Ride the Titanic! (16 page)

Xia’s on speakerphone: ‘Red, how are you and the boys doing over there?’

A tinny southern-accented voice drawls, ‘Thought you’d skedaddled on us.’

‘I’m Chinese. We don’t know the meaning of the word.’

A long pause. Xia prompts, ‘Still there?’

‘Hang on, hang on. . .Just getting the final okay from Skitch and the boys.’

Somewhere far below on the street somewhere, steel band music replaces the speakerphone’s hissing silence. A quarter mile away from the doomed hotel, the large crowd gently surges back and forth like ocean wavelets against the orange, plastic mesh control barricades. Closer in, fire trucks pump plumes of precious water into the site to provide dust control after the impending collapse.

I say, ‘Wouldn’t it be safer to do this at night?’

‘Permit board won’t let us. In their words it ‘unnecessarily blocks the flow of commerce.’’

‘But they drop buildings around here like lumberjacks chop down trees.’

‘When this one’s gone, ours is going up.’

‘Don’t forget my ocean liner
.’

Her laughter is like tiny bells. ‘How could I?’

I rub my face and feel the grit of whiskers. When was the last time I had a decent night’s sleep?

‘Hard to believe this is really happening.’

‘It is, Michael.’ She steps closer and looks up. ‘And you made it all happen.’

‘With your money.’

A long pause. A careful smile. ‘There is that little item.’

The phone crackles. ‘Standing by to warn.’

Xia turns away; all business. ‘Go.’

A siren’s wail replaces the buzzing roar of traffic that slowly comes to a halt along the strip. Within seconds it seems, an eerie hush falls over the city. Only the distant roar of a departing airliner from McCarran suggests civilization. But even that fades away.

Red’s voice pierces the silence. ‘On your call, Miss Zhu.’

She looks straight at me, phone to ear, eyes on fire, and mouth curved into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

‘Drop that big boy.’

Nothing at first. . . .Which is how these things start. . .

But deep in the bowels of the structure, chaos has already begun. Carefully timed explosions trip one after another, snapping steel girders in two like matchsticks. Floors collapse upon floors, and the destruction becomes visible, as plumes of smoke and debris gush out of the center core of the hotel, followed almost instantaneously by explosions in opposite corners that ripple across the outside in a visible
tsunami
wave of destruction that ejects stone, concrete, steel, drywall, and wood in a cascading shower, swallowed immediately by even more debris, until the entire structure trembles, heaves, then crumbles straight down upon its dying self, faster and faster, much to the joy of the crowd, who came to see a bread-and-circus Las Vegas spectacle and gets it in spades.

By the clock it takes less than fifteen-seconds to transform the massive, forty-four story H-shaped, 3500 room, high rise hotel into a Mt. Everest-sized pile of rubble. Fire trucks furiously pump water onto the mushroom cloud of dust towering high into the sky. What once was a part of the Las Vegas skyline, has become a footnote fast on its way to being forgotten.

To my surprise, Xia and I hold hands during the entire event. I try to pull free but she holds it tighter as she looks up at me, her voice soft but clear as crystal.

‘Make love to me.’

I hear her, but opt for stupid. ‘Pardon?’

She tugs me toward the door, refusing to let go of my hand, and I confess I don’t try too hard to get free. The buzz of Vegas is taking hold of me, as it does to everybody who comes here. This is not the earth. Different rules apply. Different morality, different ethics, different everything.

We take the elevator down. Coming up was in a service one. This one’s all gold trim and mirrors that multiply the two of us into a kaleidoscope of anticipation. Xia says nothing, just breathes through her nostrils in short, rapid puffs.

After the briefest of descents, the doors slide open to an elegantly appointed corridor, down which she tows me to a door that opens into a massive penthouse suite with a glass window wall overlooking the strip, where the dust column from the imploded
Paradise Towers
still clogs the afternoon sky.

‘I’ll use the bathroom first,’ she says matter-of-factly.

‘Wait a second.’

She stops by the doorway. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Sort of.’ I slowly lift my left hand and show her my ring finger.

‘Take it off, along with your clothes. Hurry up.’

She goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. I stand there fingering my wedding ring and feeling the Las Vegas spell creeping over me. Geena will never know. Xia will never tell. Neither will I. She’s beautiful. I’m tired, and my mind is losing I.Q. points left and right. By the time she comes out of the bathroom, I’ll be at a cave man level. I can feel it happening, especially where it counts.

The door opens, Xia, wrapped in a snow-white towel, marches past me without looking and enters the adjoining bedroom where I catch the briefest of glimpses of her perfect, naked backside as she drops the towel and slides between the sheets.

‘Michael?’ Her voice soft with anticipation.

I do what I need to do in the bathroom, then follow her into the bedroom and stand beside the bed. I get as far as dropping my pants, but somehow, staring at the hair on my legs makes the whole thing so pathetic I want to laugh. But if I don’t climb into bed with this beautiful woman it will be a fifty million-dollar last laugh, and next week I’ll be trapped in a cubicle in Orlando designing HVAC systems for the rest of my life.

Once again I pray to the God I need when I’m on the edge of a cliff and there’s no way out. He always seems to hear but doesn’t always help. Still, He’s a good listener. And sometimes all I really need to solve a problem is to hear myself talk. So I take a deep breath and start.

‘Xia, you said you wanted me to make love to you.’

She smooths the sheet across her flat belly and folds her hands, almost in prayer. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

‘Is there. . .’ I hesitate, and then shuffle over to the edge of the bed, my pants, shirt and underwear still on and my naked knobby knees in full view. ‘Is there any way we can make love without. . .you know. . . .’

‘Without what?’

I sit on the edge of the bed, reach across and take her hand. ‘I’ve been married for almost fifteen years to a wonderful woman who I really love and she loves me.’

She tries to pull her hand away but I hold tight.

‘The first time I saw you that night on your submarine I thought I was going to faint, you were so beautiful. And not just beautiful, but smart, clever, funny, tough, and strong, and all that packed inside the most amazing body I’ve ever seen in my life.’

She smiles slightly.

‘Including the finest ass in the world. And I mean it. I’ve been staring at female behinds my whole life, and when I saw yours I thought, ‘That’s it, Mikey-boy. Stop looking. That’s the one.’

She pats her small breasts. ‘And these?’

‘In my book, anything over a mouthful’s a waste.’

‘Are your wife’s. . .?’

‘Too big for my tastes, but. . . ’

‘She is your wife.’

‘Forget Geena, I’m making love to you at the moment.’

A raised eyebrow.

‘With words, I know, but when I think about the two of us being together for the next two years, I get all dopey at the thought of being around you, not just your beautiful body, but everything about you. . . is just so gorgeous. I’m a lucky guy. I really am. And I want you to know that whatever happens from now on, I have loved every second of this wonderful dream that you’re making come true. And I love you for that, I really do.’

I take her hand and kiss her palm like Prince Charming would Cinderella’s. ‘So wonderful, so perfect. Thank you, thank you so much for being in my life and for saving it too.’

We stare at each other in silence. Exhausted at my rush of words, I fall back across the bed and stare up at the green diode status light in the ceiling smoke detector. The last thing I remember is Xia snuggling her feet beneath my back, wiggling her toes. And I keep talking. . .talking. . . talking. . .

I wake up with a sudden start, the room is dark except for the artificial light streaming through the plate glass windows looking down onto the strip. I roll over in bed, stand and search for my pants. Then realize I’m still wearing them.

‘Thank you, God,’ I whisper.

Through the open doorway Xia stands by the windows, staring out at the dazzling display of Las Vegas at night. A riot of rainbow-neon colors flickers across her face as she turns to me when I call her name.

‘Sleep well?’ she says.

‘Sorry I zonked out.’

‘Too much excitement.’

‘Look. . . about not wanting to. . .well, what I’m trying to say is that. . .’

‘No more talk.’ She lifts her glass. ‘Drink?’

‘Laphroag?’

‘But of course.’

‘Sure, why the hell not?’

What’s waiting underneath her sheer black nightgown leaves nothing to my re-kindled imagination.

‘Hope you don’t mind. It’s all I brought. Had different plans.’

‘It’s beautiful. Like you.’

‘Enough flattery.’ She hands me my drink. ‘I need to recover from your idea of lovemaking with just words.’

I lift my glass. ‘Did the earth move?’

