Ride the Titanic! (43 page)

Geena pulls me over to the iceberg’s east-facing side. Down below, the
Titanic
eerily resembles the highly detailed model I showed Joe in my basement. But with one difference: this is the real thing, with an elaborate series of computer controlled spotlights ringing the ship, slowly cycling through their colors of ice blue, golden yellow, fire-red, and then back again, while graphic projectors beam an HD animation of ride highlights as produced by Ellie, who has agreed to stay on and help us launch the new sites.

I start to say something about Dubai and how exciting it’s going to be when our ride opens there, but Geena stops me, ‘You’re going to die.’

I laugh. ‘I’m not jumping.’

‘I mean down there. Tomorrow night, when she goes down. You’re not coming back.’

I sigh. ‘Another one of your famous Corelli premonitions?’

‘I’ve never been wrong.’

‘What about the twins?’

‘Okay, but just once.’

I shiver. ‘It’s cold up here.’

‘Not the cold. I just scared you.’

‘That too.’

She turns around to face me. The glow from the Vegas lights bathes her face red and gold.

‘I don’t want to sound like a Shakespearean witch.’

‘You do, but you’re prettier.’

‘Promise me that if you have
any
doubts tomorrow night about the safety of the ride, even the slightest, you will P-stop it. Promise?’

‘We’ve tested it a thousand times. The insurance people fine-tooth-combed every system. No way would they sign off on this unless we proved the damn thing is foolproof.’

‘They said that about another ship I know.’

‘Very amusing, but in our case it’s eminently sinkable and come-back-able. I’m betting my life on it. . .and our future too.’

Her eyes narrow like they do when contemplating a NASA change-of-plan order. A long moment of silence, and then she sighs and says simply, ‘Permission granted.’

‘Just like that? You’re letting me do it?’

‘Not all my premonitions come true. Besides, I know what this means to you.’

‘To us, you mean.’

She smiles. ‘Don’t start with the Sugar Daddy stuff. This was your baby from the start.’

‘Minus the hotel. That was your baby, don’t forget.’

She waves away my comment like batting a fly. ‘This place will pay the rent. Your ship’s the main attraction.’

‘Speaking of which, you haven’t told me what you think.’

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘I’m asking now.’

She turns around to regard the
Titanic
in silence for a long while, taking it all in, while I take her in; the woman I love, the mother of my children, and the daughter of a feisty old man with a death sentence hanging over his head but giving it the finger.

As if reading my mind, Geena laughs and says, ‘I remember you and Pop in the pool with that ship. He hates the water, but he got in anyhow because he loved your crazy idea.’

‘You weren’t so keen, as I recall.’

‘NASA laid me off. What’d you expect?’

I run my hands through her close-cropped hair. ‘Change did you good.’

She touches my cheek. ‘You too. How much weight have you lost?’

‘No more love handles.’

‘I remember where they used to be, in case I need to hang on for the ride.’

I kiss her lightly. ‘You mean THAT kind of ride?’

A long pause. Her eyes go from looking at me to seeing into me, and I feel another chill. ‘Permission to kiss a superior officer?’

‘Granted.’

Her lips are perfect.

‘Permission to make love to her too?’

‘Can’t. Kids.’

‘I didn’t mean down there.’

While the rest of Las Vegas rolls through the night, we take refuge on an iceberg high above the madding crowd and re-discover what’s been missing in our lives for the past two years.

Ride the Titanic
sets sail on its maiden voyage on April 14 at 8:06pm PDT, according to Lewis who points at his watch and says, ‘Six minutes behind schedule.’

‘Worth the wait,’ I say, as Kate Winslet steps out of her limousine and the Vegas paparazzi swarm her like ravenous zombies. Her smile serene, her poise perfect, the actress sails like a clipper ship past an explosion of flashes, happily waving to the crowd, and then joins the rest of the luminaries gathered beneath an enormous tent erected over the wharf area, its interior strung with hundreds of lights.

Lewis says, ‘She ever win an Oscar for it?’

‘Nominated.’

‘So wild.’

‘Never saw the movie.’

‘Are you serious? Cameron know?’

‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’

‘How many film crews?’ Lewis says.

‘Wanted three, gave him one, with two cameras.’

