Deus ex Helicoptera
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Author Archives: BixoBrat Bixogen
Rupert Contemplates His Mortality
“I’m worried about my mortality,” Rupert Madasheck said with a moan. He looked down at his feet. “Ever since the biotech world started banging on our door about that penis size study, [1] I can’t tell if it’s the beginning or the end.”
“Well, Cappuccino Pharmaceuticals is part of PNAS Productions after the reverse merger,” George Contenumbaes pointed out. [2] “It’s only natural some reporters would call us instead of PNAS the science journal.”
Rupert held his phone over his arm for a second, then held it over his cheek. Betty tapped her pen on the conference table and asked, “Rupert, what are you doing now? If you are cracking up, then we need to start searching for a new CEO.”
Rupert put his phone down and said, “I’m checking for skin cancer. I don’t want to be surprised as I get older.”
Betty looked at George and raised her eyebrows. George said, “It’s called teledermatology. An app will analyze skin lesions and figure out if any are cancerous.”
Betty swiveled to face a new face in the room. “You must be Mantissa Polatis, our newest VP of Research. What do you know about this?”
Mantissa turned white as a sheet. “I…that is…those don’t work very well. But the phone is always right there in your hand, so no one can resist checking.”
Betty narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so pale? Are you afraid of saying something wrong?”
Mantissa began to shiver. “Well, yes, I’m the third VP of Research this month and…” She ceased talking and eyed the door.
Betty rolled back in her chair and laughed. “It’s not as if we dumped people in the street every day. We are not like Mylan, you know.”
“Or like Alkermes,” Rupert said.
“Or Bistol-Myers Squibb,” George said. “Or Unigene, come to think of it. Or maybe Merck.”
“It’s OK, Mantissa, you can tell them. Or maybe I should,” Rupert said. He turned to address the Board of Directors. “I asked Dr. Polatis to the Board meeting to tell us what’s the latest buzz. So to speak.”
“There was a study on the health benefits of a vibrating platform for geriatric patients,” Mantissa said. [3] “Dr. Madasheck wanted to know if we should have a platform installed in the company’s fitness room.”
“Doctor?” Betty asked. “If Rupert is a doctor, then I’m the Queen of Mars.”
“Fitness room?” George asked. “We have a fitness room?”
“It seems the best solution is to replace office chairs with vibrating seats,” Mantissa said. “The study was inconclusive, no one in the entire company uses the fitness room, and Dr. – Mr. Madasheck said he’d rather have a vibrating seat.”
Betty stared at Rupert with narrow slitted eyes. “Oh really? And seat strong enough for two?”
Rupert’s eyebrows went up in a picture of innocence. “Well, I can’t be the only one here trying to stay as young as I can for as long as I can.”
Size Matters, Says PNAS
Rupert heard hoots of laughter from the boardroom as he approached from his office. As he entered, Betty said, “Of course it matters, we all know that.” The others gathered around the table laughed.
Rupert said, “Ms. Lidalot, as Chair of this corporation, you should display a much more sober attitude before the Board.”
“Well, that’s about the size of it,” said CFO George Contenumbaes. The others, including Betty, snickered and stifled giggles.
“Something is going on here,” Rupert said. “Why is it the CEO is always the last to know? So let’s hear it.”
Felicity Short, the Director from LotzMooreLute Capital, pushed a journal down the table and said, “It looks like that stuffy old National Academy of Sciences has people with a sense of humor after all. Check out the bookmarked page.”
Rupert found the page, scanned the large-print title, and gasped. It read, ‘Penis size interacts with body shape and height to influence male attractiveness.’ [1]
Betty said, “The National Academy is a very serious organization, charged with providing scientific leadership for the country. The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences is a serious and prestigious journal. But their website does exhort you to add ‘PNAS Direct to Your Inbox.’ Doesn’t that sound a bit rude?”
“Well, there must be a potent evolutionary motivation at work,” said Ima Punk.
“What does any of this have to do with biotechnology?” Rupert asked. “Must we behave like middle schoolers?”
“We must understand the wants and needs of our customers,” said Betty.
Reference:
http://www.nbcnews.com/id/51469938/ns/health-mens_health/#.UWM4jxmC3bw
Superman Sees Your Superbugs
“What you are telling me is that X-ray specs actually work,” said Rupert.
“Well, yes, if you put it that way. Light does pass into and out of the body,” said the young woman with the large Visitor badge. “Our company has followed up research from the Imperial College in London, which monitored the path of bacterial infection by scanning patients in the dark.”
