Probes part 2

© Copyright 2007 by silli_artie@hotmail.com

This work may not be reposted or redistributed without the prior express written permission of the author.

A work of fiction, meant for adults. Read something else if you are not an adult, or are offended by stories with sexual content. Then again, if all you’re looking for is in-out, in-out, in-out, you should probably read something else. I welcome constructive comments. Enjoy.

Read Part 1 first!

5

I hadn’t been to the Consumer Electronics Show in a while. For quite a few years, I worked the show. Larry, the perennial booth captain those days, knew I didn’t stay out drinking and carousing until dawn. Those had been fun times.

The flight had been packed, of course, but transport to the hotel was free, and check-in was easy. I was on a “club” floor, all non-smoking. Dropped my bags, took a leak, got the camera, show badge, and a bag with a shoulder strap for stuff, and headed for the zoo.

And I thought it was huge back then! I picked up an exhibit guide and looked it over. I knew I wanted to spend at least a day at high-end audio. Might cost me money down the road, but it would be more fun than some of main floors. I had relatively little interest in car stuff; whatever vehicle I bought, I was sure I didn’t want a DVD player in it!

Wandered looking at amazing excesses... Took a picture of a booth babe, and surprisingly, one of her colleagues offered to take a picture of us together! That was nice.

My phone rang -- David. Would I take four now and four and a half in thirty days? No, it’s eight, cash on the barrelhead and she’s got until Monday, right? Tell her to wear shorter skirts! David laughed and said he wouldn’t tell her that last part. I hoped he wouldn’t! He was sorry to bug me, but it was a legitimate offer, and he felt obliged to contact me. Fine -- eight is eight, try and explain that to her. He laughed and told me to have a good time. I told him I was.

Walking around the floor, the ring, the link on my right hand felt like it was buzzing or itching or something. Came and went, stronger, lighter, sometimes nothing at all. Weird!

Damn, I should have brought the In-N-Out Burger disk with me! I had a few hundred in cash, but lunch was expensive! I’d deliberately left the locators and disks at home.

And after an early lunch, the link was bugging me again, stronger this time.

Eventually I took it off and put it in my pocket. Much better.

Walking along, such excess. Reminded me of the story of the Buddhist master who every time he visited a large city, wanted to go to department stores. Why? To see all the things he didn’t want! So much stuff! Why would I want a one hundred eight inch plasma display?

A booth droid told me, “Isn’t it beautiful?” as we looked at the display.

“Yeah,” I told him. “Dog food commercials are going to look fucking gorgeous!”

People around me snickered.

I saw the Nikon booth ahead. I wanted to stop there, as I’ve always been a Nikon fan, well, until the Canon fell into my lap.

And I saw her -- a little shorter, black hair, dynamite figure from the back and dressed professionally but still to kill. She was talking with two guys behind the glass counter. No, she was captivating them, and in Japanese, which I understood, once my head stopped wobbling.

She was handling a fancy Nikon with an equally fancy lens on it. She set it down in front of her on the display case. Four other lenses and some other goodies were sitting next to it.

I saw the link ring on her right hand. As she talked, she pulled out two coins, put them on the case forming a targeting rectangle, tapped them and put her right hand in her coat pocket.

Damn!

I dug my link from my pocket as I walked up behind her. I slipped it on and it buzzed like crazy!

She turned around to look at me. Very, very pretty!

In what I hoped was our private tongue, I asked, “Will you make one for me, too?” I held up my right hand so she could see my link.

She smiled and stepped closer; we hugged.

Her name was Diane. How long had I been doing this? I told her, about a week. She shook her head in amazement -- over a year and a half for her, this was her second CES.

I turned to the guys behind the counter and told them in Japanese that got easier to speak as I went, that we were old friends. I thanked them for their time; we would probably be back later. Diane thanked them as well. They scooped up the camera and lenses, and as we moved away, more people came up to the counter to ask questions.

“So that’s what the tingling means!” I told her, holding out my right hand. The stone in the link was glowing slightly, or was it all the lights?

She held hers out; hers was definitely glowing.

She slipped her arm into mine as we walked. She was from Boston, here to thaw out. I told her I was from Silicon Valley, but moving most likely to Washington State to avoid income taxes. She laughed and told me she actually lived in New Hampshire, for that reason. We both flew out Sunday, and were both staying at Bellagio, although on different Club floors. She had reservations for dinner -- would I like to join her? Yes, I would!

We had fun! It was so nice to be with a pretty, intelligent woman! She asked tough questions -- she knew her stuff.

I bugged people as well, not buying marketing hype. Hell, I used to edit that shit!

I also had my picture taken with more booth babes; Diane did the honors.

After one, where I had a sweetie on each arm, I took Diane’s arm again and muttered, “Must be my after-shave!”

Diane laughed, then stopped and turned me to face her, pulling us out of the foot traffic and to the side. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? It’s really been only a week?”

Yes, only a week, and what haven’t I figured out?

She asked, “What about me?”

I shook my head. “What about you? You’re intelligent and beautiful! You stand out, and it’s not just...”

She laughed and hugged me. She switched to our own language. “It’s part of what they did to us. Women find you irresistible -- even dressed as you are.”

Dressed as I was? I took umbrage to that remark, and evidently it showed.

But she laughed again, and hugged me again. Then she smirked. “We’ve got time. You’re getting a new wardrobe. Come on, you....”

She wasn’t kidding. She explained as we crossed the floor and headed the hotel. When she saw me, she was drawn to me, even before she saw my link. She’d gone through it as well -- changing over the period of a few weeks. Oh, she did so many things differently, with dress and makeup, but as she’d said, it was something on the inside, some change...

We visited up-scale shops at Bellagio. New sports coat, turtle necks, slacks, which she insisted on paying for, cash. I looked at myself in the mirror. “Wow!” I said. “I never thought of myself as ... dashing?”

Diane laughed. “Just the start, honey -- in a month, they’ll be hanging from you. We are going to have so much fun on Saturday!”

“What’s Saturday?”

“I’m taking you to the other trade show in town,” she told me enigmatically.

We picked up a few more clothes, which she dropped off to get cleaned, pressed and delivered to her room, along with our day-bags from the show. “The best we can do short of custom tailoring. Have you been to Toronto?”

“Nope. When should I visit?”

She hugged me. “That’s the spirit. I’ll have to check calendars, but soon. I know a wonderful little place to stay, and I can get you outfitted properly. You need to improve your dress.” She rearranged my ponytail and suggested I could use a facial and a trim.

“Yes, dear,” I told her and hugged her waist.

She laughed. “Such an intelligent man!”

We were at the concierge desk for the club floors. “What time is dinner?” I asked.

She sighed. “Shortly -- we should get going. I managed a reservation, but it’s an early one. Don’t worry, we’ll have time...”

I liked the way she said that.

“Did you bring your ... blanket?” she asked in our language.

I shook my head. “Nope, left it home. Wasn’t sure about traveling with those things.”

She raised an eyebrow and nodded. “A risk, yes. I brought mine -- I thought you could stay with me...”

I looked into her eyes. “I have to warn you -- I’m a compulsive snuggler.”

She smiled more and moved her hips against mine. “That sounds delicious.”

We could take the tram most of the way to dinner, but it was going to be a while before one arrived. Luckily, we had a place to sit while we waited.

“When do I get to see that camera?” I asked.

We were sitting together, holding hands, hip against hip. Touch, contact felt so nice.

“Oh!” she said, and dug a disk out of a pocket. She turned her purse on its side and put the disk on it.

She was going to do it here?

But she touched the disk with the index fingers of both hands, and pulled them apart from the center of the disk. Now there were two disks on her purse! She handed me one.

“Didn’t know about that, I take it?” she asked.

“Learn something every day,” I told her. “I just learned how to get rid of the things.”

She nodded. “That’s important, too.”

“Hey -- my link stopped bugging me!”

She nodded. “So did mine, after we touched. Guess it’s a proximity sensor.”

I nodded. “It was bugging me on and off this morning.”

She nodded as well. “It got pretty strong when I started talking to the Nikon folks, then it went away completely.”

“It was bugging me, so I took it off.”

She looked horrified. “Don’t do that! Don’t ever take it off!”

“Really? Why?”

She sighed. “Got me on that one, but they really made it sound important.”

“Who?” I pried.

“Allan and Moira, the two who ...”

“Ellen and Moira?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, Allan, a guy, and Moira, a girl.”

I chuckled. “Allan, a head and a half taller than Moira? Likes sleeping in very light gee with a blanket, while Moira likes it heavier, and doesn’t go for a blanket?”

She smiled. “Yeah... So Allan became Ellen?”

I shrugged. “It’s a guess. Here comes the tram. Oh, can I see your phone?”

We got on the tram and found seats. She dug out her phone, same model as mine. “I’ve had this one for about three months,” she told me.

“I meant to ask -- have you had the tingling link feeling before?”

She thought for a moment. “Once, Terminal 4 at Heathrow for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what it was, and I was hustling to change planes.”

