Proposition (11/8/22), by M.Weisgerber - 9000 Words/appx 35 Min Read

“It’s you then?” she said, trying to keep the words neutral as she neared, trying her best too not to admire the arrangement before her, or the view, or even the very way his hair shown in the early morning sun.   It was probably going to be a hot one by noon, small gnats and whipperwills zooming by overhead as she left the car behind.

She pondered what it meant, gripping the mace tightly, moving a little closer to where his back still stood before her.

‘Another day, another whole new way of being’ crept into her head without her even thinking the least about it - one of his old phrases made new again, just like this place, just like the last several days had seen to be.

He merely stood there looking sanguine, seeming tall – all the best parts and hundred thousand small hatreds that she remembered all too well now seeming to swirl round. 

“Oh certainly, certainly, its me!  Who else would it be??”  Were the first things that seemed to spring up.  In the background the soft sheen of the mountains flashed, before her his teeth matched the same.  He wouldn’t say the ‘love’ part, or the word ‘babe’ out loud, though she assumed it must be on the tip of his tongue, even now.  

Maybe it was something about the mountains, or the first of the morning’s air, but he seemed composed for a change.  His very demeanor and way he leaned suggested it, let alone the ridiculous setup he had clearly spent far too much time and money on.  

Perhaps that’s what a few billion dollars really could buy.

He stood there for a long time, as if uncertain of what else to say or do.

Eighteen months.  Oh God, how so much could change in such a short span of time; the whole world had slid and reeled, would seemingly rebuild itself stone by stone until the only reminder was the oily drags that sometimes collected beside gutterfalls.  Instead of responding, she merely walked past him to the table, admiring the wares, and sipped lightly at the wine that lay beside him on a ladened table.

He shuffled his toes, and tried not to look too out of place.    

“Haha, yes, its me.  The flight was good?”  Was the best he seemed to think to say.

“You could say that.”

“The ride up?”

“Assuredly.” 

He was not a man who had been known for small talk, yet here he was doing the same damn things he had been trying on the last day, the same putoffs, the same boring workarounds.  She would have assumed he’d have hired the best coaches months ago, had prepped or rehearsed for weeks and hours ahead of time, leagues of psychiatrists and shamans and life coaches all swirling round to pick apart every last though and word and opinion and possibilities.  Could have had even bought the entire side of the mountain by which to prepare for this one single moment where and when she would arrive. 

Could have watched her through her phone. 

Or maybe he had just winged it, like he often did when fall rolled around.

“Would have been nice for a little advanced notice, but eh, what can you do.”

Hell, he was even in that same well cut black coat she last had seen him in about his shoulders, same preposterous angle he always stood when he was about to try his hand at some corny joke.  American then, oh yes; he would insist to the press on being anything but…but how the place marked him, the day even, the very way he stood when perturbed or thoughtful, same distant star-gazing look in his eye shared among the Continental elite. 

She turned her attention back to the wine, the smorgasborg arrayed before being neatly picked at by ants, the morning flies. 

Still, the wine, the whiskey really was most excellent, the setup stunning: she wondered if there really was something more to this – thoughts of cancer, or of bone disease flitted through her mind. 

The next of the whole of the days had been just tableau.  The whole week had been just like the rest of the trip. 

Nothing ever changed, it seemed. How long some of those days seemed, blue skies closing in at night. 

She thought quickly of what to make of for small talk. 

She clutched at her mace, at the cool cylinder of the revolver at the ready, wondering what best to do.   

In time, she neared him, moving slow. 

“How are you?”

“How do you think?”  A long pause. 

“Can I ask about the trip?” 

“What is this about Jim?”  For a moment, his smile faltered.  

“What is it you want?”

 

 

---------

 

“What is it you want?”  It was one of the first things they would say to each other when it was starting to get truly hard.  Back then he had been certain of so many things down there in the basement, clicking away at programs and algorithms and suppositions that seemed downright asinine at the time, almost pure magic. 

“Machines building machines!!”

She had sighed when she saw the first fell note, had almost lost it the first time they had to pull him ranting and raving off the streets, had done what she could for longer than she neede to, went on as long as her friends had insisted made sense, had grumbled, begun packing, talked to both him and her shrink.  Then there was worry, followed by hate, along with a hundred other things that a lady had to consider, as well as the failure with his own therapists.  Still, he had offered, and she’d remained the fool, hadn’t she?  Then the leaving, then seemingly the whole world scrumptiously fell apart. 

…then somewhere in the middle of all of that madness, Jim had been proven right: had done truly great and incredible things, and had somehow kept his word through all of it. (Eighteen months – oh how things could change?!)

Then one day last week she had stumbled to the mailbox for seemingly the third time that day, had seen something new caught her eye between the wine fug.  Somehow she had always known he might try a stunt like this, had expected something utterly crazy those first few months, but as time went on she had allowed herself to believe, to settle, to move on. 

Now there was a new note in her letter box, a new urging (just like the old) to head back east for a minute, “it would be so nice to see ya, but no worries!”, clearly with enough. 

