Chapter 3 (2000 - 2001)

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.

-- Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison, 1947)

AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE

You can see us, but you do not know where we are.

You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.

You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.

We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.

PREVIOUSLY:

Stanley recollects what the older telepath Tseng reveals about the invisible empire. Tseng later introduces Stanley to "the agency" (the United States' National Security Agency, or NSA). Thus begins Stanley's involvement in agency operations, illegal "odd jobs" to bolster his mettle, and his working relationships with Tseng and the teleporter, David.

After graduating college, Stanley goes to Hong Kong for a family vacation. While there, he meets and seduces his first cousin Aurora Kwong. They have a brief, incestuous affair. Once they return home, they keep in touch only through electronic correspondence.

On more personal level, Stanley and Rachelle have a lovers' quarrel and break-up over Janet's involvement. He meets her a few years later at Faraz's engagement party, only to find that she had found someone else. Sensing Stanley's depression, Viktoriya instigates a menage-a-trois with Shawn to cheer up her lover.

Stanley makes plans to create a place where he and his darlings may live together in harmony. Eschewing Mormon and Islamic beliefs, he falls back on his own family's history of polygamy as well as literary sources for inspiration.

As the year 2000 begins, Stanley has secured a promising job and received pledges from four girls: Janet Kam-Ling Wu, Shawn Ellen Horten, Melanie Yu-Ching Chen, and Viktoriya Lychenko to be his wives.

A LIFE IN FOCUS

When I was younger, I thought that building a house was easy as 1-2-3. Had I known that the actual business was such a monumental task, I would've gone into a different profession, or killed myself. Fuck architecture.

Architects -- the ones portrayed glamorously in the media, or tragically in Ayn Rand's Fountainhead -- are the one in a million. More often than not, they're mostly unhappy, under great pressure, and at the end of the day, they say, "Fuck it," pull out the latest copy of Graphics Standard and cobble together the best design they can come up with.

I was a shade above that, but I suspected it would not take much to drag me down. I had asked the girls to vote on their favorite site. I was fairly sure I could persuade either of the owners to sell their property, and I could get all the tenants to move before I started building (although Viktoriya was egging me to kick the tenants out with a little 'persuasion').

Janet favored the site on 6th Avenue, since it cut her commute time down considerably; however, it was a little too close to the Golden Gate Park for Shawn's comfort. Having lived apart from her parents in San Jose, my pudgy pumpkin wanted to be as far away from them as possible. She favored the other place.

Viktoriya didn't put in her preference. She had graduated from her institute in 1999 (hers being a four plus two program -- four years of undergraduate study, two more in graduate school) and had partnered with an older man that same year. She had flown to England for a week to compete in competition, and along those lines, she maintained she wanted to stay in New York for a little longer. They had some overseas competitions they wished to enter.

'It will be fun, kisa.' Viktoriya blew a kiss into the mirror so I could see her. 'I will meet many skilled dancers!'

I cracked my knuckles in frustration while I thought-spoke on my bus ride to work. I hadn't experienced jealousy of this intensity before. The idea of Viktoriya twirling nearly nude in another man's arms thousands of miles away rankled me. It reminded me of how I had lost Rachelle. I couldn't hide my envy fast enough.

'Don't think like that Stanislav.' Viktoriya scolded. 'It is the last thing on my mind when I am on the floor.'

'It better be.' I buried my envy and let my humor mask my emotions. 'And I guess I can't complain about the opportunity. Just let me into the ladies' dressing room and I'll call it even.'

Viktoriya grinned roguishly, extended her middle finger, and gestured with it in the most perverse way possible by fingering her cunt before licking it. I was grinning stupidly at antics occurring on the other side of the continent and hardly noticed people were staring at me on the bus. They probably thought I was retarded.

Melanie, sensitive to both Janet's and Shawn's feelings, also didn't put in her vote. Privately, she told me she didn't want to move. Wouldn't it be better, she suggested, to buy a second house, move my parents and Andrew out, and have things the way they were? As much nostalgia as my old room held, I knew I needed a place of my own. I wanted to expand my horizons and didn't need to live under my family's roof any more. By now, my life was a little more rough and tumble, and I wasn't sure if they'd agree.

