The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(40)
We go down half a flight of stairs and make our way into the most fancy club I’ve ever been in. I am not a fan of clubbing, but as a guy who has to carry on conversations with girls in their early twenties, I have to at least know the names of the more trendy clubs. However, this one I’m not familiar with—which is pretty suspicious. Can the Guides somehow Guide NYC denizens to keep their club a secret?
We walk onto a giant dance floor, and I follow Liz as she navigates through the crowd and toward a different set of stairs. As we make our way, I see some Hollywood stars on the dance floor, plus an heiress who’s been in all the tabloids and at least one Victoria’s Secret model. Actually, the model might be from Playboy—it’s hard to tell them apart. The heiress might’ve also been in Playboy, come to think of it. As to why I know what’s in Playboy—well, I subscribe. For the articles, of course.
Once we reach the stairs, we go down a floor and find ourselves in another large hall. Only here, things are much quieter. It’s a cocktail party, and it’s full of people dressed in suits and nice dresses. They walk around leisurely, holding champagne glasses, seemingly oblivious to the anarchy happening just above. I see the Mayor of New York City chatting with the Governor, and at least a dozen CEOs from Fortune 500 companies. What is this place?
Not our destination, it seems, as Liz leads me through this room. On the way, I see more prominent government and business leaders whose faces I recognize.
We walk down another flight of stairs. How deep does this place go? I didn’t think New York building codes allowed so many things to be happening in the basement areas. Then again, given the people I just saw, whoever runs this place knows people who can bend the rules if needed.
The activity on this next floor is downright creepy. It’s a masked ball. A bunch of people dressed in cocktail dresses and suits are wearing an assortment of medieval-looking masks. I half-expect to see an orgy or some kind of pagan ritual. Did these people see Eyes Wide Shut one too many times? To my disappointment, this isn’t our destination either. Liz just waltzes right past the masked people.
This is when I realize something. Nobody seems to notice us. They act as though we’re not here. Has someone Guided them to behave in this strange manner? That’s the assumption I have to make.
This new floor features a room that’s noticeably smaller than the others. A bunch of people I don’t recognize are gathered in the center of the room, listening to someone sing. More people are sitting around on comfortable chairs and sofas located on the edges of the room. The place looks like a cross between a lounge and a country club.
To my surprise, I recognize the man singing in the middle of the room. He’s a famous blind opera singer, whose name escapes me at the moment. He has dark bushy hair with some white strands around his face and a white beard. I notice he looks a little fatter than I remember him being.
“We’re here,” Liz whispers in my ear. “Let’s wait for the end of the concert.”
The opera singer is a genius. I am not a connoisseur, but I find the concert extremely moving. Possibly my mental state at the moment—alert anxiety—is a good fit for this sort of music.
When the singing is over and my hands are hurting from enthusiastic clapping, I look around the room. And this is when I get my first shock. There is a man looking intently at me—a man I recognize.
It’s my boss, William Pierce—or Bill, as I call him in my head and behind his back.
He waves at me. When the clapping subsides, I make my way toward him. As I walk, I see him look down at his phone and then look up at me with a smile.
“I don’t know what to say,” I exclaim when I reach him. On instinct, I extend my hand for a handshake. It’s not something I do in the office on a day-to-day basis; in fact, I can only recall shaking his hand twice—one time before and one time after my interview with him—but it just feels right for some reason. It’s like we meet for the first time again.
He shakes my hand with a bemused expression. “Darren, what a pleasant surprise. It’s an interesting coincidence that you’re here now, given that I just received the most interesting email from you about the stock I asked you to research. The write-up is outstanding, as usual, and it’s particularly impressive given that you managed to send the email while listening to the opera with me. Great multitasking. Particularly admirable given that Bert informed me recently that you’d been shot. Most diligent, even for you.”
I am so busted.
“Okay, Bill, I fess up. I might’ve scheduled that email to go out at an opportune moment,” I say, figuring the fact that my boss and I are both Guides changes our professional relationship anyway. And that does seem to be the case—he doesn’t so much as blink at my familiar use of his first name.
“I figured that much. In fact, I’ve been onto this little practice of yours for a while. But so you know, I actually appreciate it—the people you copy on those emails believe that you really are working your ass off, and it sets a good example for them. Along with mitigating the impression they have of you as a slacker. Although I guess that’s not the most important thing to talk about right now, given the circumstances.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” I say. “Did you suspect about me?”
“No. If I’d thought you were one of us, I would’ve brought you into our community a long time ago. Truth be told, I always thought you were one of the other guys. You’re so good at knowing things that I thought you were Leaching the information from the CEOs and other execs I asked you to talk to. Seems like I was wrong. Seems like you’ve come up with some ingenious ways to use the Mind Dimension.”