Chapter Thirteen
Dorina told herself, while she showered and later put on makeup, that she could make it through that Friday. She would while away the day on ad schmoozing and layout.
When she was in college, she had learned about lucid dreaming in an elective course she’d taken entitled “Practical Psychology.” It was the art of being aware of your dream, aware that you are dreaming, in the middle of a dream. As an active participant in the dreaming world, it was much easier to enjoy the beautiful vistas or remember the unusual symbols and decode the nocturnal language.
The author of the text they’d studied seemed to think that it had myriad uses. Events you are anticipating with dread, he said, such as a confrontation with a spouse or other loved one, a difficult problem at work or serious health issues can play out in the dreaming world in a wide variety of scenarios. A desire to fly, for example, might signal that the impetus was needed to make large changes in one’s career path or social life. A dead-end job or a non-enthusiastic, non-stimulating romantic partner could mire a person down in mediocrity. The ability to break free of gravity during a dream by flying played out the desire to rise above this mediocrity.
The whole key to learning how to lucid dream was to become adept at telling the difference between the waking world and a dream. If a dog on a leash floats above the ground behind its owner instead of walking on it, then that was one cue. Keeping a sleep journal was another method. When, upon awakening, you write down the content of your dream that you remember, before long patterns will arise and the conscious mind will recognize these patterns, even while dreaming.
There were also gadgets that could help someone recognize the dreaming world. One of them was a contraption that at first glance looked like an old-fashioned sleep mask. A tiny pattern of lights was imbedded in the fabric, however and it would intermittently fire at several times during the night. If someone was sleeping and in the middle of a dream and they saw the lights blink on and off, this was another cue they were involved in a dream. They would then gain lucidity and become an active participant in the dream world.
Dorina looked closely at her reflection in the mirror. Last night’s bizarre dream had occurred during end stage sleep, just before her alarm went off. The instructor had told his class that the most vivid dreams often occurred during this time. She had somehow traveled back in time two-fold. First, she became an eight year old girl again and there was no question she was in a smaller body. She had to reach up to open the doorknob of Jacy’s house, and all adults towered over her.
Secondly, she had apparently traveled back in time to the 1940's because of the discussion about the Second World War and the radio as a focal point of the living room. Finally, there was no question that the other little girl was a young Jacy Rayner. What did it all mean?As she looked at her hair, tousled from the night’s sleep and the faint puffiness of her eyes, it was amazing that she could re-inhabit her adult body in an instant. Of course, that’s how dreams were. What could cause her to have a dream about being Jacy Rayner’s childhood playmate, though? While she had been in the house, she hadn’t seen any old photos on the wall of what Jacy looked like as a child, and she doubted that her imagination was strong enough to conjure up a likeness so profound. Yet all her life teachers, her mother, and even a youth minister had told her that she had a keen, beautiful mind and that she ought to use it.
Suddenly she realized that she had been entranced, standing in front of the bathroom mirror holding a toner-saturated cotton ball. She shook her head, as if reset her for living in the waking world and went into the kitchen. There was a Goofy glass in the refrigerator that once held grape jelly but now was empty and served as a glass holder for two spoons. She took the spoons out of the glass and held them by the stems, placing the curved metal of the business end against each eye, covering them. It was a trick she’d learned in a beauty book. The cold metal placed against her eyelid would not only help her wake up but it would also soothe her eye puffiness. She would hold the spoons against her eyes for a count of fifteen seconds.
While her eyes were closed, she had a revelation. Why not write about the dream in her article? The whole point of her interviewing Jacy about the urban myth was to find out her reactions and ideas about it. Dorina’s vivid dream was proof that Jacy Rayner was capable of injecting herself into people’s dreams. She had probably helped the children escape from the coma by injecting herself into their dreams, using a television signal as a method of transference.
No, she thought. It was too bizarre.
