by Tara Brent
Richard smirked. “Fair enough.” They traded numbers and went off into the night.
* * *
“Mmmm Fernando that was wonderful,” said Colleen. “Now be a dear and fetch me a cognac?”
Fernando rose naked from the bed and made his way to her private liquor cabinet. “Remy Martin 250th anniversary or the Hennessy 3-Star?”
“Now what do you think would be the simple yet elegant solution?”
“Ah, both?”
“Good to know you have a good head... on your shoulders,” said Colleen. “And fetch yourself a glass as well. Have one or the other, makes no difference to me.”
“I’m not much of a ‘drinking on the job’ type of guy, Miss,” he teased.
“Fernando so help me, you will fetch me a glass of each and yourself a glass that mixes equal parts of both!” she snapped.
Still smiling, he brought over her drinks. Colleen took a long gulp of the Remy, let the taste wash around the inside of her mouth, and then did the same with the Hennessy. “I truly can never decide,” she said, sighing. “Now. Where were we...?”
Chapter 4: Protesters
“YOU’RE KILLING THE PLANET!” a young lady bellowed through a bullhorn. Her black hair fell past her shoulders and her bangs hung down to her horned-rim glasses. “HOW COULD YOU DECIMATE A NATIONAL PARK LIKE THIS?”
Mr. Bartholomew scowled at the protesters. “Damn hippies,” he muttered. “Didn’t they already have their heyday back in the 60s and 70s? It’s 2018 damn it. Haven’t they heard of privatization? This isn’t public property or government property anymore, hasn’t been for quite a while.”
“Eh, there will always be their kind,” said Mr. Lots.
The protesters were chanting loudly behind the barricade. A few had already been arrested the day before for chaining themselves to trees near where the work was to be done.
“A year from now, they’ll find somewhere else to shout. A new cause to make themselves feel important,” sighed Bartholomew. “Doesn’t it bother them that this park isn’t even for people? Hundreds of square miles where business could thrive.”
“That’s a lot of jobs,” said Lots. “Not that these commie bastards have ever worked a day in their lives.”
Bartholomew laughed, ignoring the chants of the protesters. “Lots, don’t call them commies. You know they prefer to call themselves ‘socialists’ or ‘environmentalists.’”
“Eco-terrorists more likely,” muttered Lots. “I don’t mind the bad PR because when the time comes, people care about jobs.”
“And we’ll make a bundle off their sweat,” laughed Bartholomew.
“By the way,” said Lots, “where is the crew? They’re more than ten minutes late now.”
Bartholomew looked at his phone. “Huh, you’re not wrong. I was led to believe that they were a punctual outfit.” He paused, staring up at the sky past Lots. “Also, what the devil is that?”
Lots turned around and was nonplussed to see someone parachuting toward them, clad all in black. He lifted his walkie and called for security. Moments later, the jumper landed. The protesters stopped chanting, as puzzled as the tycoons.
The man unclipped the parachute and made his way toward Bartholomew and Lots, both of whom backed away nervously.
“At ease gentlemen,” came the smarmy voice. He removed his helmet.
Bartholomew guffawed, frustrated. “Blackwood? Is that you?”
“Christ man you’re lucky we didn’t shoot you out of the sky!” said Lots.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” said Tristan. “Anyway, there’s the matter of trespassing on private property.”
“Well, the man is honest in his obnoxious confessions, at least,” snorted Lots.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought somebody would have told you,” he said. “You’re trespassing on my property, believe it or not.”
Bartholomew guffawed. “The man’s as mad as they say.”
“Not entirely untrue but such is the case with all those who have been touched by the divine,” said Tristan.
“What do you want, Blackwood,” said Lots. Then, into his walkie-talkie. “Security, get out here!”
“My security will be here shortly to remove you both from the premises,” Tristan assured them.
