Cirque Microsaurus
Logline: Suffering
a blow to the head via the punt of the champagne bottle that christened her
racing trimaran Soothsayer, a lesbian tech mogul turns straight and starts a
mini dinosaur circus in San Francisco.
The 86’
wing-sail catamaran bobbed gently at Pier 27. An obsidian missile, the AC72
pranced in place with trophy-winning elegance, with each exhale of the waves.
Equally elegant were the 20 models milling at the end of the dock, shivering
slightly, but breathtaking nonetheless in matching black vinyl monokinis. Carrie
Livingston surveyed the crowning glory of her lifetime achievement, then the goosebumped
legion. She inhaled deeply, and accepted a glass of champagne from a tuxedoed
waiter.
“I love the
Bay in May,” she purred.
“Those poor,
cold girls,” piped her equally stunning partner, Pandora—graceful fingers
twining around a flute of Cristal. Her
black pleather minidress hugged her luscious curves, as she tugged on a smart
leather jacket, shivering.
Noticing the
frown playing on Pandora’s features, Carrie smiled.“Don’t worry,
darling…they’re just for our inspiration,”
she whispered into her lover’s ear. “You’re my only and my everything.” Carrie took
Pandora’s left hand and kissed it; lips brushing the green diamond she’d given
her on their wedding day. They both sported the same $10K hammered gold band
from Pavé in Berkeley, set with a
glittering five-carat stone.
One of the
models strode up to the couple.
“Ah, Mona
Middleton, my QA lead,” exclaimed Carrie, as she wrapped her arm around Mona’s
shoulders, causing Pandora’s creamy forehead to crinkle once again.
”Pandora,
sweetie, please meet my most valuable employee, and one of the most brilliant
minds at Soothsayer. Mona, Pandora used to be a top hacker and debugger…the
latter for me…but of course, now, she’s otherwise occupied.”
Pandora
forced a smile as she shook the girl’s blue hand.
“Ms. Livingston,
I am so thrilled to be part of your team…and THIS team” she waved towards the
other girls. Your enlightened management is as successful as I know this
beautiful vessel will be. I just wanted to congratulate you and say thanks!”
“Thank you,
dear. Now , why don’t you take this glass of champagne, and make sure the rest
of the girls have one too.” Carrie motioned to a beefcake waiter, who was
hovering nearby.
On cue, a
radio announcer from KNBR/ESPN Radio picked up a microphone and faced the
crowd. “Welcome everybody! On this auspicious day, we celebrate and inaugurate
the maiden voyage of Silicon Valley superstar Carrie Livingston’s racing
catamaran, Soothsayer II. A contender for the America’s Cup Championship in 2016,
it’s 86 feet long, carries a crew of 11, and is able to reach speeds of 88 mph.
Carrie, if you’ll do the honors…”
The
announcer picked up a champagne bottle from the tiny, black velvet-draped table
before him and handed it to Carrie. Sizing up the bobbing hull, she took a wide
stance with her stilettos and swung the bottle like a baseball bat. It
shattered with an epic crack. The punt flew toward her, whacking her head with
a noticeable thunk.
She fell
like a K.O.’d prizefighter; her coconut making a sickening hollow sound as it
hit the wharf. And then she lay motionless.
Pandora
rushed over, “Someone call 911!” she shrieked.
The media
surged past the horrified and shivering models. Not missing a beat, the
announcer continued his live narration: “Ms. Livingston is DOWN! In a tragic
turn of events, as she was christened her catamaran, IT mogul Carrie Livingston
has been struck down by the punt of the very champagne bottle she was swinging…”
Flashbulbs
exploded and the audience gasped.
“Known to be
a bit on the eccentric side—requiring of all her employees mandatory onsite daily
yoga and meditation—Ms. Livingston is nonetheless regarded as the most successful
tech mogul in Silicon Valley; with Soothsayer earnings for fiscal 2013 topping
17.6 billion. Thought to be at the top of her game, Ms. Livingston—at 55 years
old—has everything to live for.”
Sirens
approached, as the chattering, confused models huddled like Emperor penguins
that had just lost their egg. Some of the more enterprising paparazzi offered
them their jackets.
~
Word spread
like wildfire at Soothsayer headquarters. As the announcement rippled through
the building, incredulous employees prairie-dogged over their cubicle walls and
conjectured heatedly at the Smoothie Bar.
