CHAPTER EIGHT
“Actually, I invented the Blue Root and a bunch of other thtuff.” Ordal Laverock grinned at the drop-dead gorgeous blonde woman next to him at the bar. The Vine was the hottest nightclub in Florida–or at least the closest club to his island.
His sights were on celebrating tonight. This was the first week that distributors called BlueCentric Laboratories begging for more Blue Roots rather than his sales team begging distributors to carry them. His automated factories hadn’t been set at full speed, but they were humming along nicely.
This was also the first week that someone had posted a hacked Blue Root program for everyone to steal. If that wasn’t ultimate success of a product, what was? People were starting to want the Blue Root so badly, they were willing to break copyright laws to achieve a bigger, better orgasm.
“You expect me to believe that pick-up line?” the blonde wrinkled her face.
“Well, yeth.”
“Is that lisp supposed to make you sound cute or something?”
“Cute? I’m a brilliant inventor.”
“Is that your best pick-up line?” Why did she still look disgusted?
“It’s not a pick-up line! It’s the truth!”
“Nothing would work for you. You need lots of therapy. Thanks for the drink, but no thanks.”
“But, I really did invent it. I thwear.” His words trailed off as she walked away.
Amid the wall-to-wall dancing revelers, Ordal’s Blue Root had captured a few women’s attention. But most of them wouldn’t talk to him for some reason. He’d brushed his teeth before leaving home. He’d even combed his hair and put on his highest platform shoes, but still the ladies looked through him.
He sniffed his armpit, hoping that was the reason he repelled women. Hmmm… He wasn’t too ripe yet. According to his controller, several gals were wearing Blue Roots. There had to be one who’d believe him.
Doggone it. Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating success. The Blue Root should make up for all his failures. Okay, well, maybe nothing could make up for the SurvivalSaver. The whole point of the compass being edible was that if a person were lost, he could use the compass to navigate and if he got hungry, he could eat it. Of course, then he wouldn’t be able to find his way anymore. But who uses compasses anymore anyway? Disaster. Complete disaster.
And the Wallet Thermometer. For some reason, that darn thing always read body temperature even when it was snowing outside. Ordal grimaced as he ordered a Primal Scream from the green-haired, overly pierced man behind the bar.
There had to be a woman in that establishment who’d be interested in a Blue Root experience. He’d slaved for months working with Bluetooth transmitters and receivers, motors, circuitry, sticky polymers and numerous other components until he’d finally put together the right combination. From there, he’d production-engineered it so he could make tons of them. Through that process, he’d developed Skintite Technology and got the idea for all the accessories and programming.
“Did you want a shot of garlic in that?” the bartender asked as he slid the jug toward Ordal, jarring from waxing how wonderful his invention was.
“I’ll take two, actually. And a clove.”
The fellow with the green hair raised his eyebrows, but did as he was told, adding the required oil and clove of garlic before landing a straw in the drink. “Suit yourself, dude.”
Grooving his head to the techno music, Ordal looked across the sea of dancing people. Purple hair, dangerous piercings, the wild life overtook his sight. Each of the Vine’s various rooms had something different to offer. When the vibrant colors and loud music got too much, he could head to the lounge or the ocean or the everyday. Tonight, it didn’t matter. Wherever there was a woman willing to celebrate with him, he’d go.
Taking a slurp of his Primal Scream, the only drink offered in a jug–and with garlic–Ordal scrutinized each woman within his range of sight, sometimes tapping his controller, hoping it’d help point out the right lovely lady.
Maybe tonight he’d have to experiment and hook up with a man. No. The male orgasm just wasn’t as pretty as the female. Women show their feelings more than men, making the Blue Root respond better. Tonight was a night for fireworks, not just sexual gratification. Otherwise, it would all feel good no matter who was on the on the other end of his Blue Root.
No luck in this room. Ordal did his best to shimmy as he made his way through the crowd to the lounge where the music was kept at a lower volume, allowing for conversation. And if any woman happened to be wearing a Blue Root, perhaps it’d be easier to impress her if he could talk without having to yell. Somewhere in that building, there had to be a lady who would believe that he invented the Blue Root and wanted to experiment with him.