Or at least enough encouragement to visit back east, to make her wonder.    

“You can always just forget it: forget him and the plane tickets both!”  Nicole had said.  There was a reason she remained as her bestie, this life and certainly the next.  Had practically thrown the whole charade back in her face even, picking apart even the smallest detail line by line, till she almost had he entire letter memorized. 

“He goes 18 months without a call, then this?”

“Nikki, you know as well as anybody that it was me that asked him to walk, to go away, and never call again: he stuck to that part of the bargain at least.”

“But always looking for a work around, right!?  I mean look at this shit.”  The parchment flashed before her face again – Nikki was the anger-holic, after all. 

“Its what he was always good at – its why he’s at where he is today.”  Neither one of them had to much think that – the papers seemed to fill them in every morning, made the queries and international topics glare out loud.  “Look Nic, the least I can do is hear what he has to say, bleed him out of a bit of cash at the least.”

“And have them find your arms or head in a fridge.”

“We both know that if he wanted to, he could do far worse..”

“You’ll at least call, text me if anything?”

“Oh course Nikki: you know I..”  So many thoughts going through her head then as now, and she still could take the reverse ride back if she wanted to, if she, if she..

It had been a hell of a plane ride though, a series of bumps and the jigger of turbulence that hit somewhere over the Midwest as they gained altitude, making her paw again and again for the barf bag, the scotch, both in time.  It had been a literal swamp back in the East.  she left the swamp heat of the East.  That had seemed appropriate for several dozen long moments, for reasons.  Then in a rush there was the landing. 

“I’ll be safe.  I’ve always got the mace!”

“Get him between the eyes if you can.  Twice for me!”

She hadn’t known what to expect; maybe he’d be the first in line at baggage claim?

But no, that would have been for the old him, the poorer version of him that couldn’t literally move mountains.  It would been the best he could have done then, yes, but he was always fond of grand gestures, and would probably do the same now.  She was still savoring the soda from the ride, of talc somehow stuck on her back molar, sure that he had somehow managed to arrange for even the very airline to keep its booze service open well past the midnight hours she had thought they would normally be open till. 

“Only the best for her, you here me??” 

Everyone on the plane had seemed relaxed enough, yet she was almost certain that half of them glanced at her more than was common, were likely keeping an eye on her, could be paid actors that could report back at a moments notice.   He had that type of power now, had the kind of resources that could, would make younger girls blush, could purchase entire airlines at a whim, and god knew what he did with all of that spare time. 

Were they checking their phones more than could be, for coach?  A real Howard Hughes they had here indeed. 

She had put down three quick pulls of the offered scotch without a moments hesitation, noting well the quality of the booze, noticing too how the wait staff seemed a bit extra attenuative to her calls.  She wondered if he could have secretly opened or pierced (drugged even) the bottle, or else could pump special chemicals through all the overhead vents, next wake up clutching a toaster, or missing a kidney.  Of all the probable last few hours that opponents of Mao or Stalin faced, as the guards brought them forward.  She had the mace in her baggage, had at least listened enough to Nicole to leave the revolver at home. 

Still, that was then, this was now – she could always go strait for his eyes if necessary, had taken a few weeks of classes, and knew how to punch hard at the front of a mans neck. 

Yet while she was waiting in baggage claim trying to make up her mind on what all to do, a funny-set Indian fellow approached her from the side, clumsily so, seeming to lean in at her from one side uncertain of what best to say or do.  At first she didn’t even notice him, he was that short, that unobtrusive, and it was when those facts slid into place she knew it was he that was part of this.  In his hand was a placard, and he appeared to be looking down at a picture, then back at her, then at the picture again and again, all while she did her best to ignore him.  He had been a real planner after all, it was true, and knew how to twist the blade. 

“Mademoiselle Chari?”  the fellow had next tried, look repeatedly down at his hands, the picture again as much as up her, then out again to a placard he held neatly before him. 

(Oh how Jim could be so many shades and flavors of being an ass) 

“Yes?” She replied, already annoyed at the chill of the place, already regretting the first cold sweat that came with the breaking of the day.

 She knew this was part of his plan, had almost expected to see him stride over with a simple hug out of the corner, as if none of the years had gone by; as if the day still rang as bright as the morning air above. 

This was a new landscape, after all, one that certainly would not match any of the streams or swampgrass back home, and it already felt more cold and lonely than she would have guessed. 

Outside, it continued to remain fairly dark: she continued to shiver, coat or no. 

“I have been sent forth to take you away!”  the fellow before her said, seeming quite pleased and proud of himself now that he had got her attention…at least until he saw the sudden scorch of her eyes. In her head she fought about what best to do or say.     “Claim me, eh?”  She made sure to hold her hip at an angle; the same way and manner and anger and hatred that had driven Jim away in the first place.  She made sure to make a point of placing a large wad of gum between gritted teeth, grinding and chomping it loudly. 

