30. Charon was sittin' on the dock of the riverbank, watchin' the current roll away, listening to some Otis Redding tunes on his iPod. According to his union contract, it was his day off. Instead of the ancient Greek work uniform, he was dressed comfortably in a pair of overalls with the cuffs rolled up to the knee, a plaid flannel shirt, and a straw hat thet looked as if the Fleiss mice had been nibbling on it. His bare feet were dangling in the water. Fishing line was dangling from a hand wrought bamboo pole. There was nothing Charon loved more than fresh trout. Just another sunny day in Never World.
Jarring him out of his reverie, Charon's pager went off. He swore under his breath. The message said, "Pickup at the city dock." Noooooooooo! "Beeeeeeeeth!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Beth came running, Ames on her heels. "What's the 9-1-1?" She asked, slightly out of breath.
"I'm being called to pick up another one of those doofuses, and it's my day off!" Charon complained.
"Double overtime, dearest," Beth reminded him. "You're almost got enough socked away to buy a stake in this place. The fish will still be here when you get back."
"Holy Toledo! I can't go looking like this!" Charon cried. "What about my image?"
"I kinda like that Huck Finn thing you've got going on," Beth told him. "Don't worry; it's not as if anyone but your passenger can see you. And he's not going to be looking at your clothes, trust me!"
Mumbling something under his breath about those useless Bachpeople, Charon checked to make sure the hidden camera and tape recorder were in working order and that there was plenty of champagne chilling in the cooler, and then rowed off to pick up Tanner.
Beth looked over at Ames. "Always interruptions," she smiled. "It's like babysitting around here."
"Ready for your tour?" she asked Ames.
"I thought you'd never ask," Ames replied.
"Well, follow me. The others from this season are in a kind of orientation boot camp right now. We've decided you're exempt, but you can't talk to any of them about what you've seen. Do you understand?" Ames nodded earnestly.
"I'm going to show you the highlights," Beth said.
31. The two walked together, the stillness of the day punctuated by Beth's narrative.
"This is where most of the Bachpeople come after they've left the show. It's a wonderful facility designed especially to assure their comfort and serve as a support system for the new life they will be leading. After all, they've become very important people in the entertainment world. Just ask any of them."
Up ahead was a large open field where several helicopters were parked. "My goodness! What are those for?" Ames asked, wide eyed.
"Aren't they fun?" Beth said. "We use so many choppers on the show that it made economic sense to have a fleet of our own. Now, in addition to taking the participants on dates, we can use them to transport people wherever we know the papparazzi are going to be. It helps them to get a little face time. We've crashed a lot of red carpets! Y'know, if Angelina's otherwise occupied, we've got an Ali or a Jillian for them. Isn't that the best idea?"
Ames didn't know what to say; he was still taking it all in. "What's that?" He was pointing to an area beyond the heliport that looked for all the world like a giant jungle gym.
"Oh, that's our outdoor workout area," Beth answered. "There's nothing more important to our people than staying fit. Gotta keep those abs and pecs in tone."
"Over there," she indicated with a sweep of her hand, "we have a bungee jump, a telephone pole climb and a zip line. Those are some of the dating favorites, you know. Then, of course, there's the swimming pool with a really nice bar, and several hot tubs. The mattresses get a lot of use, too. You've heard of deck chairs? Well, we have deck mattresses. There's an added benefit of having a place for the guys and gals bound for Bachelor Pad to practice for competitions."
"That's right; I'd forgotten," Ames joined in. "I guess I didn't stay around long enough to realize how grueling that show could be," he continued sheepishly.
"Oh, don't worry so much," Beth comforted him. "Anyone who's man enough to box in pink gloves and take a blow to the head without losing his marbles is special in my book. That's why we're going to pamper you. There's even a buzz that a lot of people think you should have been the last Bachelor. Or, should I say, the most recent Bachelor? I don't want to sound like the voice of doom." Beth smiled mysteriously.
"Well, thanks," said Ames. "It's always nice to be appreciated. Maybe someday I might even be in love."
"Awww . . . " Beth purred.
They continued their walk and stopped in front of a large, modern single story building in a U shape with nice landscaping and a sign reading "Lambton & Sons" discreetly placed among the shrubbery.
Beth held the door for Ames. "Come on in." They entered.
"This is our state of the art technical facility. There's a media room where all our residents can design their individual web sites and set up their social pages. They can come here any time they want--it's open 24/7. We even have an IT guy on duty to help and answer questions. Maybe you know him? His name is Ed. It's funny--he doesn't charge a lot. He says he just wants the run of the premises, access to the kitchen refrigerators, and, um, an endless supply of, you, know, those latex balloon-like thingies." Beth blushed. Ames blushed. "Ed's kinda messy, though. Sometimes we have to clean up after him. Oh, yeah, we also have to provide satellite TV for all the Michigan State games."
They went out the other side, Ames taking note of the hot tub just beside the door, and into the next building. "Here's the kitchen and dining hall."
What an odd kitchen it was. There were several refrigerators, a counter holding about a half dozen microwave ovens, a cabinet full of glassware of every kind and description, another cabinet with dinnerware, one with liquor, a drawer of cutlery, and a dishwasher.
"Doesn't anyone cook in here?" Ames asked.
"Oh, goodness, no!" Beth said. "Look here." She opened the refrigerators, one at a time. The first was stocked with beer, the second with wine and champagne, and the third with soft drinks, fruit juices and bottled water. "These are always filled. And the folks are much too busy with their careers to take time to cook. We have a wonderful French chef from town who caters all our meals. Come to think of it, I heard he's one of the bachelors this season."