“To be precise,” her older gentleman companion said, “the patients were mice infected with a light-generating bacterium. We intend to use human patients.”
“And you claim you can watch this infection in 3D and in real time,” Rupert said.
“Yes,” both visitors said.
The gentleman said, “What we propose here, Mr. Madasheck, is a partnership where we provide the way for you to monitor your clinical trials by literally watching how your drug works.”
“I can adapt this system to any infection you plan to treat,” the woman said. “The patient must stay in a completely dark chamber during the scan. But I assure you, bacteria emit enough light that passes through the body and you can make videos of it. I have also followed up earlier work that used natural bacteria in yogurt.”
“Now we can study what happens when you treat drug-resistant superbugs,” the gentleman said. “We believe Cappuccino Pharmaceuticals can make amazing breakthroughs when it no longer needs to guess what is happening.”
Rupert pondered the proposition and looked back and forth from one visitor to the other. Finally, he said, “Amazing. We of course would own the film rights, yes?”
**** **** ****
Meanwhile, Betty Lidalot strolled through the third floor clothing collections of Bergdorf Goodman when she recognized the pregnant supermodel Kim Kevorkian surrounded by a posse of handlers. Kim sported what looked like a pair of headlights strapped to her belly with the beams of light pointing inwards. Unable to resist, Betty introduced herself and asked, “Can you tell me about this device? I’ve never seen anything like it, at least not strapped so low.”
Kim grinned and patted the headlights affectionately. “You remember back when women wore headphones on their bellies to pipe in Mozart and make their children into geniuses? Well, now we beam light into them.”
One of Kim’s handlers stepped forward to block Betty’s approach and said, “Ma’am, Ms. Kevorkian keeps up to date with research that body-penetrating light helps the eyes develop. Fact.”
Betty stepped back and stared at him. “Fact? Where was this ‘research’ done?”
“UC San Francisco and Cincinnati Children’s Hospital, ma’am,” said the handler. “We might prevent eye diseases by making sure women get plenty of direct light. That activates some protein called melanopsin. But you want the right kind of light, not just flashing glitter.”
“I’m designing my own line of lamps so you can light up your baby’s life,” Kim said as her retinue moved on.
Later that day, Kim passed close to a glittering disco mirror ball…
Yes, I have sources!
And If the Shoe Doesn’t Fit…
Betty Lidalot considers the idea of stiletto surgery:
“There must be a better way to wear heels like those. I’m not quite a ballerina, so I can’t stand on just my toes.”
Carla DuCansa looked up from trying on a pair of Nicholas Kirkwood black satin pumps with 5” heels and crystal platforms. “You had any bunions removed already?”
“Of course,” said Betty. “That was the obvious first step. The biomedical industry should be able to put its vast resources on to this problem.
Carla waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, long ago. First there was the collagen injection into the ball of your foot.” She lifted up her leg and pointed to it. “I had that done ages ago. Now it’s like I’m walking around on pillows.”
Betty closed her eyes dreamily. “That sounds wonderful. Is that why you wear those stilt heels all day every day?”
“Oh, no, there is more to it. I needed to have my toes shortened.”
Betty’s eyes flew open. “You shortened your toes? Why?”
“It’s not as if the shoe industry did us any favors,” Carla said. “They still refuse to design a single comfortable shoe, or one that fits. So I needed to make my foot fit the shoe. Who needs a lifetime of pinched nerves?” She stood up and pirouetted on the toe of one shoe.
“Amazing,” Betty breathed. “You look as though you could fly. Is it worth the surgery?”
“Not yet,” Carla said as she descended from the heights of her heels. “Not until I did Deep Pink.”
“Toenail polish?” Betty guessed.
“It’s where they remove the pinky toe altogether,” Carla said. “Then all those shoes you always love fit perfectly. Like my Louboutin Corsetica red sandals.”
“My favorite shoes,” Betty said. “To look at, anyway. I can’t imagine how you wear them all day. So you think the Deep Pink surgery was worth it?”
“I’ve never felt this good about any surgery I’ve ever had done. If it’s vain, it’s vain. But…” Carla looked at the shoes on her feet. “They seem to stop at five and a half inch heels. Anything taller, and they add a platform. Why can’t I get a good seven inch heel – or no heel at all. There is a clinic that will fuse your ankle and remove all those ugly toes. Then you can tiptoe around as the most elegant ballerina you ever saw. Add a platform box toe, and you can tower anyone in the room.”