From my weapon seizures, I had picked up some interest in gunsmithing. Having gotten my masters in architecture, I found myself spending my newly acquired spare weekends at a gun shop in San Bruno (just south of South San Francisco). The owner and the namesake of the place was an old coot by the name of Barnes. We traded ammunition from the weapons I took from dead Mexican banditos and gang-banging thugs.

The few pieces I had that could pass for legal I'd bring in and learn a few tricks about maintenance and gunsmithing. Heck, I picked up Barnes' entire experience after a few weeks; gunsmithing is nothing fancy once you figure out how all the parts interacted with one another.

Although I didn't have a private license or agency authorization to carry a gun, I knew enough about them through my tinkering to disable them quickly. I didn't sell the guns (since many were illegally obtained anyway) -- just stockpiled ammunition and spare parts (springs, firing pins, and barrels mostly) for the ones I kept -- but I found the (legal looking) handguns handy. After buying state-approved magazines (California limited civilians like myself to magazines holding ten rounds or less at the time) I occasionally went shooting with some of my new co-workers.

I haven't gotten to that part yet have I? I finally found a day job that didn't involve drugs, crime cartels, or cold-blooded murder in the middle of a sun-parched desert. Let me walk you through the process though.

After I returned from New York, I took the architecture practitioner's license exam. At the time, California was engaged in heated debate whether or not to standardize their licensing with more than a score of other states. I had to admit that California was slightly unique: the state had a shit-ton of people living on the fault line. After the 1989 Loma Prieta Quake, seismic awareness (if not engineering) was a requisite for all design students.

I passed my exam by the flimsiest of margins. It consisted of a two day design studio then a day of presentation. If you missed anything at any time, you were screwed. I couldn't use my gift of gab for the presentation since it was reviewed without you; if the reviewers understood your presentation, you passed. If they did not, then that was it.

The worst of it was yet to come. The last part was a personal interview conducted by three licensed architects. Miss a question and you failed, regardless how well you did earlier (or how tired you were from it).

The project was something only a sick mind could concoct: some fool wanted to create a facility to serve under-privileged and disadvantaged youth (read: potential gang-bangers) by day as well as house disadvantaged seniors day and night. Simply pushing it through just to accommodate both parties wasn't enough, I had to "hybridize" the project -- we're talking an ideal fusion of opposing objectives that only an academic, or a day-dreamer, could love. I met the bare physical requirements (which demanded a physical scale model) by drafting only the facade of the facility.

I exceeded in presentation. My use of CAD allowed me to draft in roughly half the time (having the money to splurge on a hefty desktop didn't hurt either). This left me with the ability to draw on my own skills at visual presentation. I drew on youth-involved community programs and my own culture's stereotypical filial piety. People are suckers for Asians, especially if they think you're "traditional."

When it came time for my interview, my gift let me pass it with greater ease than normal. A few quick scans and I knew what those fools were looking for. By the time Lunar New Year came around, I was a licensed architect in the state of California.

Despite my success, I didn't let it all go to my head. I interviewed and got a job as a computer assisted drafter (not an architect) with Ferguson Design & Graphics in a cushy office downtown. Since I could bring projects home, I would meet Janet (her office was on Sacramento Street). This renewed contact cemented a decade long relationship. Janet and I rediscovered why we hung out so much (despite our occasional differences).

Janet's firm (Friedman, Hoch, Brenner, & Glasser) was one that specialized in defending businesses from class action suits. Since her graduation, she was working on mounds of briefs, paperwork, and meetings for well over a year. The only vacation she got was for New Years. With Viktoriya in New York, Shawn busy at Berkeley, and Melanie splitting her time between high school and the culinary program at City, Janet and I found time again to re-connect.

I invited her to stay over for a few days and she agreed, packing a few overnight items. It would also be a chance for her to take a look at the offers the owners were making for their buildings, as well as some of the drawings Shawn had done to "eco-friendly" the building.

"Stanley?" Janet came in with her set of keys, "Stanley, where are you?"

I heard her hollering a bit and cracked open the door to my studio in the outer room with a little telekinesis.