Found it! “Here, look at my phone, and yours. These have the pseudo-walkie-talkie feature in them, and they’re configured to just show stations in close proximity -- look -- yours shows ‘Brian’ and mine shows ‘Diane’ -- pretty cool!”

She nodded. “So the next time I feel my link tingle, I can whip out the phone and see who’s nearby?”

I shrugged. “That’s my guess. Have to see -- we can try it tomorrow.”

It was a short walk from the tram to the restaurant, a Continental-style place from the looks of it. The lobby was crowded -- with smokers. I forget how lucky we are in California.

Diane pushed her way up to the desk, told the guy standing there we had a reservation, gave her name.

When he shook his head after a moment and started to give her some bogus line, she reached over the top of his podium, pointed to an entry on his list, and lit into him in French. Make that nasty, dockworker French! I already knew some French, so my head only did a little of the woogy-woogy thing as expanded linguistic knowledge fell into place.

The guy backpedaled fast, yes, he’d seat us as soon as possible. He looked startled.

I put a hand on her shoulder and told her in French, “Please, dear, we’ll be fine. There’s no need to get upset.”

The guy looked at me. I continued in French, “I’ll try and calm her, but... When she gets upset... In Barcelona, the blood, it was terrible...” I shook my head, smiling and rubbing her shoulders.

The guy turned a little pale and scurried away.

Diane gave me a fierce smile.

We were seated fairly quickly, and had a very nice dinner. She ordered the wine, as I only know California wines. I had lamb, she had beef. Presentation and flavor were superb.

When the check arrived, I reached for my wallet and started to pull out a credit card. Diane put a hand on mine and frowned. She dug in her purse and under the table slipped me a paper-clipped sheaf of hundred dollar bills. I nodded. That’s how I’d do it, separate the stacks so I didn’t slip someone two with the same serial number.

Should I have felt more queasy about paying that way? I could argue that they were legitimate, right? Not really. I had no doubt at all that she had plenty more where those came from, with matching numbers. But who in this transaction was getting screwed? The damage done by the transaction was remote, but still there. I’m a physicist, not an economist.

But my nose still works, and this smells. I did it anyway, telling the waiter, “Keep the change.”

“You’ll adapt,” Diane told me as I took her arm and walked us out of the place. They had quite the crowd waiting.

She wanted to visit casinos on the way back to the hotel. Fine, but I’m not a gambler. She laughed and told me to enjoy myself.

I squeezed her waist and told her I would.

We took the tram back to our neck of the woods, and walked around. The first place wasn’t to her liking, I guess.

Walking to the second one, my nose was getting stuffy. Probably the cigarette smoke and cold, dry air, I told myself. But when we went inside, I noticed everything had an orange tinge to it...

Click! Nasal congestion, color fringes -- side effects of erectile dysfunction drugs! Levitra, Cialis, those things -- between salad and our entrees, I’d gone to the loo. She must have!

She queued up at a cashier’s window. Standing behind her, I leaned over and bit her neck. “We need to get up early, you know,” I whispered hotly in her ear.

She shivered; I put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

She sighed as she turned. “Don’t worry, honey -- we’ll get to bed plenty early...”

She got two hundred in chips. I decided to get one hundred, from the stack she’d given me. I glanced to her as I took out a bill, questioning. She just smiled.

She found a blackjack table. I watched for a while, but didn’t care for that.

I watched a roulette wheel for a bit. Wandered to a different wheel. Watched it. Started placing bets on pure hunch.

Funny; I’m left handed, but I was doing this right handed. I had a feeling where to put chips on the board.

I did well. I started placing multiple bets, including ones that didn’t feel right. If anything, that helped me fine-tune the feeling. I did really well.

A bar-cutie asked me if I wanted anything to drink; I asked for a whiskey sour, and was quickly delivered a very strong one.

At about $2800 ahead I bowed out, leaving a $50 chip for the table. Went to the cashier and cashed in my chips. Snort -- now I had a handful of crisp hundred dollar bills, most likely with different serial numbers than the ones I’d been given.

Found Diane at a different table. Kissed her on the neck but didn’t say anything.

She played out her hand, thanked the dealer, and collected her chips.

We walked out arm in arm after she cashed in.

“How did you do?” she asked.

“I can repay you for dinner,” I suggested.

“Don’t worry about that, dear,” she laughed, and squeezed me.

I stopped by my room and grabbed my bag. Luckily, I hadn’t unpacked.

My new clothes had already made it to her room. The shirts felt a lot better; the one I was wearing still had sizing in it. I took off my coat and started scratching.

Diane laughed. “Give me the cash, and then why don’t you get out of those horribly scratchy clothes...”

I gave her the money I’d won at the casino, got my overnight kit, and used the bathroom. I drank a few glasses of water and brushed my teeth, after I used the loo. Not used to drinking that much, half a bottle of wine and a strong cocktail.

When I stepped out, wearing my boxers, socks, and a smile, with my clothes over my arm Diane was seated at the table. She had a nice-looking Sony laptop -- guess she wouldn’t be interested in joining me for MacWorld, but I’ll ask anyway. She also had piles of cash, and the Nikon camera and lenses.

A small travel case was open at her feet; I saw a few recording disks in it.

“You flew with those?”

She nodded, then sat back and chuckled. “Know what happens when you put them through the security X-ray?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing -- they don’t show up! Yeah, the first time, I did it by mistake, and freaked out. But they don’t show up! If I’m asked, I say they’re prototype digital storage devices, trade secret, and I can’t let them out of my sight. Oh, here’s your stack -- I added in mine.” She handed me a paper-clipped stack of hundred dollar bills, and some twenties. She pulled out a glossy Nikon brochure and went through it, checking off lenses.

I shook my head. “You know, some of their best lenses are the classic ones -- the 24, 35, 55 macro, 85 -- before autofocus. I don’t think they make a PC, that’s perspective correction, lens anymore. The 35 PC is a classic; I used to have one, but it got dropped.” My old F2 body died years ago. Linda, my wife, never liked the bulk, so we went through a series of point-and-shoot things.

She furrowed her brow a bit, nodding. “They have a case of those things around the other side of the booth -- I’ll have to check them out.” She closed the brochure and capped her pen, stretching sensuously and sighing.

She gave me a lusty look. “But now I think it’s time for bed...”

She brushed my stomach with her fingertips as she walked by me.

It was going to be a good night!

When she came back, I could smell her perfume.

“Why don’t you make one more visit,” she suggested to me.

I could take a hint -- give her time to stage...

When I returned to the bedroom, she was on the bed with a pale green blanket around her. The blanket seemed to be doing a nice job warming her up... I joined her, in lighter gravity. Pushing the blanket out of the way, I went between her legs to devour her.

Tasty and loud, and the blanket helped. I moved into her arms and let things happen. Went to sleep with her head on my shoulder.

I think it was the blanket that woke us in the morning. Nice wake-up! We had time to snuggle and snooze a little more before the alarm went off.

“Shower with me?” she asked.

“Of course -- I’ll wash your back.”

She chuckled. “At least...”

I was surprised when she took the blanket to the bathroom with us.

We showered, washing our hair, and the rest as well. I liked washing her hair, and she did mine.

“I bet in a month the spots will be filled in,” she said as she washed mine. “I can already see darker color in the roots, and regrowth.”

When we got out, I reached for a towel, but she laughed and said, “Don’t do that! Watch!”

She picked up the blanket and it flowed around her, all over her! She was dry in nothing flat, from head to toe. She pulled me closer, and wrapped it around me.

Quite the sensation, having that thing dry me! It stuck tendrils in my ears, and was most thorough with my balls!

“Save me a lot of time cleaning towels, that’s for sure,” I told Diane.

She pulled me to a kiss.

Before we dressed, she turned me around, looking, sizing me up.

“You need to do some weight work -- not a lot,” she told me, “but some to tone your shoulders, waist, and hips. Your legs are gorgeous as is. You’re going to be quite popular in a few months, honey...”

We managed to get dressed. We picked up our show bags. I took the Canon and she took the Nikon with a zoom lens.

“How are you going to truck all that stuff back?” I asked as we walked down the hall to the elevator.

She sighed. “Think, honey -- I’m not. For the cameras, I’ll pull the memory cards I’ve used, and just take those. I’ve got the recordings, right?”

That made sense. “And just leave the stuff here, or what?”

She stopped and looked at me in disbelief, then smiled. “Okay, something else you don’t know about. You know about getting rid of the disks?”

“Yeah, tap the dull side three times then hold it when it turns red; expect it to hurt.”

She nodded. When we got in the elevator, there were other people present, all Anglos. She switched to our language and told me that if I took my locators and tapped them three times, I would select a target object. Hold the locators, it will hurt, but the object will disappear. Anything -- doesn’t have to be something that was replicated.

“So I don’t have to take out the trash anymore?” I suggested as we got off the elevator.

“Nope, not unless you want to.”

We had a good breakfast, considering it was included and lunch would be expensive. We planned the day. We’d spend the morning on the main floor together, but I wanted to head over to High End Audio around lunch time. She had appointments on the main floor after that, but she’d find me and join me around four in the afternoon. With a twinkle in her eye, she said she was still working on things for the evening. I told her sleeping in was fine with me. She laughed and said we’d get the chance, not to worry.

