Chapter 4: 4. Washington

The helicopter ride was tense. Tessa was convinced I could read her mind and got agitated any time I made eye contact. Aaron refused to engage in any conversation. If I did not know better, I would have thought he was deaf. My one saving grace from crushing boredom was Mercy. Mercy was congenial and engaged me in conversation during our ride to Tulsa.

I learned that her father had been a Colonel in the Air Force before taking a consultant position with an independent security firm that contracted to the CIA. She had followed him into the Air Force, but after six years, had decided it was not for her and followed in her mom's footsteps by going into politics. Despite the differences in our social and professional statuses, she seemed keenly interested in my life. She had made the same jokes they all made about a fat man working in a quarry. Fred Flintstone's name came up. I rolled with it. I dreaded the jokes, but they were not horrid, and I knew she meant no harm. I told her about fishing in the evenings and pheasant hunting in the fall. I regaled her with stories of the work I did for the farmers around town sometimes. She seemed entranced by my description of the sunsets and panicked by my descriptions of the tornados. At least she spared me the Wizard of Oz jokes. That was something. Maybe it was less than classy but at least considerate.

Can you hear me? I asked, throwing my thoughts toward the sky and Luke's sister. I smiled sardonically when no answer came in return and went back into my conversation with Mercy.

The pilot of the helicopter was unhappy when we piled out of his helicopter. Extra powdered sugar was a nice idea, but very messy when the doors were opened upon landing. The circulation of the rotors overhead scattered the sugar, coating everyone. Tessa and Aaron were rightfully pissed. They looked like a Colombian cartel boss had sneezed on them. Mercy was a little more laissez faire about the whole thing. I did apologize, but they were not having it.

The moment we landed, dark suited men with shoulder holsters and no sense of humor took me in hand and ushered me to a black suburban with blacked out windows. The rest of the ambassadorial delegation was already inside waiting for us. Their helicopter landed first. Aaron took shotgun, though I clearly called it first. I was put in the back seat and sandwiched between FBI and Science Guy. CIA and UN took the middle seats with Mercy sandwiched between them. Secret Service was driving. Tessa rode in a different SUV with her own security detail. No doubt, she was trying to put distance between me and her so I could not violate her mind like Leia had done to mine.

You hear that? I asked, slinging my thoughts into the heavens. Mind raping is bad. No means no. I'm not a piece of meat. She did not reply. I did not expect her to.

The SUVs took us from the hangar where the helicopters had landed to a different hangar on the other side of the Tulsa Airport where we boarded a private jet for Washington. I wasn't sure which agency was picking up the tab, but I considered it taxpayer money. I drank when drinks were offered. As a taxpayer, I was paying for the drinks. It was about time I sampled what I was paying for. The Secret Service may have carried me on the plane against my will, but by the time we touched down, carrying me off the plane was a matter of necessity. As a taxpayer, I can assure the people of the United States of America that their money has bought their politicians the best scotch money can buy. I sampled it myself and know what I'm talking about. In fact, I sampled all they had, repeatedly.

Frankly, Washington was somewhat of a blur to me that first night. I remember lots of laughing (by me), lots of sexually charged innuendo being thrown around (by me), and I think someone pretended to hump a bomb-sniffing dog at the airport (probably me too). After that, it was lights out. The hotel they put me up in was swanky and filled with men in black. Tessa gave them instructions and blew me a kiss, I think. I might have imagined that. In my room, a meal was provided. I ate it. I wore the robe provided and tried to watch scrambled porn, but my heart was not in it.

My thoughts kept drifting back to my morning with Luke. I liked him. He seemed down to Earth and genuine. As far as alien ambassadors go, he was my favorite. I did not want to think about her because I did not want her to bitch slap my brain again, but inevitably, my mind went back to Leia.

She was a hot head, impulsive, fiery, feisty, and all the things a man like me did not deserve, which might be why I did not entertain the idea of pursuing her. She was an alien. I braced for her reprimand at my thoughts of her, but nothing came. I was emboldened. Maybe there was a limit to how far we could communicate telepathically. I tested that theory and imagined myself seducing her. At first it was the scotch, but then as I relaxed, my thoughts became sincere. I really imagined myself with her and the thought made me happy. In the theater of my mind, we lay entwined in sheets, naked, and still. I imagined her hands on my chest, and my hands tracing the smoothness of her thigh. The scotch had been raining round houses on me all day. Now that it had me on my back, it sensed victory and began curb stomping my brain. Goodnight, I told her. I know I dreamed, but I could not tell you what I dreamed of. The scotch had Edward Nortoned me. I was dead to the world.

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