AFTER MAKING THE call to the number on the mysterious glowing card, I awoke in the middle of the night to a gloved hand held over my mouth and a face encased in a neoprene ski mask looming over me. The leather was soft on my skin. I felt more alert than I had in weeks. I thought I must be dreaming.
“Shhh,” a man said. “Do not panic. Give me your PIN number.” He lifted his hand free so I could speak.
“My what?” My voice was rough, croaking, but the words came with no trouble. I felt my face and the skin was bare and tight. Somehow I’d hacked off my beard, but had no memory of it.
“PIN number, bank authorization number,” the man said.
“I don’t know what it is,” I replied. “I haven’t used anything like that for years.” It was true. All the money is taken care of for me behind the scenes by others. I am sent account statements that I promptly feed into the shredder without even looking at them. It is one of my favorite things to do. I was not panicking because all emotions had been drained from me. If they wanted to kidnap me and sell me into prostitution, or harvest my organs, what did I care?
“Come on, you know it. It probably hasn’t changed. Most people pick one and stick with it.”
“Oh-eight-two-six, my wedding anniversary,” I said to the masked man. He nodded to someone behind me and I could hear the keystrokes on a palmtop. “Check,” the other guy said.
The masked man took off his mask and de-gloved and held out his hand. “My name is Chet and I’m from the White Hot Center.” Chet was the best-looking human I’d ever seen. He looked like the love child of Jim Morrison and Marilyn Monroe: high cheekbones, penetrating blue eyes, and even a little beauty mark above his dimple. He had impeccable manners as well, since he wasn’t flinching from my smell, or the biosphere that was my palm.
Chet continued. “I will be your center liaison as well as your personal majordomo from this point forward. This is Darrell. He is my assistant. If you ever cannot reach me, which is pretty much inconceivable, Darrell will be available. If neither of us is available, an asteroid has destroyed humanity. We have just made a significant withdrawal from your monetary holdings that we will gladly refund at the end of your stay if you find anything about your experience less than completely satisfactory.”
Darrell stepped forward, holding the surface of the palmtop out to me. His mask was pulled up and perched on top of his head like a cap. He looked a little like James Dean. I was being abducted by male models. Was it a dream? It may as well have been. I shook my head and Chet and Darrell bobbled in my vision before settling right in front of me just as before. I reached out and touched the lapel of Chet’s jacket, the leather every bit as soft as the glove.
“With your thumbprint you are signaling your agreement as well as pledging to keep your experiences at the White Hot Center in the strictest of confidences under the harshest penalties,” Chet said.
I pressed my thumb to the palmtop’s surface and after a couple of beats, Darrell nodded again.
“Now, why don’t you change into something comfortable? We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”
I stood unsteadily and peeled the loincloth from my body. It kept its shape as I dropped it on the floor.
“I could use a shower,” I said.
“We’ll take care of that,” Chet replied. “Now get dressed.”
I did as I was told, throwing on some sweats and a T-shirt with a windbreaker. I jammed my sockless feet into a pair of tennis shoes.
“Good enough,” Chet said. “Let’s roll.”
Together we walked out, down the elevator and into the lobby, Chet and Darrell flanking me on either side, holding me fully upright. It had been awhile since I’d stood like a man. Under their leather trenches, they wore black suits with crisp white shirts, no ties. Their masks bulged in their pockets. I didn’t get the feeling I was captive, necessarily, but neither was I thinking I could get away. I felt more curious than afraid. This was the kind of thing that doesn’t happen, but it was happening. As we passed the concierge desk, I could see the doorman slumped over and sleeping, his head cradled in his arms. A black SUV with dark windows idled at the curb with the back door open. I crooked my head over my shoulder at the doorman.
“Don’t worry,” Chet said, “he’ll be fine in a few hours. We gave him the same thing I’m about to give you.”
A whoosh of air, a stinging at my neck, followed by dreamless sleep.