We saw interesting stuff, and weird stuff. A number of times I saw her go through the same routine, distracting someone while she duped an object. Why? What was she going to do with that stuff? I didn’t understand, unless the motivation was the thrill of the chase.

Oh, dressed better, I got more attention from booth babes. Diane took pictures, with “her” camera, and with mine. She reiterated -- put a couple of inches on my shoulders, trim up my waist, tailored clothes...

We split up with a hug and a kiss and I headed to High End Audio. Stopped at a sandwich shop on the way, and got a good lunch for under ten bucks!

High End -- wow! It had changed in the last few years. Well, some aspects had changed. If anything, the snake-oil content had increased. When I’d bowed out of CES, people were just starting to peddle wire that sounded better than other wire, capacitors rolled on the thighs of virgins... Some of the stuff I saw in the first half hour made those turkeys look like Mormons.

The 33rpm LP record, also known as the licorice pizza, was still in vogue, at least in the high end.

Listened to some interesting stuff. Even with a bottomless bank account, though, I couldn’t see spending several thousand dollars for a single-channel audio amplifier, let alone sixty thousand for a pair of speakers. Oh, the more expensive the speakers, the uglier.

Stepped into one room, a company showing solid-state equipment. Good looking, sounded good -- they were playing it through full-range electrostatic speakers, which I liked. I looked over their literature. Had a seat, as they weren’t too busy.

Talked to one of the principals about the gear. Solid design, solid construction. When I told him the boards looked like they were from some of my HP test equipment, he laughed and told me he considered that a compliment. It was, I agreed. Turns out the founders had been with HP in Colorado before they were laid off. Oh sorry, “workforce managed.”

One of his colleagues asked me what I thought of their stuff. Told him it was good, but they didn’t belong in this area.

Oh, why?

Because they were rational.

Both of them laughed.

I told him of my visit to the wire voodoo place next door -- monocrystalline silver cables? For AC power? One of the guys asked if I’d listened to their spiel.

I shook my head. Yeah, I had, but most of it was too fuzzy to even be bullshit. Their technical stuff? Even worse, I told them. I happen to have a PhD in Physics, and did postdoc work on grain boundary problems in crystalline superconductors, so I could say definitively that aspects of their so-called technical stuff were wrong, specious, and just plain bullshit. And special optical interconnects? Sorry, I didn’t understand it.

Another guy asked what I thought about that aspect of the business, the specialty cables.

I laughed; someone handed me a cold can of Pepsi. In one sense, more power to them -- but it’s like the astrology column in the newspaper -- it abets and encourages fuzzy thinking. The optical interconnects we used in the lab were adequate for measuring picosecond jitter in 40 gigabit signals and were under ten bucks a meter. Should work for digital audio, no?

Well, speaker cables, long runs...

I shook my head. The last high-end system I had, before my wife remodeled the house, and they didn’t “fit in” anymore, were a pair of Acoustat electrostatics with MOSFET power amps, sitting on the back of the speakers with about a foot and a half of speaker wire on each side. I’m putting together a new system, and as much as I’d like to, I don’t have the time to design and build my own, and your stuff looks really good.

We talked about the speakers for a bit -- Martin Logan, electrostatic on the top and cones on the bottom. Sounded good, reasonably priced, at least for the venue -- six to ten grand. They were running them bi-amped; nice setup. One of the guys gave me a card, and told me to give them a call. I gave them one of my sideline-cards. Ooh, would I be interested in editing and ghost-writing some manuals? One of the guys motioned me off to the side.

We stepped outside into the hall. They had a potential problem -- they were negotiating manufacturing in Japan and Europe, but they needed updated documentation, theory of ops, that kind of thing. Was I interested?

I could be -- would I be working from schematics and block diagrams, or did they have some ops documentation already? Did they want me to do the Japanese as well?

Eyebrows went up. Did I speak Japanese, he asked?

I nodded. French and German, too.

He smiled and ducked back into their suite.

They’d put together a care package for me when they got back to their shop. I gave them my cell phone number; they had the e-mail address. Told them I’d be at MacWorld next week, and possibly moving the week after, but the cell phone would work wherever I was.

We shook hands and went different ways.

Good stuff, weird stuff -- magic rings that make CDs sound better? How can that work?

My phone rang, a different noise -- Diane!

“Hi sweetie,” I answered.

“Hey honey, how are you doing?”

“Looking around, having fun. What’s up?”

“Could we meet at six thirty or a quarter to seven? I’ve got tickets for a show tonight.”

“Sounds fine! Where?”

“Not sure just yet. Probably ... There’s a party before the show, that would work.”

“Okay, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do...”

She laughed. “You have fun too, honey...”

I liked the Martin Logan speakers. It was clear to me that I needed to know where I was going to live, though...

The language thing was weird -- spent some time in one suite helping Japanese and French talk to each other. That got me to a hospitality suite where I could sit and enjoy things.

Diane called from a noisy place. I needed to drop off my camera and show stuff; could meet her in about 45 minutes?

A few minutes late, but I found her. She was in a crowd, holding a drink, feeling and smelling hot and sticky. She must have had a good afternoon!

Don’t know who our benefactor was, but they were providing an open bar and a seemingly infinite amount of shrimp and tasty sauce. I decided I was taking things too seriously, especially when a young lady, Karen, attached herself to me. Diane had a few guys hovering around her. Maybe I should have moved things back to my room... Let it go...

Most of us headed to a performance by the Blue Man Group. What a trip! Loud and a lot of fun. A hospitality suite afterwards, with Diane still making her selection for the night. I was guessing Karen had already made up her mind from how close to me she stayed.

Karen and I were talking with some other folks to loud but very high quality music when Diane pulled me aside and whispered to me, “You’re on your own tonight.”

I kissed her neck. “I guessed. Do I have time to get my things out of your room?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a lusty smile.

I glanced at my watch; it was half past ten. I wasn’t tired; I was still going strong. It’s just this wasn’t my thing.

I leaned over to Karen, kissed her neck, and whispered, “I’m about ready for bed...”

She smiled and added, “About time...”

We made our exit quickly. We were the sole elevator occupants on the ride to the lobby.

“Karen,” I said, holding her hand. “This is your decision -- no pressure.”

She shook her head, smiling. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

“Really,” I told her. “Up to you.”

She shook her head again. “Actually, I need a place to sleep tonight.”

“Not a problem. Do you need to pick up anything? I’m at Bellagio.”

She nodded. “Yah, on the way... I think I have time...”

I asked when she had to be at the show tomorrow and she groaned. “It doesn’t make any sense! They have these stupid mandatory meetings at 9 in the bloody A M, everyone has to be there, and the only shift I have tomorrow is two through five!”

I laughed and hugged her. “I understand completely -- your booth captain is a veteran! They’re shaking out the dependable ones from the ones that will stay up most of the night and drag in at nine on two hours of sleep, if that.”

She looked me in the eye and nodded. “Didn’t think of that.”

“I used to work shows, including CES, and we had the same thing. Boy, seeing some of those folks at nine, hung over and without much sleep... Do you have to be in show dress?”

“At nine? Thank God, no!”

I shook my head. “That’s a screwup! Should have everyone show in full booth attire -- that way if someone is too far gone, you dump ‘em and slot in someone else.”

She smiled. “I’ll suggest that -- when we get back!”

“You’re intelligent as well as beautiful,” I told her.

She sighed, holding my hand as we made our way to the street. “Some times I wonder.”

She suggested I wait for her in the lobby of her hotel.

“No problem -- my place is closer, if you want to bring a change of clothes for tomorrow. After you check in, we can walk the floor together if you like.”

“That’s sweet -- and a good idea.”

She wasn’t gone long.

It was a short walk to my place.

I let her into the room. “Suggestion -- run the bath hot and soak your feet for a few minutes, at least ten, then shower. I need to retrieve things from upstairs. I’ll be back in ten minutes or so. Okay?”

She nodded. “Good idea!”

I popped upstairs to Diane’s room and got my stuff. On top of the bag were two envelopes. Each felt like it had disks in it. One was labeled “Nikon -- wait until you’re home.” The other had an equally vague reference, “Open at home.”

When I got back downstairs, the bathroom door was closed and the bath was running.

I turned on the TV, almost out of reflex, and found a news show. Weather for the Vegas area, cool and clear. The bath stopped and the shower started.

The next-to-last story was an update on the shooting on the West Coast earlier in the week. Another wrinkle in the story had developed -- two employees who started within weeks of each other, one took seven lives including his own, and the other, it seems, won California’s $60 million lottery. Cut to a local fluff piece. I turned off the TV.

No names, no pictures -- not enough time? I’ll find out eventually.

Karen came out after a bit wearing a hotel robe over what looked to be a cotton nightie. She gave me a shy smile. “You have great ideas.”

I nodded. “I’ve got another one -- lay down, feet over the edge a little.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Please -- I promise, no pressure.”

She nodded and collapsed on the bed with a sigh.

I made a brief trip to the loo. Hand cream would have to do. I grabbed a small towel.

