Rush

by Danny E. Allen



  Rush

  By

  Danny E. Allen

  Danny Allen copyright 2010

  …Life in the 1830s…

  One

  The fifth-floor’s sealed, smoked-windows shined with a picturesque scene of Warwick peninsula, a county-zoning, nature area… Looking just below, the pleasant area of trees. A clean paved street and valley of parking-lots and lanes… Driven-roads decently, exposed. In a quiet-bustle, hidden away in selfish-pride and decadent affluent and arrogant glitz… A quiet deserving region sitting alone, yet fully-active. Patron-causeways in and out of the concrete-oasis. …Built four years before, by wealthy businessmen and local-council…

  …The 20,000 square-foot, state-of-the-art blue-steel building; 4,000 square-foot parking-lot and several thousand yards of drive-lanes... Its huge-hub leading-off in the distance. Day-light drifts quietly, in Bau Mc Masters’ 810 square-foot office. He wasn’t interested in Nature’s majesty or tranquility, but was a rector in-duties, at-hand… His voice gentle and firm, lilted across the abundant-spans. …Given in eased-exoneration, not only pride, but prowess. Preeminence, as associate managing-executive, reporting to the head CIO, a private-parking area, private-bath… Travels every three-weeks, and two gold credit-cards… He calmly, redirected tasks-donned, confirmed and enacted in process… Dressed in a $2,000 Italian suit, $800 dress-shoes and hair done by a private Salon. Baumgartner Patrick Garcon Mc Masters III was 30 years old, in April…

  He smelled of $800 cologne and body-wash, imported from France. Wearing a 0.8 Karat Blue-diamond inset-ring, a six hundred dollar watch, carried a $4,500 Italian-leather brief portfolio. His office-furniture was shipped-from Spain; made of Mahogany, carved by wood-masters. A carpet: “standard”, for high-powered execs: sound-proof, highest-quality, wear-tested and hand-tailored. Never used, it had a life-time-guarantee… He’d taken-calls from business-associates in six-time zones, was supervisor, decision-maker and reported to on a daily-basis.

  It was 7 am, when he came to work. He’d eaten a bagel and drank Expresso-delivered everyday to his-office. He’d held-calls since it was a Thursday, a ‘trade-taking’ day… Red-haired, mild and assuring-voice, clean-skin, clear, resolute blue-eyes and assertive manual-strength… He rarely was emotional, for Irish-French blood-line and guided, devising. For his scheme of things hinged-on terms, and edifice… He was excelling at potential-’principle’ and ‘price’; seemingly, molded around him without exaggeration. With three-generations claused more in presence, than practice... He was thorough, ‘theory’ and epithetical making him ‘chosen’. In uncertain-terms, he’d fitted like a glove; adamant, infusive and apparent… An MBA at 23, hired as assistant-coordinator and epitomized, at present...

  The CIO counted-on him competently, accordingly and commandingly, argent. Dimensionally, an object-peripatetic, in the major-decision of managerial commandment. As core-apportion-opting as placed, in proportion utilizable, unitized and ‘ubiquitous’ as embraced… Bau’s bridled-lineage had endowed as family ‘occupational-pride’. He’d not questioned the discipline, drive or devotion… His family had instilled self-belief, bravery, forbearance as bestowal in propensity… …Raised to be a Mc Masters; trained, honored and bred. Eating-up any self-’individuality’, solace or sacrifice… A Mc Masters, had always been trained to be abreast with ability. Driven hard, he’d overcome selfhood to espouse the heritage of Mc Masters… Adopting as treatise-bond and endowing virtues of veneration. A family always apportion, empowered and basic. The conditioned-vented air in his office was warmed to 72o F; a personal-cleaner every night, a private secretary, clerk and assistant aided him. …They expected much from him. After 2:30 pm, his staff was put to task, as he sat in his office. The lights were out and the window shades were open. Putting a shadow with light flowing inward, noise coming inward, he sat in his office putting a solemn shadow over him… With noise coming inward, he sat in his personal time.

