D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

Pell leaned back in his creaky chair and did a funny little half-whistle, half-hiss – a histle – to some unrecognizable tune as he studied the intricate pattern of the stained and sagging drop-ceiling tiles. Sitting back upright, he said, “Right now I want to talk about you, Chris. I need to go over some of these details with you if you don’t mind.” He looked down at his notepad.

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“You never saw this guy in the plane before, right?”

“Never.”

“And this Alby character mentioned engamy. What do you think he meant by that?”

Sarah’s jet touched down at a small airport just outside of Malibu. The pilot taxied and parked in a row of comparable jets.

Once the plane came to a stop, the pilot came back into the cabin. “Smooth flight, wouldn’t you say?”

“And fast,” Sarah replied.

The door opened from the outside, and a stocky, bald man stuck his head in. If he wore a yellow shirt with a black zigzag instead of the expensive dark blue suit he would have looked like a late middle aged Charlie Brown. “Ms. Burns?” He asked.

“That’s me.”

“You can come with me, please.”

She was about to pick up her bags when the suited gentleman pointed to the pilot and said, “He’ll get those for you.”

She glanced at the pilot in time to see him shooting a dirty look at this man.

“Okay,” Sarah said. “Is Camilla here?”

“She’s at the beach house,” the shiny-headed man said as he guided her to a limo parked in front of the plane. “I am Albert James Winslow. At your service ma’am.”

She smiled. He was a classically trained butler, or probably in more modern lingo, a personal assistant. His speech and mannerisms fit the cliché.

“Thank you, Albert. I’m Sarah.” She extended her hand for a shake, and he responded by cupping her hand gently in his and bowing ever so slightly. She could get used to having someone like this around.

She slid into the posh, air-conditioned limo and Albert shut the door. The driver’s seat wasn’t visible through the privacy shield. As the car started to move, Albert’s voice came over some speakers. “You’ll be at the house in twenty-five minutes. If you want something to drink, there’s a wet bar on the left side.”

“Thank you,” she replied. The butterflies that had been snoozing in her stomach started to awaken. She had never met any of the philanthropic financiers that were waiting for her at Camilla’s. She didn’t even know how many there were. What she did know was that they had deep pockets and open minds and had funded this entire endeavor. Now, as she was about to announce to them, their investment had finally paid off.

They rounded a corner and a magnificent azure expanse of the Pacific came into view separated from the road by an enormous swath of white sand dotted with early morning walkers and joggers. She rolled down the window to get a better look, letting in the warm salt and sand tinted air. She breathed deep and shut her eyes, picturing herself lounging on the beach – it had been too long since she had given herself time off to relax. The sparkling ocean called to her like a now forgotten but once all-consuming lover. Her mouth opened to tell Albert to pull over. Let her out. Fifteen minutes was all she needed – feel the water, the sand between her toes – reconnect with life outside of the sterile lab in dreary northern Maine – but no words came out.

Her mind wandered back to college, to Camilla – beautiful, rich, academically challenged and oh so vulnerable. Her parents had been public people; glitterati to a fault – stunning physical beauty, fabulous wealth, turbulent relationship, tabloid-people – their violent deaths had been fodder for countless media pieces, as had Camilla’s grieving process. Somehow, Camilla had made it through that emotionally charged period of her life and now was on top of the world. A leading actress – she had her pick of what she worked on. Her latest role had Oscar written all over it. Sarah let out a soft chuckle. She had helped Camilla evolve, to cope with her parent’s horrific deaths and to focus her limitless energy on something worthwhile. Or had it been the other way around? It didn’t matter now. As Sarah was about to inform everyone present, the puzzle was finally complete. A couple of pieces were still in her hands but she knew where they went. It was just a matter of placing them in their spots and then stepping back to admire their long-time-coming masterpiece.

Harvard seemed a million miles and a thousand years away. Sarah had been on a full-boat scholarship. With an IQ of two-hundred-forty-five, her passion for the sciences had been insatiable, particularly biology. Camilla had gotten into the prestigious school not for any academic prowess but through personal connections.

Thinking back on it, Sarah recalled how annoyed she had been that even at Harvard, who you knew was just as important, maybe even more important, than what you were capable of knowing, of learning. But if Camilla hadn’t gotten in, they would never have been on this precipice – ready to change the course of mankind forever, or at least the foreseeable future.

A smile crossed her face – eighteen years. She had single-handedly managed to engineer a virus that would attack and destroy a specific function of the human body. To her knowledge, nobody else had ever accomplished this. Lots of hype and millions of venture-capital dollars flowed to start-ups, many of which said that they were on the brink of doing something similar, but she had done it. Nature created things like this, not people.

“Amazing,” she muttered. The butterflies were gone. All she had to do was appreciate herself – genius wasn’t always self-evident and certainly not self-appreciated.

They drove up the steep, lush hills that lined the ocean. Spectacular homes perched on concrete and steel stilts peered over the treetops. They all had magnificently constructed heavily glassed walls that offered their occupants incredible panoramic ocean views.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, wanting to get to the beach house as soon as possible.

Albert could either hear her, or it was a coincidence, as he said over the speaker, “We’ll be there in a couple of minutes, Ms. Burns.”

The limo pulled off the main road and stopped in front of an ornate iron gate that slowly swung open. They proceeded up the winding floral-garden-lined driveway until they were in front of Camilla’s stunning, Spanish influenced mansion. Thick stucco walls supported the terra cotta roof that contrasted beautifully with the blue sky.

Once they stopped, Albert rushed around the car to help her, but she had already let herself out. She looked at her watch and to her surprise saw that it was only a little after noon back in Maine.

She stared at the water fountain in the center of the driveway next to her. Nude figures nestled in the corners of the intricately carved stone spat streams of water from their mouths into a coy filled pool. She inhaled the sweet California air and held it inside her lungs, savoring it. Camilla snuck up behind her.

“Sarah, darling, so glad you’re here!”

“Camilla!” Sarah said with equal excitement as she turned around. “How are you? You look amazing.”

“I feel amazing! Now how are you? It’s been so long.”

“I’m great,” she replied. “This place is beautiful.”

“Thank you. How was your trip? You must be exhausted.”

“Everything was perfect. I’m never going to want to travel coach again.”

“If you’re going to tell us what I hope you are, your days of traveling coach are over,” Camilla beamed as the two women hugged.