Outside the mountains continued to rise neatly, whereas in here the temperature had risen by close to 50 degrees. 

“Errr,” the fellow again looked down at his knuckles, as if there would be some answer or relief there.  She pounced on it quick though, wondering if it was part of it; part of everything else, or some undisclosed grandiose plans: he was becoming famous for those, world wide known now, the papers saying that every step and frolic he did was oh so well planned..

“Err, sorry – I mean, to transport, err.  You.  Yes, me too.  I am sorry about that.  I am…”  a pause again “..with the shuttle service?”  The fellow gestured toward the namesake on his suit, as if she hadn’t noticed.  Oh that Jim, finding the one delightfully bumbling guy that could break through even her resolve.  seeming now to slide his shoes against each other.  She had gotten the better of him, sure, yet he was only just a lackey, another person probably paid far too dearly to understand his part in all this. 

Clearly this was all going wrong for both of them.

“Shuttle service?  Where to?”  She asked, holding her hip at an angle.  She knew Jim absolutely hated this gesture, and if he was watching now it would certainly cause him to drop his gaze, shuffle and slide his feet together until he was in a boyish stance; she found this stance tended to disarm most gentlemen of all ages (perhaps it was just a womans thing, a lady’s way?). 

She wasn’t if the very pinholes in the mans suit contained cameras, couldn’t be – everything was fair game these days, for people not far removed from the strait-jacket.

“I am not supposed to immediately say..?”  The fellow seemed distressed again; clearly none of this was as he had been instructed - perhaps.

She just stood their cocked until he continued on.    

“My client said that you would ‘know the drill’, Miss??  Is that correct?”  Oh that Jim.  He could be a right devil when sipping upon the rum, but what new foolishness was this?  She wondered again what type of game he was really playing at, wondered if any of the precautions she had taken leading up to this could, would even work. 

“And if I refuse?”  The first bright pink bubble smacked in spectacular fashion. 

“Refuse??”  The fellow tried again, seeming dismayed, uncertain on the course of the day – clearly, this was not going according to what he had been told would happen.  He glanced back at the placard again as if for relief, down too at the glowing screen where an old photo smiled back up at him, the one she had taken of the two of them three years back, neatly clipped so that you could just see Jim’s shoulder in the lower left screen, if you looked close..    

“I don’t understand.  My instructions were…”  She rolled her eyes, wondering again why Jim would have chosen such a simpleton as this.  She had a hundred things she wanted to say to him right then and everyone else, yet bit fast at her tongue for the time being. 

“Just show me the way to the car.” 

“It’s a jeep!”  The fellow offered enthusiastically, seeming to suddenly have an extra twirl in his step as they headed for the exit.   

Sighing, she following his lead, sending a message out to Nicole that all was still well (at least for now).

This was likely to be a long day. 

 

------- 

 

Two years.  It had been almost two years since she had heard that voice, two years since that dreadful night and all the pleading and crying and certainly the screaming (most of it from her side, twas true enough, at least); two since everything had had to change it seemed, and the world fell to pieces around everyones feet, yet here she was back at it, here he really was before her.  She knew of his recent success, oh yes - the whole world had heard of his accomplishments, his self-proclaimed ‘conquests’, the charities, the balls, the galas everything else the other part of the globe actually had to offer those with a name or a brand or a subtle tattoo on the front part of a forearm that sometimes expanded out to the cameras lens if he was being anything less than perfect (which even for him was an impossibility). 

Most Eligible Bachelor, some of the articles proclaimed.  Businessman of the Century, read others. 

Jerk-of-the-Year, would have fit her feelings just fine. 

Then there had been that envelope in her mailbox, and it all had come crashing back. 

Nobody had bothered to ask the basic questions it had seemed, like where he came from originally, or what he was doing now, but she was ok with that.  He had told them all very little, apparently, and she worried less for it.    

If he liked sending letters. 

Nobody had apparently asked about her. 

Still she had refused to acknowledge any of it, had done her best to try to avoid her own brand of digital stalking on the off days when the wine flowed freely, or else when the waiters seemed a bit to friendly behind sanguine white masks and all.  When the real weight of the world had settled she had begun to worry, oh yes.  Jim had been that way too, and she remembered with remorse when she found the first of the wires, first of the nanny cams that had seemed smattered throughout the basement, then later all along the cupboards, the kitchen.

The bedroom. 

Done her best to ignore and forget.

Still…

Then there were moments like this when she wasn’t sure of the tilt of the world.

Two whole years, and suddenly she had give in, just like that..

Two years – onward and upward until the tall red rooster of the letterbox stood strait, right? 

She had to admit that she rather liked the driver though; the funny way the man had seemed to throw casual words back at her, in a way that reminded her of her father’s old friends.  The banter had been great, and she was sure Jim had researched the fellow well.   She did her best to try to ignore him (his name was Jamieer, after all!) as they bounced up and up, catching only glances of the scenery from time to time.