“Is she
still in a coma?” a bloom-cheeked geek wondered, wide-eyed, over his Monster Mango-rama
with protein powder. “What does this mean for all of us?”
“What if she
doesn’t make it?” another posited, slurping the last of his Banana Mamma Jamma.
“This blows, dude.”
Bets were
placed on whether she would live or die at what Forbes magazine called “the
most enlightened workplace in Silicon Valley”.
~
Beep…beep…beep…What’s that annoying sound? Carrie slowly
opened her eyes. She saw nothing but white mist. Am I dead? she wondered, blinking. Slowly a hospital room came into
focus…and the face of a beautiful woman in a black leather jacket peering down
at her.
“Who are you?” Carrie asked, frowning.
Pandora’s
naked left hand flew to her mouth.
“Short term memory loss is common
after a concussion and coma,” the doctor had assured her. “Since she’s
physically fine, why don’t you take her home and try to jog her memory. That
would be the best treatment at this point.”
~
Carrie
stepped into her Woodside mansion gingerly, eyeing everything as if for the
first time. Pandora squeezed Carrie’s ringless left hand, “Does anything look
familiar, sweetie?”
Shaking her
head, Carrie let herself be led on a tour. As they entered the master bedroom, she
took in all 1200 square feet of it. Nearly snow blind from the pure whiteness
of its swath of carpet, white furniture, and comforter, she approached the
custom Duxiana with a frown.
“What are
all those stuffed dinosaurs doing on the bed?” she puzzled.
“Sweetie,
these are all yours! Actually, I’ve been hoping for the past year that you’d
grow tired of them, but you said you had one as a little girl. The decorator
thinks they’re a nightmare, but they make you so happy… No, huh?”
“Nope.
Sorry.” Carrie sat on the bed weakly, cradling a 10-inch sauropod.
~
Over the
next several weeks, the froideur
between Carrie and Pandora grew steadily worse. All of Pandora’s loving efforts
at rekindling Carrie’s memories as well as their relationship, failed. Finally,
Carrie asked Pandora to move out…that she needed time alone to sort out who she
was now, since it seemed her old self wasn’t returning.
“Since we’re
not married, this will all be much easier, right?” she said to Pandora’s
retreating back. The front door slammed. Carrie was alone at last.
Over the
next few weeks of solitude and soul-searching, Carrie realized she had lost all
interest in sailing, in her business, and in women. She kept hoping something would resonate…an
interest, an idea…anything.
Facing her
white laptop in her white bedroom one night, it hit her. On her screen was the
home page of an unusual business just south of Tuvalu…
~
“Ultimate
Exotic Pet,” a Kiwi-accented voice replied, “We fulfill your extreme animal
needs.”
Eyebrows
raised, Carrie pulled the cell phone from her ear and stared at it, then
shrugged.
“I’d like to
set up a visit.”
~
In the two
weeks before her trip to the South Pacific, she made the city of San Francisco
an offer they couldn’t refuse, and bought Candlestick Park. Workers began
retrofitting it to become an enclosed tropical jungle.
She then
proceeded to kit out her private 767 jet with 20 spacious cages. “Just keep the
animals separate from the main cabin, she told the engineers. “I don’t want to
smell the poop.”
~
The tall,
musclebound Kiwi led her down a jungle path. Carrie found herself staring at
his bulging biceps, then brought her gaze up to his eyes.
“So you want
to create a…”
“Circus.”
“You know
these are mostly reptiles, ma’am…they’re not very bright. Except for the Pakicetus.
It’s the doglike ancestor to the whale. And Phosphatherium, the pig-sized
ancestor to the elephant.”
“I’ve made
my fortune doing things people said were impossible. Show me what you’ve got.”
~
OK, so
that’ll be two Microraptors, two Raptorex, five Microceratops, three
Nemicolopteri, two Phosphatherium, and two Pakicetus…oh yes, and three of the
smallest Velociraptors. Next I need to give you their care and dietary
requirements...
“Tell me, Aidan,
has anyone ever tried to train these creatures?”
“Actually
yes, let me show you what Pakicetus can do…” (They approached a fenced area.) “Here
boy, fetch…”Aidan tossed a ball to the far end of the cage, and Paki raced after
it, catching it midair on a bounce. The russet,
doglike creature returned with the ball, dropped it to the ground, and sat,
gazing at Aidan and Carrie with intelligent, blue eyes. Then Aiden threw it a beach
ball and Paki bounced it on his nose several times. “Good boy!”