He took another swig of Primal Scream, enjoying the intensity of the garlic burning his tongue. Oh yeah. Garlic was the food of gods. He basked in it during his bi-monthly bathing sessions. There was nothing better than garlic. Somewhere there had to be a woman who liked garlic as much as he did.
Once in the lounge, he surveyed the room for a place to sit. In the far corner, a trio of women vacated their seats and Ordal wasted no time, traversing the space, stepping on a few toes in the process.
The nerve of these people. They really should stay out of his way. Couldn’t they see he was trying to get somewhere? How dare they not make room for him?
After sitting in the corner, quaffing his Primal Scream for a solid half hour, he finally saw a lady worthy of his attention. She was drinking from her glass jug without using a straw. There weren’t any cloves in it, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Tapping his controller, he found her code, all the while hoping she was wearing a Blue Root.
Success. She was startled as Ordal sent a jolt to her controller. Scanning the crowd, her gaze rested on him. He crooked his finger, beckoning her over. She drifted through the maze of chairs and tables, nearly falling over twice. Luckily her drink was in a jug or several patrons would’ve been wearing it.
“S-so, you’ve got on a Blue R-Root?” She squinted then blinked as she sat down in the empty chair next to him.
Ordal kept his smile constant. Perhaps he’d have some luck tonight after all. “Hell, I invented it.”
“Oh really? Th–that’s nice. Good for you. I’m D-DeeDee.”
“Ordal Laverock, but pleathe call me Orrick.”
“That’s a f-funny name. It’s kind of like Eric, but not. You talk funny, too.” She brought her jug to her lips and tossed her head back, guzzling clumsily.
Good. She was already inebriated. That’d make her easier to impress with his Blue Root skills. She had to be the only woman in the room who at least believed he invented the darn thing. “Well, DeDeeDee, do you come here often?”
“No. My name’s just DeeDee.”
“Dee Dee?” Ordal repeated, wondering why she’d changed her name mid-conversation.
“Yeah, Dee twice. And I’ve never been here before. My best friend t-told me I need to stop being so picky and get myself laid. She s-said to come here and get a Primal Scream.”
“Really?” Ordal pretended to be surprised. DeeDee was making this whole Blue Root fireworks thing way too easy. He was just a cross-up away.
“Uh-huh. She said I’d be so fucked up by the t-time I finished it that I wouldn’t care what guy I Blue Root f-fucked and I’d feel so much better. So here I am. Ready for my Blue Root orgasms and so far, she was right, but I haven’t found a guy I wanna Blue Root fuck, though.”
“Hmmm. It’s really simple, though. Anyone can do it.” Close. Real close. “And since I invented it, I really am a master of Blue Root stimulation.”
She hiccupped as she looked at her jug. “This stuff tastes like garlic more than anything. I don’t get it. See, I haven’t had sex in forever and I r-really want a man who knows how to use a Blue Root ’cause I wanna go crazy with him and then never see him again just so I can see what that’s like.” She smiled, then coughed, practically spilling out of her chair before catching herself and straightening.
Mentally, Ordal did cartwheels around the room plus a happy dance. Tonight was a night of celebration. A night of success. A night to share his stunning prowess with a divine darling. Oh yes!
“Dee Dee. I’m the right man. Your man. Tonight.” He began rolling his sleeve up out of the way. It was time to set his controller to meld with hers and show her the time of her life. He grinned from ear to ear as he licked his lips in anticipation.
She smiled at him. Then giggled. Then chuckled. Uproarious snorting laughter burst forth from deep within her throat. “Hell no. Not you. I don’t f-fuck weirdos.” She began to whoop and gasp for breath as she fell backwards in her chair clasping her stomach.
That was it. Ordal pushed his way out of there. If he couldn’t find a way to get laid, he’d go home and find a way to get more money. No one would make a fool of Ordal Laverock. At least not when he had the power to make lots more money than anyone in the world. He’d be the richest man on the planet even if it killed him. Surely, then women would throw themselves at him.
Yeah. So there!
