Chocolate Chocolate Moons Read online

The twins, dressed in their sparkling gowns, are slowly lowered to the stage on a beam of light. Holographs of Mars’s moons, Deimos and Phobos, circle them like angels then move and circle the audience. Harmonic sounds sooth tired ears. Their lyrics contain the word love 348 times. They smile and flirt. They blow kisses. By the time they end with the hyperkinetic beat of “Moon Rover,” the audience (including high school guidance counselors) can’t contain themselves and jump to their feet, twisting and shouting, “Let the good times roll!”

  “My IQ just went into a free fall,” Max says to Niels. “An intellectual travesty.”

  It takes a while for the audience to quiet, but it doesn’t take long for the audience to press a button on the arms of their chairs that signals a vote. A few moments later, Jamie Faxx teases, pauses, and with a full academy flourish announces, “And the winners are…” Drum-roll. “The Lunar Tunes!”

  Becky and Lois scream and jump.

  “Come up here, twins,” Jamie cries. The band plays excerpts from “Moon Rover” as the girls climb to the stage. Jamie put his arms around Becky and Lois and kisses them on the cheeks. “Let’s hear it for the Lunar Tunes!”

  The audience leaps, claps, cheers, stomps. It’s a long snapshot moment.

  Jamie hands Becky the microphone. “I want to thank my parents and family for making this day happen, and all the boys at King Tut School of Music for letting us rehearse in their locker room.” She hands the microphone to Lois.

  And Lois says the words parents wait their entire lives to hear, if ever, “Mom and Dad, you were right! All the hard work was worth it!”

  “Stand up, Mr. and Mrs. Summers, and take a bow,” Jamie says. The spotlight finds Cortland and me. Teary-eyed, we stand and wave.

  Drew moves his chair and cranes to get a better view. He drops his glass. “Oh my God, Molly!”

  Everyone at the table says, “Who’s Molly?”

  “We were students at Armstrong University on the Moon. I almost married her. I haven’t seen her in more than twenty years.”

  The room empties. Becky and Lois thread their way through the crowd, signing autographs. “I love their gowns,” says Velveeta Kraftchick, the mayor of New Chicago, to Flo, who is standing next to them. “You must be their mother.” Flo points to me, and I wave back.

  “Amazing,” Velveeta says, narrowing her eyes—a sure sign she is calculating my weight.

  Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and hear. “When was the last time you heard ‘When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie’?” I turn to the voice I remember so well.

  “Hi, Molly,” Drew says, smiling broadly. “Long time no see. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  I feel myself blush. “Well, you have,” I say. “You look wonderful.”

  Drew lowers his voice. “Takes lots of time and even more money to stay this way. I still love food, but Chocolate Moons, or should I say,” he looks deeply into my eyes and whispers, “Chocolate Chocolate Moons, are my only indulgence. Freedom Plan ones taste—”

  “I know, a little gritty.”

  We laugh.

  Kandy pushes through the crowd and finds us. Drew puts his arm around her shoulder. “This is my girlfriend, Kandy Kane. We’re having a party and would love you and your husband to come with the twins. Don’t worry; I won’t serve any onion rings or green cheese. What do you say?”

  My heart skips a beat and I smile. But only for a moment.

  CC, who had been circling the room with her cameraman, stops next to us and chimes, “Am I invited too?”

  30

  CRAIG CASHEW CROUCHES in a corner, hidden behind a mountain of fries and burgers at McMooner, a fast-food shop located as far away from the Culinary Institute as possible. When he sees Breezy and Pluto enter, he rises and waves. They sit and eye the food. “I don’t know how anyone can eat this stuff,” he sneers pushing the food toward them.

  Breezy swirls a few fries in blood-red ketchup, puts them in her mouth, and deliberately makes loud chewing sounds. She glares at Craig suspiciously because she knows he must want something; otherwise, why won’t he just give them the remote.

  Craig removes the device from his pocket and puts it on the table. “If this is what I think it is, it could link the two of you to the case of the Chocolate Moons. You were both seen on the security holo near one of the chocolate vats.” He turns to Pluto. “And you were seen with your arm raised when an alarm sounded.” Craig slides the remote back into his pocket.