"The usual, honey."

I was putting the final touches on some construction drawings and I had to be careful. Unlike those glitzy plans you'd see at town hall meetings or in the movies, construction drawings were the actual "blueprints". Various contractors would use them to actually build the damn thing, so if I missed an important detail -- say, forgetting to note that there should be five screws at all the T-joints instead of three -- my company would get their ass handed to them on a plate in the civil suit, then I'd get fired for incompetence. Janet came in and put her arms around me.

"Kiss me you big handsome guy you. It's Friday."

"They asked me to have these ready Sunday morning," I reached up absently and pinched her arm. "Just so they can avoid paying me overtime."

"Animals," Janet sniffed. "That's illegal."

I shrugged. "I don't mind. Keeps me in practice."

"Well," my lovely lawyer stood up in a huff, "I'm going to take a shower. What're we having for dinner?"

"Considering we just let our parents know what we've been doing," I turned towards her, "I was thinking cheun-gaa-hui-xicfan." [Cantonese: Let's have a nice family dinner.]

Janet hid her smile but I heard the giggle. I didn't know if it was from the incident from a few days ago, or if it just struck her as funny. This was how it started: ever since Rachelle, my parents hadn't seen me hang out with anyone (officially) save Melanie and -- on rare occasions -- Shawn and Viktoriya. Janet was one of my most well kept secrets (save the empire). We started seeing each other so furtively that it became second nature to us.

When I finally introduced Janet to my parents, I had to deal with a sudden barrage of questions that came up. Even Andrew, my normally supportive little brother, was curious as to what was going on. Luckily, my mother remembered Janet, although only dimly. It didn't take her long to suspect something. She wondered how serendipitous it was for me to meet her again after all these years.

Mother finally took me aside and asked her most pressing question: "Kgam yeung Yu-Ching hai lei-ge bien-ge?" [Cantonese: Then who is Yu-Ching to you?]

When I put on my straightest face and answered, she fainted. Thankfully, I had been practicing my telekinesis so I could gently let her hit the ground without serious injury. When my mother got back up and told my dad, that was when things really got interesting (insert sarcasm here). My father was furious at my temerity, but I stuck to my guns. I suppose I could've done more, like brain-zapping his ass, but I didn't.

Discipline and control were what I had to go on. Besides, I had a better weapon. An ally more potent than what I had for this problem: my devoted Lady Wu. Janet told them that she knew already. Part of it was her choice as well, and she didn't mind.

"I made this decision Chen-sang," [Cantonese: Mr. Chen / authoritative] Janet used a gentle version of her court voice, "And I agreed to it because I love Stanley and I know he loves me."

And that was it. Oh, we heard them arguing from my room below and their voices sometimes kicked up a storm. So much so in fact, that Andrew actually came down and asked to stay with us for a while until things quieted down. Once things did, he headed back upstairs. Janet didn't mind his company though, and made an effort to know him better.

"Sorry Janet," Andrew shrugged apologetically, "You should've seen our dad's face when ah-guo [Cantonese: Big Brother (casual)] brought home Rachelle."

"Oh, I'm sure it was something." Janet smiled thinly. Andrew saw me scowl past her.

"Uh sorry," my little brother laughed nervously, "I didn't mean it that way."

"That's all right," Janet said, "It's in the past right?"

"It looks that way," I lied.

Actually, I didn't know. My last meeting with Rachelle was brief and it was one of the most confusing and painful moments I had. She had gotten engaged without even telling me. But now and then, I would see her emails and I would answer them as I did before, only with a little more attention. I learned a valuable lesson in communication. I left my responses open to more dialogue. Rachelle would write back and we'd exchange messages once a week or so.

I shook off Rachelle's memory and focused on the task at hand. I finished checking through the project drawings a third (and by most standards, final) time while Janet was still in the shower. I saved the project, backed a copy to a Jazz disk then stood up for some exercise.

While Janet was still occupied, I juggled several paperweights, my chair, wastebasket, and pillow to stay in practice. When I heard the shower's hiss go silent, I quietly set all the items back down and headed to the kitchenette. Janet came out, her body hidden only by a towel before her; her back was bared for all to see.

