She moves with a slow curiosity, not wanting to miss anything.
She moves from the dance hall into the next room. In it, spinning and mesmerizing and hypnotizing, is a Merry Go Round. Off to its left is an arcade. NBA Jam and Pac Man and Galaga and The Simpsons and X-Men and Area 51 and Centipede and on and on. On one side of the arcade is a concession stand. There’s free popcorn, cotton candy, pretzels, funnel cakes. It’s an indoor fair.
Lights blinking and games buzzing and beeping and the smells and the pageantry of it all, she’s in a dream. She wanders in and out of the good ole days till she realizes she’s in better ones.
Just beyond the arcade there is a glass door. Through it is a pool area big enough to be called a pool state.
There’s a hot tub the size of a basketball floor. Then the marble, heated, football field sized regular pool filled with spring water from the top of the Rockies.
Outside your normal domestics, imports, reds, whites, and cocktails, the full, open bar that resides poolside has different alcohol infused smoothies from Jamba Juice available.
There are twelve speakers below the water inside the walls of the pool. Inside the house there has been a change in music. Now Daft Punk, Timberlake, and LCD Soundsystem are performing a joint concert that’s being fed through the speakers inside and outside the pool. Mae finds one of the outdoor recliners, takes her shoes off, grabs a smoothie, and relaxes while she listens to the music.
Green Christmas lights line the outer edges of the area and every five feet there stands a man in an orange wetsuit with the word “Funk” on the chest holding a towel, ready to dry off those that emerge from the water.
They perform a medley of their hits. One More Time. My Love. New York, I Love You. It goes for an hour. She keeps sipping and they keep singing and the green lights color her night right and the trickling waterfall a few feet away sets a mood at just a hum below the music seeping out of the speakers. She’s staring at the falling water when she feels a familiar hand on her shoulder.
It’s him, Cole. Again, he doesn’t say a word. He just holds his hand out and she takes it. She rises to her feet and he pulls her close and once more they sway.
The final song of the night is a mashup. that Murphy titles All My Friends Are Taller, Better, Faster, Stronger Senoritas That Have Brought Sexy Back. It lasts for twenty minutes. She doesn’t take her head off his chest for the whole song.
At the end she claps with the rest of the listeners. When the applause dies she turns around. Again, he’s gone.
She looks around. He’s nowhere to be seen.
Then another hand on her shoulder. This one isn’t his. It’s a woman’s. Tan. Yellow hair. About 6’1″. She speaks. A subtle twang in her voice.
“Mr. Cole would like to see you,” she says.
“He can’t tell me himself?” asks Mae.
“Please,” says the woman, “No games.”
“Where does he want to see me?” asks Mae.
The woman turns toward the house.
“Follow me,” she says.