  Pluto stiffens. “Thanks for not going to the police. How much do you want for it?”

  “I don’t want money. Rocket is blackmailing me with something that happened when our paths crossed in college long ago. Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  “You and Rocket went to the same school?” Pluto says finding it impossible to imagine.

  Craig continues, “Rocket has an apartment on Titan. There’s a transport to Titan, where I’m opening a Culinary satellite. Rocket was always a health-food nut. Back then he actually smoked multivitamins.”

  “Still does,” Pluto quips.

  “I heard that he was in the hospital recently because he overdosed on health-food supplements. His system may be very fragile.” Craig looks at Breezy. “Your father is a very creative scientist.”

  “So?” Breezy says wondering what Craig is after.

  “So, I’m in a jam with Rocket. And you are in a jam with me, because I won’t give back the remote unless you help me do something about Rocket. Maybe your father would consider giving Rocket a little something that could alter how he saw his options. The outcome may help all of us to resolve our problems.”

  Breezy looks at Craig and stays quiet for a long time. Then she takes another fry and swirls it in more ketchup and says, “I guess I could ask him.” She lowers her eyes chews for a long time and swallows.

  “Do more than guess,” Craig says rising from the table.

  Breezy says nothing. Then she points to the food. “Mind if we take the rest of this stuff out?”

  Craig sits at his desk eating lunch. He’s adding some wasabi mayonnaise to a lobster-salad sandwich when his secretary says, “Decibel Point on line one.”

  “Let me get straight to the point. You have something my daughter, Breezy, owns and wants back,” Decibel says quickly. “Breezy and Pluto are in a difficult situation with you, and I want to help them.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Breezy knows I’ve had issues with Rocket in the past that I want resolved.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “I also want to confront Rocket about a nagging feeling that I have had about the poisoning of the Chocolate Moons. I was in the process of testing some anti-flavonoids at Congress Drugs. Next thing I know, someone took a sample of the stuff and people are getting poisoned all over the planet. I have a feeling Rocket may have something to do with this.”

  Craig slides his plate away with the back of his hand. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Breezy told me that Rocket tried to blackmail you with something that happened a long time ago.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I understand that Rocket takes the transport to Titan, where he has an apartment and where you are opening a Culinary satellite. Rocket has been after me to work at a lab he just bought on Titan. I want to check it out.”

  Craig dabs his mouth with a beige linen napkin. “So you are saying that we all have good legitimate reasons to take the Mars–Titan transport. And, we all have good reasons to confront Rocket.”

  “Right. Seeing us together may unnerve him and make him more receptive to what we have to say. It’s not hard for us to book a trip to Titan when Rocket will be on board and not hard to get a passenger list. Breezy can travel as my assistant. Her boyfriend, Pluto, can fit her with one of his disguises. Rocket shouldn’t be hard to find. He’s bound to show up at their duty-free health-food store.”

  “And if Rocket is not so receptive?” Craig asks.

  “
As you told Breezy, maybe I could give him something that would make him more receptive. Nothing long lasting, mind you, just something that would change his perceptions of reality.”

  “It’s as good an idea as any,” Craig says, pushing his empty plate farther away.

  “Then we’re united. Let’s fly the friendly skies.”

  Trenton sits in Lamont’s office, going over reports. “Did you know that Molly Summers is the mother of the Lunar Tunes, the beautiful twins who won the Mars Malt music contest?”

  Lamont’s eyebrows rise. “Molly Summers, that large woman who brings me all that food? Hmm. They must take after her husband.”

  “She also used to date Drew Barron when they were in college. He has invited her and her family to a party at his apartment.”

  “Dated Drew Barron in college? You’re kidding! What a break! See that she’s fitted for an eye cam before she goes.”

  A week before Drew’s party, the twins have publicity shots taken. Becky and Lois look so sophisticated, having taken Flo’s suggestion of coloring their bodies the way they did when we arrived—two different colors that meet in the center of their bodies—but instead of using harsh, bright colors they used soft pastels. Cortland and I can’t believe they are our formerly gum-cracking, hair-twirling, nail-picking, eye-rolling children.