“What are you—”
“See, it’s funny,” said Tristan, “when you treat your board members as poorly as you do, they’re inclined to stage a coup to have you ousted.” Bartholomew started sputtering; Lots went pale. “Thing is, they didn’t really have the means to do so. I, however, do. I own your company now.” Lots went from pale to red, only to be out-done by Bartholomew’s purple countenance. “See, the old movie trick of using a couple dozen shell corporations to buy the majority of the public stock doesn’t work. There are contingencies against such action. Since I wanted to stop you from blaspheming against this exquisite natural paradise and your board wanted you gone anyway, it became much easier.”
“Why would the board ever want to renege on a deal as lucrative as this one?” screamed Bartholomew.
“Oh, the company still gets the land. Only that the land will remain entirely unmolested. The beauty and life here shall remain. The company will have a lovely PR story of how they get to protect this Eden from the likes of you, and I get another notch on my belt. So for those of you eavesdropping,” he bellowed, addressing the crowd just as security arrived, “your voices were heard, and your wishes granted!”
The crowd went nuts, cheering and screaming and taking pictures.
“You’ll be hearing from our lawyers,” spat Lots as they accompanied security off the premises.
“You’ll need your own, since your corporate lawyers are now my corporate lawyers,” said Tristan. “Adieu, mongrels. And if you see fit to sully my land with your putrid presence, I was thinking a minimum of $1 entry to the park, though that will be in small print below the ‘suggested fee’ of $30 a head.”
He marched away from Bartholomew and Lots toward the crowd, ignoring the men’s swearing as he scanned them. “You,” he said, pointing to the young lady with the bullhorn. “You and I are going to take a walk.
* * *
“That was amazing,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I would protest no matter the outcome, but to actually succeed!” She did a little dance of excitement. “This is incredible!”
“Not to dampen your spirits,” said Tristan, but “your protests had little if anything to do with it. I just said as much because it felt appropriate.”
“Even so,” she said, “I can’t argue with the result.”
“So tell me your name,” he said, pausing to let a robin land on his finger.
“Tiffany,” she said, staring in awe. “I’ve never seen a robin do that!”
“I’m Batman,” he said casually.
“What?”
“I’m messing with you,” he said, smiling slightly.
“Oh... Batman and Robin... right,” she giggled, awkwardly.
“Animals tend to like me more than they do other humans, and the feeling is highly mutual,” said Tristan. “They never drone on, they never try to violate their own nature, they simply are.”
“I completely agree,” said Tiffany, wide-eyed. She walked closer to him, occasionally bumping into him.
“That said, I do not intend to have this park remain public,” he said. “It will be mine, with my own set of rules.”
“As long as those rules don’t involve mining or drilling or bulldozing trees to put up a tacky mall, I don’t think those rules should be a problem.”
“Not even a... Tiffany’s?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Oh ha-ha laugh it up,” she said, rolling her eyes. “My mom was obsessed with Breakfast at Tiffany’s. My older sisters are named Holly and Audrey, if you could believe it.”
“I can,” he said. “So you don’t mind that people will have to pay to go where they once wandered freely?”
“The price to save nature,” she said, shr
ugging. “Will the money go toward maintaining the park, at least?”
“Half of it will,” he said.
“I’ll take it,” she said with a smirk. She stopped. “So why’d you pick me out?”
“I wanted to walk in the park and despite my general disdain for humans in general I elected to walk with somebody, preferably somebody I’d never see again,” he said calmly.
“So we’re never going to see each other again?” she asked.
“Never,” he said.
She smirked. “Well, I’m a busy girl,” she said, dragging her fingers down the front of his shirt. “I’m not looking for anything serious anyway.” She cocked her head to the side and fluttered her eyelashes behind her glasses. “I’d like to... personally thank you for doing what you did.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” he said, pointedly.
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do,” she said.
“I care little for what’s ‘right’ so much as I care for what I happen to desire.”
She bit her lip. “And what do you desire now?”