Then Jim had sent two plane tickets out of the blue, completely refundable of course, a mere two days after her birthday.  Had probably waited till he must have known she’d be a mess, another pointless date that had ended in even worse sex, bad hair, terrible movies, two strait days of Hallmark movies and cheap wine, and the certain dread of another looming Christmas just around the bend.  She had debated about burning them when she first saw them, thought of cutting them up on the front porch where everyone (and maybe his goons?) could see, of even pushing the entire mailbox.  

…but what if that was part of it? 

“Come East”, it had said.  “If only for an afternoon, or an hour, there is something out here that….”  Oh yes, he could afford to fly people halfway across the world for only an hour if he really wanted it, hired the best chauffeurs.

She was sure that all was part of it too, was curious to see what the big reveal would be.  He had always loved Halloweentime, had always enjoyed his pranks, the surrounding curiosities that came with the supposed fading light of the day. 

For the longest time she had ignored the package, the return response had cursed his name again and again before she went to bed, each night dragging on what to say or how best to respond, all the long nights since.  Still, the thought of that smirk persisted, the thought of what this package would mean.

All the long nights since.

Instead here she was in an average jeep, bouncing along some god-forsaken roads in the early morning hours – at the last minuet she had hailed a taxi, had gone almost willy-nilly to the airport without a seconds thought or hesitation or supplies, had texted her group from the car.    

Ute.  What a horrible name for a city: what a crummy name for anywhere, really. 

In time, she had made her way to the airport, only giving the website he must have boughten for just this one event a reply just as she jumped on the plane – there was no cell signal up there, muchhhh harder to track a human she supposed, looked to the skies where drones or helicopters or night vision or any of it might be bouncing around tracking her, all of this for lil olde her.

Still, with the things he, all of them were able to do now adays, she had to wonder anyways at what really could be done.

Instead she turned her attention to the comedian beside her. 

“Where are we off to?”  she asked the driver, forgetting the rot of last few days, the gin, feeling the jeep begin to bounce along a hard surface up and out.  Around them the lithe of the city continued to shimmer, the day was still at least an hour away from brewing. 

“The place I’ve been told to go is called ‘Smugglers Cove’.  I am not sure why,” the fellow offered, seeming to sense her growing apprehension as they rose along the high cliffs, trying his best again to be kind.  “Isn’t that a funny name??”    

“Great.”  She spoke more to herself.  Her head almost hit the top of the jeep as they bounced along the first deep rut. 

“Do you know why so early?”  he tried, an equal look of puzzled apprehension that matched hers.  “I was only given just a quick list, and my supierious…er…superiors weren’t even sure if you’d be at the port.  At the airport.”  He tried again.  “I says to myself, ‘Jamieer, clearly this lady fellow is very kind, important even if she.  I have not even yet had my morning coffee – would you like to stop and get some?”

“No thanks.”

“I was not very sure on what to do, but was happy to go!  Such a nice gift bag the fellow had sent, with your lovely picture too!  Of this I was not so sure at first, yet here you are!  All proper and prim and pretty like.  All I have are my…”

“Instructions, yes yes.  I got it the first time.”  She did her best to lean back again, nursing the first a growing headache.

 Yes, Jim could, would be quite the devil when he wanted to be, be funny and charming too if the West wind blew just right – yet God’s knew what would soon next would happen, or if he was off his meds. 

 

----------------------------

 

“You look really great!”  Was the best he could manage – she fought an urge to simply push him from the cliffside then, to reach up with a quick shove and have it all be over.  The mace in her side holster bumped her elbow reassuringly, but the view truly was spectacular. 

Computers.  They had told her it had been something in computers that he had made his fame.  In one of his greater heights of delirium he had ranted about microbots that had invaded his brain, of what wonders and powers and sheer genius they could give anybody, really, could, if somebody was smart enough to, wise enough to.. 

“Of machines that could build other, maybe even smaller, machines.”

Now this – Yin to the Yang. 

For a moment she resisted. 

“Yea, you look really…great,” he offered again, seeming sincere for the first time in God’s knew how long.  He turned to face her then, the full weight of the years and months finally revealed.  They said in the papers that he traveled often, slept little, often lived in a cliff cave up on some private mountain he’d bought, or else wandered through tropical jungles in manners that would make cryptids blush.

He could have had an entire team work on his hair, strips for his teeth, could probably even have some of the smaller machines pull little bits of spray and spittle out of even the very corner of his mouth, his very smile an ever shifting, twisting array that would make any Great White blush. 

Instead he looked about the same as always,, smart, bottom front tooth still a tad crooked, worry dearly held upon his brow.  He wore that same jacket of course, and god knew how many good luck charms in any of the pockets or bracelets or charms. 

The edge of his tattoo was just beginning to poke from the cuff again, and she was sure he would pull it down when his mind wandered back to the here and now. 

She wondered if he wore this to the boardroom, wondered too if anybody ever really truly cared. 

Stood there seeming ready to match her same cocked angle, or offer a smoke (if only she would ask). 

She leaned in.