  I drive everyone crazy deciding what to wear. Finally I settle on a black suit with thin vertical silver stripes and silver-and-black open-toed sandals. Flo lets me borrow her expensive watch that beeps the minute food touches her lips. I pin it to my suit, where everyone can see its jewels, and turn off the alarm.

  A limo brings us to Drew’s building. The driver gets out and opens the door. The doorman peeks in. “And you are?” he says in a manner trained to intimidate everyone but other doormen.

  “The Lunar Tunes and their family,” Cortland replies.

  Becky and Lois extend long legs.

  The doorman springs to attention. “The Lunar Tunes! My daughter loves your music. Can I get your autographs?”

  Becky and Lois sign with a flourish. “I can’t believe this,” Lois giggles.

  Cortland and I nod and smile.

  An elevator attendant, who can’t stop staring at the twins, takes us to the tower floor.

  Drew and Kandy open the door and introduce us to their guests, who ignore me but circle the girls and smile at Cortland. Champagne glasses clink; small scallops encrusted in crunchy candied nori and water chestnuts wrapped in whiskey-smoked bacon are passed around.

  A few moments later, an overly made-up CC in a skintight metallic snakeskin dress arrives. People make flattering remarks about her and how they love to watch Mars Media ever since her father acquired it. When she finally pulls away and starts circling the room, I approach.

  “Could you ever imagine this?” I say to CC. “I mean, being here together with Drew.”

  “No, never.”

  “Just goes to show you, time heals all wounds.” CC gives me a long cold stare. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  CC leans toward me conspiratorially and says, “About old times, right?”

  “No, about your visit to Congress Drugs and San Andreas Farms.”

  “Oh, that. It was several weeks ago. Did you see me on Nova Scotia’s program?”

  “I did. Ever find the charm from your bracelet?”

  CC holds up her arm. “Good as new. Daddy replaced my lost one.”

  “What’s Decibel Point like? You said you met him at Congress Drugs. I’ve heard that he’s a brilliant scientist.”

  “Well, he’s very fat, which is amazing since he created those Freedom Plan foods.”

  “Do you think he’s right when he said Congress Drugs should test its products more thoroughly?”

  “Sounds like a good idea, but I know nothing about that.” She starts to pull away.

  “One last question. Did you spend a lot of time on San Andreas Farms?”

  “Yes. After I left Congress Drugs, I was given a tour of the farms and then I had the afternoon to wander. It is amazing how those chocolate nibs are ground before they send them to the Candy Universe.”

  Drew, seeing us talking together walks over. “You two thinking about poisoning my drink?”

  “Too late for that,” CC laughs. She puts her hand on his arm and walks away with him while I head toward the ladies’ room.

  I enter the bathroom, lock the door, and palm Jersey and Trenton.

  “You should see this place. It could be on the cover of Architectural Indigestion.”

  “Take any shots?” Trenton asks.

  “Everyone is making a big fuss over the sculpture of a scrawny person and ignoring the beautiful marble table that it sits on. If the sculpture were a Niki de Saint Phalle’s colorful fat Nana or a plus-size creation by Fernando Botero, I could understand the fuss, but the Giacometti…Come on! It’s a stick figure, totally anorexic. Anyway, I took a picture of it. I also snapped shots of the buffet.”

  “We don’t need any shots of the buffet,” Jersey snaps.

  “Too late. I already clicked. There are also the latest supplements sitting in a glass bowl. I put some in my bag for you.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I spoke to CC and recorded the conversation. But she didn’t reveal much that was new. She did spend much more time than I thought at San Andreas Farms after being inside Congress Drugs, and she admitted to being near the area where they grind the chocolate nibs. Kandy is wearing a gorgeous necklace. Becky told me it was blue-ice sapphires, very rare and expensive. Someone is knocking on the bathroom door. Gotta go—I mean, gotta leave—now.”