As she got dressed, though, she thought “What do I have to lose?” If she didn’t make her move sooner or later, then maybe she would be interviewing the last surviving Ewok or schmoozing ad copy when she was fifty. For the rest of that morning, she outlined and wrote the article while she ate her eggs and salsa and watched the AM news vacantly while ironing a blouse. Samantha the cat rubbed against her leg and after she set the pressed blouse aside and but the ironing board away, she picked her up. She liked to talk to her cat as if she were a trusted confidante. “Do you think that article idea is weird?” she asked, while Samantha shifted around in her arms, a look in her eyes like she preferred to be somewhere else. Dorina set her down.
The weather girl on television had said that it would rain all day so when Dorina finished dressing in her slacks and blazer she reached for the umbrella on the way out. Once she was outside she immediately noticed that it was cool, gray and dreary. The trees were spotted with water and the parking lot was wet, yet it was only misting. California types certainly had a wacky idea of rain. At home in Indiana during the spring days of intermittent driving rain could stretch out for the better part of a month.
The traffic was nowhere near as bad, either. Slick roads and dreary weather often slowed it to a crawl. Oh well, it gave her some more time to gather her thoughts for her coming meeting with Vic. While she sat in traffic, inching forward, getting a good workout for her calves with all the clutch and pedal work, Mickey Mouse called out “Oh boy! A phone call!” and she fished around in her purse for the phone.
She answered, and a familiar, dreamy voice said “Hi, this is Travis Love from In Touch America and I’m doing a survey about sexual fantasies...”
“Hey.”
“Hey back.”
“Don’t get on the 101. It’s a parking lot.”
“I’m already here at work. But thanks for the warning. So are you going to call Jacy again?”
“No, I don’t think so.” The traffic seemed to pick up and she was distracted. Since she’d heard about so many terrible wrecks caused by people on cell phones, she overcompensated by heightening her awareness.
“Are are you going to tell Vic?”
“Something else. I’ve got another idea and something kind of weird happened after you left. Actually, while I was sleeping. Call me later. We’ll talk about it then and I won’t have to worry about plowing into anybody.”
“Okay. But thanks for the wonderful evening.”
Dorina smiled. “Anytime.”
Not long after that, the traffic cleared and she made it to work a few minutes later, still early as usual. Vic’s door was closed when she arrived; she knew that he would often stop for a big breakfast before rolling in. She used the time to check her email accounts and say hello to a couple of her friends who passed by. While computer images and screens pulled up and blipped off she pulled a legal pad out of the desk. A listing of upcoming ad clients appeared on the layout roster and while looking it over she scribbled a few incomplete sentences of an outline.
After an hour she had a page full of material. It looked too disjointed, too stiff. She ripped the leaf of paper from the pad, wadded it up into a little ball and tossed it into the trash can. There was a stirring in some of the other cubicles in the office and she heard someone call out “Hey big guy!” When she lifted up to peer above the cubicle, she saw Vic strutting down the aisle, greeting everyone as he walked by. He held a rainco
at over his arm. As he neared her, she put her head down, pretending to study the financial news on one of her internet accounts and yet another biological miracle that was creating a boom time for pharmaceuticals.
She appeared in Vic’s office a few moments later, surprising him. He cordially invited her to sit down and when she was settled he leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands atop his ample belly and said “So what can I do for you today?”
She inhaled, taking a moment to collect her thoughts, and then started: “I have a great idea for an article.”
He shrugged. “I’m all ears. Go ahead.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her his full attention.
Dorina told Vic the whole story, starting with the part about how she’d discovered the urban myth concerning Jacy Rayner. She decided to leave out the part about getting healed of her migraines, at least for now. Instead, she discussed how she’d gone to Jacy’s house to interview her, describing her house and her garden. Then she told him about Jacy’s comment about being glad that all the children in the comas got well again. She mentioned how her interviewee had to leave suddenly and spent the next several minutes describing the dream in vivid detail as well as her theory behind what had caused it and how it was connected to the urban myth.
Once she had finished, Vic exhaled, drummed his fingertips on his chest and glanced at the ceiling. “So?” he said. “That’s all she told you, that she was glad that the children recovered?”
“That’s all she had time to say.”
“Well what kind of a business is she in, where she had to dash off and leave you hanging like that?”
“Property management or something like that.”