“Jim, what’s this all about?”  She asked again, as if he hadn’t heard the first time.  She had wanted her first real words to be something clever, something that would sting, or at least align with all the TV commercials she had been lollygagging over on long nights that had past since she had first caught sight of the envelop.  She wondered again (not for the first time) if he had boughten every airway within her zip code; if he really even could nab purchases for every moment of her life.

Maybe he just did that for others? 

“What, me have some ulterior motive??”  Was the best he seemed to be able to offer.   The smile in front of him faltered once again. 

“Everything I touch seems to turn to gold babe, in time.  We just have to be a bit patient.  I need time, you’ll see.”  Oh how those remembered words made her shiver, even now!  In her head she could still see him still sitting there in the attic on one of those last days, having been dead broke, doing his best to make all kinds of memories and promises and anything else he could wave a staff at.

 

“I’m on to something Love, I swear,” he had said then.  “Just give me a few more months.  A few more months, I swear, and I’ll be back to normal.” 

Computers – oh the modern magic they could spin!

Love.  She hated hearing herself called that, especially toward the end.  Refused to let anyone call her that now, would yell or curse if even her own mother brought even the small part of that word to fruition. 

It just hadn’t paid the bills, was all. 

Because the first part of the word love is ‘lo..”: lo I beheld the real power! 

She moved further along the table that had been set up just for her, continued to pick neatly at the trimmings of what remained as a literal feast before her. 

Still, she clutched hard at the mace.  Enough for one or two decent attempts, a hell of a last stand if it came to it - she was ready: let what come, come. 

“Don’t you want to come check out the view?”

Yet what to make of this?  The sun was coming up though, offering something truly new.  She had never been to Colorado before, had never looked upon the Rockies except from the usual thirty thousand feet while flying from one wet landscape to another. 

The mace and the worry didn’t seem to be any part of it now – she wondered if that had really been the thicker part of his plan. 

Let alone what else he could do now, now that he had real power: hell, he could afford an actual hit squad in the bushes, nerve agents or intoxicants on Invisalign gloves hidden on his hands when he came to shake hers, teams of psychic or radio frequency operators trying to dislodge thoughts or effect brain patterns, or who knew what else. 

God knew. 

Two years.  Two years since that fool had claimed to have ‘lost his mind’ had said and done such terrible things he had, had run off fast into the night and then had gone out and actually quite literally changed the world.  She could have remarried by now, certainly, could have at least found even an honest pool boy to come home on a chill Saturday night, or else done all the other things that even  in all her Hollywood love could not have considered. 

Could have done a hundred other many odd things by now, but seemed to enjoy bitching on a weekend eve.

Yet now here she was.

My, what difference a few billion dollars really could make. 

Sunrise.  God, the bastard had been a fiend about every turn of the light too, any shift of the light, so she was a bit skeptical on what stunt he was pulling now.  She did her best not to glance around as they drove, knowing it was somehow part of his plan.  Everything was a plan of a plan of a plan, all twisting mightily in that sinister Gemini head of his – that same brain that was always plotting, yet also somehow always seeking for apologize.  A mood disorder, some called it.  A disease, he had once insisted, that could be cured. 

Instead, she texted her sister, Nikki both, cradling the chemicals close.

All is still ok?

Yes.

You going to punch him in the temple?  she had asked, bringing her another warm cup of tea, brewed to perfection. 

Adams apple I think, but sure.  Murder him if need be.  (again she stroked the revolver – he wondered how fast he could move, with all the timely enhancements) 

Though any other recommendations would be welcome.  A pause.  Whether it was her or Mel that had done so, even now she was not sure. 

You doing alright?  A longer pause, as she considered how to respond. 

Not sure whats to come – will keep you posted.  Am ready for anything, just in case.

Yet here she was, god knew why, probably lying to her next (last?) of kin, too many thoughts swirling around for good comfort. 

 

--------------

 

“So, its you?  Really you?” she said again, as if trying out her own voice for the first time.  He had had his back to her as she first neared, had his arms strait back behind him same as she had last seen him, the way he’d been before the fights and the crying, and all the ridiculous way he continued to plead and plead even after all real hope was gone. 

He turned to her then with a smile, the same one he always wore – behind him the mountains continued to flash gold. 

“Yup, its me.”

“Really you this time, back and dandy?”  He seemed to wince a tad on that, making her inner bitch-goddess cackle slightly – she still knew how to cut, on top of knowing how to aim. 

“Back from Motown, as they say, and feeling fresh and fine.”

“So what’s this all about Jim – what’s it really about?”  a pause.  “What is it you want?”

“Oh this?”  he flashed that Great White grin again between a mild chuckle, “can’t a fellow just sit and revel in a good view??”