I turned off the room lights, leaving the bathroom light on, and plopped by the foot of the bed. I put some cream in my hands and rubbed them together lightly, warming. Then I started massaging her feet.

A big sigh after a short while. I worked on her feet for half an hour or so. I wiped her feet, then my hands as I stood up. I kissed her forehead. “Get into bed,” I whispered.

I cleaned up in the bathroom. I was tired, but it was a good tired.

I left my boxers on, and put on a T-shirt before getting into bed. Hmmm -- the first night in a while not sleeping in low gee, and with clothes on.

I woke in the middle of the night to a warm body curled up next to me, her head on my shoulder. I held her and kissed her head. After a while, I wiped the tears from my face with my other hand.

6

We snuggled in the morning. Karen held me, my head to her chest, hearing her heart beat. Oh how I love that sound!

I gave her another squeeze and said, “We need to get up so we can get breakfast.”

She held me close, sighing, “But I like it where I am!”

We got up anyway, cleaning up and getting dressed pretty much in silence. As we went down to breakfast, she squeezed my hand.

“Thank you. What you did last night was wonderful. This morning was nice, too.”

“You’re very welcome! I love to snuggle...”

She sighed. “I might need refuge again.”

“Wild roommate?” I asked.

She shook her head with a mild snort. “Not at all. Her boyfriend is here, with another company, working the show. She’s trying to keep him from running wild...”

I nodded. “And the best way to do that is keep him close.”

“That’s it. And they’re enjoying the time together. I hope.”

We queued up for breakfast. “Help get things shaken out, anyway.”

We talked more as we ate. She did marketing, mainly preparing marketing materials, working with product managers.

As we walked to the hall, I told her, “You’re dressed way too well this morning -- if I was running the show and someone shows up looking green, I’d toss them and keep you.”

She turned her head and smiled. “But wouldn’t you keep me anyway?”

“Yes I would, dear... Oh, let’s synchronize phone numbers so you can find me.”

“Where’s your booth?” she asked.

I held a finger to my lips conspiratorially. “Shhh... A ruse -- it gets me better access.”

She nodded. “It’s fun to look around before the doors open and the place is mobbed.”

I dropped her at her booth; large, and with a nice soft pad under the carpet. Standing around for hours takes its toll on your feet!

I wandered a bit, looking at booths in the area. I should check in and see what’s happening. I found a place to sit on the outer edge of a booth, and got out my phone.

“Hey Paul,” I said when I got him on the line. “Saw a little bit on the local news last night -- tale of two employees -- no names, though. What’s happening?”

“Yeah, it didn’t take long for the media to figure it out. You got out of town in time. We’ve been punting requests to the Lottery, and they’ve been ignoring them. But things have died down quick; I expect by the time you get back, they’ll be quiet again. You’ve gotten the expected scam calls on your answering machine at home, which we’ve handled. Same for weirdness in the mail box. One call from your ex-employer; that can wait until Monday. Oh, that real estate woman -- you know she’s going to flip the place, don’t you?”

“Know it and don’t give a damn,” I confirmed.

“Okay, that’s what I got from David. She tried wiggling a bit more, but both of us told her eight cash, clean, on Monday. I think she’s going to do it. Where are you going to live?”

“No idea right now, other than Nevada or Washington. I like the ocean, so Washington is probably it. Do something short-term while I look around and find something more permanent.”

“How’s Vegas? How much money have you spent?”

I laughed. “Raked in more than I’ve spent so far, but I have seen some nice audio equipment. But before you gloat, I know I need to find a permanent place to live before I do anything on that scale, and I’m only talking in the neighborhood of twenty grand.”

He chuckled. “Okay, you’re sounding sane still.”

“Was my name in the media?”

“Oh yeah, but thanks to the good people at the Lottery, I don’t think most people know which spelling is correct; I’ve seen more variants in the press than you could imagine. Your realtor has it figured out though, and doesn’t want the notoriety.”

“Anything more from the cops?”

“Nope, not a word.”

“Should I call David?”

“If you want to, but there’s no need. Check in with us when you’re back in town Sunday, and plan on dropping by my office Monday morning. When does your show in the City start?”

“Tuesday, but I probably won’t go up until Wednesday. Figure I’ll visit Washington state the following week, unless I don’t. How quickly do I have to get out of town to minimize the California tax hit?”

“The way the trusts are set up, you don’t, really, unless the rules change. One of the things we need to talk about on Monday is your allowance. You still have the ability to make larger purchases, but we want to set a baseline.”

“Got it. I’m still getting paid by the other place, remember. I’m going to be incurring some travel expenses, and I have no great desire to fly coach on long flights.”

“Understandable. There are business aspects we can look at for travel expenses. Take care, and talk to you Sunday then.”

“Thanks, Paul. Talk to you Sunday.” I folded up the phone and leashed it to my inside coat pocket again.

Two booth babes were walking along the aisle and stopped. “Hi there,” the blonde one said.

“Good morning, ladies...”

The other one started to talk when my phone rang. I held up a hand and fished it out. Didn’t recognize the number.

“Good morning,” I said. One of the booth babes stood next to me, arm around me, and her companion took our picture.

“Oh Brian, you were right!” It was Karen.

“About what, sweetie?”

“About people showing up hung over and green, and especially about me being dressed too well! I’m working ten to two now!”

The booth babes started to change places, but I handed my camera to the one taking pictures. I held her friend close and the other one took pictures with her camera and mine.

“I’m sorry to hear that! The offer stands, though -- should I meet you at two, or wait for you to call?”

“Meet me at two? Please?”

“Will do. Enjoy the show.” I pocketed my phone again, and the blonde grabbed me! Giggles and flashes and the other one said, “My turn!”

The brunette handed off the cameras and put her arms around me. Flash, flash, flash!

“Well hello there,” I told her, looking up into her eyes, feeling her breasts push into me.

“Want a shot of the three of you?” a gent in the adjoining booth called out, laughing.

“Sure!” the blonde said, handing him the cameras.

“Hey Fred, give me that before you drop it!” another guy called, taking the Canon.

“All yours -- way too fancy for me!” Fred replied.

We got a number of pics, including a few with me sandwiched between the two. What a way to go!

But all good things must come to an end. The last pics were with the two ladies on either side of me. We retrieved our cameras, the two guys eyeing the ladies appreciatively.

“May I walk you two to your booth?” I asked.

“You certainly may!”

We walked down the aisle pretty much to the other end of the main hall. Both of them were dancers. Since they normally worked nights, I guess this was “daylighting” for them; they enjoyed the temporary convention jobs, even though it meant being on their feet.

When we got to their large corporate booth, they changed shoes -- and suddenly went from taller to much taller. Introductions to more of their friends, a few more pictures. In one group shot I was sitting in a lap with another one in my lap, squeezed to cleavage with others standing around us. “What a way to die!” I told them. The one in my lap growled, “I think you’d do just fine,” and tried to suffocate me more.

I gave the blonde I’d first met, Jamie, one of my cards. She wrote her e-mail address on one of mine so I could send her copies of the pictures.

What a trip!

I decided to start my wandering at that end of the main hall, a place I’d not visited yet. That hall actually emptied into another, so I went to the end of that and started zig-zagging back.

Just before the official opening time, I stopped at the booth of a major company pushing their LED (light emitting diode) lighting products, ranging from traffic lights to automotive to home lighting. The guys were pretty sure of themselves. I pointed up to the rigging at the top of their booth and asked them if that’s why they were using ETC Source4’s and PARs to light the booth?

Another company I talked to seemed far more realistic about the problems in replacing incandescent lighting. Incandescents are very simple, and very robust. Solid state lighting would have to be a lot better to displace them.

Oh hell -- I was running out of room in the memory card in the camera! I could go buy another one...

I sat, thinking about it. The first time I’d seen Diane, she’d used what? Not the locators I had, but something else, dimes I think. Another time, don’t remember what she was copying, it was a pair of pennies, that I remember, as one was bright copper and one was pretty dull.

Assume I’d been fed a story. Wouldn’t be the first time, right? Assume there’s nothing special about the locators themselves, that it’s the ritual -- locating, touching, touching again.

I was sitting in what should have been a booth, but was occupied by two tables and some chairs. Apply the scientific method -- conduct an experiment. Dug out my coin purse and got two dimes. Popped the memory card out of the camera and put it on the table. Arrange the dimes, tap simultaneously. Smile as the glow appears. Tap again and put my right hand in my coat pocket. Feel the disk appear. Put the dimes and the memory card in my coin purse, take the disk from the right pocket. Put it on the table, tap it and move my arm above it obscuring the area from others. I have another memory card! Insert in camera, review the images stored therein -- wow, some pics! Format the card. I’ve got more memory now -- be sure to set the camera to record raw images.

Is a washing machine with a color LCD an advance in the state of the art? Don’t think so!

I succumbed to temptation...

No, not that temptation -- although I did shoot fifty or sixty shots of her. A buxom beauty, wearing a stretch velvet bodysuit, spotlights high in the booth playing with the fabric as it followed her delicious curves. She was on a pedestal maybe a meter in diameter and about a meter and a half high.