‘Don’t know. Fell asleep while you were still talking. You?’

‘To the moon and back.’

‘Using hot air.’

We clink glasses.

‘You’re something else, Michael Sullivan.’

‘Everybody calls me Mike.’

‘I’m not everybody.’ She takes my hand and pulls me closer to the window. I feel a little panic.

‘Relax. Time for something new for the both of us. Look down there.’

I expect a pyramid-sized rubble mound that represents the late, great
Paradise Towers
. What I see instead is the ethereal, image of the familiar iceberg shape of the
White Star Grand Hotel
and the
R.M.S. Titanic
floating serenely in the dive basin in front.

Like in the movies, I blink my eyes to make sure I’m actually seeing this floating, dreamlike image, produced by a creative combination of lasers, water screens, fog, and high-definition projectors that project our dream onto a series of strategically-arranged water spray ‘mist walls’ surrounding the demolition site. Above the animated action appears an ever-changing riot of background abstract colors swirls, ranging from ice-blue to raging-red. And crowning the illusion, in three-dimensional letters, the bold proclamation:

Ride the Titanic!

Live the Adventure

Spring 2019

‘Like it?’ Xia says.

‘You stole this from Disney, right? Their Anaheim water show uses all these effects.’

‘Didn’t steal. Out-sourced their Imagineer shop to produce the whole thing for us. Not bad for a short-turnaround, don’t you think?’

‘Are you kidding? I love it. They’ll love it. Who wouldn’t?’

As I watch, the
Titanic
’s 3-D image slowly starts sinking, much faster than it will for real, but even so, with that dreadful inexorable feel to it. The pedestrian crowd seems equally transfixed by the projected image, much as I hope they will with the real thing when it happens two years from now.

‘Here’s to your ride,’ Xia clinks my glass.

‘Here’s to your hotel.’

She sips her drink. ‘Let’s not forget love.’

‘How could I?’

‘Good, because I’m not quite done with us yet, Michael.’

‘But you said. . . ’

She puts her finger to my lips. ‘My turn to talk. See down there? Once upon a time is over. Time for dreams to come true instead.’

A year ago I was standing in a high-rise bedroom in Las Vegas, pants around my ankles, scared to death, but by the grace of God and fear of Geena, Xia and I avoided biting that delicious apple in the Garden of Eden. Sure looked great, though. Then again, everything in Vegas looks great.

Today I’m standing in the central assembly hall of
Fincantini Navali
in Trieste, Italy, pants up, scared to death about the monster I’ve unleashed, while Robbie stands beside me, a calm, unblinking eye in the midst of a steel hurricane.

Ride the Titanic
is designed to submerge in a water-filled trench, which means figuring out a way to keep its electronic and mechanical components safe from the elements, which means, in turn, cramming them inside a gigantic, submarine-style pressure hull slowly taking shape below me. At this stage of construction it look less like a submarine and more like a gigantic steel kielbasa chopped into sections and spread out across Fincantini’s cavernous assembly hall the size of two football fields.

‘What do you think?’ Robbie shouts to be heard above the clanging and riveting and hammering.

‘Never going to be done on time.’

‘Your original way, yes. But. . .’ He does his Sinatra imitation, ‘I. . .did. . .it. . . MY. . . way.’

I originally thought we’d build the pressure hull on-site in Vegas from the ground up, but he convinced me to build it in subassemblies off site, airlift them to Vegas for final assembly. When halfway done, we’d start sliding in the ride modules, much like stuffing a sausage – a five hundred sixty-two million-dollar sausage if my budget estimates are right – and then seal in the ride with a massive end cap.

The only thing climbing higher than the cost of pulling this off is my blood pressure. But instead of checking it like I should have, I call up the time track on my tablet instead:

Wiring harness assembly; Hull Section #408-B-8.

According to the graph, the assembly is supposed to have been completed, checked, double-checked and ready to install. But the gracefully curving line on my tablet’s screen doesn’t match the chaotic sprawl below me; not a wiring harness to be seen, let alone a human being for that matter.

I say, ‘Where the hell is everybody? It’s ten o’clock in the morning.’

‘Relax,’ Robbie says. ‘Italians know how to work and how to live.’

‘I’m waiting on the work part.’