Gold.  As she approached the viewpoint, everything around her seemed to be made of such brazen meltwater, that all shimmered in the fall air.  The trees for which the city was aptly named curdled around them, the birch saplings gave forth new light of their own inner bright.  Shaiam had stayed in the car as she ventured forth, indicating that he was to go no further unless upon request.  She wondered to herself if he was medically trained, could even preform basic CPR or operate a torniquet if the time and place called for it.  It all made her angry in a way, seeing how calculated, how orchestrated this all could be…and yet so beautiful.  She half assumed there would, could be some sort of sniper flying by in a helicopter, ready to take her out like one of those Mel Gibson movies they once had shared. 

“You brought me all this way just to take a peek at a view?”  He chuckled.

“Well, cheaper and easier than getting over to Switzerland.” 

“You should have sprung for that – might have been easier.”

She doubted there would be actual blood shed here, but wasn’t taking any chances.  Again she fingered the holster, recalling all the training on how to go for head-shots – center of mass worked well, unless you were covered in Kevlar.  Hell, even shoes and wallets could be made of the stuff. 

But not his face. 

To the left was a small table, done up in candles and lace, the whole air of the place a throwback to all those dopey poets he had railed on and on about in the after hours pubs.  He was looking out over the valley now though, seemed to have timed it perfectly with the Apollos’ coming – he stood there, truly wreathed in Gold. 

 

 

 

The whole week had been a trip.  The whole day had been insane.  She pondered what it meant, gripping the mace a bit looser now, yet still struggling not to glance behind each bush, least there really were hit squads. 

Instead he just sighed, and smiled again.

“It means a lot that you came.”

“Did you expect anything different?”  A crass look crossed his face then as if one of confusion, yet in a moment he quickly brushed it away, as if he had  trained long for such things.  She wondered if the worry or the bots or his own face did that one.   

“Honestly, who knows these days.”

“You could have programmed one of your minions to have come up here, or one of your goons.”

“Ha, me with goons!  Can you imagine?”  he said, actually chortling now.  “I mean, yes, I guess I do have to have something when I go down into the City these days, but its oddly easier than you would think.”

“Its all lovely theatre, I hope.”  He chucked then, making the tops of his cheeks brighten.  No Kevlar on him then – the shirt was too tight. 

“Your costume changes were always top-notch.”

“Thanks!”  He seemed to shine along with the trees, really did seem to float for a moment as he turned back to face the scenery. 

Maybe it really was the bots, hover carts all?

“Predictably unpredictable, as always be’s me.”  He spoke as if to the wind, gazing out beyond them.  She nodded, though there was no possible way he could see. 

“What am I doing out here Jim?”  She said, hoping the ruse would work.  He smiled, looking at her sideways. 

“Oh, am I so difficult to read these days?”  Around them the banners fluttered – she leaned over to take another pull of scotch, knew just from the sight of the corks scent it wasn’t cheap.

“Still fighting the good fight though.”

“I figured that would be true till you dying day.”

“Yes, probably.”  He did his best to change course, flip the subjects like he always knew best how to.

 

“The dog is well?”  On that she didn’t have to hesitate. 

“Of course.  Well, as well as any mutt can ever be.”  She hesitated at the next part though, knowing already how it would effect him so.

“She chewed up the corner of the couch Saturday, though.  What a bad pooch, sometimes…”  He laughed mightily at this, seeming debating about propping himself up on the nearest tree as he snorted and wheezed, clutching at his knees – he was always seeming a bit foolish then, even now.

“Oh, nothing changes, does it.”  He whipped a few of the growing tears from the ends of his eyes.

“No, it really doesn’t.”  She was losing her own edge, and guessed he was sensing it – he was sharp that one, good at business and the shark side of things: always would be, if she just didn’t push him first. 

“West side of the couch then?”

“Yup.”

“Man how I miss those days.”  Right to the point then, same as always. 

“Yup.  You could have had more, if you hadn’t been so foolish.”  She watched him close, uncertain at what next he would do with the truth out there.  A look of genuine pain crossed his brow, and he seemed to try to quell it with a quiche.   

“That is true.”  He smiled again, a few more tears trickling from the edges.  “Still, its nice to hear the truth again.  You’d be surprised how few people say that in my line of work these days.”

“Too many yes men out there?”  he laughed, sending bits of egg seemingly everywhere.

“Women too ya lark!   Gods, don’t be too sexist!!” 

“To hear really from you for a change.”  He looked at her fully for a change.  “You should have called though.”

“You know I can’t…couldn’t do that.”  He was nodding, fingers twitching, ready to grab for a for the breast pocket.

“Yet you still came?”  Now it was her time to chuckle. 

“To blow your wad of cash?  What woman wouldn’t want to do that.”  On that he had to chuckle, to laugh. 

“Oh, its nothing, I swear.  If you wanted me to give to one of those childrens charities though, that would be a real cut!”  She had to laugh on that too, knowing he could buy half a dozen of them outright if he really wanted to. 

She knew she had crossed a line then, had uttered something harsh or obscene without meaning. 

“I’m still hurting, you know.”

“I supposed so, yea.”

“You know that a billion, hell, even a trillion dollars wont change my mind.”