Carrie
clapped and laughed, causing Paki to scurry away to a corner and hide.
“We’ll have
to work on the applause thing,” Aidan shrugged.
~
“So who’s
going to care for them in San Francisco?” Aiden asked.
“Actually,
if they could spare you here, I’d like to bring you with,” Carrie grinned. “How does $250K/year sound?”
“Good as gold, mate.”
~
Aiden’s leg
casually brushed against Carries in the jet cabin. Shivers ran up her spine and
she nearly spilled her Chateau Margeaux on the white carpet. “Of course, I’ll
hire you as many assistants as you need,” she said, recovering. “Now this isn’t
going to be a zoo! Carrie waved a caviar-laden cracker in emphasis. “I don’t
want the animals to be gawked at until showtime! Until I say so! I want full
creative control here…”
“I’ll do my
best, ma’am,” Aiden replied, patting her knee, and causing some precious drops of
Margeaux to pattern the carpet this time.
~
Practice
began, with a few missing fingers among the handsomely paid-off workers.
As training
ensued and the Park’s media kit began to circulate, Carrie found she had a
three ring circus sooner than expected…When the media began spotting Carrie and
Aiden at the swankiest restaurants in San Francisco, and his car parked by her
house nightly.
Someone else
noticed the nocturnal visits. “She thinks she can just throw me away…” Pandora
muttered from the neighbor’s hedge.
~
Finally it
was opening night for Cirque Microsaurus…Thousands of expectant children,
parents and media clogged the 101. Private shuttles, boats and helicoptors
turned out to be the most successful method of gaining entry to the sold-out
arena.
The show
began with the paki’s doggy tricks, the wonder of the four-winged flyers, and
the sweetness of the pig-sized elephant. This was followed by wild dancing by
the foot-tall Microceratops, who waggled their ruffs comically and made the
audience laugh as they danced to the Nutcracker Suite.
The T Rexes
and velociraptors followed, wowing the audience as they chased balls, Aiden,
and each other, in a somewhat synchronized manner.
As the grand
finale ensued, Carrie stood proudly in the center of the floor, white top hat and
tails matching Aiden’s. Just as the music crescendoed, the stadium was plunged
into darkness. Screams pierced the gloom. Then there was the crunch of huge
metal doors being wrenched open. Chill bay gusts ripped through the stadium.
Not far from
a nearby P.E. & E. transformer that she’d hacked and shut down, Pandora
cackled evilly. “You think you can love cold blooded creatures, Ms. Livingston?
How about a bunch of dead reptiles?!”
~
Pandemonium
ensued, as animals and humans run helter skelter. One particularly oversized
Velociraptor slammed full tilt into a tent support beam near Carrie. It cracked
and began falling in slow motion. As the deathly fog swirled into her tropical
Thunderdome, and her little denizens began dying, Carrie screamed, but found she couldn’t make a sound. The beam
bonked her on the head and she blacked out, as the pakis and tiny elephants
rush to their fallen mother’s side, huddling for warmth and safety.
~
Carrie woke
in a hospital room, panting, with a loving Pandora pressing her favorite
stuffed dino to her. “My babies!” She gasped, eyes wild and unfocused, then
gradually resting on Pandora.
“Your babies
are right here and they’re fine,” Pandora soothed.
“But the circus?!
Aiden?!...Was it YOU that killed them all?” she snapped.
Pandora
looked puzzled…then horrified. She took
a deep breath and unfurrowed her forehead.
“You’ve been
in a coma for two weeks, sweetie. You suffered a concussion when you were hit
in the head by the punt of the champagne bottle you christened Soothsayer II
with. Do you remember?”
Slowly,
thoughtfully, Carrie began nodding.
It had all been
a dream.
Carrie began
to laugh, as she took Pandora’s hand. She noticed that the green diamond set into
the hammered gold band that she’d given her on their wedding day was still
there.
Carrie grabbed
her favorite stuffed dinosaur, which lay next to her on her bed and threw it into
the wastebasket across the room.
“Come here,
baby,” Carrie said as she pulled Pandora to her and tipped her face up.
Pandora drew
the privacy curtain with a secret smile, and kissed her resurrected lover.
Fin
