A Death Less Ordinary?
The door wouldn’t open. The damn door wouldn’t open! These were the thoughts flashing through Joel’s submerged brain. Rapidly they were backed up by another thought; ironic under the current situation, God I need a drink! He tried the door again with the same result. The doorframe had warped on impact with the final positioning wedging the door tight. He gave up with a petulant final wallop. The buckled roof on his upturned Chevy Superior made it difficult as he tried to make his way to the exit used by Julianna and George. As he turned to look at the newly desired departure point he spied a pair of flailing legs. He knew the owner of those legs and he could see why they weren’t going anywhere fast. Julianna’s shoulder bag had fastened on to the fender and wasn’t looking ready to relinquish its grip on the crooked and dented piece of steel. Joel perversely found the situation rather humorous. Ever since he’d known Julianna he had never seen her legs properly. Of all the women he had charmed and bedded she had stood against his playboy arsenal of wit and money as impenetrable as an ironclad with a peashooter. She had been his unobtainable object ever since he had been exiled by father to his current domicile, his Unicorn. Now while struggling on the very edge of danger he had the best glimpse of them ever. The sodden flannel of those trousers, most maligned by the prominent women of the town, was teasingly clinging to every curve. What only made the situation funnier was the manner of his impending doom.
All his life he had been a thrill seeker. He had faced monsters and horrors beyond the ken of the most fantastic mind. He had dealt with gangsters, thugs and the very verge of the law with aplomb and nervous excitement. He had even spent three nights in the ritziest bordello in New Orleans using his name to secure a room of girls and then run for his life when he told them he thought they should have paid for having him as a guest. That had certainly made journeys to New Orleans more exciting since then. Now he was going to die in a car accident. Drowned at the bottom of a fast flowing river because he hadn’t been paying attention to the road ahead wasn’t exactly how he had seen his death when he had been planning his life book.
Joel was strangely calm at the thought of death. He had always known he would die young. The life of the heir to the Harpy tobacco giant fortune was boring. Never wanting for money had never taught him the more mundane challenges of daily life for the everyday person. To make up for it had sought out entertainment and courted danger, any danger as long as he didn’t have to be responsible. Well that wasn’t a problem now. His Father had disowned him for the scandal in Boston which had also claimed the job of his good friend Perry. Perry had actually shown him a darker side than he had previously seen, a side so dark even a black sheep such as him could see the struggle against the dark was worth it. With it had come a terror that had ignited an adrenaline rush better than anything he had ever known before. On top of that he would be a secret hero, saving the world on a regular basis and no one ever knowing it was a wonderfully satisfying feeling. As far as his Father was concerned Joel was a social embarrassment waiting to happen, Joel knew better! Joel considered himself more in the mould of Stoker’s Texan Quincy Morris, dashing, brave and charming. Mind you he was sure Quincy had bothered to learn to swim, a task Joel had never had time for. The only liquid he wanted surrounding him was single malt, an aspiration curbed by the current prohibition laws. That failure was in severe danger of ending his world saving antics since the liquid currently surrounding him most assuredly was not whisky. It was almost poetic really.
Looking through the back window he could see the sun filtering through the water. Silhouetted against the light George Peterson could be seen fighting the current to gain the shore. The last week had been a trying one for George, dragged into the good fight quite against his will, he had so far accounted himself well. Now George would never know that it was all Harpy’s fault that he had even been introduced to his new life. George had been unfortunate to have been at the scene of a burglary set up by Joel. The goal of the heinous act being a book that Joel had recognised as being on Perry’s list of volumes you most wished that the wrong people did not have in their grasping claws. The owner of the property being of that ilk, Joel had hired a couple of “specialists” for the task. Joel had managed to talk them out of killing George but since then George’s sedentary life of favoured Architect never quite got back on track. In fact continual derailment seemed de rigueur. At least his luck seemed to have changed in this circumstance. As for the original owner of the book he was in Hospital after one of the goons got a little liberal with the lead. Good help was so difficult to find these days!