“What kind of a problem would cause her to drop everything and leave an interview in progress?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Did it occur to you to follow along after her and resume the interview after she took care of the little problem?”
Dorina wondered if she was showing in her face how preposterous that idea sounded. “Well, no.” She was about to add that she didn’t feel it was her duty to chase a story down but then she knew she was going to get the standard lecture about the sacrifices great journalists make.
Vic should his head. “Dorina, Dorina, Dorina,” he said, sounded like an exasperated father. “You come in here and tell me that you don’t want to do sales for the rest of your life and that you want to write and you’ve committed the cardinal sin of journalism. You’ve failed to make me care.”
That hurt. “Well, I thought it was a good idea. Weren’t you listening to anything I said?”
Vic reached for a Ho-ho, shrugging. “Sure. I’m not a completely heartless bastard.”
“Well I’ll tell you something else. The woman spoke to me in a dream. I think it’s connected to the way those children recovered. It could make for a very interesting and insightful piece.”
“Maybe,” he said, showing the wry grin that crinkled up one side of his face. “If you’re doing blotter.”
“Blotter?”
Vic slapped his head in mock forgetfulness. “Oh, I forgot. You young’uns today don’t know about that stuff. You know. Acid. L.S.D. Timothy Leary. Mushrooms. Carlos Castaneda. Tune in, turn on...”
“Are you saying my idea is frivolous?”
“I’m saying our readers aren’t ready for that kind of crap. It’s a little too out there.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
Vic’s face reddened, which was never a good sign. Dorina wished she could hit the “rewind” or “reset” buttons of reality. “I don’t know, honey. Send it to ‘High Times’ or something. You’re asking me? You’re the one that did the interview.”
“But you just told me my idea was bullshit. How about some advice for another angle, then.”
“Okay. How about this? Find out about who she slept with from the Journey Galaxian cast. Or take a good look at her and check for facelift scars. Find out who she goes to. That’s all people want to know from Jacy Rayner. Trust me.”
He opened his desk draw to fumble around for another Twinkie or a ho-ho, a sure sign that their talk was finished.
Dorina said “Okay,” and left his office, wondering if she was ever going to walk out of there with any other emotion besides anger. She dejectedly walked the fifty feet back to her cubicle and plopped down at her terminal. Was that assistant managing editor post still open in Cincinnati? She was about to discretely reopen the careers website when Wendy, one of the department secretaries appeared at the entrance of her cubicle.
Wendy held out her hand which contained a post-it note stuck to the end of one fingertip. Her dishwater blond hair and her preference for horizontal striped sweaters and flat shoes made her look like a “Peanuts” character that had leaped off the comic strip into real life. She said that “a gentleman” had called for her while she was in her meeting. Dorina accepted the note from her and saw Mitch’s name and phone number on it.
She called him. When he answered she asked “Hello sir, my name is Sonya Hartenteit and I’m from the Good Strokes opinion panel. We’re conducting a short survey. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your last orgasm?”
“Fifteen. Good one! So, what’s this huge, earth shattering idea you had for your article?”
Dorina sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Mr. Twinkie man torpedoed it. Thought I was on drugs for coming up with it.”
“He’s the one who should be on drugs.”
“Anyway, I decided to give up on the whole thing. I got my migraine healed, that’s good enough.”
“Uh, huh. Well you may think differently about that after what I’ve got to tell you.”
“What?”
From the other end of the line, Mitch cleared his throat. It was a sign he was going to talk about something that he thought was important. “I talked with some buddies in the office about your interview with Ms. Rayner and about that urban myth. It goes way further up the food chain than your Twinkie man probably even knows.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well, do you know who H.R. Lewandowski is?”
“Vaguely. I think I’ve heard the name somewhere.”
“Well you know all about the Portals Beyond movies, right?”
“Well yeah, doesn’t everybody? When I went to the archives to learn about Jacy Rayner’s career there were armies of people milling about, getting ready to make another one, ‘Portals 15' or whatever the hell it is.”
