The first couple pages of my nearly-completed novel, ten years in the making:
THE MALIBU EXPERIMENT
One
John Hightower awoke in a pool of cold sweat. The hair on his arms and neck stood at attention, like bristles on a brush. I am being watched, I can feel it, this is the third morning in a row I’ve had this feeling. He looked at the clock on his nightstand, five-fifteen. Tossing on his night-robe, he bounded down the stairs to the main floor of his home and checked the readout on the security system; everything was as it should be. I must have had a bad dream. Odd, though, three mornings in a row.
He turned on the coffeepot and went to the desk in his office, his mind tumbling through various explanations, discarding them as quickly as he thought of them; the feeling of being watched was just too strong. It wasn’t a dream; someone is watching me, following me, studying me, I can feel it in my bones. A shiver coursed through him. Why me? I am a simple home-builder, with no bad habits and no enemies. Who would bother to eavesdrop on my life? I am as interesting as tap water. Ignoring the blinking red light on his answering machine, he watched the news on CNN and sipped at his coffee for several moments, trying to think clearly. This is silly, I have no enemies, and if someone had really tried to break in, the alarm would have told me.
When CNN went to a commercial break, he punched the flashing play button on his answering machine.
John recognized the voice, the call was from Klaus Von Wilhelm, his current client. John built custom homes for a living, and Klaus called at least twice a day, almost always with a new crisis.
“John, you don’t have my roof on yet, and I see on the news that heavy rain is predicted later this week. You need to get your roofers out here today. If my plywood sub-flooring warps, replacing it will be at your expense, not mine. Besides, as you know, the sheetrock is scheduled for delivery tomorrow, and if it gets wet, it will be ruined. Call me as soon as you get this message, we need to have a meeting, I have other things to discuss as well.”
He was quite used to these crisis messages; this was the third home he had built for Klaus, each one twice the size and four times the cost of the previous. He could afford them; as founder, President, and CEO of Moon Macro, Klaus was a billionaire several times over. To Klaus, mansions were as expensive as paper airplanes. He relished the role of tycoon as much as anyone ever did, sometimes even out-doing Larry Ellison for pure chutzpah. But not everything in his life was postcard-perfect; to his great sadness, and John’s, two years ago Klaus’s wife Suzette had suffered spinal-cord damage in an automobile accident and would never walk again. Unlike many people in his position, and much to John’s great respect, Klaus devoted every non-business minute of his life to her; there was no doubt their love was deep and mutual. Shortly after her diagnoses, he had decided to build a new home designed specifically around her needs, a one-floor palace where it would be easy for her to negotiate and maintain a somewhat normal life.
It was not-quite six a.m., too early for John to politely return the call. He sat, detached from his surroundings, his thoughts wandering while he reviewed his daily planner. A sleepy voice brought him back to the here-and-now. His wife, Lisa, half-dressed in a loosely-tied robe and a pajama-top, stood smiling at him from the office doorway, her reddish-blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. “Freshen your coffee, my love?”
John smiled back. “Sure.”
Moments later, she returned. “You’re up early, big day?”
No sense in alarming her. It was probably just an odd dream, anyway. “No, not really. I just felt like getting up, and I’m glad I did. Klaus left a message on the tape, he wants me to drive up to the house and meet with him as soon as I can get there.”
“Something wrong?”
“Just his usual, I’m sure. ‘Get more done faster, but no matter what, take your time and do a good job if you expect me to pay you.’ It’s been three days since our last emergency meeting, I was just beginning to worry about him, maybe the real Klaus had been kidnapped and replaced by some candy-assed impostor, you know?” John winked with playfulness.
Her face brightened. “Klaus can wait. Let’s pack our bags and go to Hawaii.”
“Somehow, I thought you might say that. Let me get his house watertight before winter really hits. We’ll plan a trip right after Christmas.”
She faked a pout and planted her hands on her hips in a mock battle pose. “I meant today, right now. We could be in the air by noon and in our hotel by dinnertime. Warm tropical breezes, whales spouting in the distance, Mai-Tais while watching the sun set….” Her green eyes sparkled with life.
“Good idea! I’ll pack my clubs while you pack our clothes.” John stood and swung an imaginary club. ”Golfing at Hanalei…”
She faked another pout and threw her hands over her head in theatrical agony. “Men and golf! What did woman-kind ever do to deserve this, especially me?”
Dan the hack