Joel struggled over the bench seat spanning the driver’s compartment. His lungs were almost at their limit. He might of led his life on the ragged edge but he’d be damned if his friends lives were going to be laid at his door. Numbness crept inevitably into his frame as the legs of Ms Keezar redoubled their effort in blind panic. It was getting harder to move. Bubbles escaped from his nose as he lunged forward out of the rear door. He threw his right arm forward dislodging the bag as simultaneously a torrent of bubbles exploded from his lips and the water rushed into the void left behind. Julianna burst to the surface. Joel smirked at the disappointment to be had by the local Gentlemen’s Club and branch of The Daughters of the American Revolution. Julianna Keezar lived again to fight against society’s moral conceits of inequality and elitism. Their association had always been the talk of both organisations, Joel’s Fathers name assuaging any scandal on his part. Of course it was easier for them to believe she was a regular bedpost notch of his, but truth be told he’d never seen her in anything less than dress of the utmost propriety. The Playboy and the Suffragette shtick hadn’t done any harm to his reputation as a Lady-killer and couldn’t make hers any worse anyway. They’d rather believe her a slattern than him a traitor to his peers, righteous pricks that they were! A thread of blood drifted from his nose and passed his eyes. His lungs were shot. He turned towards the surface and faced the filtered luminescence. Thinking was getting harder as if his brain was immersed in hardening concrete.
As the light faded to darkness he smiled and thought that his Father would finally approve of something Joel had done. He loved his Father and Mother but he could never do things right. His Father was too driven to let Joel be anything other than a miniature version of himself ready to take over the Harpy Legacy and his Mother too well drilled in her duties to openly object to his regime. The last words with his Father had been bitter. He had been told in no uncertain terms that the Boston incident was the last time that he would pull strings for him to cover up. A quick exile to a seaside resort with a stipend and a loud denial of parentage were all Joel had taken with him. The only contact from that point allowed him was via the hired eyes that Joel had glimpsed observing him and undoubtedly reporting his every peccadillo back to his Father. Joel deeply regretted the split and missed his Mothers company; he even missed his Fathers continual disapproval. The pressure had only got worse in ’20 when Father had informed him rather boringly of his expansion plans for Harpy Tobacco. Father had had the whole next decade through till ’30 planned. The investment was immense and Joel was to be groomed for a major position before then. Joel didn’t want that, he didn’t want to spend his life in cigar smoked rooms with fat balding little men leering over their secretaries who were only interested in what screwing the boss could get them. Joel had slept with scores of women but any woman who slept with him and expected a sugar daddy style relationship was in for a very disappointing time, well at least in the sugar daddy manner. Now they didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore. Two final thoughts fixed the smile on his face. He had finally in his last living act given to a woman something truly precious, her life back. Also that at least he had proven Father wrong in one way. After all could anyone with his past lifestyle as a measure have had a death less ordinary?
“A Death Less Ordinary?” copyright Tony Bennett 20th August 2005
All his life he had been a thrill seeker. He had faced monsters and horrors beyond the ken of the most fantastic mind. He had dealt with gangsters, thugs and the very verge of the law with aplomb and nervous excitement. He had even spent three nights in the ritziest bordello in New Orleans using his name to secure a room of girls and then run for his life when he told them he thought they should have paid for having him as a guest. That had certainly made journeys to New Orleans more exciting since then. Now he was going to die in a car accident. Drowned at the bottom of a fast flowing river because he hadn’t been paying attention to the road ahead wasn’t exactly how he had seen his death when he had been planning his life book.
Joel was strangely calm at the thought of death. He had always known he would die young. The life of the heir to the Harpy tobacco giant fortune was boring. Never wanting for money had never taught him the more mundane challenges of daily life for the everyday person. To make up for it had sought out entertainment and courted danger, any danger as long as he didn’t have to be responsible. Well that wasn’t a problem now. His Father had disowned him for the scandal in Boston which had also claimed the job of his good friend Perry. Perry had actually shown him a darker side than he had previously seen, a side so dark even a black sheep such as him could see the struggle against the dark was worth it. With it had come a terror that had ignited an adrenaline rush better than anything he had ever known before. On top of that he would be a secret hero, saving the world on a regular basis and no one ever knowing it was a wonderfully satisfying feeling. As far as his Father was concerned Joel was a social embarrassment waiting to happen, Joel knew better! Joel considered himself more in the mould of Stoker’s Texan Quincy Morris, dashing, brave and charming. Mind you he was sure Quincy had bothered to learn to swim, a task Joel had never had time for. The only liquid he wanted surrounding him was single malt, an aspiration curbed by the current prohibition laws. That failure was in severe danger of ending his world saving antics since the liquid currently surrounding him most assuredly was not whisky. It was almost poetic really.