“Ok. Well get this. H.R. Lewandowski was one of the kids who was in a coma, who was supposedly awakened from it when they played the Galaxian TV show in his room.”
Dorina paused to think. “Wait a minute! Yeah! There was an article I found from 1968 or something that said some boy named Ronald in Oklahoma was awakened.”
“Yes. H Ronald Lewandowski. He’s the whole mastermind behind the Portals Beyond series.”
She leaned back from her computer to let that sink in. “No!” she said.
“It gets better. It turns out that for years... hell, decades the original producers of Galaxian have accused Portals Beyond of stealing ideas, being an unauthorized spinoff. They have some of the same characters in both, you know.”
Dorina did some quick arithmetic. The last episode of Galaxian had aired well over thirty years ago. Portals movies had been around since the late eighties. “Kind of taking their time in doing something about it, aren’t they?”
“No one’s ever had proof of it,” Mitch said. “All they really have to go by is the urban myth. Whenever they try to get Lewandowski’s people to court their lawyers point out that the characters have different names, that the circumstances are different, that it’s only coincidence that there are some similarities between the shows, that you can’t patent an idea, blah, blah, blah.”
Dorina suddenly had a thought. “Mitch, do you mind if I ask you where you’re going with this?”
At the other end of the line, he cleared his throat. Oh,
look out, Dorina thought. He said “I’ve got this buddy from the office who wants to meet you and discuss his ideas. The three of us could have lunch.”
Dorina paused. If the lawyer was going to take her on a course that would involve attempting to sue Lewandowski and his production company, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go along. “I don’t know,” Dorina told him.
“He’s buying. Best Thai place in town. He’s got some good ideas, I tell you.”
“Okay.”
She spent the rest of that morning writing her puff piece about Jacy Rayner, just in case she ever wanted to submit it somewhere. She concentrated mostly on the serene, almost ethereal beauty of the woman’s garden. While she was writing, the phone rang twice with calls from ad clients promising to send money. A couple of her other co-workers showed up at her cubicle to have her check or sign off on things. Through it all she kept on having to downsize and upsize windows, while still pressing to finish the article by lunchtime.
She felt like a man she’d seen on an old-fashioned variety show she’d seen as a little girl: he would keep three spinning plates perfectly balanced atop three long stem like sticks. Yet by the time one o’clock rolled around she had completely finished the article, saved it, and printed herself a copy. She wondered new challenges were coming courtesy of Mitch’s lawyer buddy.
Dorina arrived slightly late to the Gold Garden Restaurant off Wiltshire. When she
entered she saw curiously emerald-tinged subdued lighting and the hugest aquarium she’d ever seen, easily ten feet. Lacy, frilly angel fish the size of Frisbees floated in there among wavering sea ferns, their mouths gaping open. To arrive in the dining room area she had to cross over an artificial brook on a tiny wooden bridge. The tiny, polite hostess in an authentic, crisp satin kimono allowed her to swish through a doorway curtained with stringed beads and search the romantically lit dining room for Mitch and his friend.
She saw him sitting at a booth along the wall with his friend, a smaller guy with a strong jaw and hooded eyes. They both wore dark suits and her first thought upon seeing them was that they looked like mobsters. When Dorina walked toward them, they both rose.
“Hi hon,” Mitch said, kissing her briefly, touching her shoulder. “This is Wayne Riddick from the firm.” She shook his hand politely and was pleasantly surprised that he took her hand in both of his; usually only men bred on other shores did that. She also noticed that Wayne was somewhat older than they were, possibly thirty-five. Mitch indicated the chair for her while he and Wayne would take their seats on either side of the booth. When they were all sitting, Mitch signaled the waitress. The men ordered scotch and sodas while Dorina thought it was best to go with a virgin daiquiri.
When the drinks arrived, Wayne started talking and Mitch sat back and listened. At first it was safe topics such as where she was from and where she went to school. While Wayne spoke Dorina thought she detected a Great Lakes accent and then he revealed that he’d gone to Northwestern. From there, Wayne started to ask about what type of job she had at Spectrum and where she hoped to go with her career. She had felt like she was in a job interview but then realized that she was being cross-examined. Wayne was showing all the body language of a driven litigator, leaning in to her, hanging on her every word, narrowing his eyes in his appraisal of her. Next, he forged ahead to the stickier territory.
