Turning to the wall of smart glass she said, “Concierge, select Dr. Marulli’s favorite scene.”
Instantly the Mediterranean scene morphed into a dramatic second-story view of California’s Pacific Coast, the ocean crashing violently against the rocks below, the humid warmth replaced by a northwestern chill. A fireplace ignited, the holographic flames taking the edge off the cold.
“Perfect. And it’s so real.”
“It also serves a purpose. No matter what scene you select, each reflects the time of day within our complex, helping to maintain our body clocks and with it, our mental health, which can be challenged when one lives underground for weeks or months at a time. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen and bedroom, then I’ll let you get some rest.”
The kitchen and dining area flowed to the right, the cabinets and chairs made of oak, the appliances camouflaged in the same wood. Jessica had never seen anything like the dark granite used on the countertops and matching table, the material seemingly alive with liquid splashes of color that changed as she altered her sightline. Forcing herself to look away, she followed Kirsty down a short hall to the master bedroom.
“Nice…”
The king-size bed faced another smart wall and the same fifteen-foot-high, floor-to-ceiling view of the Pacific Coast. Gusts of wind rattled the sliding glass doors, which were closed, the flames of the virtual fireplace adjusting its heat accordingly.
Jessica joined Kirsty by the walk-in closet where someone had already unpacked her belongings.
“As you can see, I had your closet stocked with uniforms, workout clothes, silk pajamas, undergarments, shoes, sneakers… everything you could possibly need. The personal items are yours to take with you when you leave, the uniforms stay with us.”
“Thank you.”
She followed the Englishwoman into the master bath. Decorated in Italian marble, the rectangular space was divided by its centerpiece — an enormous Jacuzzi tub. Behind the marble wall that contained its built-in waterfall was a step-down drain which handled his-and-her showers. A water closet lent privacy to a toilet and bidet; a small linen closet held a variety of linens and towels.
Overwhelmed by her accommodations, Jessica struggled to triage her immediate needs.
“I know you’re exhausted, sleep as long as you want; your orientation doesn’t begin until Monday morning at ten.”
“Sorry, I can’t remember… what day is it?”
“It’s Friday evening. By the way, all holographic landscapes face west so that you won’t be disturbed by the rising sun. I suggest you order in, shower, and then sleep in; you’ve got the entire weekend to be pampered. Remember, whatever you want, simply say ‘Concierge’ and it will be taken care of.”
“Concierge… got it.”
Jessica walked Kirsty to the front door, said good night, and bolted the lock.
A cold gust of salty air rushed into the apartment. Jessica closed the French doors, surprised to hear running water coming from the bathroom.
She entered to find the tub filling with hot water and scented bath oil beads.
“The bath oils were my idea.”
She jumped, her heart racing at the Hispanic male’s voice. “Who said that?”
“I did. I’m Raul, your Virtual Concierge.”
She looked around, discovering — to her relief — the stranger speaking to her from the other side of the sink mirror.
Athletic and tan… she guessed he was about twenty-five, his wavy dark hair highlighting deep-blue eyes.
Nicely done…
“What did you say your name was?”
“Raul.”
“Well, you scared the shit out of me, Raul. Are you going to be popping in and out of mirrors whenever you feel like it?”
“Only when you summon me.”
“I didn’t summon you.”
“You were debating whether to bathe first or eat.”
“You can read my thoughts? How…? Oh wait, the retinal scan… that’s impressive. But I can’t have a strange man popping in on me, even if he is a computer-generated creation, and especially when I’m in the bathroom.”
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable with someone from your childhood?”
Raul morphed into a stout gray-haired Swedish woman in her sixties.
“Ingrid? Oh my God, oh my God… I haven’t seen you since I was seven years old. This is freaky, this is really freaky.”
“But comforting, ja?”
“God, you sound exactly like her… of course you do, you’re pulling my memory of her straight out of the recesses of my brain.”
“Your blood sugar is low; you need to eat. I ordered you something special. How does lobster thermidor topped with lump crabmeat and a velvety sauce sound, served on garlic whipped potatoes. And for dessert… a decadent chocolate crème brûlée with a hint of Grand Marnier.”
“That sounds… incredible.”
“Would you like to dine on the terrace?”
“It’s too cold.”
“Not in Tahiti.”
She was about to respond when the doorbell rang.
“Ah, there’s dinner. Go… I’ll meet you in the living room.”
Jessica hurried out of the master bedroom, feeling as if she were in a dream.
An eight-by-ten inch video panel by the front door revealed the room service attendant waiting on the catwalk, his name and identity number — BENEDICT GUZZO, Q-766-22-1103—flashing in green.
Jessica opened the door, her stomach rumbling.
“Good evening, Dr. Marulli.”
“Benedict.”
“I understand you’ll be eating on the main balcony, is that correct?”
“Yeah… sure. God, that smells good.”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
Feeling lightheaded, she stepped aside and watched as he pushed the dinner cart to the balcony — all the while her childhood nanny observing him from the living room smart glass, a cross look on the Swedish woman’s age-weathered face.
Oblivious, the waiter methodically opened one side of the French doors and then the other. Gone was the pounding Pacific, in its place — a calm lagoon shared by several private cottages on piers, their balconies lit by torches. Jessica recalled Adam showing her travel photos of Bora Bora, each guest house set on its own private dock over the water.
She closed her eyes, listening to the computer-generated waves lapping beneath the balcony. A warm, soothing breeze entered the apartment, mixing with the intoxicating aromas of her main course which still remained concealed beneath its metal serving container.
What the hell is taking him so long?
She watched as the waiter carefully laid out a white tablecloth over the heavy outdoor table. He meticulously arranged a place setting, filled her water glass and left the pitcher, then struggled to light the dinner candle.
It was Ingrid who finally snapped, her bellow bringing with it a tide of memories. “My girl hasn’t eaten in over a day and you stand there, fumbling with a candle? Why does she need a candle? Whoever heard of a romantic interlude for one… idiot!”
The red-faced attendant pocketed his lighter and returned to the cart, quickly carrying the hot dinner plate, salad, and dessert outside, not bothering to remove the covers.
Feeling embarrassed, Jessica attempted to apologize for her computer-generated nanny’s outburst. “I’m sorry. Ingrid means well, but she’s always had a short fuse when it comes to my well-being.”
The waiter shot her a “what-the-fuck” look before pushing the empty cart toward the front door.