  The flame came and went with each puff then dausted with every hit and inhalation. His blue-eyes drifted into sunset as his lungs hesitated and heightened. Air simmered then faded. His heart pounded deeply and sensation uttered into beckoning… Bau had reward, of recourse… 8:20 pm: “Bau, I made you a Veal Vinagrette, I brought some 13-year-old red-wine, clam chowder and I made a cherry pound-cake…” His live-in girlfriend was dressed in a sexy, flowing haltered dress. They sat at the dining-table prepared-by his butler who, recognizing the situation, made himself scarce. They talked, into the night.

  11:20 pm, after his-lover was asleep he went along into the bathroom to take a few-blows and shower… His girlfriend knew what was occurring and ignored-it.

  He’d gotten hooked-in college. Where along with Ivy-League studies, sports and satire; drugs was an intimate-potion. After partying, was the thrux of drugging; Bau had become skilled-at its use…

  ***

  The new tramps-steamer blew, as it entered Boston Harbor. On-board were several-dozen émigrés from Europe. A national-cry, for workers in the new-nation answered-by poor, hungry, ambitiously hopeful people; the New American Dream was heard by their former-compatriots, beckoning for those willing and able to heed… Giving-up everything, they held-dear at home to bravely, try the United-States; four-men came from Ireland to offer everything they had, to win a new-life under new-terms… Horace, Patrick, Jason and William Mc Masters left a small-town in Ireland to become able-bodied workers. Poor-conditions at home with few-jobs, a depressed economy and social-lacking left the four-sons to try life, in America… The dream of many, who would make life in a new-land… The Mc Masters were a strong-willed, lot. ‘Serfs’, who multiplied and were devoted their lives to honest-work… Ireland’s vast-poverty, increasing-joblessness and moneyless, inspired-exodus to a land of freedom, work and growth.

  The sea-air in the harbor smelled more of coal, as they moved slowly to port. To them all, it-was an indication of treasured, apparent. …Jason, the youngest, spoke first to give-heed to were a man could speak frank, as young of years…

  “I tell you, brothers…” “This land is magnificent…” He would-never see Ireland again, catching pneumonia and die. Sam the oldest would sell his investment in a saloon return-home and live to be 90-years of age. Horace, second-youngest, would birth twelve children and become a town-newsman, for the Boston-Globe. He’d marry 4-times and give many descendants to take up the name: Mc Masters…

  When his brothers had lived and thrived, he decided to go West. Three-years after Sutter’s Mill the East had a gradual-migration. It had already been a land-rush with territory, farming and business yet gold could make a man rich, instantly… America already, prized for higher-living success now, it had been done-better: hundreds of generally, typical-people from business to bared, living decided-to move West. Within 8-years 10,000 people from all walks of life followed “the fever” grabbing many with few successes…

  “Bill, I want you to use ‘that brain’ to think your way-out of trouble.” Said Horace. “Don’t want you making grave-mistakes…” “Yeah, and when you make a million, send some home to your-brothers”, said Sam. Riding his-horse, along with 2-pack mules and 3-dogs to reach a jump-off point, along the way to the Oregon-trail. He’d earned $285, saved-over three-years… His brothers had given him a present of out-fitting-equipment from former-trail-blazers… When he’d reached the wagon-trail station in Peoria, he’d joined a group of three-hundred after traveling-with several-families, met along the way. French, German and Irish joined-forces and aiding-themselves, en mass.

  Men, women and children moved-together hoping for a life-of overcoming… Will, helped-in any way he could, he knew it was an honorable-thing. They, in-turn gave him food, aid and know-how… By time he
reached the first-stage, he was a welcome-addition. He was not unattractive, 6’4”, well-built and strong a kind-heart and endearing-character, the young-women often competed for his attention. By second-stage he had picked-one he-wanted. A dark-haired girl in her 20s, she often sat sewing while others played; a daughter of a French-seamstress, went West to be with her-aunt in California. Eventually, she fell in-love with him and spent her time, beside him. While the train grew, more of the gold-hungry increased. Not all, were civil. There were thieves, con-men and Charlatans out-to-steal and plunder… Some were taken advantage of, others were able to out-wit their pursuers. After escaping and avoiding, the travelers began to dwindle and fall. With 180-beginning-followers, 65 remained…

  Genevieve Garcon and William Mc Masters were riding-together and arrived in Los Angeles, California on December 8, 1843...