After I gasped, I held up the camera and asked, “May I?”

She leaned back in the light, nodding, shaking out her long brown hair.

After ten (twenty?) or so shots, I realized she was laughing.

I looked at her, standing on the pedestal, and told her, “You’re beautiful, you know.”

She looked at me and said, “You think so...” She sat, motioning me closer.

I took her in with my eyes, before raising the camera again.

“Would you like more?” she smoldered.

I got a few shots of that look.

“What would you like,” she whispered in a sultry tone.

I shook my head, moving closer, looking her in the eye. “How could I possibly decide? To be smothered to your breasts, or between your thighs?”

Her nostrils flared as she smiled.

I raised the camera quickly to capture that look. “Which would you prefer?” I asked.

Another smoldering look for the camera... “First?” she replied.

A few more... Chwerp! Damn memory card was full!

I sighed and lowered the camera. That had been fun!

“Help me down?” she asked. “I need a break.”

“Certainly.” I extended a hand to her -- and she practically jumped into my arms! I swung her around and put her down on the floor.

Such a package! She was only five foot two or so, but what a package! “Where should I send copies of these pictures?” I asked.

“I’ll be right back,” she twinkled.

“I wouldn’t mind copies of those,” a guy standing next to me said.

I laughed and shook my head.

She returned and handed me a card. She leaned closer, putting a hand on my shoulder. I leaned over and she kissed me on the cheek and gave me a hug. “Thanks -- I enjoyed that!”

“So did I,” I told her.

She scampered away. I looked at the card. Cindy. Dancer, gymnastics coach.

No, that wasn’t surrendering to temptation.

That happened at my next stop, the Canon booth.

“Hey! Didn’t I see you awhile ago, shooting up a storm?” one of the folks in the booth asked.

“Sure did,” I told him with a smile. “Until I filled the damn memory card.” Good news and bad news -- the camera could store images in both raw and jpeg form, but at high resolution, that was a little over ten megabytes per image!

“Have we got a deal for you!” he told me, and led me to one of the counters. At least I had a stool to sit on. I set my axe (camera) on the counter. The Canon guy looked at it. “Like this cleaned while you wait?”

“Sure.”

He handed it to another guy, wearing a lab coat, who took it to a nearby bench.

The first one showed me an array of storage cards, CF cards. I had a 512 meg card in the thing. I’d looked, but hadn’t picked up a bigger one.

He told me about the 1 and 2 gigabyte cards, putting them on the counter in front of me.

Then with a flourish, he showed me an 8 gig hard disk card. I was fishing in my pocket for a pair of coins as he spoke.

The tech who was cleaning my camera stepped closer. As the two of them talked, I put the coins on the counter, tapped them, and put my right hand in my pocket.

“There’s a firmware upgrade available, if you’d like us to do it,” the tech told me. “It doesn’t change image characteristics. It has a bunch of speedups and cleanups.”

“Sure, do it,” I told them as I felt the disk appear in my right pocket next to my hand.

We talked about the new storage cards. The 8 gig was shipping in Japan now and should be available in the U.S. shortly. I bugged him on access times -- the Canon-branded flash cards were slower (and more expensive) than cards from other companies. He agreed they were slower and more expensive, but the 8 gig card was far faster.

The tech brought my camera back. He pointed out a spot where the touch-up paint was still drying. I thanked him, in Japanese. Pulled the memory card from the camera, flicked the write-protect switch, and started putting it in my coin carrier. When the Canon guy asked, I told him I’d forgotten the damn carrying case for the cards. He dug in a drawer and gave me a handful. I thanked him, put the full cards in cases, and put an empty card in the camera. Picked up some literature for my bag, and headed on my way.

Found an empty booth, and using the carrying bag as cover, presto! I now had 1, 2, and 8 gig storage cards, and cases to put them in. I put the 8 into the camera, and tried it out. Nice!

A little after eleven -- how about an early lunch? No sense going to the High End stuff, as I had to be back at two to get Karen. Might as well check in with her on the way.

She was sitting down, but got up when she saw me. She was smiling, but I could tell it was a very forced smile.

“I’m going to kill someone,” she said, smiling through practically clenched teeth.

“Now, now -- is that friendly?” I asked, giving her a gentle hug.

She shook her head. “Not at all! An idiot from Corporate came by before we opened, noticed some of our people were a bit impaired, and ran them off! Leaving us short-staffed for the whole day! So I’m stuck here until we close!”

“At least you’re sitting down -- want me to get you lunch?” I rubber her back lightly.

She shook her head. “No, lunch is being delivered in a few minutes.” She sighed. “Teach me to volunteer to work a show...”

“You’ll survive, and you’ll probably be back next year,” I told her.

She sighed again, leaning on me. “My feet might not make it...”

“What can I do to help, short of homicide?”

That brought a smile back. “Meet me at five? Oh shit, I won’t get out of here until five thirty at least.”

I hugged her again. “I’ll be back between five and five thirty. If I’m not back by five thirty, give me a call, it means I’m stuck in traffic getting here. And I promise to take care of you, and your feet, tonight. Okay?”

“Best offer I’ve had all day,” she sighed. She gave me a squeeze, then went back to her grind.

Change of plans! I hit the sandwich shop again on the way to the High End stuff. Saw more cranks, weirdos, and even some good stuff. Fifteen thousand for a turntable? And that’s without an arm or cartridge!

Made it back to the main hall a little after five. People were streaming out, but my exhibitor badge got me in. I found a place to sit near Karen’s booth and reviewed images on the camera. I swapped things and looked at some of Cindy. Wow!

“Let’s get out of here,” Karen said.

She looked beat, but semi-smiling.

“Be right with you,” I told her. Swapped the 8 gig card back into the camera, packed things, and gave her a hug when I stood up.

“Would you like to hear my plan?” I asked, rubbing her back.

“As long as we’re leaving this place, yes...”

We headed to the door. “I propose taking you to a light dinner at a place I’m sure you wouldn’t visit on your own. After that, we retire to my room, or yours, or some combination. I need to shower. You need to soak your feet and shower. Then I’ll massage your feet and your legs, and we can get to sleep early. You working tomorrow?”

“Oh, that sounds good... I have to show up tomorrow morning, but that’s it; I’m not working. And I’ve learned -- I will not be wearing booth-approved clothes!”

“I knew you were bright as well as beautiful... You like burgers?”

“I sure do!”

“Good answer.”

We hit In-N-Out for dinner, and even got a place to sit. Since they’re West of the Rockies, she’d not experienced them before. We took a quick pass through her room swapping clothes and such. Once back to my place, we settled in. I showered first. I laughed as I dried off -- I had a better way to do that, once I got home.

I told Karen to take her time, and she did. I made more cases for storage cards, and consolidated things. Got rid of my first disk -- tap three times on the dull side, touch it again when it turns red -- ouch, that hurts! Held it through the pain, and it disappeared underneath my finger -- one moment I’m touching a disk, the next, I’m touching the desk!

Karen came out of the bathroom wearing her nightie, a robe, and a smile. She sat on the bed.

“Brian, I have one suggestion...”

“Yes?”

She looked at me, a sly smile... “And I know you’re going to ask, so yes, I’m sure... After you work on my feet, make love to me?”

I moved closer and held her hands. “I won’t make love to you, but I will make love with you.”

She nodded. “That would be even better.”

It was better, as was holding her afterwards. In the morning I was so hungry for her... She figured out what I needed and pushed me to my back.

Breakfast, check in at her booth, an hour in one of the side halls and the rest of the day at High End audio. She took me to her wrap-up dinner. I met her roomie, and her roomie’s fiancé. Her roomie pulled me aside and gave me a hug, thanking me. I told her it was my pleasure, and she laughed!

But I ended up going back to my room alone. Sigh. And of Diane? Not a word. Well, we moved in different worlds, at different speeds...

Hmmm... Different probes are used for different measurements.

In the electrical arts, different probes for different signal levels, bandwidths, and the like. So it was with us.

7

Sunday morning, packing to fly home. Shit! I had a big pile of new clothes, a pile of paper I really wanted to take, all this stuff, and nowhere to pack it!

Turkey! I laughed at myself.

I arranged things on the floor, got out a pair of quarters, and made a disk of it.

Let’s try this -- I made a duplicate pile. Okay, that worked. Now take the quarters, tap three times, move them a little, okay, the pile turned red, press and hold --- ouch! Pop! Pile gone! Do that with the original pile, and now the packing job is much easier! Down to just one carry-on bag!

Checkout was easy, the ride to the airport was crowded, and the airport was a zoo. Security was a breeze though -- guess the disks didn’t show.

Guess what -- overbooked flight! Anyone want to go on the next flight?

When the bribe went to $300 plus two round-trip ticket vouchers, I took it. So I wait an hour and a half? No big deal. Do I really need the money? Well, not really.

I collected my bribes and settled in, calling the limo company and letting them know I’d be coming in on a later flight. Who are you? Sorry, no record of your reservation. Okay, you’re canceled. I called David, and he wanted to see me anyway; he’d pick me up at the airport. Our realtor friend had the money and wanted to sign Monday morning. Fine -- set it up for Paul’s office, and I want both of you to go over things with a fine-tooth comb. Anything weird and it doesn’t happen. He laughed and said he’d told her pretty much that -- anything fancy and the deal blows up.