With that, he grabbed her by the hip and neck, lifting her and kissing her as he walked forth toward a tree. He slammed her against the tree as she bit his neck, and he reached under her skirt to rip away her panties. “Oh god...” she said. Never gonna see him again, she thought, smiling inwardly. Carpe diem!
Chapter 5: The Date
Bethany was finishing up her painting at one of those BYOB painting classes. Although, she didn’t exactly bring wine...
“I love the fact that you brought Welch’s grape juice,” laughed Bethany’s new friend, Lena, who was painting at the canvas next to her.
“What? It’s all grapes,” said Bethany slyly. “100% grape juice, in fact.”
“You’re too much,” laughed Lena. “By the way I like how you decided to make your forest all winter...ish.”
“I figured everyone else was going to paint a green forest. Thought this could be a way to stand out,” said Bethany. Each canvas had a light outline in which they painted, not unlike an upper-tier coloring book.
“Except for Jasmine of course,” muttered, Lena, rolling her eyes.
Bethany looked about to find Jasmine’s canvas. Oooooof course, she thought. Jasmine had elected to paint a white base directly over the lines, nullifying them, and then just went about painting a self-portrait.
“Ego much?”
“I dunno,” said Bethany. “I mean, totally. But I guess maybe she’s doing these classes so she could practice and eventually paint a self-portrait that, looks good and looks like her, if those two are in any way compatible.” She winked at Lena.
“You are surprisingly savage for such a nice girl,” said Lena.
“Who said I’m nice?”
“Oh just stop. Oh! Are you climbing tomorrow?”
“Aw fudge-bubbles!” lamented Bethany. “I kinda-sorta double-booked...”
“Aw no!”
“I mean, well, I actually have a date...”
“OH then it is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make!” Lena said eagerly. “I’m so thrilled for you!”
“Yeah yeah,” said Bethany. “We’ll see. Dating has always been... complicated for me.”
“Why’s that? You’re hot.”
“Yeah but I’m curvy hot and lots of guys don’t like being perceived as ‘chubby-chasers’ regardless of whether or not they’re actually attracted to me. Plus, did you know that this is going to be my first date with someone who isn’t a Mormon?”
“Stop it.”
“Yeah but for realsies. And not that I’m the life of the party or anything like that but I swear these boys always seem to either have a stick so far up their butt that they make me look like Mila Kunis’s character from Black Swan or are so into trying to be edgy that they honestly just make me feel awkward as heck.”
“If it makes you feel better,” said Lena, “I can’t honestly say that non-Mormon guys are really any different. So yeah good luck tonight and have fun?”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks,” she said. “No but really, I think I’ll have a good time. What could go wrong?”
* * *
A lot, she would find herself thinking by night’s end. A lot could go wrong.
After getting dressed, she made her way outside, waiting to be picked up.
Colleen was sitting on her front porch, mojito in one hand and a copy of Wuthering Heights in the other. She peered over her reading glasses at Bethany. “How is it that you manage to dress simultaneously like a prudish strumpet and an elegant tomboy?”
“I have no idea what that means but I’m choosing to interpret it as a compliment.” laughed Bethany.
“So I suppose you are meeting somebody this evening?”
“Got me a date!”
“Well don’t let him carve his initials into your skin after making a necklace out of your toes,” said Colleen casually.
“Th... thanks?” said Bethany, baffled. “Also, what?”
“Boys these days, you can’t be too careful!” said Colleen.
“Noted,” said Bethany dryly.
“In all seriousness though, you’re allowing yourself to be picked up?” said Colleen.
“Sure, why? You know we won’t actually make a toenail necklace right?”
“First of all I don’t know that but more importantly you are leaving yourself with limited options should the date go south and you want to escape,” she said.
“That’s... actually a sane point,” agreed Bethany. “But hey, there’s always Uber!”
Colleen rolled her eyes, sipped her mojito and went back to reading. A couple minutes later, Richard’s car pulled up.
“Wish me luck! Bethany said to Colleen.”