Looking through the back window he could see the sun filtering through the water. Silhouetted against the light George Peterson could be seen fighting the current to gain the shore. The last week had been a trying one for George, dragged into the good fight quite against his will, he had so far accounted himself well. Now George would never know that it was all Harpy’s fault that he had even been introduced to his new life. George had been unfortunate to have been at the scene of a burglary set up by Joel. The goal of the heinous act being a book that Joel had recognised as being on Perry’s list of volumes you most wished that the wrong people did not have in their grasping claws. The owner of the property being of that ilk, Joel had hired a couple of “specialists” for the task. Joel had managed to talk them out of killing George but since then George’s sedentary life of favoured Architect never quite got back on track. In fact continual derailment seemed de rigueur. At least his luck seemed to have changed in this circumstance. As for the original owner of the book he was in Hospital after one of the goons got a little liberal with the lead. Good help was so difficult to find these days!
Joel struggled over the bench seat spanning the driver’s compartment. His lungs were almost at their limit. He might of led his life on the ragged edge but he’d be damned if his friends lives were going to be laid at his door. Numbness crept inevitably into his frame as the legs of Ms Keezar redoubled their effort in blind panic. It was getting harder to move. Bubbles escaped from his nose as he lunged forward out of the rear door. He threw his right arm forward dislodging the bag as simultaneously a torrent of bubbles exploded from his lips and the water rushed into the void left behind. Julianna burst to the surface. Joel smirked at the disappointment to be had by the local Gentlemen’s Club and branch of The Daughters of the American Revolution. Julianna Keezar lived again to fight against society’s moral conceits of inequality and elitism. Their association had always been the talk of both organisations, Joel’s Fathers name assuaging any scandal on his part. Of course it was easier for them to believe she was a regular bedpost notch of his, but truth be told he’d never seen her in anything less than dress of the utmost propriety. The Playboy and the Suffragette shtick hadn’t done any harm to his reputation as a Lady-killer and couldn’t make hers any worse anyway. They’d rather believe her a slattern than him a traitor to his peers, righteous pricks that they were! A thread of blood drifted from his nose and passed his eyes. His lungs were shot. He turned towards the surface and faced the filtered luminescence. Thinking was getting harder as if his brain was immersed in hardening concrete.
As the light faded to darkness he smiled and thought that his Father would finally approve of something Joel had done. He loved his Father and Mother but he could never do things right. His Father was too driven to let Joel be anything other than a miniature version of himself ready to take over the Harpy Legacy and his Mother too well drilled in her duties to openly object to his regime. The last words with his Father had been bitter. He had been told in no uncertain terms that the Boston incident was the last time that he would pull strings for him to cover up. A quick exile to a seaside resort with a stipend and a loud denial of parentage were all Joel had taken with him. The only contact from that point allowed him was via the hired eyes that Joel had glimpsed observing him and undoubtedly reporting his every peccadillo back to his Father. Joel deeply regretted the split and missed his Mothers company; he even missed his Fathers continual disapproval. The pressure had only got worse in ’20 when Father had informed him rather boringly of his expansion plans for Harpy Tobacco. Father had had the whole next decade through till ’30 planned. The investment was immense and Joel was to be groomed for a major position before then. Joel didn’t want that, he didn’t want to spend his life in cigar smoked rooms with fat balding little men leering over their secretaries who were only interested in what screwing the boss could get them. Joel had slept with scores of women but any woman who slept with him and expected a sugar daddy style relationship was in for a very disappointing time, well at least in the sugar daddy manner. Now they didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore. Two final thoughts fixed the smile on his face. He had finally in his last living act given to a woman something truly precious, her life back. Also that at least he had proven Father wrong in one way. After all could anyone with his past lifestyle as a measure have had a death less ordinary?
“A Death Less Ordinary?” copyright Tony Bennett 20th August 2005
posted by Tybalt at 9:22 pm
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