The next flight was overbooked as well, but I didn’t bail. We were full going out, but I was on the bird. Why hadn’t I brought my iPod? Would have made things easier. No big deal.

David didn’t spot me at first -- the new clothes threw him. Yeah, I had help picking them out. He and Paul expected some kind of curve-ball from the realtor. They had a simple, straightforward bill of sale ready to go. Simple, clean, as-is, where-is, giving me two weeks to move out, and with release language so she or subsequent buyers couldn’t come after me. The news media seemed to have forgotten about me, moving on to other stories. Oh, I was still getting wild phone calls and letters, though, people wanting to help me spend my money.

He dropped me at the house and came in for a bit. Everything looked good. We looked at some of the wild mail, and went through some messages on the answering machine, erasing them. I thanked him and told him I’d see him at Paul’s place at nine in the morning.

Home? For how long? Two weeks or so? Next week was MacWorld, so I’d be going up to the City one or two days.

Well, let’s get to the grind.

Took my bag upstairs. Reproduced things, separated out dirty clothes from clean stuff. Dirty stuff down the laundry chute, bathroom stuff back in the bathroom.

I opened the closet to hang up things. The blanket was sitting folded on a shelf, and I swear it moved, practically whimpered. “Don’t worry, later,” I told it.

Downstairs, I started moving pictures into the confuser. Decided I really wanted the new Adobe suite, and might want to try Aperture as well. Hell, I could afford it!

Let’s look at cameras, and the other disks I had. Laid out the Canon stuff, including the CF cards. Just looking at iPhoto, the pictures of Cindy were amazing!

Okay, let’s see the Nikon. Touched that disk and out popped a D200, a set of lenses, grip and batteries. What do you know -- the 8 gig card works just fine! And I liked the way the Nikon felt, the way it handled, better than the Canon. Going to need another charger, though, and some other loose ends -- another trip to K and S in Palo Alto?

What about the Canon? I smiled -- send that to Karen; she’d remarked more than once how nice it was.

Another disk with Nikon stuff; that one produced chargers, cables, viewfinders, software -- oh good.

Held up the last one, and I wasn’t sure what it had. Put it on a clear area of the desk and touched it. A weird glow flashed around the desk. What was it trying to tell me?

I put the disk on the floor and touched it. Waited, waited, waited...

How the hell had she done that? A damn display case appeared in front of me!

Lenses, adapters, manuals, you name it -- it was in the case! I looked at it, opened it, looked at the contents. From fisheye to telephoto and everything in between, flashes, filters, adapters...

Amazing. And what balls, to dup this thing!

No carrying cases, though. I laughed and shook my head.

Okay, what now?

Pulled out the battery charger and set it up. Got the manuals and the disks. Good, Mac and Windows.

The next step was to get the Adobe software. Okay, I consolidated camera stuff and moved the Nikon case into the server closet. Let’s go to Fry’s.

At least I could pay cash, I mused. I almost did it, but standing there looking at the package I realized I was going to MacWorld in a few days, and would undoubtedly find things at a better price. I did look at color printers, though. I’d look more, and try them, at MacWorld.

Close enough to dinner time -- I stopped at Chipotle (NYSE, CMG). Got my favorite carnitas burrito, chips, and salsa. Duped the lot before I started eating.

Back home, I worked over the images with iPhoto. Not all the tools of Photoshop, but I could see ’em. And damn, those images were good!

The ones of her face, the look on her face -- amazing. The way light shifted on the fabric as it flowed over her breasts -- I used a section of one of those shots for my computer desktop.

I took the set of Cindy shots and gave them a quick cleanup. I also watermarked them and put on a copyright notice using a shareware hack. I started to write a disk with the jpegs, but decided I’d wait until tomorrow.

I loaded the other pictures -- lots of interesting ones with booth babes. Hard to believe how I looked. Hard to believe the looks some of them were giving me.

And damn, hard to believe how tired I was. Shut things down, head upstairs. Do I shower now, or in the morning? I wanted to shower now.

Got the blanket out of the closet; it started wrapping itself around my hand, crawling up my arm. “No you don’t!” I told it. It behaved.

It was good to be in my own shower again, even if I was alone. Good to be clean.

“Okay, do your job,” I told the blanket as I picked it up instead of a towel.

I think it was happy! I scolded it when it started getting amorous; it settled for drying me off, and did a very good job. I brushed out my hair with the thing wrapped around me, and tied my ponytail. Diane had suggested I get my hair trimmed. Hell, she wanted to take me to a spa, for a facial, trim, the whole bit.

“Are you going to behave?” I asked the blanket as I got into bed. I turned on the gee field and let it snuggle me. Not at all as good as Karen, or Diane, or especially Linda, my wife. I’ll always miss you, darling.

The blanket ambushed me around five in the morning, holding me afterwards. I got up a little after seven, showered again, and let the blanket dry me. Folded it up and put it in the closet again. Was it a little heavier, thicker?

Had an “instant” bacon sandwich downstairs. Do I take the Canon or the Nikon with me? Don’t need anything for the Nikon, that’s for sure. I need a case for the Canon, and stuff to ship it to Karen. Okay, take the Canon.

Off to Paul’s office in morning commute traffic.

“You interviewing somewhere?” Paul asked me as I sat in his guest chair.

“Nope, just a little change of wardrobe.”

“Looks good on you. How was Vegas?”

I shook my head. “Wild. And I didn’t spend a lot of money. I’ll spend some on audio equipment, but not until I have a new place to live, and that’s going to be months.”

He nodded. “Good attitude.”

First order of business was my ex-employer. Paul received a call from a guy on the East Coast who wanted to talk to me. I recognized the name -- I’d been doing some writing for him. Told Paul it was the Rumpelstiltskin routine -- they gave me straw at best, and I turned it into gold. We called and of course got voicemail. I gave him Paul’s number again and told him I’d be there until about two in the afternoon his time, and unavailable after that except through Paul.

David showed up around nine thirty. We went over money matters. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to move, other than out of the area. They told me I was going to be paying California income tax for the next year anyway, part of the layoff package. Oregon had no sales tax, but income tax. Washington had no income tax, but sales tax. Everything is a fucking tradeoff.

Our realtor arrived early, looking skittish. We gathered in Paul’s conference room. I frowned at Paul, who frowned at the realtor. She slid a folder to Paul. He opened it and flipped through a document. He closed the folder and turned to me.

“Brian, what’s your understanding of this deal?”

I shook my head. “Not just my understanding -- it’s the way things will fly. 800 cash, as is, I get two weeks to move out, she gets the house and I walk away. No gimmicks, no weirdies. Or we look for other buyers.”

Paul nodded. “Go wait in my office for a bit.”

I raised an eyebrow and left the room.

The bastards from the East Coast returned my call. They were all cheery, so I knew they were in deep shit. Was I interested in continuing on the documentation I’d been working on? No. Why not? (1) I’m busy for the next few weeks, (2) you closed the place down and threw us all out on the street; I don’t work there anymore... I swallowed and didn’t give them (3) hell hasn’t frozen over yet. Another voice suggested that my termination agreement stated I had a continuing duty to support the company... I interrupted and told them that section referred specifically and exclusively to patent applications, as they damn well knew, and they weren’t doing anything to get me to change my mind through such blatant misrepresentations! Rapid backpedaling, we would of course compensate you for your work. Fine -- contact my attorney in a month, he’ll know how to find me. Silence.

I hung up the phone and fumed. Take a deep breath.

Knock on the door. “Yeah?”

Paul stuck his head in. “Want to sign some papers to sell your house?”

“Hers or ours?”

He smiled. “Ours.”

“Sure.”

Signing the papers was easy; validating payment took longer, but by the end of the afternoon I’d sold the house. I had three weeks to move out. David had recommendations for a moving and storage company. I knew I wanted to triage stuff into two piles, one for immediate access, and the other for storage. Music, computer gear, and clothing comprised most of the immediate category. David would arrange a walkthrough with the packing crew, and we’d pack the following Wednesday. The realtor was smiling ear to ear, practically counting the money she expected to make. Fine by me.

Tuesday was the garage... What a mess! Almost two decades of entropy! I spent the day doing triage, ending with a big pile of stuff to toss out. Hmmm... I could record a lot of this stuff just in case.

Riding up on the train Wednesday morning to MacWorld, playing with the Nikon. Where to go? What to do? Figured I’d load some stuff into the car and drive North. The on-line research I’d done pointed me to the Washington coast, near Seattle. I’d be an hour or so from the airport, yet still be by the coast. There was a Fry’s Electronics about two hour’s drive South, across the border in no-sales-tax Oregon. Something about Washington felt better, too.

Apple’s new laptops looked interesting. Didn’t dup one. The more I thought of it, the more sense it made to get a laptop though, a current MacBook, and take that with me.

