SAVAGE

Copyright © November 2007, All Rights Reserved. No portion of this work may be copied or duplicated without the express written permission of the author.

PROLOGUE
The clear, dry, desert air crackled with excitement. From his penthouse vantage point on the sixtieth floor. Savage stood looking down at the throngs of people who jammed the streets and clogged the boulevards straining to get a better look at the Circus Parade, the Laser Light Show, and the lines of sleek, black limousines bearing international dignitaries and celebrities from the greatest and most important cities in the world, including the gated mansions of Malibu and Bel air. As he peered down at the spectacle from his lavish, ten thousand square foot penthouse atop his newly opened Hotel-Casino, he uttered a self satisfied laugh.
"The masses" he mused. How they loved the excitement. How they worshipped their idols. Anyone famous in their eyes was somehow raised to the status of Deity. Sixty stories below they were swarming in a frenzied feast. Every game has its champions. Savage was a champion of the Fame Game. So many played and so few ever won.
He turned from the window.
"I guess that it for now, Marcy," he said. "You can go. Get something to eat. It's been a long day and is going to be an even longer night."
"What about you?" she asked with genuine concern, "Have you had anything since breakfast?"
"I never eat before a performance, Marcy. You know my rule."
She smiled softly. "I've never known anyone with your stamina. As for me, I can't wait to sit down to a large steak and baked potato -- with," she emphasized, "sour cream and chives."
Marcy paused as if to add something and thought better of it. "All right then. I'll see you in your dressing room when you come down."
As she reached the door she turned, "Your night has finally arrived. I hope it beings you all that you've worked so long and hard for."
He didn't reply. He wasn't listening.
Mother of God! At long last, a moment of peace. Time to think; to be alone and focus on the evening ahead. The past six weeks had been a blur. Countless decisions, hastily held meetings, approvals, disapproval's, changes, replacing personnel, rehearsals, and sound checks. It seemed like the only time he was ever alone was in the fleeting minutes when he had to go to the John. Even then one journalist followed him into a public urinal in an attempt to get a glimpse of his famous phallus. Savage had learned long ago how to play that part of the game. Piss in the crapper behind a closed door. Nobody saw 'it' unless he wanted them to. Let them talk about it. Let them wonder. Like King Arthur's legendary sword, Excalibur, the more it was whispered about and the larger and more powerful it became. Everyone wanted it, even if just to say they had seen it. It was a sword that had served him well in his climb to the heights of Olympus.
What he needed now was a shower. It was a part of his pre-performance ritual, meant to wash away the pressures and stress of the day.
Down the drain. There goes the publicist, the music arranger, the sound man, the lighting engineers, the stage manager, and even his trusted Marcy. As the scalding hot liquid pounded his body from every direction, he felt his taut muscles begin to relax. He reached from the shower stall and pushed a button which filled the green marbled room with strains of Mozart's violin concerto number twenty-six in C. Music to be alone by, the sound so perfectly balanced in every room of the vast penthouse that he would be able to hear it even in the shower. Savage allowed the pounding water and the genius of Mozart to invade his being and produce the desired effect of nirvana. On this night of nights, Savage more than anyone grasped how much he needed every iota of his mental. physical and genetic skills before his head could rest peacefully upon his pillow again.
He was furiously drying his hair with a thick bath towel as he stepped from the shower. As was his custom, he made sure the scalp and surrounding area, including his shoulders were vigorously rubbed in order to promote blood circulation to his hair follicles. His hair, after all, had been but one of his genetic blessings which had first brought him to the attention of the public.
He stepped up to the immensely long marble countertop which ran the length of beveled mirror and leaned forward to inspect himself. His looks were as much a part of his success as his talents and must therefore be maintained in the most remarkable and unrelenting manner. He was the chief mechanic of a one-of-a-kind human body recognized around the world for its perfection and he spent time with it every day making sure it was as finely tuned as the most powerful and expensive racing cars of the Grand Prix.
The veined, hunter green malachite was cold against his abdomen and muscled thighs as he leaned forward to inspect himself in the mirror. He thrust his sword against the icy marble and enjoyed the sensation. It caused a rush of warm blood to his loins and produced a mild erection, causing Savage to smile at his own image, smiling back at him. He would not dally with that now. There would be plenty of time later for sexual pleasure if this night went as planned.
Inspecting his face closely now, he was satisfied. Nearing forty and still looking great. It was all in the cheekbones. They were high, wide and very pronounced, thanks to the lineage of Shawnee Indian genes woven into his DNA.
He opened his mouth wide and inspected his impeccably white, polished ivories. Still perfect and still all his own.
He then focused on his eyes. His famous brown eyes ringed with double rows of thick black lashes, like spider's legs surrounding the brilliant hue of dark brown-black like the eyes of a wounded Doe. The world's most renowned eyes which melted and broke the hearts of women and more men than would admit. They were still as sparkling as when he was in his youth, when strangers and friends alike would remark upon the child's lengthy black lashes and glimmering orbs. To his satisfaction, they had not been dulled with years of booze and drugs.
His face had not been abused by poor diet or excess and was still remarkable without having ever been touched by a surgeon's scalpel. Oh, yes, a crease here and there when he smiled, but nonetheless, this was not the face of the average man of almost forty.
He backed away from the mirror to access the overall, naked self. Would Michelangelo complain? Savage was tall, lean and well muscled. He still had strong, chiseled pecs and a firm belly with a dancer's washboard abs. Add to that his hard, tight manly behind which only accentuated the rippled muscle of his upper thighs.
Finally, there was his sword, suspended from his loins and accentuated with thick, silken black hair. Still as black as in his youth, without a hint of gray as yet. Again he thanked his American Indian ancestors.
He turned sideways, the better to inspect himself at full length. In his quest for perfection he would not allow himself the vanity of sucking in his stomach for better effect. The honesty with which he judged himself was uncommon. It happened frequently during each and every day; in micro-seconds as he caught himself in a passing reflection and judged his posture, or in the tone and pronunciation of a word during conversation. Was he all that others expected of him? Was he all that the ghosts of his long ago past had told him he could be?
The only flaw that Savage could discern was that he had grown slightly pale in recent weeks and his tan line was beginning to fade. He had been spending too much time indoors, surrendering himself to the deadlines and demands of the evening ahead. He made a mental note that, starting tomorrow he would resume his hour in the Sun. The word "Tomorrow" startled him. His pulse began to race. After tonight, would there be a tomorrow? The tomorrow he had worked and risked everything for? Did anyone know or care that tonight could be the beginning of a whole new world of tomorrow's? He knew it, but did anyone else?
Yes. Someone else did know. The thought of her shot through him like an arrow and dispatched him into reality. Masses of adrenaline rose through him. It was like the advancement of an old Western movie showdown. And, it was going to happen on this very night, with the entire world watching. Not only those in the audience of the two thousand-seat main room, but the millions in front of their TV sets around the world, thanks to modern technology and satellites and cable and dish networks. He could almost hear the old Circus Barker standing at the waving flap of a dilapidated tent, "Yessiree, folks! Step right up and place your bets. Will the little lady show up or not?"