"Water dear?" I looked up with a smile.

"No thanks," she was hardly surprised to see me but she kept her towel, "Um, could you turn around?"

"Why you beautiful girl you," I stepped close and slid my arm around her waist, "Give your fiance a kiss. It's Friday."

A slow grin came to Janet's face as I pulled her towel and draped it over the back of the chair.

"Why Stanley," she murmured, "Aren't we going to dinner?"

"In a little bit," I picked her up easily despite the fact she had gained a few pounds. "I just want to give you a few swimmers first."

"That's not appetizing," Janet wrinkled her nose at me. "At least have the decency to shower first, you big stinky lug."

"Who said anything about appetizers?" I kissed her. "I'm making this the main course."

Janet's eyes widened like saucers. "You're serious?"

"Course I am," I nodded.

"I don't know sweetie," Janet squirmed a little. "I mean I just did start at the firm last year."

"Probation's over," I lay her down gently on the sofa. "I thought you wanted this?"

Janet said nothing but I sensed her nervousness.

"The house hasn't been built yet you know," she lectured me while in the most ridiculous pose: her legs and feet pointed high into the air.

"So by the time he or she pops out, it'll be done." I sounded more sure of myself than I really was.

"C'mon," Janet stroked my arms and face, "Let's talk about this afterwards, okay?"

"Fine," I sighed and got up. My hard-on made it a little difficult.

As I stepped towards my studio to get dressed, I looked back at Janet, who still lay there with her legs splayed apart.

"You coming?" I asked.

"Oh, I will be, Stanley," Janet rubbed her pussy deliciously. "Have you forgotten what saran wrap is for?"

I grinned and headed back to the kitchenette. I pulled out a thin piece and whipped out my stiffening cock. I dripped a little vegetable cooking oil and knelt between Janet's legs.

"Stick me baby," Janet cooed. "Fuck me like old times."

She was nearly twice her age from when we first fucked. Janet had grown older, her body a little softer and a little less firm. I wasn't yet 25 (not until September of 2000) and Janet wouldn't be 29 until June. Janet's sedentary lifestyle made her a little flabby, though not much so that she was unattractive. If I was inclined to be so shallow, I wouldn't have paid girls like Shawn much attention.

No, Janet, like my other darlings, had beauty that was more than skin deep. Oh, I'm sure I'd bone a pretty hot chick if the chance arose. I did exactly that with my cousin Aurora, but I didn't grow more fond of her. We remained pen pals over email and we didn't exactly click.

Janet groaned as I slid into her. The saran wrap stretched but didn't break as I began to pump her slowly. I looked deep into her eyes and smiled. She grinned back and scraped my stomach lightly with her nails. I shivered as she did so, eliciting a saucy grin from her lips. Janet took my arms and stroked them lazily. The rhythm she wanted me to fuck her with, she reproduced by stroking my palm.

"Easy Stanley," Janet guided me, "Easy there. That's it. That's right. Ooohh..."

She was my tutor and my first love. She taught me manners and showed me a world a little bit past what I could see as a stupid kid. All these memories I had came back and nearly overwhelmed me, but I kept them in check; I knew I was able to hurt her easily with a stray thought.

I had grown, and so had she. I didn't want to do anything to hurt Janet. I would do anything to protect her. I loved her and she loved me. I leaned forward and kissed her. She held me tightly as I came with a jerk. The two of us were bright, happy and gay as we went out to dinner with her parents and mine.

BONER-IFFIC

That night, Janet and I talked a little about our future, about everyone's future, while we lay nude under the bed covers. We had flashlights underneath and it felt like an old-style slumber party; a naked slumber party.

"It'll be just a bit longer," Janet tapped her finger on a small calendar.

"You sure?" I asked her, "You're how old now?"

"28 and-a-half. I think I can wait a little longer."

"I guess so." I didn't feel as old as she did. But time did seem to fly by. I did some quick math. We'd known one another nearly twelve years. I knew Melanie and Shawn for about eleven, and Rachelle -- had she remained intimate -- for about the same. Only Viktoriya was lacking in the length of time; I met her later, giving us only six years. However, she more than made up for it in effort and telepathy. Janet, in the meantime, had been talking a little more, but I only listened with half an ear.