  Chairs are set up in the wood-paneled den off the living room, with a small raised platform in front. Becky and Lois sing while Cortland accompanies them on the pianolyn.

  “You must be so proud of the twins,” Drew says, looking at me with affection. “I guess the old saying is true: the moon doesn’t fall too far from the planet.” I blush and turn away.

  “Come back and see us sometime,” Kandy says at the end of the night, giving the twins a hug. She turns to Drew and murmurs, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have children?”

  Drew says nothing. But Kandy already knows his answer and says no more.

  31

  CRAIG CASHEW ANNOUNCES that he and an advisory team will go to Titan to begin the process that opens Culinary Titan. Sandy Andreas and some associates will join them to plan the gardens.

  Jersey and I are chosen as security-team advisors.

  Jersey is overjoyed because her sister, Asbury, lives on Titan. Her niece, Meadowlands, is getting married and the Culinary will pay for transportation. Best of all, Trenton can travel free as luggage in his carrying case.

  But Trenton doesn’t want to go.

  Jersey makes him his favorite silicone milkshake. “Please, Trenton,” she pleads. “Asbury is my only family, and I never see her. Besides, we haven’t been off this planet in ages. I even have the perfect wedding gift.”

  “How much?” Trenton asks with eyes spinning like wheels of fortune.

  “My sister tells me Meadowlands and her fiancé love pets and surprises.”

  “How much?”

  “We could give them the Schrödinger Box we got as a wedding present. They’ll never know it was used. It’s always a surprise when you open it. It will cost us nothing, except for buying a new cat to put inside.”

  “Well, as long as you put it that way. But don’t you think a box that was created to demonstrate how the uncertainty principle of quantum mechanics works is too esoteric to give as a wedding present? Marriage is uncertain enough. Forget the box. Just give them a cat.”

  When I tell Cortland about my upcoming trip to Titan, he decides to stay home and rehearse with the twins, who are swamped with performing engagements.

  Jersey and I wait for the space elevator. Jersey’s hand clutches the case where Trenton lies folded like a sheet in a drawer. We scan single round-trip tickets to Titan and enter the elevator.
/>   The elevator rises quickly. At midpoint buzzers blare, announcing a storm. “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” the music programmed into the sound system to ease tensions, makes everyone feel worse. We finally weave off and join a long serpentine check-in line at the transport’s docking station.

  A porter approaches and turns to Jersey. “Want me to help you with that case?” He stretches out his arm.

  “I’m fine,” Jersey says smiling but her stomach knots. She draws the case closer.

  “I see you’re very nervous about having Trenton in the carrying case. Is it really worth the worry? Why don’t you just get two tickets?” I ask.

  “Get two tickets when we can travel two for the price of one?” Jersey pats the case. “I don’t think so.”

  Farther up the line a thin man in a shocking pink suit shifts from side to side. I nudge Jersey and point. “I think that man is Rocket Packarod. See that turquoise tote slung over his shoulder? It says AK-47 Vitamin and Mineral Company: Protection for your digestion.”

  “Definitely Rocket,” she says.

  Suddenly from behind we hear a booming voice. “What do you mean you lost my reservation? Do you know who I am? I know the president of your company. Want me to call him?” After a short delay, Sandy Andreas, wearing a dark suit and chunky gold jewelry, marches past us and goes to the head of the line.

  I find my room on the transport. It is down the hall from Jersey’s. They are identical. Both have a small window, a comfortable bed, a media wall, bathroom and dining alcove.

  Jersey wheels Trenton’s case to their room. She taps a corner twice. It opens. Trenton raises his head slowly. Heat from the case’s walls make tiny tubes in his limbs fill with gelatinous substances. Jersey unpacks and puts on a pink flowered robe while Trenton finishes his process.

  Trenton steps out and stretches. Jersey says, “Here, sweetheart, let me give you a good spray with the new and improved WD-40,000.” He bends and twists. She puts the can down, goes to the console, and clicks “Passenger-List Information.”

  “Craig Cashew, Sandy Andreas, and Rocket Packarod are all on board.”