“So, you’ve spoken with Jacy Rayner about the urban myth, right?” he asked.
Dorina knew that it was a trait of lawyers that they generally didn’t ask a question that they already knew the answer to. Mitch had probably already told him everything about the aborted interview. “Yes, I did,” she said, surveying the room for their waitress, wondering when she was going to bring the menus for a much needed break.
Wayne shrugged, lifting his palm. “What did she say?”
“That she was glad the children recovered from their comas. We didn’t really discuss it much because she had an emergency at one of her properties.”
Wayne and Mitch glanced at each other. Mitch said “Wayne and I were talking this over a little bit in the car and he told me some surprising insights into the whole thing.”
The waitress brought the menus to the table and silently set them down before each of them, the conversation continuing as if nothing had happened. Wayne said “It’s possible that the urban myth could have been started by Jacy Rayner.”
Dorina had already settled on a vegetable delight with soup and set the menu down. “That seems kind of unlikely,” she said.
Wayne smiled slightly, not an altogether unpleasant smile but one that hinted of a mind feverishly at work. “How so?” he asked.
Dorina straightened, consciously thinking it would give her credibility and then she paused, wondering why she needed credibility when she was in the company of friends. “It can’t have been for self-promotion because her career tapered off drastically after that. And based on my first impression in meeting her, I don’t think she’s the type of person who would perpetuate a hoax.” After thinking it over for a moment, she added “Of course, that was a long time ago.”
Wayne had glanced at the menu also, and quickly put it aside, apparently making a snap decision on what to order. He shook his shoulders, adjusted his jacket sleeves and said “Well, when you interviewed her, you must have done some research into the Galaxian show, correct?”
“Yes, I looked at the archives and I’ve seen the reruns before. I read a little bit about the behind-the-scenes stuff, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well there’s one person who was involved with that show, more than any other, who’s pushing the case against Portals Beyond. Tell me who you think it is.”
The waitress returned and took their orders, with Mitch as the spokesperson. After the brief interruption, Dorina shrugged and looked at Wayne, with his perfectly groomed black hair. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe Rohrig. Wasn’t he the creator and the director? I would think he’d be the most interested.”
“Nope,” Wayne said, shaking his head. “Rohrig died in 1980, right after the movie came out. Try again.”
Dorina thought of Warberg, the commander and leader, having seen his overblown performances in a couple of the episodes. She told Wayne.
“Nope,” Wayne said. “Warberg has been in and out of rehab so many times they have a permanent suite for him there. He doesn’t have the energy.”
The only other major character she could think of was the noble alien. “It’s not that guy with the knobs on his head, is it? Korg?”
Wayne nodded, smiling. “Yup. Neil Neiman.”
Dorina stared ahead for a moment. On the show, the Korg character was always the voice of reason when violence broke out or the ship veered disastrously off course. “It wasn’t a very flattering role for him,” she said. “You’d think he’d want to put it behind him.”
Right then Wayne and Mitch grinned at each other conspiratorially. Like schoolboys at recess. The waitress brought out their orders of soup and Mitch leaned forward to explain.
“Wayne here has got an interesting little tidbit for you.”
Wayne said “You are aware that Jacy Rayner and Neil Neiman were involved, right?” He paused for dramatic effect and added “Romantically.”
Dorina nodded. “Yes I think I remember reading something like that. Tabloids.” She also remembered what Neil Neiman looked like without the alien makeup: tall, blonde, chiseled good looks. “She could have done a lot worse. So?”
Wayne smirked, as the steam rose up from the bowl of soup in front of him, giving him a sinister air. “Did you know that Neil and Jacy had a child together?”
Dorina instantly remembered the stunning but hospitality-challenged Josette, vividly picturing her form languidly leaning against the opened front door. She had estimated her age to be somewhere in her early thirties. “Oh god,” she said.