Met some interesting people. I’d put some sample images on a memory card so I could try different printers. When I asked one guy about doing a test print, he gave me a frown, but a staff gal came up and led me to their higher-end printers. We did a four by six print of Cindy from CES, and it was gorgeous! She started another one going, and took off with the first one.

She returned with another couple of people. Would I like a big print of this? They wanted to do one to put up in the booth, if I’d agree to that. Sure, why not! We brought things up on a Mac and looked them over. Got a lot of whistles. They made big prints of two, and they got whistles and applause when they put them up! I told ‘em to hang on to my copies.

Visited another printer vendor and did more or less the same thing. It was easier as I had a four by six to show them. We did some side-by-side comparisons.

By the time I got back on the train, with big prints rolled up in a cardboard tube, I’d pretty much settled on a color printer.

Hadn’t settled on the laptop yet, though. Hadn’t settled on some other things, either.

Like what the fuck I was going to do when I grew up, right?

So far, I was doing a pretty good job providing a clean slate -- or burning my bridges, however you wanted to look at it. Job was gone, house was gone. Nothing ahead of me but blue skies and open pastures, right? Watch how you walk through those pastures, son...

And I thought of the horse standing in the barn stall, staying there even though all the doors were open. I guess I needed a kick to get me moving.

When I got off the train and went to my car, at first I thought I’d gotten a parking ticket, even though I’d paid for parking. No, a note under the windshield wiper, “You’re front right tire is low.” I checked, and the warning was correct, even if grammatically flawed.

Oh well. Needed new tires all around, and I’d been putting off a major service appointment. It wasn’t even four in the afternoon, so I went to the Volvo dealer to see about the service work. I could drop the car off in the morning. They’d give me a ride to the train station and pick me up when I got back. That sounded good. They checked the tires and suggested I needed new ones. I agreed, and told them I’d be visiting a particular tire place on Friday. They offered to coordinate the work, suggesting it would save me time and even save me some money. Hey, that sounds even better! Took a few minutes to select tires; the service guy working with me called the tire place and got that going. Yeah, it would save me a couple hundred bucks, and the time of a separate visit. Do it.

Running through more things on the way home -- I’d already sent CDs with images off to Las Vegas. I’d send a set of the big prints to Cindy as well.

Hmmm... Stopped at a mailbox place. Put the cardboard tube in the back and made a disk of it. Took the tube into the mailbox place, got Cindy’s address, and paid them to send it off. One less thing to worry about.

Yeah, one down, a hundred seventeen to go... I had a quick dinner, then started going through the downstairs making lists of what I was going to take and what I was going to leave.

A metaphor for my stage of life -- working my way through the house with the sound of a clock ticking in the background.

Ten thirty at night and I was wound up. I didn’t know what I was trying to run away from. Went upstairs, took drugs, and went to bed.

I was getting used to the blanket getting me in the middle of the night; I think the blanket was getting used to it as well. I let it dry me off after I showered in the morning, and got ready to hit the road.

As a result of the Vegas CES trip, I had an envelope with $4700 in cash, some twenties but mostly hundreds. I’d need to bail out the car, and expected it to come to about $1400. And in thinking over logistics, it made sense to get a laptop and set it up sooner rather than later. I made an additional envelope, putting two into my coat pocket.

Dropped the car at the dealership and got a ride to a different train station. The timing was good; I bought my ticket and barely had time to sit down on one of the Northbound benches when the train arrived. The car dealership called as I was walking to Moscone Center. One of the front struts was leaking; they recommended replacing both struts. Fine, do it.

Interesting morning at the show; found a place that had the memory I needed for a laptop and paid cash for it. Also picked up a new iPod; the mini I had didn’t hold my whole music library. I got a nice case for the iPod, and was looking at cases/covers for the MacBook. The cutie I was talking to kept getting closer to me, looking me in the eye. I told her I’d come back once I got the laptop.

I was still chuckling about that as I looked at cases in another booth, and figured out that one of the guys was coming on to me! The looks, the body language - so similar! When I took a parental tone and told him it wouldn’t be fair to others, he sighed and smiled wistfully, and told me it wouldn’t be fair, but it would be fun... I laughed and gave him a brief hug, telling him to enjoy the show.

A gal working a booth two down from there gave me a very curious look.

I paused and asked her, “He been doing that the whole show?”

She nodded. “I was ... surprised to see you ... ah...”

I laughed and shook my head. I looked her in the eye. “Not as surprised as I was, let me tell you!”

She looked a little more relaxed. “So you’re not...”

“From this area?” I offered. “Not at all, dear...” I looked her in the eye, wondering what she tasted like. “Were you worried?”

She laughed, stepping closer. “Just surprised.”

We chatted for a bit longer and parted with hugs.

I got lunch, a MacBook, and a case for it before taking the walk back to the train station. Called the car dealership; my car wasn’t quite ready, but they’d have a ride for me when I got to the station, and they did. When I got to the dealership, they told me it would be another half hour or so.

I took a seat in their lounge, the only one there. I took out boxes, but before I opened anything and started playing around, I decided to make disks of them. Dug out two quarters and set them on corners of the iPod box. Tapped them. Nothing. Moved them and tried again. Nothing. Swapped quarters for dimes, tried again -- and my link bit me! Sharp, sudden pain!

I sat back, rubbing my hand. Hmmm... Someone is trying to send me a message! I pocketed the coins, put the boxes back, and skimmed manuals instead.

They’d washed and waxed my car, cleaned the inside. Very nice -- of course it should be, for the amount of money they wanted! Reached into my coat for the sealed envelope; didn’t want to mix bills. But the damn link bit me again! Okay, another hint. Pulled out my wallet and used plastic. At least my car was ready for the trip up North!

Plugged my phone into the car charger and headed home. I’d gotten about three blocks from the dealership when the phone rang.

“Don’t make me send my flying monkeys after you,” I told the phone.

“Brian?”

I recognized her voice. “Allan! How good to hear from you! We should get together for a beer some time.”

Ellen (Allan) laughed. “You might be interested to know I was born genetically female; it was Moira who was born male. Think about it -- if you had a child and found they had a talent for music, would you encourage them in that direction, or force them to play soccer?”

“A good point. And I did enjoy being with you. What can I do for you?”

She sighed over the phone. “Oh, I enjoyed it as well. I wanted to explain what happened a little while ago.”

“I took it as a subtle fucking hint.”

“That it was -- that whole place is covered by cameras. The [monitor observer entity] thought it would be risky.”

“Some kind of surveillance going on?”

“Oh yes. A number of police agencies are watching for transactions in chemicals and in anonymization of the money coming from them.”

I thought for a moment. “We’d say drug sales and money laundering.” Large piles of crisp bills might indeed have drawn attention. “Thank you.”

“The [monitor observer] felt it would be a risk, one easily and prudently avoided.”

“I agree.”

“How are you doing? What do you need?” she asked.

“Someone to hold? Someone to hold me?” I snorted. “Someone to help me clean the garage.”

She laughed. “It will cost you dinner.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Alexander’s, near you.”

“I’ll call as soon as I get home!”

She paused for a moment. “I’ll have to leave for a few hours tomorrow, but other than that I can stay for the weekend.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“[monitor observer] says we have reservations for six thirty tonight.”

“When will you arrive?”

“Not sure. I’ll call beforehand so I don’t surprise you too much.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Will you buy me a beer?”

I laughed. “I’ll buy you whatever you want!”

When I got home, I cleaned up, then got to work. Duped the computer and iPod, packaging and all. Plugged the iPod in to charge, charged the MacBook for a while, then booted it. Went through its startup, powered it down, and installed memory. Started it up again. Hmmm... Ought to invest in a wireless base station when I get settled. Ran an Ethernet cable to the router and connected to the big machine, using the Migration Assistant on the MacBook to import my brains. That would take a while!

A little after six -- I went upstairs to shave again and grab the sports coat. Hair and whiskers were growing out darker and much fuller! The phone rang; I answered it.

“I’m downstairs,” Ellen said.

“Be right there!” I grabbed my sports coat.

I stopped on the landing halfway down the stairs.

Standing in the living room was a gorgeous blonde -- a gorgeous, stacked, curvy blonde. What had Raymond Chandler said? “A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window...”

“Ellen!” I said in surprise.

“Still want to buy me a beer?” she asked impishly.

Last time I’d seen her, she was at least a head taller. Now she was about my height, maybe a few inches taller. She was much curvier, wearing a simple but sexy dress. Her earrings sparkled, but not as much as her smile. Smile and perfume were inviting, alluring, as were her open arms.

When we paused our kiss, I whispered, “I’m sorry our reservation is so soon.”

She growled, “I’m not... Let’s get going.”

She picked up a wrap. I escorted her to the car and helped her in. So sexy!

“It’s going to be hard for me to concentrate on driving, you know,” I told her as I buckled in.

She smiled.

I sighed and started the car

Alexander’s is a steak house. A true vegetarian wouldn’t make it in the door; as you walk in, the left side is floor-to-ceiling glass looking into refrigerated meat storage, filled with gorgeous looking (for a carnivore at least) meat. Any carnivore (or even omnivore) would be drooling by the time they checked in; I think I was, and it was only partially to do with the woman accompanying me.