  “You owe me man, I want my money.” “I know where you work…” “Taubler, Teller and Associates. Right?” “You’re a first-class executive wealthy, drive a new foreign sedan…” “Look, I’ll pay, give me time.”

  “…I’ll give you till Tuesday.” “Here’s your ‘quarter’, have a good-day…” It was Friday. The day he usually, had taken-off early-from work. He’d lied about meeting his girlfriend for the early-jump on the weekend. The sacrifices he’d made over the years if known, could have been serious; he’d stolen, lied and hocked as much as possible. Hidden behind his hard-work was the seeming, bottomless pit-of drug-money all to his-pushers… They met on Tuesdays and Fridays almost, every week. He’d sell his blood for a nickel-bag.

  His use was catching-up with him… Un-benounced to everyone, he had a plan. He’d leave, in a chance to change his life and start, anew. With a $150,000 a year job, $250,000 condo, and career-unmatchable; leave it all behind. On December 14, he packed-up his treasured belongings; high-school year-book, his family’s diary given him by his Aunt, a gold pocket-watch, his Princeton College-ring and several mementos of ‘life’, as a Mc Masters. He realized soon after college he was fooling-himself, he used the stress and strain of executive duties, to feed his need-for drugs. While college supported and eased-wild partying, exams and other studies, he never told his father, mother or family… Though he had four years with it. It continued-on, because it was easy. Unfortunately it went deeper; parties dried-up, friends moved-on and selfishness, had limitations. Rules, guidance and regiment became a way of life… It was serious, to a fore-thought. Admirable, ability was as observable, commitment and devotion... Now, it seemed ‘foolish‘.

  On January 12, a long bearded, rough-looking man came into the Eat rail-car restaurant in Phoenix, Arizona. The winds-blew sand and old sage-brush passed the entry-way. The sky was bright with scattered-clouds… The long-haired man dressed-in jean-jacket, jean-pants and old boots; a plaid-shirt and carrying a-satchel. He sat at a table after buying a cup of coffee. He was very quiet and subdued. The eatery was empty-almost, he opened his bag and methodically, placed the contents in-front of him. He noticed his watch its time age-old perfect. His brown crystal class-of-’92 ring, letters from his girlfriend when on trips, and a pocket-album, of pictures of his family, he’d drifted-away from…

  All deliberate, un-letting, a side of him long, entailed… Understood, now-being accepted and thoroughly, appreciated in-insight. There were parallels-instant, enacts; in-filings of extenuation, fulfilled… A preciously, precipice involving and appointed; apposed and succinctly, apportion… Long since ‘deprecated’, ‘lilted’ and lamented; residing given to in angle, affect and officiate… He’d seen how elaborate and complicity, structured his-life being “Baumgartner-the-Third”. He was expected-to follow impressively, the family-code, creed and cause… Yet it was more complex, than simple. He often, wanted to ask ‘why’ to his-parents while young; he was made to ‘expect-deliverance’, in intentioned-inception… His father, his grand-father and heritage assigned him at-birth to live a life; a devotion… Adamant, disciplined and purported; Bau ate, lived and slept dutiful-criterion… It was only after high-school, at a highly-taunted institute did his father free-him; to do as he-willed, for four-years…

  And now, alone and done; distanced and out-cast: did evading, reality come into its own… All the deeds, deeming and discretion become truly, a ‘choice of compendium’… Observing the calm, somewhere in Arizona in an out-of-the-way diner and the distant-conditions of getting-away, with his thoughts… As contention, compassion-amended to tasks, to way-of-residence… An almost, imposing’-commitment… Entitled to both ‘trust’ and ‘trade’… He was expected to arrive at, outcome; as imposed-understanding... It seemed a conferring of aptitude and implying, that his-life became a product-of-others, who never-’lived’…

  He could never be himself, or apt-out to be self-expressive, throwing it all away had to be seen as ‘just-adequate’… Drugs, freed him from impressed-empowerment… All the inhibitions, atoned through the avenues-of-invent… Tolerance, toll and tradition added-up to an attraction to any-escape. Drugs centered him, instead of altering aspects-of-life. Making the ‘accessible’; attainable and accommodable. Litany of all this, lay-waste to the almost trivia-typical of talent, esteem and wealth… After, all he embodied, ‘alibi’ that was expected… Inside, with being high, coming-down and losing immense amounts of money super-imposed ultimate, failure and was apparent deception as, it would put all, he’d done…