After putting up what resistance I dared, Cameron got Xia and me to let him acquire ‘research footage’ of our maiden voyage to help him prepare for his movie version. Good thing we only agreed to one crew, because instead of single person with a small hand-held camera, a two-man SWAT team of grizzled media pros, dressed in black, show up wearing baseball caps turned backwards and Ray-Ban sunglasses. They weave in and out of the celebrity crowd like middle linebackers capturing God only knows what with their two
Panaflex Quasar 7
HighRez 3D cameras that must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

‘Some home movie,’ Lewis says.

‘He’s got some home, I guess.’

Dressed in a perfectly-tailored
Brioni
tuxedo, Cameron stands out like a lighthouse in a sea of celebrities as he casually chats it up with a star-struck television reporter, who aims her toy-like video camera at the famous director, trying to do two jobs at once. The woman is not alone. Swarms of reporters and camera crews excitedly red-carpet-interview the actors and celebrities. To my happy surprise, most of them are wearing the period-accurate costumes we provided, should they be so inclined to enter into the historic spirit of the moment.

The men don’t look that much out of place in time. Like Rome’s Pantheon, tuxedos have not changed much over the years. Not so the women, whose 1912-era dresses present a Gilded Age symphony of easy-fitting, empire-waist gowns in soft, floaty fabrics of satin, silk, and chiffon.

Geena and Fiona wear matching outfits. My wife’s dress hugs her adult body contours, whereas Fiona’s coltish, adolescent shape shows faint promise here and there of what is to come. All of which seems fine to boyfriend Adam who regards her with feverish attention. Despite his fresh-scrubbed face, close-cropped hair and ‘roger-wilco’ ways, this is one Eagle Scout who’s got his adolescent wings spread, and steady eyes on his prey.

Ellie, dressed in flowing, plum-colored satin gown trimmed in lace, wears her hair done up in top curls with wispy tendrils. As ISM’s newly-promoted VP of Media, her glowing face speaks pure happiness. She detaches herself from the crowd, breezes over to us, and links her arms in mine and Lewis’s, turning us into tuxedoed bookends for her gorgeous self.

‘Hey, you good-looking cowboys,’ she drawls. ‘What say we hit the saloon and grab us a snort?

‘Lewis and I are on the clock.’

‘So is Sir James Cameron, ever since his crew arrived.’

Every now and then the director will cup his hand to his ear and, Secret Service-style, mutter something into his two-way. In response his SWAT team swerves away from whatever they’re filming and heads for a new location, as if attached by a golden thread to the master web-weaver.

Ellie says, ‘You do know he’s shooting for real, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, I mean for REAL, real. It’s all hush-hush, of course, but a friend in Hollywood told me casting’s complete, script’s locked, green lights everywhere, and that, my dear friends, is his second unit getting footage that would cost a fortune if he got it from scratch. Instead he’s getting it on our dime and on our time. One clever guy.’

Lewis says, ‘Who’s playing me?’

She pokes his narrow chest. ‘You’re CGI all the way, baby.’

Pained, Lewis draws himself up. ‘Don’t you have a saloon to go to?’

‘Matter of fact, I do, partner. With Sir James Lewis.’ She grabs his arm. ‘The smartest geek I’ve ever known.’

‘Don’t call me James.’

‘C’mon, sweet pea, I gotta’ get Celine’s song ready and I’ve got myself a little problem that needs fixing.’

My heart skips a beat. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Relax. The water screen’s not working. But we’ll be cooking with gas, providing Jamie-boy here waves his magic geek wand.’

‘Don’t call me Jamie, either.’

I say, ‘How’s Celine holding up?’

‘Would you believe nervous? Go figure.’

Ellie tows Lewis away, and in their wake Robert Grayson approaches, wine glass in one hand and the other outstretched to swallow mine in a ritual show of male strength that I return as best I can. After a brief moment of muscular détente, I surrender.

‘Your honor, I stand before you a beaten man,’ he says.

I massage my hand. ‘I’m the one who stopped first.’

‘My concession metaphor refers to what I behold with unbelieving eyes. You and Xia have pulled it off, my friend. Your magical ship is about to set sail, just as my client’s vessel strikes full upon the rocks.’

We exchange a long stare as his words slowly sink into my disbelieving brain. Something in the tone of his voice tells me he’s telling me the unexpected, undreamed-of truth.

