Chapter Thirty-Nine

In which our heroine continues her crash course in the plutocratic lifestyle, then crashes.

The gold-painted door to their room opened on more gold: two shiny gold canopy beds with gold-embroidered bedspreads, a gold-colored carpet, gold floor lamps radiating golden light through golden lampshades, a gold-painted desk and chair, and, between the beds, a gold wicker swing-chair suspended from the ceiling by gold-velvet-covered ropes. “What do you think of the Libertine Suite?” the eager valet asked as he wheeled the cart through the doorway. The room was big. Lorinda figured it must be the size of any two rooms on the lower floors.

“It’s really something,” Stimpy said.

“A swing?” Lorinda was puzzled.

“I’ll tell you about that,” said Regis, a bit nervously. “But where would you like the guns, Mr. Chapman? Oh, and by the way, there’s a great ammunition store right downstairs in the mall, near the restaurants.”

“Just put them on the floor, right by the wall there,” Stimpy said.

The lad unloaded the artillery, then stood, more or less at attention next to the cart. Stimpy took out his wallet, removed a thick wad, peeled off five one-hundred dollar bills, and ceremoniously handed them over. The valet’s eyes were practically popping out of their sockets as he took the cash.

“Sweet! Thank you so much, Mr. Chapman! And ma’am!” he gushed. “Just let me know if you need anything during your stay. I’m here for you. Just ask for Regis. Oh, wait — the swing.” He pocketed the bills, then pointed toward the swing, his face reddening. “You can use those little, like, buckle things at the bottom of the ropes to adjust it up or down, for your … you know, so it fits better, I guess.” He bowed slightly, then, walking backward, pulled the cart to the open door, said, “Thanks again, thank you,” and reached over the cart to close the door as he left.

“Big tip,” Lorinda said. “I must be in the wrong line of work.”

“It’s an investment.” Lorinda looked puzzled. “We don’t have any people in this enclave. He’s now our person.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Five hundred dollars says he is.”

Lorinda shrugged and looked around the room. There was a big gold crucifix — with a golf ball on top — on the wall over each of the beds; two small night tables with lamps and, presumably, with golden Bibles in the drawers; a small refrigerator; a screen sitting on top of the refrigerator; and, mounted on the wall above the screen, an elaborately framed reproduction of a painting of slim, orange Donald J. Trump (in golf shirt and slacks) and blond Jesus (in ancient robes), arms around each other’s shoulders, beaming at the viewer from the seat of a golf cart parked next to the flag on a perfectly smooth golf green.

Stimpy, tracking her eyes, said, “That’s a very, very bad picture.”

She laughed. “Why? Because Christ wasn’t alive then? Because he wasn’t a golfer?”

“It’s way beyond that,” he said. “Everyone knows you don’t drive a golf cart onto the green.”

Lorinda laughed again, then continued surveilling the room. When her eyes lit upon the swing Stimpy said, “It’s for sex.”

“What?!”

“The swing. That’s what it’s for. See, the woman sits …”

“Ohhh-kay. I get it.” She stared at the swing for a moment. Then, suddenly exhausted, she took a few steps to the nearest bed, tossed her hat to the floor, flopped on her back, and sighed deeply. “What’s the deal with this place, anyway?”

“This enclave?”

“Yeah. And what are we doing here?”

“Too quiet for you? Not enough shooting?”

“C’mon. I’m being serious.”

“Well,” he said, sitting on the other bed, “the thing about this enclave is that pretty much every billionaire in the country is a member of the golf club.”

“They live here?”

“A few of them live here. The others just come here a lot. To play golf, but mainly they come for secret meetings where they plot the future of the country. Which really means figuring out how to suck money out of the rest of us.” He looked over at her. She was staring straight up at the ceiling. “They also bring their girlfriends here. Or get friendly with one or two of the many women who work here who specialize in … servicing them. Golf, secret meetings, secret girlfriends. It’s the dream enclave for autocrats.”

“Jeez,” she said. “I wondered why they didn’t check to make sure we’re married. Like a regular hotel. In a regular place.”

 “This is definitely not a regular place. And now you’re wondering: How does this help Lorinda Moon from Perfecton?

“Yeah. How?”

“The billionaires,” he said, “don’t want the rest of us to know what they’re up to. So this is a camera-free zone. The entire enclave.”

“Whoa!” Lorinda was incredulous. “That doesn’t even seem possible.”

“They built it and they own it, so it’s exactly the way they want it,” he said. “You saw that brick wall, right?”

“The fifty-foot-high wall we came through?”

“Forty, actually. And ten feet thick. It goes all the way around the enclave. It took them two years to build. They spent most of the CCSA’s defense budget on it, and they had to stop building their stupid wall around the country until they finished it. Not enough money, not enough manpower.”

“Wait. They were more interested in the security of this golf place than … than of the entire country?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Insane.”

“Totally. We tried to hack the cameras here, and that’s when we learned there are no cameras to hack.”

“You — whoever y’all are — you went through the entire enclave looking for cameras?”