“I promise to write you a lovely obituary,” replied Colleen without lifting her eyes.
“What did she say?” asked Richard, opening the car door for Bethany.
“Nothing you need to worry about unless you’re Jack the Ripper,” said Bethany. “So where are we heading?”
Where they were heading was a pizza place called BRICK + WOOD. Bethany was highly pleased by this. “You’re starting off on a good foot by leading with pizza,” she said. Plus one point for Richard.
“Figured it’s hard to go wrong unless you’re one of those ‘oh no gluten is the devil’ girls,” laughed Richard.
“I mean, to be fair, some people do have food sensitivities. But I don’t like it when people mistake ‘gluten-free’ for healthy.”
“‘Food sensitivity’ is just snowflake talk for ‘made up allergy,’” he dismissed. “Come on, I’ll get us a table.”
Bethany frowned as he walked past her. Okay, doesn’t seem to be well-informed and is kind of rude, but I can chalk that up to him posturing on a first date. Also not great, but understandable. Minus one, Richard.
Dinner went smoothly enough. Bethany ordered the chicken pesto pizza, and Richard the shrimp ala vodka. Bethany learned a lot about Richard over the course of dinner. He graduated magna cum laude from Fairfield University (plus one), he works for CitiBank (neutral), he volunteers reading mail to blind people (plus one), he was captain of his high school lacrosse team (don’t care), among a number of other things, most of which found themselves in the plus or neutral category. Unfortunately, Bethany learned something else about Richard: he didn’t seem to be interested in knowing anything about Bethany. Minus infinity.
By the time the check came, Bethany was bored, irritated and just wanted to go home. Jesus, at least if he turned out to be one of Colleen’s Buffalo Bill types this would have maybe been memorable.
“I got it,” said Richard, reaching for the check.
“We should split it,” said Bethany tersely.
“Nonsense,” said Richard, in a tone Bethany was sure he felt was heroic. “I’m taking you out! Maybe if you really want we could split the next one.”
Bethany winced at this “next one” notion but said nothing. Well if
the company’s lousy at least I’m getting a free meal out of it. Richard paid with one of those thick credit cards that looks like it weighs an unnecessary amount. When he got the bill, Bethany peered carefully to see what kind of tip he would leave. She sighed. Bethany had worked as a server while in college, and she always felt like, unless she seriously screwed up, anyone tipping under fifteen percent was a jerk. Even if Richard had been super engaging and curious about her throughout the evening and had succeeded in making her laugh (he had not), his tip landing at just shy of twelve percent despite their server being bubbly, polite, and efficient, would have doomed him nonetheless. Colleen was right, I should have driven myself, she thought irritably.
The server looked noticeably annoyed and upset when she read the tip, but still gave a cheerful “Have a lovely evening you two!” before departing.
Bethany followed Richard out to the car, but then said, “Hang on, I forgot something.”
“Go ahead,” said Richard, flipping through his phone.
She scuttled inside and found her waitress. “Hey there,” she said.
“Oh! Hi,” said the waitress.
Bethany took her hand and slapped ten dollars into it. “You were the only good thing about the meal. You and the pizza. And the music slash general atmosphere. Okay everything was great. But... yeah, there won’t be a second date.”
“THANKS!!” said the server, genuinely jubilant.
Bethany trotted back outside. “Okey dokey, let’s head back to my place so you could drop me off,” she said, cordially enough.
Richard put on some of his favorite music and explained the band’s background as they drove back to Bethany’s place while she nodded absentmindedly and looked out the window.
They finally pulled in. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.
“Oh that’s nice. You really don’t have to, though,” said Bethany.
“I insist!” he said, stepping out of his vehicle. Groaning, Bethany grudgingly walked alongside him toward her house. She noticed that the lights were on next door and that there was an exquisite black car out front.
“Damn,” said Richard. “You have some rich-ass neighbors,” he said. “That’s a 1961 Aston Martin DB4 GT Bertone Jet. Nearly 5 mil!”