“You know I don’t look into you, right?”  On that she had to pause, as she wasn’t quite sure.  Folks with his kind of money, with his temperament (or at least his old temperament, she corrected herself) could be something else entirely if they wanted to. 

Instead of meeting his eyes, she remained downcast.

“The banners are a nice touch though.”

“Gold to match my eyes then?”  He flinched, even as he reached for the light. 

“I try my best.”

She did her best not to match him.

“Eh, if it helps, I didn’t even know of this place till last year.  When I saw it, I knew something was shifting.”

“Your same debate on predestination then??”

“Sure, why not.  It’s only karma, after all.”  He looked troubled again, and she could tell that if she kept pace he’d be reaching for a cigarette soon enough, if he hadn’t bought his way out of that old habit  too.

“Still, I’m glad you came.”  She stood for a long time.

“You didn’t keep your promise.”

“No.”  He looked placid, still.  She knew if his hands had been out of their pockets, he’d be fidgeting for a cigarette, one that probably would still be in the upper right vest of his pocket.  “On that I would typically apologize, yet you still know why I had to break that one.”

“All last barriers must be broken in time..”  He stepped back from those words, apparently abashed, as if he had forgotten his old sayings.  There was anger in the air, though for a moment it was not his.

“Or I should say, I discovered it in time.  Its beautiful up here.”  He chuckled, changing the tone of things. 

“You always had a sixth sense for these things.”

“Yes.  Just luck.  But it never is the same, until ya get to spit over the side.”

“Perhaps.”  On this, she remained guarded.  He seemed to tense too.  Meanwhile, the banners fluttered about.

“Still think about her?” 

As if in answer, he reached into his coat pocket, producing a small tome.  In haste, he flung it to the ground near her feet.  It had all happened so fast, everything about the movement so unscripted she didn’t have time to react. 

She reached forth.  By then he was helping himself to the hors d’oeuvres, doing his best not to glance in the direction of the champagne – only two glasses had been set out. 

If she took him now, she could empty most of the rest of the clip into his spine, making him agonize so before he bled out.

Instead she reached over for the book. 

“What is this?”

“That is what this is all about.  Its done, finished.  Over.” 

“This is how I make…(have made you immortal, he almost seemed to weep)..do my best to make amends.”  She looked at the cover, which was green, covered in leopard print.  For a moment she was tempted to smile, realizing it was hand-made, but not by any paid artisan or leatherworker or craftsman, but probably was the reason for the little bloodspurts she noticed between his finger nails.

“You finished it then?”

“Yes.  Just a few poems, as promised.”  A long, long pause she didn’t intend to break.  “It wasn’t fun work.”  She imagined him then in the mountains somewhere, going half mad, ink covering hands and staining inner eyeballs – he had enough to buy mountains now, if he so chose, but no, he had probably insisted on wandering those free for all.

Maybe even had had to fight a bear along the way. 

“Least you kept one of them.”  On that he really did cringe, faltered considerably.

“Its yours, anyways.  Supposed to be two, but that’s the best I could manage.”

“I appreciate it – I really do Jim, but why put yourself through so much agony?”  He stood for a while, contemplatively, seeming like he would like nothing better than to jump into the gorge before him. 

Hell, even with all his talent and cash and luck, failure really was always only a step away, wasn’t it?

Before them, the autumn wind continued to swirl.    

“I still don’t know if you kept that shirt I gave ya.  Based on that, I don’t know if I should ever have made a second set of that.”  He gestured again to the book, and in a quick moment she realized it was the only copy. 

Infinity, like his heart, was once more for her to keep, hold, or destroy – once more laid thick in her hands.

She was immediately tempted to drop it, fling it, both. 

“If you were smart, you’d do like Avicenna, or Hazrat Usman, and just memorize all the words.”  She picked the book up again, gingerly so this time, being sure to hold her tongue fast. 

“Heh, lady, its decent, but not that well drafted.”

“I can just burn it now if you’d like..”  Uncontrolled panic jumped at once to his face, till he caught her sly smile.  She socked him once in the shoulder, for good luck. 

“Is it that good?”  She asked, tempted to flip through the pages at once.  He smirked.

“Its the best I’ve ever had to offer.  Better than anything else I’ve ever done.”

“Even compared to all of this?”  She said, turning to the view.  He smirked further, making her knees wobble.  Thoughts of the mace seemed to fleetingly vanish.    

“Whats that old saying: I’d sell my kingdom for a…ahh, forgettaboutit.”  He turned from the table, where he was starting to stuff his face in earnest – she had a feeling it had been many days since he had eaten.

“Ehhh, you know me, I don’t change.  Even with all of that, oh, what would you call it?  Successes?  All that extended time in the loony bin after?”

“Maybe four hundred billion dollars?”  On that he genuinely scoffed, choked a bit on a pretzel mayhap.  In time he shooed the very air, too. 

“Even after all the abilities and chances to travel the world and actually go to the moon, there is still always something greater.  Still forever always will be that splinter on my mind, all those New York city days.  Nights.”  He paused, as if considering his next words carefully.  She wondered if the next few words were ‘driving me mad’.  “Still, I’m sure you knew about all of that.  Guessed, even.”