Carla pirouetted on the heel of her right shoe, then on the toe of her left shoe. “And it’s a market opportunity.” She coasted to a halt, then sat down daintily.
“What’s the opportunity?” asked Betty.
“My dear, we make medical devices,” said Carla. “You know, like wheelchairs and walkers. As we all age, we will need something more fashionable than Granny’s towel rack. As these foot surgeries become more popular, we must prepare an equally fashionable walker. And I, my dear, will be ready.”
“Is this about the new TV show you mentioned?”
“Yes, we take away Granny’s towel rack with its hideous and tacky tennis balls on the feet. We trick it out into something you can be proud of.”
“What’s the name of the show?” Betty asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.
Carla smiled coyly. “Pimp My Walker.”
Placebo Takes The Heat
“I hate providing quotes for press releases,” said Rupert.
“Every company CEO needs to say something profound when the company makes headlines,” Betty said. “Especially two headlines in one day. Don’t worry, your Marketing VP, what was his name?”
“Marky Marketeer,” Rupert said as he stared at the ground. “I hope he changes his name soon.”
“Marky. Yes. Don’t worry, he can create a quote for you. It’s not like anyone ever actually said that stuff in the news.”
“Yes, but this isn’t my fault,” said Rupert.
“Oh, Rupert, placebo effects are nobody’s fault. They just…happen. Do you know how you are going to spin this one?”
“Well, you have to wonder why someone would keep taking a drug for three whole years if there’s no improvement. Calmidizole and all those anti-depressants take a while to act, but not that long.”
Betty gasped. “Three years? If it doesn’t help, what doctor would keep prescribing it? Whatever it is. And it’s already FDA approved, so what is the lawsuit?”
“Oh, some dumb broad thinks -”
“Rupert!” Betty glared with fierce, burning eyes.
Rupert looked around, checked his zipper, then glanced back at Betty. “What?”
“What was that sensitivity training lecture I gave you this morning?”
Rupert’s eyes focused. “Oh. That. Sorry, and I will never use the word ‘sideboob’ again.” He inhaled deeply. “Anyway. So she claims the drug should be off the market because it didn’t help her personally. If that is OK, then who needs an FDA? Every drug will fail with somebody, so there’d be no drugs. We think the court will toss it out.”
“It just better,” said Betty. “Now. What happened with your clinical trial? You know, the cancer one.”
“Prostate cancer is nasty,” Rupert said. “Just about any drug helps only a small percent, and ThermoNu-Q-LRx should do just that. It just helped a smaller percent than normal – and the placebo helped a larger percent than normal.” He moaned for the tenth time that hour. “Our stock dropped 97% to a buck, and Rotten Capital downgraded our stock.”
He moaned yet again. “What kind of quote do I give? Something like, ‘Sorry to waste all our investors’ funds, it doesn’t work’ or what?”
Betty grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “First, quit whining. Second, try something like ‘We notice this subset of patients did improve, and we intend to discuss this with the FDA.’ Never give up. Never.”
Rupert’s eyes focused. “I’m not giving up. ThermoNu-Q-LRx needs to be activated by radiation, and that seems to work. All of the treatment patients had brighter teeth, even if they still had cancer. When we started developing the drug, we put patients in front of a color TV. Now we need to point the radioactivity at the patient bone metastases. You know, those painful little arrowheads that show up on elbows and knees.”
Betty gasped again and covered her mouth. “You pointed radioactivity at their bones? Rupert, did you give these patients bone cancer?” She twisted her face into a sarcastic smirk. “I’m sure that will send your stock into outer space.”
“Oh,” said Rupert. “Um…could I quote you on that?”
Sources of inspiration:
BioBonds for Research
Rupert hates talking to scientists. Pharmaceuticals are all about business, not science. Aren’t they? Yet here he was in his corner office cornered by two lab coats with nerds inside each. He sighed and waved them both to the one chair in the room. “Get on with it,” he said impatiently. “What did you need to discuss that our Chief Scientific Officer couldn’t handle?”
“It’s about financing our research,” said Nerd #1.
“Oh,” said Rupert. “Then you should talk to our CFO.”
“We did,” said Nerd #2. “He was so excited, he sent us here right away. It’s about how football stadiums get built.”
“Stadia,” said Nerd #1. “One stadium, two stadia.”
