealer. He had to hurry so he would not miss out on the biggest savings
event of the year, a blockbuster 1.9% APR and $2000 factory cash back after
signing!

He
opened his eyes, seeing the familiar pale blue glow of the interior light above
him. He was still nestled in the enclosed space of his bedtime cocoon—the
Quantum
Sleeper
he had installed last fall when the terror alert level reached Orange
again. It was a special bed, with an outer shell that closed overhead like the
roof of a convertible car and created an environment that was completely safe
and secure from the outside world. The titanium frame and polycarbonate siding
of the outer shell was finished off with finely lacquered wood. Once sealed,
however, it created an impregnable refuge, air-tight, water-tight, and with
every comfort a person could desire to sustain them through the night, or a
long, lazy morning should they care to linger in the protective shell before
rising for the day.

The
Quantum Sleeper
had a console that activated a flat screen plasma television
on the upper roof, so he could watch HDTV or DVD movies while he rested in bed.
The interior lighting and temperature could be completely controlled, and the
air was filtered and conditioned so well that the unit was entirely safe from
bio-threats, noxious gas, smoke or any other airborne threat—and that included
dust, pollen, animal dander, mold, bacteria, and even airborne viruses! H1N1
would find no refuge here. He had been astonished to learn that the air inside
his home could be up to fifty times more polluted than the air outside. It just
made good sense to know that he could rest all night in a safe and filtered
environment like his
Quantum Sleeper.

Beyond
this, the twin storage tanks hidden behind the headboard held up to three days of
cool, pristine water, with hot and cold taps accessible on the panel behind his
pillow where a little splash sink could be pulled out from the headboard. A small
microwave oven was also installed there, along with an all band radio, CD/MP3
player with stereo speakers, and cabinet space for snack food and reading
materials. There were even emergency side compartments in the unit that could
hold additional food, water, medical supplies and anything else deemed an urgent
necessity. And the whole unit was backed up with a reserve battery that would
last a full eight hours if the power ever failed.

And
one day it would fail…soon…

Robert
rolled over, unwilling to move from the satiny warmth of his pillows and blankets,
noticing that his wife, Liz, has already opened her side of the unit and
slipped out to start her morning. The mechanism of the outer shell was so whisper
quiet that he had not even stirred when the other side of Sleeper had opened
and closed. He considered having breakfast alone in the Sleeper that morning.
There were still three breakfast entrees in the unit’s refrigerator. He could
pop one in to the microwave, activate the automated coffee maker, and have
scrambled eggs, French toast, hash browns, milk, juice, or anything else he
desired. He thought the better of it, wanting a nice hot shower now more than
food. Besides, he was going to have to restock the sleeper soon. The world was
going to hell.

Rob
stretched, reaching up reluctantly to press a small silver button on the top of
the enclosure, and waiting while the
Quantum Sleeper
opened, the top arching
up and back, folding itself as it did to fit snugly at the baseboard of the bed
when fully opened. He stumbled out of bed, scratching listlessly as he made his
way over the thick wool carpeting to the marble tiled bathroom. The air was
fresh and sweet with the scent of
Fresh Burst,
jasmine and lemon. It was
a medley of odors meant to evoke the pristine fragrance of a summer morning, or
at least that is what the label on the scent dispenser unit promised.

Rod
stripped off his silk boxer shorts, pausing to admire his hard, lean body in the
mirror. His smooth, nearly hairless chest was strong and well contoured, tapering
down to a six-pack abdomen that he worked hard on to keep well cut. He turned,
admiring the round firmness of his buttocks and the tanned flanks of his
thighs. The workout in the gym yesterday seemed to have done him some good. He
was following the patented
Slim in Six
program, where he gained the entire
benefit of a full six month workout program in only six weeks. He had seen the
ad on TV a few months back, and had been following the easy, programmed weight
loss system, complete with aerobic exercise, power yoga, Pilates toning moves
and, best of all, he had not paid three thousand dollars for guided training
and diet counseling, or even three hundred dollars—even though he would have
expected to pay much more anywhere else. No, not Robert. He was too smart for
that. By calling right away when he saw the TV ad, he was able to totally
reshape his body, complete with a free six day maintenance plan and step by
step guidebook, for only three easy payments of $19.95. And he had obtained
three special bonuses at no extra charge in the deal—all sent to him by rush
delivery.

Fitness
was an obligation that had been broadcast at him for decades and, by now, it had
become a reflexive habit. His entire self image, his manhood, his sexuality itself,
rested on the notion that he could still draw those envious stares from the
receptionist at the office. What a difference the
Slim in Six
program
had made!

He
flexed a bicep, admiring the peak as he tightened the muscle of his upper arm. He
needed to do just a little more work on his back, he thought. He wasn’t into heavy
muscle building, but he wanted his body firm and hard, two words that most men
aspired to when it came to things physical. He watched his diet with the
Slim
in Six
program, headed off the threat of saddle bagging in his mid section,
got regular exercise, and made sure that he gave his body a good maintenance
workout at least once a week.

Rod
imagined that all his hard work would be well appreciated by everyone at the office.
Yes, he was happily married, but it never hurt to know that you could turn the
heads of the office girls, or even the other men there, and he often thought of
how they were probably stealing glances at his firm tush when he strolled by
the stock trading workstations to let them all know he was doing a first rate
job as their supervisor. He enjoyed the thought that his infrared suntan,
another feature he had built in to his
Quantum Sleeper
, would draw
compliments from the pale white co-workers who shared his unit. He relished the
idea that his pearly white smile, bought from a thousand dollar visit to the
dentist last December, would never fail to please.