“The enclave’s not that big. It’s the size of three golf courses. And a driving range. And a couple of miniature-golf courses. Everything else — houses, churches, stores, hotels, schools, whatever — they’re all packed inside the golf courses. The enclave can’t get any bigger — there’s a wall around it.” Stimpy paused, considering how much to divulge to Lorinda. “And, just so you know, we didn’t have to personally go over every inch of the enclave. We have sensing equipment, satellites …”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Who are we? That’s what you want to ask, right?”

Lorinda laughed. “Yeah, but never mind that. Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something else. It’s a complete non-sequitur. Is that the right word?”

“Depends on whether it’s a sequitur or a non-sequitur.”

She rolled her eyes without taking them off the ceiling. “So what is college like?”

“That’s a non-sequitur, all right.” He paused to absorb it. “You thinking of going to college instead of being on the lam?”

“Haha. No, I’m just … I’ve always been curious. Growing up in Perfecton, or maybe anywhere in this country, people like me —”

“Girls?”

“Girls, boys, anyone. It was like only the super-goobers got picked to go to college.”

“And you thought it would be a good thing to do? But you didn’t want to be a super-goober?”

“I wanted to learn things. I wanted to study. I mean, I never told anyone, except my friend Emmie. She at least went to nursing school. I miss her.” Her eyes teared up. “I miss everyone.”

“College is like school, but much better.”

She wiped a cheek with her hand. “Really?”

“Or at least it used to be. I’m sure it still is in other places. Maybe you can go to college in the United States when you get there.”

“If I get there.”

Stimpy ignored that and fell backward on the bed so that he, too, was looking at the ceiling. “What would you study?”

“I don’t know,” Lorinda said. “There’s so much.”

“So little time, so much to know,” he chanted.

“What’s that?”

“It’s from a cartoon. The Beatles. Yellow Submarine.”

“I’ve heard of the Beatles,” she said. “I thought they were a band.”

“Yup. And a cartoon.”

She let that slide. “Where are we going next?”

“Another non-sequitur. We’re paid for four days. I figure we’ll stay for two or three. Rest up. Maybe take some golf lessons …”

“Get outta here!”

“And then make our final dash. To Georgia, USA!”

“No more stops?” Lorinda’s exhaustion overwhelmed her. She tried to keep her eyes open but couldn’t do it.

“We’ll see. Maybe we’ll switch cars a couple of times. Can’t be too careful.”

Lorinda slid into a dream about being in a classroom full of bright, eager fellow students. Emmie sat at the desk next to hers. Stimpy, standing in front of the class, was the teacher. Lorinda was ready to take the test! But thank goodness there wasn’t going to be a test today. Instead, the teacher was narrating a long, enchanting story about what life is like in the USA …..

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NEXT: Chapter Forty. In which Lorinda and Stimpy tour the President Donald J. Trump Memorial Christian Golf Resort and Beautiful Residences.

PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.

Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.

Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.

Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.

Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.

Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.

Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.

Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.

Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.

Chapter Eleven. In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.

Chapter Twelve. In which that black truck follows our heroine all the way to Austin.

Chapter Thirteen. In which Lorinda lashes out.

Chapter Fourteen. In which our heroine gets a taste of life in the big city.

Chapter Fifteen. In which our heroine meets a fellow bartender and has a drink.

Chapter Sixteen. In which Lorinda once again takes a swing with her little pink gun.

Chapter Seventeen. In which our heroine prepares to escape.

Chapter Eighteen. In which our heroine gets in a truck with a couple of slightly scary strangers.

Chapter Nineteen. In which our heroine learns that she’s got a long way to go.

Chapter Twenty. In which our heroine spends a night in a gas station.

Chapter Twenty-One. In which our heroine learns about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Two. In which our heroine learns way too much about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Three. In which our heroine experiences liberty run amok.

Chapter Twenty-Four. In which our heroine’s escape is disastrously derailed.

Chapter Twenty-Five. In which our heroine finds herself back at the gas station.

Chapter Twenty-Six. In which Stimpy, on the road to Revelation, reveals Ren’s real name.

Chapter Twenty-Seven. In which our heroine manages not to crash the car as she learns more about CCSA enclaves.

Chapter Twenty-Eight. In which Lorinda and Stimpy enter Revelation.

Chapter Twenty-Nine. In which our heroine has pizza for the first time and readies herself to be an old fogie.

Chapter Thirty. In which our heroine finally gets to experience the Rapture Ride.

Chapter Thirty-One. In which our heroine’s long-awaited Rapture Ride experience is interrupted by some unwelcome visitors.

Chapter Thirty-Two. In which our heroine triggers the Rapture…or something.

Chapter Thirty-Three. In which Lorinda and Stimpy slip out of Revelation under cover of pandemonium.

Chapter Thirty-Four. In which our heroine trades arms for freedom.

Chapter Thirty-Five. In which our heroine does a bit of tactical shooting.

Chapter Thirty-Six. In which our heroine heads for the greens in a chartreuse truck.

Chapter Thirty-Seven. In which our heroine hears a ghastly story on the way to the enclave of golf.

Chapter Thirty-Eight. In which our heroine begins a crash course in the plutocratic lifestyle.

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