Nerd #2 wrote a note to himself, then said, “We want to offer research bonds as investments. There’s already a research-focused pension fund in Australia.”
Rupert grunted. “Research. Isn’t that what NIH is supposed to fund? We can’t afford to waste our money on so many dead ends. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of cutting back R&D like AstraZeneca did. I told you guys, stop doing experiments that fail! Just do the ones that work.”
Nerd #1 said, “We don’t know which will work until we try them. Think how many retirement funds and 401(k)s would buy bonds to support Alzheimer’s research…while they still can.”
Rupert swiveled his chair and stared out the window. “Hmmmm,” he said.
Source of Inspiration: http://tinyurl.com/cn3zbqq
Funding Gets a Kick in the Pants
Rupert gets a call from crack(ed) fundraiser Frida de Thirteenth, who has a great idea. “Surely you have heard of Kickstarter?” she says. “Cappuccino Pharmaceuticals can raise money for drug development and clinical trials.”
“But Kickstarter is where people donate, not invest,” Rupert says. “It’s enough to start up and do some limited project. Who would just give us millions of dollars for a clinical trial?”
“Frida understands your confusion,” says Frida. “That’s why KickPantser exists.”
“Ki – What kind of name is KickPantser?”
“KickPantser is to sustain an ongoing concern through gifts,” Frida says. Cappuccino must donate millions to a central funding organization. They in turn give grants for development and clinical trials. To Cappuccino.”
“Hmmm…” Rupert ponders the idea.
Episode 29: Vivian Visits (Part 2)
“I trust you are not simply changing the subject,” Maybelle said.
“I hope I can,” said Rupert. “I mean: No, this is quite relevant. Indiscretions. Alas, in this case it started with one of mine. My one. Indiscretion. Yes, I was indiscrete in promoting our new Marketing Vice President.”
Vivian looked at her wrist and blinked. “Oh,” she said as she pulled out her phone. “I keep forgetting that I stopped wearing a watch years ago. Anyway, will this take long?”
Rupert looked at the 18K rose gold Ulysse Nardin Marine Limited Edition chronometer on his wrist. Maybelle examined the Omega Ladies Constellation Small Seconds Chronometer Limited Edition watch on her wrist. They both looked at Vivian’s phone, then at each other. Vivian looked up at them from her phone. “What?” she asked.
Rupert cleared his throat. “Let me tell this story since I mentioned it.” He told them about Dr. Buttinsky’s poorly conceived therapeutic project and of Marlene’s clever and innovative presentation. “Clearly, if she can make a garden of such muck, she could do wonders with our best products,” he said. “So I promoted her out of the Research group to Vice President of Marketing to give her the opportunity to shine.”
Maybelle’s eyes glazed over. “Bully for you. Not all promotions work out. What else is new?”
“What’s new is she treated our sales reps like cricket balls,” Rupert said. “I didn’t find out the situation until the lawsuit was already filed.” Maybelle and Vivian sat up abruptly.
“Sales reps?” asked Vivian. “Isn’t Marketing separate from Sales?”
“Ah,” said Rupert. “It seems our current Vice President of Sales recognized a rising star and latched on for the ride.”
“So two people scheming, he and she,” said Maybelle. “What about that cricket ball?”
Rupert rested his chin on his folded hands and spoke slowly. “It started as if he made 155 not out and she was unbeaten on 116 as they made a fifth-wicket stand of 203 to take our team to a first innings total of 570 for four declared just in time for tea.”
Vivian and Maybelle stared blankly at him.
Rupert inhaled. “Then this disgruntled sales rep took a wicket off his first over when he bowled with a flighted delivery for 13.”
“What?” Vivian asked. Maybelle’s mouth dropped open.
“Don’t you see?” Rupert asked. “Our disgruntled rep struck nine fours in his 193-ball innings for his century.”
Maybelle started tugging at her hair. “Rupert. You know cricket makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. And neither do you. Tell us what happened or shut up.”
Rupert looked hurt. “Cricket. It’s played around the world. It explains so much about life and…” His voice trailed off and he looked at Vivian. She frowned at him and glared.
“Soccer,” Rupert said. “What about soccer? Does anyone know what a soccer ball is?”
Vivian and Maybelle relaxed. “Yes,” Maybelle said, “we know what a soccer ball is. It’s round.”
Rupert held up a finger. “Yes,” he said. “Now what if you were treated like one?”