He
stretched again, and stepped into the shower. A moment later his body was awash
in refreshing jets of steamy water, and he was lavishing a thick palm full of
Lever
2000
body wash over his well muscled frame, frothing it up to a rich, luxuriant
lather so he would be sure to get the best possible day-long deodorant control
for all of his 2000 parts.

Drying
off with the fresh cotton towel, he heard his wife Liz switch on the plasma digital
television downstairs in the living room. The cavalcade of announcements
floated up the steps with the distant sound and smell of
Maxwell House
gurgling
though the filter of the coffee machine in the kitchen. He passed a moment of
brief longing for old Juan Valdez, the mythical coffee grower from South
America who had ensured that the beans picked for grinding were the richest
crop in a decade. Juan was fired when the competition from new coffee blends
coming out of Southeast Asia had deflated prices and
Maxwell House
had
been forced to pull its TV ad campaign. Such a loss, he mused.

Now
the TV announcer was extolling the virtues of the
Magic-Kan
, an amazing new
plastic container for your household trash. He focused on the words, mindlessly,
reflexively, hearing that it was a must have for the kitchen, with a sophisticated
design that was guaranteed to match any décor while keeping your trash neat,
odorless, and out of sight.

His
attention was soon pulled to the marble sink basin where he splashed a bit of lukewarm
water on his face to prepare for shaving. What would it be today, he thought as
he reached for the Edge protective shaving foam? The gel oozed out into his
palm and soon bloomed up into a cool fragrant lather. Would it be the Schick
Quattro or the M3 Power Razor? The Quattro sported four blades, so just one
swipe of his razor would do twice the work of any normal double bladed razor.
But the M3 had all the awesome power than any man could possibly crave. It’s
mini-vibe mechanism, operated by a AA battery in the handle, pulsed and vibrated
as he stroked the blade, raising even the most stubborn stubble for the three
bladed razor to whisk away. With the M3, five-o-clock shadow was a thing of the
past.

He
chose the awesome power, selecting the M3 and making short work of the whiskers
on his neck and chin. He finished up, slapping on a bracing aftershave at the end
of his routine. A bit of super-gloss hair gel would be all he would need today,
and he quickly ran his glistening fingers through his hair, letting the shape
and style have just that touch of the tousled look that was so popular today.
Soon he was ready to dress and take on the day.

Liz
was channel surfing again. As Robert slipped on his robe and shuffled down the stairs,
he saw that the ubiquitous ads had been suddenly interrupted by a hair-raising
scene from the Middle East. Christ, was the oil still burning there? Lucky for
him he filled the tank on his Lexus the previous day, though it was costing him
a fortune to drive these days. Liz clicked her remote, moving on to the local
channel to take in the morning news bytes.

….
A mass murder suspect in Bakersfield, the crazed 2020 Olympic Bomber trial, new
cases of SARS at a hotel—mostly bottom of the hour filler before the breaking news
headlines yet to come. Robert sighed as the news cast rolled on. The stock report
crowded on the heels of that headline, and the ‘tale of the tape’ seemed bright
this morning, as advances outpaced decliners by a hefty margin, mostly in the
distressed energy sector. The transportation sector was getting hammered,
however. It was no longer cheap or easy to fly anywhere these days. America was
no longer “free to move about the country” as one airline put it in their TV
ads. Below this, in the slow, steady crawl of the news ticker at the bottom of
the screen, Robert saw that the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico was continuing
unabated, the war in Asia was heating up again after that volcano imposed a
brief time out, the Maine Potato Blossom Fest was in full swing and featuring a
ladies’ bikini mashed potatoes wrestling contest! Food to wrestle in, he
thought. What a country.

The
news segment wound up, but the cordial host threw out a teaser to keep everyone
waiting for more.
"Another threat from Al Qaeda,
" she said glibly,
"We'll tell you which city needs to be on the alert when we come
back."

The
hook was in, with just a little barb of fear at the end. So now they would just
have to wait. Robert thought how easy it would have been for her to simply reveal
the city's name, but then the lure of the tease would be lost. Now the whole
nation would have to wait breathlessly through the next commercial segment to
find out if
they
were the threatened city. And the commercial would most
likely be a slick presentation by a drug company. They loved to litter the news
segments and pushed the drugs hard and heavy each evening news hour. What would
NBC do without Pfizer to bankroll them with all that commercial money?

From
the sound of things the news was going from bad to worse but, whatever it was, the
danger could not be all that great, because the commercials started rolling,
with one fifteen second spot crowding after another—like people squeezing into
a bus at a quick stop. The TV volume increased by 30% and the announcer stared
out at the unseen audience with more dire warnings.
“You could be missing
out! It’s a fact: Mortgage rates are at an all time low, but they could go up
at any moment.”
It was time, therefore, to refinance the $750,000 home he
lived in, thought Robert. With all the distress in the market he was probably
well underwater by now. The announcer confirmed that fact with a clear
directive:
“Do it now!”

He
resisted the urge to go to the phone and begin dialing, even though he knew that
operators were standing by, waiting for his call. They would just have to wait
a little longer, he thought. Then the next commercial elbowed its way onto the
screen, and this offer made the last one pale. He learned that he could enter
the new
Capital One
giveaway contest just by using his credit card for
regular every day expenses and purchases. He could instantly win his own
island—yes, a complete island that he could wander at his leisure any time he
choose, a place to create his own paradise away from the hustle of city life, a
lush tropical getaway. He passed a moment’s reflection on the disastrous
investments made in Dubai, but nonetheless made a mental note to make sure to
charge as much as he could on that card this weekend. This was even better than
the monthly promise of endless riches at the Lotto! Yes, the 29.9% interest
rate might pinch a bit, But he’d sell a few shares of the AIG stock he bottom
fished for the other day when it took off again, and make all well.