Illusion of Splendor
An International Thriller by J.D. Easley
Waterton Publishing Company
No part of this book was created using Artificial Intelligence (AI).
This is a work of fiction. The events described are imaginary and the settings and characters are fictitious and not intended to represent actual places, companies, or persons.
Copyright © 2012 by J.D. Easley. Waterton Publishing Company. All Rights Reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproducedin any form without permission.
Published simultaneously worldwide.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012947104
ISBN: 978-0-9905249-0-8
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ILLUSION OF SPLENDOR
II PRIVACY
It was three o’clock – nine in Paris – when Robert finally left the Administration Building. He walked to his green two-seat BMW convertible on the other side of campus, lowered into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and dialed Sandra’s cell phone number. After a delay and several rings came a voice over the loudspeaker: “Bonsoir” Sandra answered politely.
“Bonsoir mademoiselle,” Robert’s attempt at French aristocracy fell on ears practiced with his humor and overly cadenced French dialect, “êtes-vous la dame de la maison?”
“Non” Sandra played along, “je suis la femme de ménage, qui est ce?”
“Mon nom est Clouseau, Inspector Clouseau!” Robert did not know the French word for inspector.
Sandra giggled, “And I suppose, Inspector, you are looking for the Pink Panther? Dad, you really need to brush up on your French if you are coming to Paris!”
“Il est vrai I’m afraid” Robert conceded in Frenglish, “sorry to call late, Sandy, but it’s probably not that late for you, how are things?”
“They’re great!” she cheerfully replied, “And, I’ve got some exciting news; we, are going to the Grand Prix!”
Robert thought for a moment, “Which one?”
“Monte-Carlo, silly, and Cannes, we’re going to the Grand Prix!” declared Sandra; “I have a friend, here in Paris, and he has three tickets, good tickets, to the race; and he’s been invited on a yacht! I told him you were coming to visit and he said you are welcome to come along! I want you to go with us!”
“Hmm, you want dear old dad along to the party as a chaperone?” Robert rejoined sarcastically; “Slow down Sand…when is the race?”
“It’s in about three weeks, the end of May, and the film festival is about the same time, so we can do both!”
“It sounds like fun,” Robert hesitated, “…are you really sure you want me along?”
“Of course!” affirmed Sandra until inadvertently diminishing its value with “You’ll be here anyway, what else would you do?”
Not wanting to dampen Sandra’s enthusiasm, Robert proceeded delicately, “Sandy, it sounds like a good time, but who is this friend? Is he a boyfriend? How long have you known him?”
“Dad,” Sandra muted her exuberance, “he is a friend, I mean, we’ve been dating, but it’s not that serious, I think he’s a player, but he’s a nice guy.”
“Well” Robert continued slowly, “if I wouldn’t be in the way, and if you still want to go when I get there, I don’t see why not, I mean, yea, it sounds like fun! My room for the seminar is already booked, and after that, I was going to stay with you and Rachel for three weeks, so I don’t see a problem, or I could stay in your apartment while you’re gone, but that doesn’t sound like much fun. My lecture’s on the twenty-second, so we could leave any time after that!”
“Good; then it’s settled!” Sandra was accustomed to getting her own way with Robert; “I’ll let Gilbert know you’re going. Email me your flight information again, we’ll pick you up.”
“I will Sand, and I’ll pack for the Riviera!” The sound of the words, teasing though they were, excited Robert; “Talk soon, love you.”
After pressing the red key Robert continued holding the phone in his right hand, elbow on the console, staring out the windshield reminiscing about his last trip to the South of France. A well-planned holiday with Sandra’s mother early in her pregnancy with Sandra, it was during a period in his life, their lives, marked in his memory by endless happiness and boundless hope for the future. Time, so fleeting, and always taking with it so much.
Sandra, twenty-four, had been living in France since January; unable to find a job out of college last June she went to Europe with a girlfriend to escape reality. Robert could not blame her. The loss of her mother to suicide a year earlier, the blindly foreseeable result of habitually overusing drugs and alcohol that Robert, if no one else, privately deemed suicide, how Sandra managed to cope let alone finish college he found remarkable.
The tragedy brought Sandra and Robert closer. He helped her to sell the family home, in which he had not resided for years, and she used the money to pay off a trifle of student loans, buy a new car, rent an apartment, and travel Europe for a year. Robert eventually accepted and finally came to encourage the sabbatical when apparent that a distressing inability to land a position teaching secondary French or Spanish foretold Sandra’s mental ruination.
Talking with her that evening Robert realized, perhaps for the first time, the courage of his daughter and the value of his release.
The sound of a growling stomach quickly returned Robert to the need foremost at hand; lunch, he realized, did not occur, and the Greek salad inadvertently abandoned on the security guard’s desk was by that time, he surmised, either soggy or no longer available. A brief stop at the Whole Foods near George Washington University followed by the drive home to his apartment in Georgetown, he strategized, to review assignments and refine his France itinerary.
Home by seven-thirty, Robert was within minutes at the computer logging onto his faculty account; six unread emails, all from students, one from Rain, “Professor Downing, Sorry I botched things today…guess I didn’t realize how things work in campus security and maybe overreacted but Frank seemed like a terrorist talking about killing Muslims. I thought maybe he had a bomb or a gun. You know what happened at V Tech. It pays to be careful; but the guards didn’t have to torture him by locking him in that little room. I hope he’s okay. See you Tuesday. Best, Rain.”
Robert contemplated the email, a myriad possible responses, instructional quips, lectures to be disregarded in lieu of a lifetime’s experience, and typed a hasty response, “Rain, not your fault, Frank should not have lost composure – he’s not really a terrorist, just lost a family member to an airplane crash that he believes was caused by a terrorist. Don’t forget your assignment! PD” followed without much thought by clicking on each of the other student emails, opening hyperlinks, and downloaded finished assignments to individual student folders.