Carl walked slowly around the grounds of his home, assessing the damage the heat had done to the hilltop lot he and his wife, Lori, had bought in Laguna Niguel ten years ago. The carefully manicured lawn was baked hard. The formal Italian gardens he and Lori had lovingly planted had been reduced to brown leaves hanging on brittle twigs. Not a single flower, not even a single blade of grass had survived the unremitting heat.

The combination of the heat, a severe water shortage, and the brownouts had made people short-tempered, angry, and even violent. The television report Carl had just watched had shown gangs in South Central Los Angeles roaming the streets and looting. Reports of domestic violence had risen dramatically, as had assault-and-battery cases involving neighbors. California was out of control.

He walked around the house to the back of the property and stopped on the terrace. What had once been the most beautiful part of his home was now a wasteland. Everything had turned brown, and the trees were as bare as any in the Minnesota winter landscapes he had known as a boy. What he wouldn’t give for a cold Minnesota winter now!

“Honey, will you grill the chicken?” Lori called from the kitchen.

Carl stepped inside the door. “Are you sure you want to barbecue, Lori?”

“Yes,” she said, as she started taking vegetables out of the refrigerator. “Don’t you like the idea? We can eat on the patio and maybe get a breeze off the ocean when the sun goes down.”

With her tanned, flawless complexion, her blonde hair, and light blue eyes, Lori was a striking woman. She was thirty-eight, two years younger than Carl. They had married when she was twenty and he twenty-two, and Carl thought she had grown more beautiful over the years. Part of it’s her personality, he thought. She had a free spirit and an infectious laugh that made people want to be around her. And, despite the heat, she managed to be cheerful and upbeat. Her short, multicolored sundress made her seem young and vibrant in bright contrast to the oppressive weather.

Carl looked at his wife, gave her a quick hug, and said, “Okay. Barbecue it is.”

While Carl cooked the chicken, Lori made a big salad. They ate outside on the terrace and lingered over iced coffee as evening descended on the ravaged landscape. The sun went down peacefully, and indeed, as if on call, a breeze off the ocean slipped gently in, bringing welcome relief from the scorching heat of the day.

The air was surprisingly clean, and the stars seemed to sparkle above them. Carl had studied astronomy at Cal Tech, and, deep in his heart he had always wanted to be a full-time astronomer. But his life had taken a different turn.

He had met Lori while she was an interior design student at the Pasadena Arts Institute. A mutual friend decided to get the two displaced Minnesotans together. They were married while Lori was still in school. Then, fresh out of college, Carl took the first good job he could find—as a copy assistant at the prestigious advertising agency, JPT Worldwide. Just over a year later, a senior account executive let him try his hand at writing a TV spot. That first commercial was so successful that more assignments came his way. The senior executives soon realized that Carl was extraordinarily gifted. Besides his ability to write, he was good-looking and charming. The execs saw that he could sell anything to anybody—from airline tickets to disposable diapers. And that’s just what he did.