“Kicked around, you mean?” asked Vivian.
Rupert spread his arms wide. “Yes, exactly. So my two rising genius VPs started treating the reps like soccer balls. You know. A soccer ball just sits there until you haul off and kick it.” His eyes passed between his two intent listeners. “And after a while, the ball stops rolling. So you kick it again. If it goes flat, get a new soccer ball.”
“That’s it, is it?” asked Vivian. “That’s the analogy?”
“Um. Yes. That’s the – that’s the analogy.”
“Oh. Ha ha ha, how witty,” Vivian said with a totally deadpan expression. “Sounds like Management having an average day.”
“Apparently Marlene felt free to download all sorts of studies off the Internet, and insisted the sales reps do likewise. That means for FDA-approved uses.” He paused. “And any off-label things some researcher somewhere might care to try. The Sales VP, a guy named Billy Smiler, thought this was a good idea.”
“I do, too,” said Vivian. “But I assume it doesn’t work that way in pharma.”
“No, there are all sorts of regulations about sales rep behavior,” Rupert said. “They can give clients only the sanctioned studies that discuss approved uses for drugs. Never off-label stuff.”
“You said that you lifted her from Research,” Maybelle said. “So of course you explained the new legal requirements for her new department, right?” Rupert raised his hand to his mouth but stayed silent. Maybelle continued, “Or she had years of experience in Sales somewhere else?”
“Um,” said Rupert. “She came up with clever marketing phrases.” He looked down at the floor.
“Clever. Clever marketing phrases,” Maybelle said. “And this Billy Smiler, the guy actually responsible for the sales team, he just let all this slide past?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” said Rupert. “He actively encouraged it.”
“Okay, so they downloaded stuff off the Internet,” Vivian said. “Anyone could do that. Anything else?”
“Well, Billy hired newbies, people who had never sold anything to anyone before,” Rupert said. “The lawsuit claims any sales rep with real experience would know the partying was unethical.”
“What partying?” Maybelle asked. “Were you at any of those?”
Rupert blinked. “Me? No one ever invited me to – no, I was never involved in this stuff.” He looked at his hands. “Too bad, some really nice restaurants. Each rep had a quarter million to spend per year on medical education programs. Apparently the only education doctors got was that food is good medicine. Especially dessert and wine.”
Maybelle clapped her hands together with a gunshot report. “Aren’t there states with laws against goodies to doctors?”
Rupert gave a wide-eyed stare of feigned wisdom. “Ah, but they let you bring meals to the doctor’s office. So just ask for meals to go. They go from kitchen to table, maybe twenty feet away. Spending too much per doctor according to state laws? Claim another hundred doctors stopped by.” He rolled his eyes and looked out the window towards the Pacific Ocean. “Then there was the guest speaker they brought in to talk about how doctors could increase reimbursements while avoiding jail time. Oh, just Google ‘increase revenue decrease jail time’ and see.”
Vivian lifted her phone and poked at it. After a few seconds, she said, “Oh, my.”
“And the golf and hunting trips,” Rupert said.
“Okay, dear, we get the picture,” Maybelle said.
“And the honey-baked hams and bottles of wine.”
“Alright, dear.” Maybelle looked at her watch. “It’s frightfully boring and repetitious. I’m sure you’ll tell us about tickets to basketball games and such.”
Rupert looked up in surprise. “How did you know?” He looked down again. “It gets worse. I just heard our defense lawyers took it upon themselves to try a new line of questioning the plaintiffs. It’s right there from the Superior Court of New Jersey. If you Google ‘deposition anal sex catholic mass,’ you’ll see what I mean.”
Vivian gasped. Maybelle said, “Anal se – Rupert!”
Rupert clutched his head. “I know, I know. It almost worked for a Big Pharma company, someone thought it might work for us.” He pictured himself sitting in his office clutching the phone and saying, “It’s a crazy idea but it just might work.”
“Apparently there was a party for sales reps,” Rupert said. “I wasn’t invited. There was a hotel swimming pool involved. It seems tuxedos and swimming pools are a bad mix. Add in vodka shots and people throwing dishes out the window and burning the drapes in the fireplace. This Billy Smiler put the moves on some of the reps, groping and grabbing.” Rupert looked up. “He told the rep that’s the way it is at Cappuccino, and she’d better get used to it.” He clutched his head and groaned. “Sales tripled that year. But. But. We need a whole new Sales department.”