Ames shook his head as he and Beth left this building and continued their tour. Was it because there was no cooking? Or was it because there, just outside the back door, was yet another hot tub.
The next building was a kind of a plain big box style, but colorfully decorated with what looked to Ames like primitive abstract art. It reminded Ames of something he had seen at an orphanage in Thailand, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Again, Beth held the door and they entered.
This was mind boggling! There was shelf after shelf of merchandise! What in the world was something like this doing in what was otherwise a Bach playground? Were they in the retail business here?
As if reading his thoughts, Beth laughed and volunteered, "It's more like a reverse retail business. This is where we store all the free goodies that come here for the Bachpeople. I know, it boggles my mind, too, but apparently these companies think that if the Bachpeople mention them on their computers, it will help their sales. They get shoes, clothes, jewelry, small appliances, what have you. Just between you and me, I keep wondering how much extra ordinary people like me have to pay for this stuff just so the companies can cover the giveaways in their budgets."
"Ha ha!" Ames countered. "Instead of a warehouse, you can call this a swaghouse."
"That's exactly what we do call it," answered Beth. "We've got it down to a science. We track everything that comes in--who sent it, to whom, when it was requested, and when it arrived. Do you know that there's a company making sunglasses that will get its product here in less than 7 days? They're awesome!"
Ames could only shake his head again. There, just outside the exit from the swaghouse, was another hot tub.
32. They walked on--into another wide open area.
Well, not so wide open, as it turned out. For in front of them was a field of tall pillars capped with what looked for all the world like pinwheels. Fascinating. They were evenly spaced, and as Ames was trying to count them, Beth walked up.
"We get all of our power from these." Beth said, proudly. "We're completely self sufficient."
Ames was impressed. "This is quite a set up. How did you make it happen?"
"Oh, it wasn't as hard as you might think. One of our guys is as green as can be. You know Ryan, don't you? Come to think of it, I think he's one of the bachelors right now along with Gilles."
"Oh, right!" Ames remembered, and then chuckled. "You know, I heard that some crazed fan of his actually went on an Internet message board somewhere and wrote poetry about him. Even called him Kermit, of all things!"
"I heard that, too," Beth replied. "He does bring us a nice rainbow connection--here with all the lovers, and dreamers, and me."
"Well, good for him," Ames conceded. "I'm glad to hear he has a place to use all that energy. Oh! I made a pun!" He chuckled again.
"Yes, he's doing rather well, all things considered. There's just one thing about him that's kind of odd." Beth shook her head at the thought.
"Really?" Ames wanted to know.
"Yes," Beth nodded. "Sometimes, just before dark, you can see him out here with a big long stick that has a handle like a sword. He's brandishing it as if he's about to poke a pinata, and saying something about tilting at windmills."
"Ryan did always seem a bit Quixotic," Ames mused. "But you must be awfully glad he's here to supply all the water for the hot tubs."
"That's for sure," Beth agreed.
So engrossed were they in conversation that Ames almost bumped up against the hot tub at the edge of the wind farm. He turned to Beth. "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course. I'm here for you," Beth reassured him.
"Where is the culture?" Ames wanted to know. "Aren't there any museums? Libraries? Do you have an orchestra? It would be kind of cool to have some of the people play in an orchestra. Are there any sports teams?"
"Well, you know, culture don't come easy. I mean, you have seen these people, haven't you?" Beth sighed. "The truth is," she continued, "part of our philosophy is that culture can be a distraction from the pursuit of a career in notoriety. We want our Bachpeople to relate as much as possible to each other. The more open they are, the more likely it is that they will do and say interesting things. The more interesting they are, the better for their bottom line."
"But," queried Ames, "Wouldn't they be even more interesting if they were knowledgeable about something besides . . . just . . . themselves?"
"You'd think so," Beth agreed. "But the research doesn't bear that out. I guess the TV viewers who want culture tune to PBS. Our shows get the rest." Not wanting to insult anyone, Beth added, "Well, we also get the occasional viewer who watches for purely academic and scientific purposes. They are awfully smart people. I hope they're learning something. We get some comedians, too."
Ames was not satisfied with this answer. He'd need a reminder to bring it up again when he'd become fully familiar with Never World. "Why, this might be as much of a challenge as Harvard, Yale and Columbia put together. Or tying my own bow tie," he thought to himself.
They continued at a leisurely pace for a little while; then Beth stopped them on the edge of another field.
"This our pride and joy--the vineyard." she announced in a glowing tone.
"Oh, my," Ames gasped. "I never would have expected this! How marvelous!"
"Think about it," Beth went on. "Everybody here is connected with wine one way or another. Some are actually in the business, and heaven knows they all drink copious amounts of it! Why, the per capita consumption at this facility. . . " Beth trailed off as Russell Crow suddenly appeared in a nearby tree, squawked and scowled.
"I get it," Ames laughed. He passed by yet another hot tub as he walked over to some grapevines that had attracted his attention. Beth followed. Now Ames, being a supremely erudite man of the world, was no stranger to wine. He was familiar with varieties grown and produced everywhere from Australia, to Chile, to the state of Washington. He thought nothing would surprise him, but here were grapes of the purest white--so gleaming in the sun and spherically shaped they reminded him of the finest pearls. The grapes were in perfectly formed bunches, each identical to its neighbor. The whole scene looked like a picture photoshopped for Food and Wine magazine.
"Oh, you found them!" Beth caught up. "These are indeed special. But they're not for wine."
"What do you mean?" Ames was confused.
"We make white raisins from these grapes," Beth explained. "Have you ever had any?"
"You know," whispered Ames, suddenly sounding at once ponderous and reverent. "I feel as if I have, but I honestly don't know."
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