  Bau was talented, intelligent and savvy yet he had ‘limits’. Sometimes, he wanted to believe things were as they should; yet he could not break-free. And now, he was running from himself, and the truth… An implication that his upper-class finesse had not overcome finite, misfortune. Bau derived that he’d need a new-life. …New desires, to forget and take on a new-life. To have new desires; to forget and live in a more honest livelihood. Honesty was sacrifice, now perhaps, sacrifice would lead to honesty and fairness… He drank four-cups of black-coffee just settling in the simple-pace of life on his-own… He knew his girlfriend wanted him for money and comfort. He left everything in her-name and simply abandoned his opulent-life. He’d never miss it or how hard he’d worked. He’d once, thought it was his destiny, fooling himself into believing his accomplishments was his occupation. A Mc Masters was strong-willed, hard-working and able, yet now the idea seemed motionless, mixed and mortared. How off-handed it was to attach ownership to opinionated, objectification…

  His career actually, seemed off-set really, a practice of pragmatic prowess over-the-top, angled and coathely, ardent. What he liked about it the least was the idea of margins. Deliberately, deferring in-order-to-tantamount, efficacy… An attitude of epic that centered-on, ‘emergence‘. Irony-of-implication, seemed so ordered by class as understood, by advantage. All his past incentive borne to operate in-whole as the ‘elite’, ‘upheld’, ‘un-replete’… Bau remembered, accepting a-margin as ascended and deferred, designation. An imported, affirming dyne in ‘self-preservation’ of money, power and pride… Men who controlled others to import permissiveness… After a while it became omitting, to aim-high and take no prisoners. Defined, divorced and diffident; he recognized fortune meant derision… The sun was rising, and the Southern warmth made him feel comforted. The dry-heat cleared his lungs and eased what unease he brought-in.

  **He opened a dark old and tattered leather-book. He was given from a reclusive and matriarchal aunt whom he visited on special-occasions. He read the first-entry…

  ~~~Genevieve Garcon, This is my story; born June 18, 1818 Lyons, France to my father Jordan Menat Garcon and sweet Mama, Carole Susan Garcon. I am the second youngest daughter. I arrived from my home to the place of my dream. To work and marry a gentleman of American heraldry. Popular and devoted, I’ve heard of the bravery, patriotism and honor of this fair-land… I promised my Papa I would become a wife to be proud. My Mama told me to find a passionate man and avoid the wicked-ones which Mama says only treated you nice then turn on
you… My sister made me promise to write everyday of the compassionate men, I meet.

  “Terrific!” I reached American shores on September 18, 1839 after eighteen days at sea. My ship was a long voyage yet once seeing America everyone shouted… I found a nice rooming-house in a moderate part of town. One of the father’s of a family aboard with me said they’d look after me, as I told them of my family.

  After seven-months I had a job at the local seamstress as I told them of my Papa being a major tailor. Many of the men who came to the shop were wealthy gentleman and said ‘Hello’, often. I was moved up to second-seamstress after a month and made $17 every month. This paid all my bills and gave me more to save. Those wicked men who walked the streets I was told were under-handed as well. So I stayed away. That didn’t mean I was homebound, me and the girls went-out on Friday evening’s down to the harbor to dance with the sailors who showed respect and their Captain chaperoned. A couple of the girls invited the boys to eat meat cakes at our house. They had a good time. I went to bed early and boy, did they awake, tired. My Head-lady scalded them, good! Heehee!

  On my second-year all the girls were engaged or married and moved-on. I was asked to travel West by one of my closest patrons and my aunt in California. I knew him well. He said with the new-territory a new army of clothes would be needed. He said it would be beyond my “wildest dreams”. This wasn’t why I decided to go… President Jefferson bought the territory from France and many of my brothren resided in a land immensely, large and abundant. Un-tethered-land where men could find their lives without placely, equal. As I am devoted to America her lands are beautiful, strong and rich. I am impressed. “C’est perfecte.”