“So was this Marlene of yours involved?” Maybelle asked, still waving the riding crop.
Rupert looked up. “Marlene. Ah. Yes. She and this Billy, they um.” He paused, then went on. “There was a convention, some international conference. She and Billy had a doctors’ presentation over a dinner in some fancy restaurant. Then, after midnight, they went to some loud party bar with a live band. Some other doctors were there and watched these two get drunk. Marlene got on stage with the band and danced until they tossed her out of the bar.” Rupert shook his head. “In front of all those docs.
Vivian rolled her eyes and lifted her phone. “Let me guess. I just Google “vodka shots bar dancing” and I’ll find it made headlines.”
Rupert clutched his head in his hands. “Then there was a contract clinical researcher somewhere in the U.K. working on one of our drugs, to show if it was worth doing a clinical trial. Turns out he diddled with the data so it looked like some animal experiment worked when it had failed.” He let out a moan. “This guy was one of the first people to be caught violating the U.K.’s Good Laboratory Practice law.” Rupert looked up. “At least he wasn’t the first! Someone in Scotland beat him to it, screwing up a Roche study and maybe lots more.”
“People crack under the pressure, dear,” Maybelle said.
“Yes, that’s what causes indiscretions,” said Rupert. “I think I’m cracking. Bad choice in promoting someone, and bad luck. I need better luck.”
As he said this, he noticed that Vivian had frozen with a look of terror. He heard the roar of a helicopter as it passed overhead and flew away.
Rupert said, “Helicopter,” and thought again of the National Guard helicopter that buzzed his apartment in Silverlake.
“Helicopter,” said Vivian as she thought again of her jealous ex-boyfriend.
“Helicopter,” said Maybelle as she thought again of the helicopter that buzzed the MadaShack. “Well. It’s gone now. And I must go, too.”
Maybelle reassured Vivian that her consultations would find a way to raise funds for Vivian’s enterprise. Maybelle looked over at Rupert. “I do know at least one sugar daddy who will be glad to invest.”
The squawkbox in the hallway beeped and a voice said, “Good day, Mr. Madasheck, I’m here to exchange your out-of-fashion automotive device with your new Lamborghini Veneno.”
Rupert turned to the squawkbox interruption and said, “Nonsense, there were only three of those made. Four million bucks and only 750 horsepower. Where’s my Ferrari?”
“Ha ha, that is our little joke. Yes I have your Ferrari LaFerrari. Seven hundred forty-nine horsepower waiting for your command. And of course only one million, er, bucks. You could buy two more for the price of our competitor.”
Rupert stood up and edged past Maybelle. “Yes, I’m sure we can arrange something to help Ms. – um, Ms. Spitfire here attain her goals,” he said. “Now I really must meet this gentleman to see about exchanging the Tesla.”
Maybelle’s eyes widened. “I thought you liked that car.”
“I do,” said Rupert. “But I may be a customer of Elon Musk’s other company.”
Vivian asked, “What other company? Isn’t one exotic car company enough?”
Rupert sighed. “Oh, not at all. Nothing is ever enough. He is also CEO of Space Exploration Technologies. Musk plans to start a Mars colony by selling 80,000 tickets for $500,000 a shot. So I bought the LaFerrari and still have enough left over to afford Mars.”
“Oh?” Maybelle asked. “Were you planning to send me on a one-way trip, or try to escape yourself?”
“Maybe Musk plans to set up solar panels on Mars as recharging stations for his Teslas,” Vivian said. “The ones he’ll sell on Mars at the planet’s only car dealership.”
“This could be the way people on Earth cash in and get out,” Rupert said. “Martian law is whatever the first colonists say it is. It could be Ayn Rand’s Galt’s Gulch.” He paused and scratched his chin. “Or it could be the prison for people too powerful to prosecute.”
Rupert eased out of the room and towards the door to the garage. Vivian got up and strode to intercept him in the kitchen. He turned to meet her gaze as she stood silently. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she blinked back tears.
“Alright already,” Rupert said. “Why is it I never heard from you for all this time? Why did you come now?”
“I’ve been busy,” Vivian said as she stared at her shoes.
“Busy,” Rupert said. “Busy doing what?”
Vivian sighed and looked straight at him. “Busy giving birth.”
Stay tuned to find out next time:
-
Does Vivian really carry Rupert’s love child?
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Will Vivian get a genetic profile done? Or did she already?
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Will Rupert wish he were on Mars very very soon?