Mitch was busy with his soup and a teriyaki beef stick. Wayne arched his eyebrow, nodding, calmly fingering a spoon.
&
nbsp; “Well they didn’t marry, right?” Dorina said, instantly remembering that traditional marriage meant nothing in Hollywood anyway.
Wayne shook his head, sipping at a spoonful of the soup.
Dorina was letting her food get cold. “Well it still doesn’t explain the urban myth,” she said. “Why would she spread a story like that?”
Wayne and Mitch looked at each other, chuckled, and at the same time said “Woman scorned.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Dorina said. “Think about what you’re saying. She gets pregnant by one of her co-stars and he apparently isn’t supportive. So to get back at him she gets someone to plagiarize from their show and they get a megahit, inventing an urban myth to make it seem legitimate.”
Stabbing at a piece of pepper-fried steak Mitch said “Stranger things have happened.”
“Come on! The other problem with that is that Portals Beyond wasn’t even thought of until the late eighties. You’re saying that someone sat on the idea for twenty years?”
Wayne shrugged. “Maybe they thought everyone would forget.”
Dorina finally allowed herself to enjoy some marinated vegetables. “You’re reaching,” she said.
“Well, it is something to think about it,” Mitch put in. “But hey, we’ve got some of the best oriental food in the city in front of us. And it’s a dish best enjoyed hot.” All three of them concentrated on their meal for awhile after that. Dorina was pleased that her vegetables were so crisp and fresh and nicely blanched.
When they’d all finished and the waitress collected their plates, they sat back, relaxing over cups of tea and fortune cookies. Wayne delicately re-introduced the previous conversation by saying “Dorina, it’s a win-win situation. Our firm can help Neiman and his company right the wrong of their ideas being plagiarized. You can get way ahead with Spectrum by being the one to break the story. From there, who knows.”
Dorina looked at Mitch, who was uncharacteristically letting someone else do all the talking. He was passively nodding in agreement.
“Now I don’t know too much about law,” Dorina said. “But I know that you can’t patent an idea. Isn’t that what this is all about?”
Mitch, the science-fiction aficionado spoke up. “Some of the same characters exist in both series. The plot lines from the first two Portal movies are almost a direct rip-off of Galaxian. I’ll bring over the DVDs sometime and show you.”
“Well, you’re not just contriving an excuse to sue someone with deep pockets, right?”
Mitch and Wayne looked at each other and shook their heads, smirking with exasperation. Dorina got the feeling that they’d both gotten comments like that leveled at them quite often. And she knew all the jokes, like: “What’s the difference between a sperm and a lawyer? A sperm has a one in 10,000 chance of becoming a human being.” Wayne said “I forgot to tell you that Dorina’s dad is vice president at a big casualty insurance company. She’s always telling me how she grew up listening to her father talk at the dinner table about how he’d been fighting with lawyers all day.”
Wayne nodded. “Yes in the eyes of the public we’re seen as scoundrels. Ambulance chasers. Blood suckers,” he said. “But believe me, this benefits everyone.”
Dorina asked “How?”
Wayne inhaled, widening his eyes, before spouting out with what to Dorina sounded like a canned reply: “Well, once it comes out that the Portal movies are based on Galaxia, then each of the series would gain new fans. Do you know how avid some of the fans of that old show are? They have conventions all over the country and these people go all out: costumes, autograph signing sessions, memorabilia, it’s a huge industry. And it would be publicity for Portals. You know what they say”
Dorina finished the thought for him “Yeah, yeah, I know. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
Wayne chuckled, smiling. “But, like I said, it’s something to think about.”
“What’s something to think about?” she asked. “What’s my part in all this?”
Wayne said “The first thing to do is call Jacy Rayner. See if she knows H.R. Lewandowski and take it from there.”
Her stomach frosted over. “Gee, I don’t know if I should bother her.”
Mitch said “She’ll probably be receptive. She’s the one who cut the meeting short, right?”
“True,” Dorina said.
Mitch and Wayne, she was surprised to see were leaning forward, eyes wide open, apparently hanging on her every word. “So are you going to call her?” Mitch asked.
“I guess so.”