“I know.  Sorry about that.  But how many people have told ya just to let it go Jim?”  He still had some big diatribe or soliloquy to get out, or else he probably really would go a bit more bonkers if she let him.  Eighteen months of God knew what highs and lows he too had gone through too.

“More than probably could fit into a midsized kingdom I bet!”  On this they both made the same expression, chuckled deeply together. Around them, the gold continued to flutter, the leaves continued to fall.

“And these banners?  The attempts?” 

“Ehh, all of this is icing.”

“Oh, you know I always hated the band Cake.”  He smiled again.

“I know – and that still surprises me.  Gods, they are so very like you in a way.”  Now it was her turn for her lips to chasten, top teeth to show.

“I’m sure by now you’ve met them!”  He changed his glance, moving on. 

“Anywho, that’s all I’ve got.  God gave me the best, I don’t have an answer for anything else.  The rest is…”

“The rest has always been for me to decide, yes yes, you always told me that.”  She thought again of how his hand had felt.  Of his long talks, in that room all made of white.

“Hard days.”

“And pleasant nights.”  On this he laughed again. 

“Love to you babe.”  She thought he would say, knew that if it went any further he really would probably spit that phrase out too.

“Back at you.”  She finished par usual.  They both smiled then, as it had always been too easy to fall back into the old routines.  She reached out and touched his hand for a moment, felt it grow almost red hot inside her own.  In his cheeks, greater rouge blossomed.  He didn’t turn away, or else refuse. 

“Are you…were you scared?”  He asked after a time, waiting a moment before he really did go for a cig.  She tried not to chuckle.

“Not of your…your intentions, no – never.”  She wondered again at the mace, the revolver – the real meaning of it all.  In time her hands found her side. 

“The goons, yes.”

“Ha, oh man, you shoulda seen the trouble all my people had to go through for this.  Man, if one breath even got to the press..”

“Anywho, it’s all in there,” he said, gesturing again to the pleated tome that now sat on the table.  She knew somehow that it would really truly live up to its status, would put all his formers works to shame. 

Hell, if even one word of this got out, she would likely be as famous as he – the beauty who really had slain the beast, the Tomas Wolfe behind the crown.  Gods knew who he had to pay off to keep her name out of the papers.  That five month stint that had inspired everything that had made him ascend to such lofty heights, and Gods knew he would.

Everyone wanted to know what it was that made him tick, how he found inspiration for all he really did, and here was the real cypher that made it all go round. 

He was saying something out loud again.

“Fate?”  It came out of her like a whisper.

“Yup.”  She thought again of the mace.  Even now it would be too easy, if he really was alone.

“You always loved these kind of moments, the sunrise.”  He nodded.

“They always seem the best of ones worth sharing”

He turned to her then, causally so, hand easing away from hers in what seemed a practiced motion.    

“Do you want to go for a walk?  Or grab a drink or something?”  She winced for a second, knowing that with his money he really could arrange it, even at this hour.  He sensed her abandon, their falling back apart, so he moved quick to correct. He seemed surprised then. 

“Coffee you goof – same as can be gotten anywhere, I promise.”

“Likely yours is ground by hand.  Or flown in fresh every morning from El Salvador?”  He laughed at that, starting forward down the path. 

“You know, I actual had one of those goofy heads of state actually give me some once.  “Best my country has to offer!”  Gods, it was such terrible stuff.  Not half as good as the press from home.”  She laughed, knowing his tastes didn’t change, would never align along with his growing of his pocketbook. 

“You just hate all coffee.” 

“That I do…but honest, you could practically feel the slave labor of the product crying out to me at that point.  Ahh, what a delight to be so sensitive.”  They began to walk.

“Going to fly one of those hover-copters in here or something, or have the ground bend at my feet?” 

“Hey now!  One guy gets as much wealth as the country of some European country, and then wow what tall tales fly!”

“Is it a big European country at least?” 

“If need by I’ll try to buy France tomorrow.”  He phone hiccuped – she one handed responded to Nikki that all would be ok. 

“Easier to start with Belgium?”  On this they both had to laugh.   

“What about all this?”  She pointed back at the setup, the long tables displayed then all around.  On that he began to giggle more freely.

“Eh, that ones easy – I’ll just leave a note saying who and what was here, and I’m sure the press, the very Internet will take care of the rest.  Donate all the rest.”  On that she had to laugh, and there was probably some truth to that - the whole site will probably be Instagram famous by noon, but she didn’t pay any mind. 

‘Another day, another whole new way of being’, she thought then once again. 

She merely took his hand again as they went down the path, certain that by the end of the day that if all went well, he really would give every inch and hate and thought and tidbit away.

She looked back only once at the banners, and in her eyes they seemed to wave back at them: a new day then, truly was beginning.

Let the mountaintops then sing the rest. 

  

----Fin.----