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Will pharmaceutical reps ever stop trying to circumvent the rules against bribing doctors to prescribe certain drugs?
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And what about that pesky helicopter?
Episode 28: Vivian Visits (Part 1)
“I don’t want to do this,” Vivian Spitfire thought as she leaned out of her Beetle Cabriolet 50s Edition and her finger reached for the CALL button. Her mind reeled from the spinning thoughts of looming unemployment, her jealous ex-boyfriend with a mean streak, her own horror, and the medical crises that swept over her.
She felt very small in this Malibu enclave filled with rich people suing each other over everything and nothing. Her eyes swept up to the wrought iron fence ten feet ahead with its sign that proclaimed ‘MadaShack’ and barred her way. A gentle voice said, “Speak, friend.”
Vivian leaned towards the speaker and said, “Hi, I’m Vivian, here to see Maybelle Madasheck?” The gates of the iron fence swung towards her with a soft whisper. She drove into the circular courtyard and around the bubbling fountain to the large double doors of iron-banded oak. The gates swung shut, cutting off her urge to flee. She half expected to see a liveried servant appear to open her car door, but the courtyard remained silent. “Well,” she thought, “it’s showtime.” She inhaled, put on a pair of glasses, and stepped out of the car.
Minutes later, she sat in the Madashecks’ drawing room and wondered how anyone could draw there. She saw no desks or tables, and it looked like no place for an artist to wield a brush. The furniture resembled a museum display, yet she set off no alarms as she sat on a delicate antique from another continent and another century. Still, she feared that any movement would cause the flimsy construction to splinter and drop her to the thick Persian carpet.
Maybelle sat in a much sturdier overstuffed Morris chair, breathing hard. “I must say, you did give me a shock, my dear. I am not at all sure from where, but I have indeed seen you before.” She looked over Vivian’s shoulder to her own computer screen in the next room. Vivian’s face bounced gently around the screen. She thought of Vivian’s other face bouncing around Rupert’s computer screen in his own separate office. “How did those screensavers get there?” she wondered.
“I know Rupert,” Vivian said, “but I do not think we’ve met before. I started my own software company but I’ve almost run through my own funds.” She thought of the box of Me&Ro 18 karat gold Indian diamond drop earrings that Rupert gave her long ago.[1] “Now I need more funding so…I visited. I was recommended to your consulting firm, called for an appointment, and here I am.”
Maybelle said, “We have some time before Rupert sneaks in. He drives a Tesla so he will just suddenly appear at any moment. So tell me what brings you here. I believe I suspect, but I’d rather hear your story than speculate.”
“Do you suspect?” Vivian asked. She lifted her glasses, then dropped them back on her nose. “Ah, it must be the blue blood. Oh, there it is, some red heat.”
Maybelle felt color rising up her cheeks. “What do you mean? What red heat?”
Vivian took off her glasses and held them up. “These render the world as a heat map. Cooler temperatures are blue, and hot things are red.”
Maybelle sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m sure that’s very clever, my dear. Is this your invention that you want to sell? Do you need my advice on marketing? All well and good, but what is this business about Rupert? He knows nothing about marketing.”
Vivian pulled a glasses case out and held it for Maybelle. “If you watch the human face, you see the same thing. Normally blue and green for calm and collected people.”
“Oh, well, that’s different,” Maybelle said. “A cute party trick.”
“And red as people flush. You know, when they lie.”
Maybelle froze. “Could. Could I. Could I borrow a pair? I might have a use for these.”
Vivian relaxed. “Yes, I’m sure you might.”
**
“Hooray, I made it home without the car running out of juice,” Rupert said as he came through the kitchen door from the garage. “I think the secret is not to drive a Tesla in a blizzard. The New York Times and Tesla’s executives should keep that in mind next time they want to get into an argument about car performance. Is the housekeeper here? I saw some kind of car in the courtyard.”
As Rupert stepped into the drawing room, his face lit up. “Vivian,” he said with scarce-concealed joy. “I never thought I’d see you again.” He broke off when he realized that Maybelle sat in a chair by the door. She had a long riding crop in her hand, and she sat between him and the only exit.
“Rupert,” Maybelle said, “do join us. I was just having a chat with Ms. Spitfire here. A delightful woman of business. She tells me that she admires you as a man of business.” She smiled. Rupert smiled. “Monkey business.” She smiled. Rupert didn’t.