" ... Stanley," she growled, "Are you even listening? If you can't keep track of our birthdays, there's going to be hell to pay."

"Tell me about it darling," I pushed Janet's calendar off the bed and rolled her onto her back.

"What do you think you're doing mister?" she sounded annoyed, but I saw a trace of mischief in her eyes.

"We're going to play house," I chuckled, "And the scenario is 'daddy's home and he's horny'."

"Li-xieng-xshie," the bob-haired beauty slapped me playfully and laughed. [Cantonese: literally, Do you want to die? colloquial slang meaning 'Yeah right!' or 'You wouldn't dare!']

"Laopo-lum-hei-di-xie-mun-jai," I whispered into her ear, "Think of the children." [Cantonese: Wife (said in this fashion, it may be construed as 'little wifey') think of the children.]

Janet let out a muffled groan as I pressed against her. She played with my ears and mimed Reverend Lovejoy's wife's (Helen) whiny screech, "Won't someone PLEASE think of the children?!"

We both laughed. Janet had enjoyed a few of The Simpsons with me. Might as well, since Rachelle was no longer around. I bit her lips gently and then nuzzled her neck. Janet sucked in her breath as she held me.

"You're crushing me Stanley," she murmured, "Can I get on top?"

"Sure thing dear," I rolled her atop me and she sat up, throwing off the covers.

It was strange. Almost like that night so long ago when we had our first bare-backed night of love. Janet's hips swayed as she straddled me. My already hardened prick was working slowly into her depths as she gyrated. I let her work slowly. We hadn't done much foreplay so she would be a little drier.

"Ung--gawd," Janet shuddered as I entered her.

She leaned forwards so she could be with me. Her soft tits pressed against me as I savored the taste of her lips and skin. Janet's warm breath was tinged with a touch of mint from our toothpaste and felt wonderful as she kissed my face and neck. I stroked her back gently as she began to move ever faster.

Janet let out a pleasurable gasp as I reached out slowly with my mind and stroked her mentally. Her pussy was getting wetter as her hips moved in a strong rhythm. In the dim light of my room, I could see her most prominent features contort as she approached orgasm.

I heard her thoughts clearly as she held my head and locked eyes with me: 'God I want this.' 'I need this.' 'This is it.' 'I'm taking the plunge.' 'I'm going to be a mommy.'

I seized her hips tightly as I shot my load deep into my first love. Janet's mouth hung open as she felt the warm spread of my baby butter inside her. All she could make were incoherent sounds as I ground myself against her body. She collapsed in a heap atop me panting, her pussy quivering, her body shivering.

I used the darkness to cover my telekinesis. I drew the covers over her as she stretched herself over me, my cock still inside her. After a few moments of silence, I heard her rustling and I moved a little so she could sleep by my side.

"Stanley?" she whispered. "Are you asleep?"

"Not yet," I touched her. "What's up?"

I was earnestly too tired to read her thoughts by then; still, some of it floated through: faceless children, an uncertain future, and the other girls would occasionally pop up. I get it: she was wondering when the others would go preggers.

"What should we name him or her?" Janet draped an arm and leg over me.

"Anything you want," I murmured. "I'm sure our parents will give you pointers."

"I know," she said drowsily. "Imagine that Stanley. We'll be like them in a few years."

Her words jolted me unlike anything I had felt. Of the things I've experienced. The lethal take-downs during my "odd jobs", the fall-out with Rachelle, David's matter displacement, Tseng's destructive potential, all of that seemed moot.

All that paled in comparison to our mortality in the face of ever-marching time. Eventually, we'd all be relegated to dust. Suddenly, it seemed like I'd never have enough time. Not with myself, not with my girls, not with all that I worked for.

I listened to Janet's steady breathing and realized how unfair it all was. To have worked so diligently, only to enjoy it for a few years. It was unfair, I thought as my eyelids drooped. Suddenly, things didn't seem all that fun anymore. I just had more things to worry about and less time to do so with.