‘Who were the bad guys, after all? Or does that violate confidentiality?’

He sips his champagne. ‘What year is this? Not bad for commercial grade – you bought bulk, I hope. I could use a case or two.’

‘Answer my question, counselor.’

His shrewd green eyes consider me for a long moment. Not the man you want to face in a courtroom if you’re hiding anything. Finally he says, ‘We’ve always been truthful with each other, so in the spirit of continuing that tradition let me say that I never met the gentleman – I’m assuming it’s a man, or a group of men. I honestly don’t know, I always dealt with their annoying intermediaries. All I know for a certain is that I got a ‘cease and desist’ order this afternoon, stating that my services are no longer required, and of course my final fee was enclosed – cash, as always.’

‘Strange way to do business.’

‘Not in Vegas.’

The more I press for details, the more obvious it becomes that one of Nevada’s most powerful attorneys was retained by a person or persons to bring every force the City of Las Vegas and its municipal regulatory systems possessed to bear – both legally and illegally, if need be – to bring Xia’s and my dreams crashing down upon our heads. They lost and we won.

Can it be true?

In answer, Grayson lifts his champagne glass in a toast. ‘Your honor, the great State of Nevada hereby and herewith withdraws any and all charges against the accused. Full speed ahead.’

And off he sails, while at the same instant I spot a swarm of photographers surrounding Leonardo DiCaprio. And while I never dream of talking to him, I still angle my way toward the mob, if only to sneak a closer look and make a memory.

As I do, DiCaprio turns his leonine head in my direction, his eyes light up, and he smiles at me.

ME.

I beam in return, what choice do I have? At one wave of his hand the sea of photographers part and he walks toward me, shaking his head and grinning.

‘Can’t believe you pulled this off.’

‘Me either.’

I babble away, answering his technical questions, trying to treat him like a normal person, but I fail miserably. He’s Leonardo DiCaprio, for crying out loud. I can’t get that out of my head.

But before my man-crush gets any bigger his handler, a determined young woman poured into a little black dress a size too small, sails toward us like a Coast Guard Cutter about to board me for smuggling cocaine.

‘Mr. Sullivan, what a perfect delight to have us as your guests,’ she says. ‘And what a thrill to be a part of the maiden voyage. I hope you’ll excuse us, but as you can imagine the whole world wants to meet this man.’

She loops a skeletal-thin arm around DiCaprio’s waist and leads him away. He passes Cameron on the way and they nod to each other like great ocean liners passing at sea.

The Oscar winner comes up to me and clinks my champagne glass.

‘We’re all set here,’ Cameron says. ‘Ready to head for the ride bridge.’

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear Celine’s song first.’

He rocks up and down on his heels. ‘Wanna’ know how many times I’ve heard it?’

‘Two zillion?’

‘Close.’

Say what you will. Cringe if you must. But I loved that song when Celine first sang it, and I always will. And when Molly’s voice in my earpiece announces, ‘Ready cue music. . .Five minutes to doors open,’ I instinctively look up to the bow of the
RMS
Titanic
.

The lights dim in the guest area, and the lilting notes of an Irish flute announce the beginning of
My Heart Will Go On.
Simultaneously, the pumps in the ride basin come on line, forcing water through hidden distribution piping that, as the pressure increases, forces a vaporized sheet of water to rise hundreds of feet straight up into the night sky, creating a vast projection screen onto which the image of the
Titanic
eerily emerges from the mists of memory.

In truth it’s an 8KW Xenon image coming from a
DroneCam
shot of our ship; one of six video cameras Ellie has at her disposal to capture Celine’s live performance on board the ship. The show is not just for our VIPs, but for the thousands of bystanders now jamming the strip who, from the sights and sounds of flashing lights, sirens, and the flashes of countless smart phones, we’ve brought the strip to a complete and stunning halt.

Celine sings this signature song as part of her nightly Vegas show. How can she not? Her fans still remember the movie and always will. But unlike her show version with its swooping images of the moon with draped figures mysteriously posed here and there, with Celine moving through it all like an avenging angel of lost love, tonight’s version is simplicity itself.

No symbolism.

No metaphoric moons.

Just the real deal; the place where over a hundred years ago, real love was lost and never found again.