“I must recommend my new optometrist to all my friends,” Maybelle said as she turned to Vivian. “I can see so well in the…heat of the moment.” She turned back to Rupert. “Ms. Spitfire has some matters of business, some questions to ask you.”
“Who’s my mother?” Vivian asked.
Rupert said, “Why, Eimagoinne Comatosa, of course. Now she calls herself Emma. Just Emma.” He blinked twice. “Yes, I knew her so long ago. Why do you ask?” He looked at Maybelle and her riding crop.
“And who is my father?”
Rupert stuttered and stared at his hands, then looked at the doorway and at Maybelle’s riding crop. His eyes flickered towards the window, then back at his hands. “Um,” he said.
Maybelle looked at the riding crop she held tightly. “You used to like this. Very much. Does it bother you now?”
Rupert narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening me with that stick? Why?”
Maybelle petted the riding crop gently. “Threaten? No, no. I’d love to tell our guest how much you like this. Shall I? Or can you tell us who is Vivian’s father? Perhaps there was some ‘youthful indiscretion’ involved, hmm?”
“Um, yes,” Rupert said. “Youthful indiscretions were made. As they have been and always will be. It’s the human condition.”
Maybelle and Vivian gazed at Rupert for a moment. “Ah, Mr. Blue-blood, admit nothing,” said Maybelle. “Have any indiscretions been made lately?” Rupert began to turn red, but did not answer. Maybelle asked, “Would any indiscretions involve Vivian here?”
Rupert turned so red that the heatmap glasses nearly burned out. “I didn’t know we were related!” he shouted.
“So,” Maybelle said, “there were some indiscretions, Mr. Redface?”
Rupert’s face went blank. “Redface?” he asked. Silence. “Mr. Redface? Is that the father who wouldn’t go to Canada with you during one particular Spring Break?”
Maybelle gasped. “No. He was Mr. Redfern. Horace Redfe-” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Rupert glared at her and went on. “How about the Aussies who serenaded you with a song they called ‘Bouncing Matilda’? Shall I sing it for us?”
Maybelle made some strange vocal noises, then popped something into her mouth. She looked up and saw both Rupert and Vivian staring at her. “It’s my. It’s medi-meh-medicine,” she said. “Called Sirna ShuttheFoxup.”
There was a pause of silence and Rupert blinked. “Called what?” he asked. “Fox as in shut up Fox Ne-”
“Fox as in Foxp2 protein,” Vivian said. “Don’t you keep up with the news? Foxp2 is the language protein. Shut down production and you become less talkative.”
Maybelle turned bright red. “I believe it helps me not say regrettable things.” She held up a capsule. “This is filled with nanny particles.”
“Nanoparticles,” Vivian said. “It beats the original work, needle injections into the brain.”
“Ugh.” Rupert scratched his head and spoke carefully, a word or two at a time. “So, if you stop this, um, Foxp2, you don’t talk as much. Can you turn it up?”
Vivian looked at him warily. “Yes, you can take Sirna FoxPlease for the opposite effect. Why?”
Rupert squinted and looked around the room. “Does the CIA know about this?”
Maybelle roared. “The CIA or somebody knows about this.” She held up a large photo of Rupert and Vivian sitting on a balcony. “Tell me more about these not-so-youthful indiscretions.”
Rupert said, “Helicopter,” and thought of the National Guard helicopter that buzzed his apartment in Silverlake. His not-so-secret apartment.
“Helicopter,” said Vivian as she thought of her jealous ex-boyfriend.
“Helicopter,” said Maybelle as she thought of the helicopter that buzzed the MadaShack during the Malibu Fire/Mudslide/Earthquake.[2]
“It might seem indiscrete, but I was getting re-acquainted with my long-lost daughter,” Rupert said. “Nothing more.”
“Nothing more, Pinocchio?” Maybelle asked. “I believe I’m seeing red.”
“Certainly nothing more than your own visit with that Horrible Redface guy who popped up again not so long ago,” Rupert said.
Rupert did not need heatmap glasses to see Maybelle turn red. She said, “Horace Redfern stopped by to apologize for his own indiscretions back in our college days.”
Vivian saw two very bright red people through her glasses. “Well, I call it a draw here,” she said. “I see indiscretions on everyone’s part.”
“Well, they were long ago and they weren’t as bad as our recent Marketing department debacle. I had to sack the whole lot of them.” He slumped into a chair and muttered. “Alcohol does strange things to people’s judgment. And vodka seems to be the worst.”