We were soon seated; I could feel eyes following us (well, following Ellen) as we were shown to our table.

Our meal was superb; salads, meat, baked potatoes, a very good Pinot Noir. I had an end-cut of Prime Rib, with real horseradish. Ellen put away a very large steak, stunned, seared, and (barely) rare. She would occasionally take a bite of meat, close her eyes, and wiggle lasciviously, reveling in the experience.

When she caught me watching her, she gave me a smoldering look.

“I’m surprised you’re not using [claws and fangs]...” I suggested.

She never took her eyes off me. “I’m saving those for you...”

We shared a dessert. I think we were making an older couple nearby uncomfortable, the way we shared a spoon.

My link didn’t object when I reached for cash to pay the bill. I left a sizeable tip.

“Home, for dessert?” I suggested as I stood up, offering Ellen my hand.

Her nipples tightened visibly as she stood. “Oh yes...”

We paused on the way out for a short but steamy kiss.

“Enjoy your evening,” the receptionist told us, giving us the eye.

She was cute. I looked her over and told her we would.

We made it home. I didn’t remember seeing the small bag in the living room. I carried it upstairs for her. I helped her undress; the fabric of her dress was light and enticing, smooth as it emphasized her curves.

She insisted we clean up first, and ducked into the bathroom, still wearing bra and panties. I waited for her before taking my turn.

Brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I thought I heard her moan. I couldn’t get much harder!

Stepping out of the bathroom, hand on the light switch, I saw her floating above the bed, her head back, her eyes half-closed in pleasure, blankets wrapping around her. Both blankets?

Turning off the light, stepping closer, joining her -- floating through a cloud of perfume, spicy and seductive, but not as seductive as her. Kissing, feeling, joining -- gently but passionately. She came quickly and strongly, moaning as we kissed. She came again before I did, the blankets squeezing us together. She helped me find a nipple. We were wrapped in comfort once more, and drifted to sleep.

We made love in the middle of the night, intensely and instinctively. We were more relaxed in the early morning; I think the blankets did all the work.

We got up; she had to go for a few hours, but she’d be back. We hugged and kissed in the kitchen. She stepped back and was gone in a pop.

I settled in with the MacBook, but that didn’t take long. Spent more time moving crap around, deciding to build a pile in the middle of the garage for stuff that needed to be hauled away.

Shit, what do I do with old hard disks? I had a box full of old 3.5 inch disks from earlier Mac systems, including a lot of old SCSI disks I don’t think I could read any more. Didn’t want to just throw them out, and I wouldn’t sell them.

Think, dummy! Two coins, tap three times, hold through the pain... What disks? Hey, the dump pile could be taken care of quickly as well! Done!

Other than books, CDs, stuff like that, I wasn’t planning on taking much. Dishes? Not sure. Cookware? Get rid of it, except for some small weird pieces.

Upstairs, the last few years I’d used one of the bedrooms as a library, finally able to get all my books and magazines out of boxes in the garage. I looked at the stuff, shaking my head. The lower shelves of one set of bookcases were filled with years of the New Yorker and the Economist. I dragged them out, recorded, and disposed of them -- I had the New Yorker on DVD. It took quite a bit of discipline to not thumb through a few, just to look at the cartoons!

Thinking about the Genie again, the whole record and replicate thing. Betting on it short-term was one thing. Long term? Okay, not really long term, but over a year, let’s say. From a technological perspective, I had the feeling the disks would still be useable hundreds of years from now. I frowned -- my concern was a systems concern, that I would be relying on things I had no control over. Like a moving and storage company? Well, if they screw up, I can sue the fuckers. If the disks don’t work for some reason, nobody to blame but the clown I see in the mirror in the morning.

Okay, expect the disks to work, but don’t depend on it for other than the short term I guess is the approach.

I sifted through more magazines. Some stuff I got rid of, not even bothering to record.

Started in on the guest room, doing the same thing. My wife’s old copies of Sunset magazine; I’d forgotten about those. They were easier to get rid of than the ghosts attached to them. I sighed -- moving was the right thing to do.

“Brian?” Ellen called from downstairs.

“Up here!” I called back, and more softly, “exorcising ghosts.”

I heard her coming up the stairs. I pulled another stack of stuff out of a bookcase and on to the floor. Glanced at it, tapped my coins three times, watched the outline form around the stack, and pressed and held again. It wasn’t the pain bringing tears to my eyes.

I turned -- Ellen was standing behind me, naked, holding her blanket. A cloud of sexy, spicy perfume engulfed me. I moved on my knees and kissed her mound, grabbing her tight ass.

It didn’t take long for me to be undressed and on my back on the blanket. She wouldn’t let me eat her, instead teasing me and smothering me to her breasts.

She rode me, pounding me into the floor. I held on to her, to a nipple, wanting more, more, more! I could feel and hear her coming around me as she pressed down on me and swirled her hips, squeezing my head to her. So intense as I came, she kept going and going!

We collapsed on our sides, the blanket holding us together and cleaning us up.

I turned my head to listen to her heart, and whispered, “I’m glad you came back!”

She squeezed me and said, “So am I.” She kissed me on the head.

We got up after a while.

She helped, oh how she helped. She helped me, forced me, to go through things, to decide. We got rid of a lot of crap. We boxed and bagged up a lot and took it to Good Will, making a lot of trips.

We’d pause on the occasional items that were emotional, special, or merely unknown to her. We’d talk about them and decide their fate.

On one trip to Good Will, we ran into a tech writer friend. Bev was dropping off old stuff of her daughter’s, who was getting married and moving out. Told her I was moving as well, getting rid of stuff, not sure what to do with the furniture. Furniture? Tracy and her hubby-to-be were putting everything they had into their new house, and didn’t have much in the way of furniture. Well, they were welcome to look at what I had!

That was Saturday morning. Tracy and Jerome came over Saturday afternoon, and again on Sunday morning with friends and a large rented truck. It was hard work moving that stuff, especially from upstairs, but it was going to a good home, and that’s what was important.

Ellen worked with us, all day long, moving furniture and making friends. We got home late after pizza and beer. We showered, let the blankets dry us, and made gentle love before floating to sleep holding each other.

We had the packing crew out Tuesday morning, a day early. After giving the crew their instructions, Ellen and I started packing the things that would go with me in the Volvo. The crew expected to have everything packed that day, and the truck would pick up things Wednesday. My priority things were clearly labeled and listed, and I’d check to make sure they were clearly marked.

“I couldn’t have done this without your help,” I told her.

She smiled. “It just would have taken you a lot longer.”

I shook my head. “And I would have moved a whole lot more crap. Don’t think Tracy and Jerome would be as well furnished as they are, either.”

She shrugged. “Right place at the right time -- just like you.”

I shook my head and hugged her anyway.

Paul and David showed up with the real estate gal around one. We took care of utilities, and change-of-address to the post office; everything would go to Paul’s office.

I spent the last night in the house with Ellen. It was so strange, all the boxes! I duped the ones with the computer equipment, and a few others, just to be sure. All the boxes -- the way the rooms echoed. The ghosts were out in force, reminding me of moving in so many years ago. We’d been so happy, so excited, moving into a house of our own.

I was so glad Ellen was there, to hold me and be held. I went to sleep in her arms.

The moving van showed up a little late the following morning; David, Paul, and the real estate gal (the new but probably temporary owner of the place) were there as well.

We reviewed checklists; everything was set. Made one last trip through the bathroom, then took a walk through the house one last time.

I said goodbye to so many ghosts, so many memories.

Ellen and I got into the car and headed North.

Ghosts along there as well; I decided to go over the Golden Gate one more time, wending North before meeting Interstate 5.

We were quiet until we passed the Marin Civic Center. With my previous employer, when I made trips to the research site in Santa Rosa, the Marin Civic Center sign was my halfway marker.

We timed it well, stopping for lunch at In-N-Out just south of Santa Rosa.

The area was green, so green. Driving by vineyards, you could see new growth.

Ellen hinted, nay, told me, that Washington, South of Seattle/Tacoma was where I wanted to be. I told her about the tradeoffs, mostly tax-based. She listened politely.

Storm clouds looming, darkening, and I wasn’t sure where we’d spend the night.

We found an Inn along the route to Highway 5. Cute place, cozy. We got bags moved in before the clouds opened up on us.

With us, two of the five guest rooms were occupied. We joined our hosts and the other couple, an older retired couple, for dinner before retiring to our room for the night.

We made use of the fireplace, and more use out of the bed. The squeaking of the bed was drowned out by the sounds of the storm.

The storm didn’t let up the next day; we stayed and made very good use of our time.

We left after breakfast the next morning.

About half an hour later, Ellen asked, “Brian, please pull over for a moment?”

Traffic was light; I found a safe place to pull over and park.

We kissed.

“You’re leaving?” I asked her.

She sighed. “Yes, more work to do.”

I held her close, kissing her neck. “Thank you. I hope to see you again.”

“So do I, Brian. Take care.”

With a pop she was gone. I drove off.

END of Part 2
Rev 2010/08/29
On to Part 3

Probes 2
By silli_artie@hotmail.com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/artie/www

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