“I’m in here.”
Lulu was pouring a glass of champagne in the dining room as he came in. She handed it to him, picked up her own glass and offered a toast. “To the Four Seasons Hotel,” she said. “Lifesavers.”
“To the Four Seasons,” said Decker. He took a large swig of wine. It was absolutely delicious.
“How’s your back? Can I help you put on some bandages?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “What are you, shy? Pull your top down.”
Decker sighed. He dropped the front of his robe, revealing his back to her, well-muscled and wide. There were three horizontal cuts still bleeding after his shower. Lulu went to the bathroom and came back with the bandages. As Decker sat there drinking his wine, she patched up his wounds, wrapping the gauze round his back and his chest, taking note of his six pack. When she was done, she helped him shimmy his robe back over his shoulders.
“Thanks,” he said.
Lulu didn’t reply. She simply re-filled her glass and kept drinking.
Decker got up and helped himself to some food. Lulu soon followed suit. They ate at the end of the table, side by side.
For some time, neither of them spoke. It had been a long, arduous day and each was content to nibble and drink, and to gaze out the windows at the city shimmering below. Besides, the food — the briny oysters and caviar, the juicy crab legs and succulent lobster — had entranced them. It seemed like years since Decker had tasted anything quite so satisfying.
“Tell me about Iowa,” Lulu said out of nowhere.
“What about it?”
“What was it like growing up there, especially with your aunt and her husband?”
Before he knew it, the words tumbled out. Decker found himself telling her about growing up the son of a cop, about his parent’s death in that car crash when they had gone to pick him up after his track meet, about his going to live with his relatives. He told her about joining the FBI soon after graduating from Northwestern, and about his role in the El Aqrab affair when he — and Emily — had tried to stop the mega-tsunami. “Fame isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be,” Decker said with a sigh. “Frankly, a lot of people resent it. They’re jealous, I guess. Others think that they know you just because they’ve glimpsed you a couple of times on TV. Now, no matter what I do, I’ll always be associated with the worst terrorist attack on America since 9/11. Emily too. Not as a brilliant oceanographer, which she was. But as that woman at the heart of the El Aqrab incident.”
Lulu pressed him about Emily’s death. It seemed painfully obvious that Decker felt guilty for sending his wife to Dallas for that TV interview in his stead. “But it wasn’t your fault,” she insisted. “The plane simply malfunctioned.”
“They asked me to go. Me — not her,” he replied. “But I was too busy, too important to be dragged away from my work. I had an important case to attend to.” He ripped open a crab leg. “And for what? Some damned interview? Another talk show appearance so we could sell a few thousand more copies of our book?” He sucked the meat from the crab leg and tossed it aside. “Of course, I was more than happy to spend all the money the book earned us. I had no problem buying a townhouse in Georgetown. That I could do. Just too proud to promote it.” He shook his head.
“It’s funny,” he said. “I remember that morning as if it were yesterday. We’d been arguing all night, and she left angry and headed out to the taxi with Becca, holding her hand. I wanted to run after them. You know. To say, ‘I’m sorry, don’t go. Let’s postpone. Let’s just hang out together this weekend.’ That’s what I should have said. I could have done the interview later but I didn’t. I didn’t tell her any of that. I didn’t even follow her out. I was too fucking proud. If she hadn’t gone, she’d still be alive. It’s my fault she’s dead. It should have been me. I should have been the one on that plane.”
“No you shouldn’t have. If you should have, you would have been. Who are you, God? You don’t get to decide, John. It wasn’t your time. It was her time, Emily’s time. That’s why she’s dead and you’re here beside me whining about it. Not that I mind, particularly. I guess I’d rather you talk it all out than see you drive yourself into some ditch. Especially if I’m still in the car.”
Decker laughed. They talked about his PTSD and how the FBI and, later, the NCTC had insisted he undergo therapy. “Sometimes I don’t recognize myself. It’s like I’ve become someone else. The littlest thing sets me off sometimes. And now,” he admitted, “I keep everyone at arms’ length. Even my daughter.” He shook his head. “I’ve never connected with her,” he confessed. “Not really. I guess I’ve always been afraid to, especially since the accident. I mean, if something were to happen to her. You know, something… I don’t know what I’d do.”
“What if something were to happen to you?” she insisted. “You act as if you’re late for a drink with your maker. Let me ask you a question. Can I?”
“Now you ask for permission!” Decker sat up. “That’s rich. Go ahead, shoot. What else do you want to know?”
“About your Aunt Hanne,” said Lulu.
Decker hesitated. “What about her?”
“What happened? Didn’t she want you to come live with her? Didn’t her husband?”
Decker reached for another oyster. He sucked it down and tossed the shell to the side. After a moment, he said, “Tom was in favor of it. He would be, of course. But Hanne. Well, she wasn’t… How can I put it? She’s not the maternal type.” Then, he changed the subject again. “What I want to know is,” he asked her, “what’s a convicted hacker doing going to MIT at fifteen? Yeah, I looked you up. Did you think I’d team up with someone I hadn’t investigated?”
“Guess not,” she replied, tearing into her lobster.
“I didn’t realize MIT had a prison release program. I hear you hacked into a government network. Did they offer you a deal?”
“It was jail time or go to school. It wasn’t a very difficult decision.” She ripped off a claw.
“But MIT. That’s a tough school to get into. Why there?”
“It was MIT’s network I hacked into.” She smiled. “You know, I’m beginning to think you’re attracted to bad girls.” Lulu used a nut-cracker to shatter the claw. She plucked out the meat, dipped the end into some melted butter, and then proceeded to suck on the tip.
Decker laughed as she bit the pink flesh.
Without warning Lulu got up from the table. She slid in beside him, leaned over and started to brush his now spiky white hair. “This haircut makes you look like a rock star.”
“It does? How bad are you, Lulu?” he said.
She kissed him gently, then bit his lip. “Don’t ask.”
Decker climbed to his feet. He pushed Lulu back onto the top of the table, clearing away the lobster and oysters with a brush of his arm. He leaned over and kissed her, a passionate kiss, his tongue snaking deep in her mouth.
She moaned as he leaned his body against her.
The top of her robe parted, revealing her tattoo beneath — a complex imbroglio of pink and gold lotus blossoms, green vines and lily pads that wrapped across the top of her breasts and around her right side. The design appeared to extend across her whole back. It was beautiful work, dramatic and sensual, brash yet sublime.
Decker reached down and began fondling her breasts, one after the other. They were much bigger than they appeared under her clothes. Given her frame, he’d expected them to be smaller. But they looked just as they had in the VR world, heavy and full, with thick dark brown nipples. He popped one into his mouth.
Lulu moaned loudly again. She curled her legs up, wrapping them around his hips, drawing him in even closer. “Fuck me,” she said. “Right here. Right now. Please, John.”