THREE COUNT TECHNICALITY

Lunar New Year (a fifteen day celebration here -- it lasts a month in China) was generally a good time for me. Being Chinese and part of an extended family of Chens in the United States, one gets a load of lucky money (of course, one's parents' bleeds out a similar amount, so the exchange is usually even). A few days after the city's Miss Chinatown parade, the most frugal of us would generally deposit the cash right to the bank.

Of course, having done several "odd jobs" with Tseng in Mexico, I had nearly two million dollars in drug money stashed in my house. Then things got even more interesting. I took four-day weekend to do another "odd job" with Tseng -- this time an accidental loss of shipment -- a few miles past Ojinga and became nine million dollars richer after the even split.

Technically, Tseng and I weren't supposed to do any more "odd jobs" but then again, the agency wasn't exactly knocking on our door with assignments. I could barely deposit one-percent of the stuff since I wouldn't have receipts for it if I was audited. While I would've gladly paid the taxes on it, Tseng wised me up that I could practically write off a large chunk of my house payments (a mortgage on real-estate). If I played my cards right, he informed me, I could be taxed in a way that would let me keep most of the money I earned, have a place for my girls, and live comfortably for the rest of our days.

'Either that, or buy into industrial commodities like gold, bauxite, silica, or lithium.' Tseng advised.

I wasn't a financial whiz and stocks smelled fishy to me. It wasn't something I felt was tangible, like a house or real-estate. In any case, the place I wanted to build for me and my lovelies was still in (my then) future. And until I had a method of financing a purchase on paper, I couldn't start the project.

So, being the frugal little Chinese bastard I was, I lived like a hermit and sought a way to launder the money I had in a different way. With the Lunar New Year envelopes, I figured I could sneak in at least a thousand dollars into one of my accounts. The IRS wouldn't find it odd if I did that on an annual basis (they would if it was a monthly occurrence).

Still, a thousand dollars was nothing in relation to the project I wanted to do. I was standing in line wondering how to launder more money without being caught, when the robbers came in.

In my defence, I was preoccupied. I mean, really preoccupied. I was busy mulling over: money-laundering schemes. Tseng and I had collected so much, it was nearly impossible to launder it without professional help (or undergoing a RICO investigation).

Next, there were the project's two possible sites: one of the owners got cold feet and wasn't sure if she wanted to sell, while in the other the tenants were willing to relocate if I could allow them to live in the new building (not an option for me) or get them a similar rent in another building (also impossible). Then there were my latest set of drawings at my company (Ferguson Design and Graphics), which were pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. Tedious, but manageable.

Also on my mind were several things that hit closer to home: Viktoriya's parents had moved. They had bought a house in Eckhart, Indiana (of all places) after they became empty-nesters; both she and I had pitched in to help them move. This meant that Viktoriya would be staying in New York City unless I could give her a reason (and a home) to come back here.

There was Melanie's graduation in June (and I had promised to bring her to a something or other concert -- N-Sync I think it was -- for her graduation present), along with my brother Andrew (they were the same age). Additionally, my parents were pestering me to get my own place so my old room could be rented out. That meant Melanie would have to stop her frequent visits until I got the new place. We were in the midst of working something out (so I could go to her place) although I was sure her parents weren't terribly thrilled at the prospect.

Shawn meanwhile, suddenly found herself going to Japan to study at the technical institute in Tokyo. The timing of it was curious. I thought she had been accepted into the Berkeley program. It was then when I knew Shawn possessed a craftiness that belied her roly-poly appearance. Instead of continuing with landscape architecture, she changed her major to environmental engineering. This gave her an academic advantage during her undergraduate years; her high GPA and relative ease of landscape architecture courses allowed her to brush up on the skill set she'd need for her graduate studies.

My plump pumpkin was a smart woman indeed! Still she was not smart enough to outwit her protective parents. I suspected they packed her off to another country to keep me away from her (although sending her off to a country full of horny Japanese guys wouldn't have been my ideal solution). I wondered how Shawn would get by without being able to read or speak Japanese, but I found out that she had taken back-to-back introductory and intermediate Japanese in college.