Confident from the recent spell of showers, a creek swept under them, bisecting the road. Chain-link fencing provided the van noisy traction across the mossy rocks, water assaulting the wheel wells. The others whooped and cheered.
They wound higher into the hills, bouncing in their seats a good twenty minutes until the van stopped. A waving Pro attended a metal gate bookended by pillars of river-rounded stones. He opened the immense padlock and waved them through. Randall eased the van up a crudely repaved drive. Wild mustard enlivened the hillside in Day-Glo splashes. To the right a barbed-wire fence rose from dense mats of ice plant, pointlessly guarding a cliff face. They passed a cluster of cottages, arriving at a broad sprawling building that resembled a school – the former treatment wing, according to the decrepit signage.
The wildlife way station, two and a half miles back on the county road judging by the van's speedometer, was apparently society's nearest toehold. Tim checked his cell phone – no reception, no surprise. He turned it off to conserve the battery.
"We tingle and want and lust, but it's just a prelude for the encounter of gametes, a ploy designed for our hungering genes to forge a zygote. Sex is a loss leader, an excuse our genes export to our heads and loins so we'll smuggle them from warm body to warm body. Do you ever think about that?" Randall pulled into a parking space among a few other cars and two school buses and threw the steering-column gearshift north.
The others spilled out excitedly.
Tim offered Randall a numb smile. "Not until now."
Shouldering the leather overnight bag monogrammed TA, Tim followed the trail of initiates into the building. The others gawked at the trees and barren hillsides, taking note of their surroundings for the first time. Lorraine hurried them inside. They passed a hospital-style check-in desk and several meeting rooms, antiseptic behind reinforced glass and rigid venetian blinds. Randall held open a door, and they shuffled in like pupils.
TD commanded a chair in the room's center. On the floor about fifteen girls encircled him, covenlike – the Lilies arrayed like hospitality girls. A single young man, a well-built Pro that Tim recognized from the Radisson, had been thrown in for good measure. Leah picked indolently at her shoelace, refusing to raise her eyes. Lorraine skipped a few steps and scooted into place among them, another perfect little daughter. Wearing the same sleeve-torn sweatshirt that showcased his shoulders, Skate stood with his back to the far wall.
"Where are we?" Wendy asked.
TD spoke. "You're in the here and now." One of the Lilies eyeballed Tim and whispered something to her neighbor. They giggled. TD looked at them, and they fell silent.
Randall started tugging the possessions from their hands.
TD said, "No books, no magazines, no Walkmans, no phones, no newspapers, no money – I follow these rules as assiduously as you will. This is a retreat, and retreat means a break from the distractions of the outside world. The more you sacrifice for yourself, the stronger and more fulfilled you'll become."
They relinquished their bags reluctantly. Randall and Skate searched them like airport security workers, sniffing perfume bottles, thumbing through makeup kits, and bunch-searching neatly folded clothes. Along with the items designated by TD, lighters, alarm clocks, vitamins, PalmPilots, and BlackBerries were placed in shoe boxes labeled by name. Don and Jason offered up their cell phones. Tim slipped off Will's Cartier and surrendered Tom Altman's keys and engorged money clip. The recruits' driver's licenses and credit cards would greatly aid TD in fleshing out their financial profiles.
The initiates were now pretty well trapped at the ranch – no cash for a cab, no cell phones to call for a pickup, not even loose change for a bus ride. Not that there was a bus within twenty miles.
Through all this the Lilies introduced themselves and offered testimonials.
"I used to eat to make my outer appearance match the way I felt about myself. I had an embedded need for others to see me as worthless and disgusting. I offloaded that need." Lorraine raised her tight sweater, revealing a pinched little waist. Wendy, who carried a bit extra in the thighs and rear, emitted a muffled exclamation.
In the corner Randall and Skate unzipped Tim's bag. A neatly folded polo underwent a good groping. His toothbrush holder was uncorked and eyeballed. The bag was turned inside out, a new pair of Nikes spilling to the floor. Tim prayed the false lining would hold.
"I used to be a real asshole," the male Pro, named Chad, was sheepishly conceding. "Just out for the buck. One of those idiots you'd see driving around Manhattan Beach, a USC B-school license-plate frame on my fully loaded Jag. I thought money gave me power." He made a derisive noise in his throat. "Now I have strength. Real strength."
Tim's book, Learning to Forgive…Yourself, was added to the growing heap of forbidden fruit, as was this morning's Wall Street Journal. The paperback he'd picked up yesterday and put through a few turns in the dryer to give it a well-thumbed appearance; the newspaper he'd crinkled industriously while awaiting pickup at the Radisson.
Fighting a twitchy smile into place, Leah related her rebirth into strength. "And I'd like to announce that I willed my rash away," she concluded. "It's gone."
Vigorous applause rewarded her. TD stroked her leg appreciatively. When he rose, she sat quickly. He gestured at the electronic organizers and reading materials. "Think of this as your Phoenix pyre." He pointed to the cover of Don's book, emblazoned with virile type guaranteeing a wealth of secrets and numerous habits of wildly successful briefcase toters. "This crap is precisely what you came here to delete." He snatched up Tim's book, reviewed it with a smirk. "This yours, Tom?"
Tom Altman smiled, in on the joke. "I'm beginning to think I might regret having brought that."
TD laughed, letting the paperback slip from his fingers to the floor. "You five have been assigned Gro-Pars who will be with you for the duration of the retreat. They're here to guide you and to make sure you're taken care of."
Randall stuffed Tim's belongings back into his bag. Tim let out his breath evenly.
"Congratulations. You're the chosen few. Welcome to the family." TD embraced them like envoys with questionable agendas, clutching their shoulders and appraising them straight-armed before pulling them in, his doubts allayed.
Around of full-bodied hugs ensued. As Chad embraced Tim, his hands patted about his torso skillfully, a stealthy, impromptu frisk for a wire. When Lorraine hugged him, she felt the cell phone he'd stowed in his pocket and relieved him of it. As Tim joined the line to pick up his expurgated bag, Chad approached Wendy. "Hi there, Wen. Let's get to it." He led her away. Don, distracted in conversation with a solicitous redhead, hardly noticed. Lorraine and Shanna went off arm in arm.
The abrupt tap on Tim's shoulder was a marked departure from the ready affection flowing elsewhere in the room. Leah said flatly, "I'm your Gro-Par. Follow me."
Not sure what to make of their pairing, Tim moved swiftly to catch up to her. "Leah. Leah."
She kept ahead of him, crossing a circle of soggy grass and entering one of the cottages. He followed her down a narrow hall past a few other bedrooms, into a room with splintery furniture painted a baffling shade of periwinkle. On the threadbare sheets, a spread of pamphlets awaited weary travelers in Gideon fashion: Optimizing Program Software. The Six Keys to Offloading Dead Weight. Think Strong!
Leah closed the door and whirled to face him. "You lied to me." Tim gestured for her to keep her voice down. She did but remained fierce. "Everyone lies to me. Tells me what to think. Well, I'm sick of it. I'm not some stupid girl who can't make her own decisions. You don't know a single thing about me, but you thought you'd just swoop in and rescue me, like some maiden in distress. Is that what you thought?"