In a city known for its stupefying abundance of extravagant architecture and overwhelming allure, this was the most highly publicized event in its history. Las Vegas had never before seen anything like it. Even the year-round residents, who were expected to be immune to the plastic and neon temptations, found themselves waiting with breathless anticipation for the official opening of the latest undertaking of Savage Enterprises; not unlike an anxious child longing for Christmas morning. Publications the likes of Newsweek, Time and Life would later compare it to Cleopatra's entry into Rome. They were referring, of course, to the spectacular Baptism of the ten billion dollar desert oasis appropriately named "Tecumseh" by its creator.
Savage believed himself to be a descendant of legendary Shawnee tribal chief, Tecumseh, the greatest warrior and leader of all United Indian Nations. Savage, himself, was born into the Shawnee Nation not in dignity, but as the unwanted result of his mother's gang rape by transients at age fourteen. From the moment of birth, his was not to be an easy life.
According to tradition, the tribal elders taught all young males the living history of Tecumseh, causing Savage to take him at an early age as his personal hero. While others his age turned to Superman and Batman comics, Savage learned all he could about his great ancestor. Though not proven, many believed Savage to have the blood of Tecumseh flowing in his veins because of his angry entry into the world with fists clenched as though ready for battle and a howling scream of fury. His birth name, Chiksika, gradually changed to Savage as he grew amongst his tribe and displayed a streak of rebelliousness and wildness that none could tame. He was feared by many elders who recognized the spirit of the Master of Life within this brilliant, alarmingly determined youth. As he grew to adolescence, Savage's facial and body features both intrigued and confounded those around him, for his features became sharp and chiseled, lacking the normal rounded cheeks and broad noses of others his age. A relentless energy caused Savage to run for miles on end and take part in all games of sport. He became well-muscled and leaner than any of his counterparts and his overall look took the breath away from someone encountering his presence for the first time. He became an extraordinary creature which family members both envied and admired, for they knew and he knew that the Master of Life had designed him for unthinkably great things.
It was fitting, then, that Savage chose to name his greatest achievement to date after his forefather and to ask the immortal spirit of his ancestor to come and live and take spiritual charge of the great desert lands now known as Tecumseh.
Four years in construction, it was hailed as the broadest expanse of all Hotel Resorts in the world and most eco-friendly as well. Tecumseh had been designed to be a self-contained city which would serve as a modern marvel of technology and engineering married to the most sophisticated, as well as experimental, ecological triumphs of its time. It produced its own, non-polluting solar energy and recycled three hundred million gallons of water per hour. Aside from that, the entire structure had been modeled after the latest Biosphere in Arizona with the help and blessings of the original architects and planners.
The goal of Savage Enterprises, simply put, was to educate the American Public, along with the rest of the planet, that a commercial undertaking of such magnitude could sustain itself within its own environment without such amenities as air conditioning, outside ventilation, gasoline powered vehicles, and a multitude of electronic gadgets equated with that period of time.
The entire concept of his crowning achievement was for Savage to teach those in modern civilization what his American Indian ancestors had practiced for hundreds of years before the advent of the white man's coming -- to take of the land only what one needed and to preserve the rest for the coming generations. To this end, his inspiration had attracted not only the rich, powerful, and famous, but a literal roster of scientific genius to study in detail this new, modern marvel of engineering and how its secrets might be applied to everyday life in general.
As planned, Tecumseh would also become home and host to the rich, the powerful, and the famous. It afforded a myriad of amenities, not the least of which included an airstrip and separate hangers for private jets just at the outer circle of the stupefying, man-made, environmentally self-reliant city.
Tecumseh boasted a plenitude of luxury apartment suites of staggering size and luxury, each complete with its own servant staff and chauffeurs in attendance for the complimentary, non-gasoline powered Rolls Royce's to power the occupant over the vast, luxuriant acreage designed to house every indigenous form of wild life; some on the endangered species list.
The owner of this two hundred thousand acre empire was known to the world as the greatest showman and successful businessman of all time. His name was Savage. He was adored by millions. He was feared by many. He was loved by one. Her name was Erika.