Picture Post #48: Paintings - Part Two

Picture Post #47: Paintings - Part One

I photographed my paintings the other day...

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Fifty)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

Chapter Fifty: The Problem with the Check

 

            I flew back to California on my own and only for the day. Alice is coming up this weekend, and I sort of know what that’s going to lead to. That doesn’t matter though, I’ll deal with that later. Right now I’m going to deal with this side trip, which will possibly allow you to understand one or two things. The thing is that I’m not sure anyone really understands the problem I have with the money.

 

            I know Debbie doesn’t get it, I know Alice doesn’t get it, I know Jill doesn’t get it. Karen gets it, and for that I’m grateful, but Karen gets exasperated with me for complaining about it. It’s not just that everyone I’ve known who was rich was a shit, it’s that a lot of people who didn’t use to have money who got it later are the worst of them all. All the rich people I’ve wanted to shoot have all been the kind who gained fortunes. People who are born into it are annoying, but the people who gained it later are worse. They’re worse than the people who were born into it because the formerly poor have both a chip on their shoulder about having to have once been a pleb and no training in how to be a rich person. At least those born into it can actually pull off haughty, instead of trying to affect it in an attempt not to show that they’re still the scared little looser they were when they were poor.

 

            The always rich just sort of toss their money around indiscriminately. They’ve always had someone to take care of things, whatever it is, so they think they can just toss a wad of bills and that’ll make everything all better. Once they pay for something they stop thinking about it, and then they get back to stealing every penny they can get because that’s how rich people stay rich. The poor become utter bastards because they’ve always been aware that money can buy power, but they never understand that there’s more to it than money. As a result, the people who pretend they earned money by stealing other people’s ideas, claiming credit for other people’s work and committing outright fraud that gets people killed are the sort you should just shoot on sight.

 

            You see where I’m going with this? Give me money and I could become one of those fuckers. We lived in a trailer for five years after Dad got out of the army. A fucking single wide trailer! So I’ve been poor. Not really hungry, we always had food. Not ever barefoot, we always had shoes. Never on assistance, but we got close a couple of times. I heard a quite and desperate conversation one day because my sister was using one of the bathrooms and I had to use the one next to my parent’s room. When I got to the door of the bathroom, which was kitty corner to the door of my parent’s room, I heard a conversation that has haunted me my whole life.

 

            People in movies argue loudly about money, they shout and yell and scream at each other. Real life, at least my real life, ain’t like that. My parents were standing next to their bed, muttering to each other. They were using soft voices so that my sister and I wouldn’t know about the problem. Dad was telling mom that they’d have to get rid of one of the cars. He said his Datsun was too expensive to keep fixing, paying for the insurance and all the other little things. Mom didn’t like the idea, but the fact evidently was that something had to go. So dad sold his blue Datsun and they shared the other car. We lived in a situation that almost no one I know can even begin to understand. No, Karen understands, but there are other issues there as I said.

 

            When I was young and beautiful, people wanted me around. People with money think their money can buy anything. 

 

            Now, I’m the semi-sorta-owner of a business that this year has made something in the tune of twenty million dollars if you total up all the stock in Piper Foods along with the cash and bonds. And what was the first thing we did when we found out how rich we were? We decided to throw money at Dale’s family. I still flew out there to give Dale’s boyfriend the check myself, but I can’t help but feel like I was just trying to buy my way out of the guilt.

 

            I got to the San Francisco office and got Shiri to take me to what had been Dale and Adam’s place, but was now just Adam’s alone. She introduced us and then more or less faded back when I came in to talk to him. He had a decent place, Ikea couch and chairs, probably the glass coffee table that separated us was from there too. I didn’t recognize it though, glass coffee tables are a tad ubiquitous looking even if they aren’t as common as they used to be.

 

            “How are you holding up?” I asked him as I sat down.

 

            “I’m holding.” He said, running his fingers through his fawn colored hair. “I got a check from an insurance company. They said something about the agency having a policy on him.”

 

            “Yeah.” I said. “About that.”

 

            “What about it?” He asked. “Is there a mistake?”

 

            “Sort of.”

 

            “I spent the money already.” He said, looking panicked and a little angry.

 

            “That’s not the problem.” I said pulling the envelope out of my pocket and looking at it. “I’ve got another check that our client sort of requested we give you, but I want to talk to you about it before I give it to you.”

 

            “What about?”

 

            “I want you to understand something.” I held up the envelope. “I don’t mind giving you the check, but I don’t approve of it.”

 

            “Why?” He looked like he wanted to get offended, but his eyes went to Shiri and I saw her make a motion out of the corner of my eye.

 

            “Because it wasn’t my idea of how you do these things.” I said. “The boss lady, Debbie, her dad made a good living. They were never millionaires, but she’s always had money. The client, Jill Piper, her folks were millionaires. She’s never known a world without money. I never had two nickels of my very own to rub together until I was in my mid-twenties.”

 

            “We were behind on this place.” Adam said. “They were going to foreclose. The money from… I used Dale’s money to pay off the mortgage.”

 

            “So you not only have never had two nickels, you still don’t.” I said.

 

            “I used to.” He said. “My parents just didn’t want anything to do with a gay son, so I was disowned. They thought if they took away the trust fund I’d de-gay myself.”

 

            “Ah.” I said looking at the envelope. “So you know about people with money.”

 

            “I know about people with money.” He nodded.

 

            “I want to you know about a few things.” I said. “You know the guy who killed Dale escaped.”

 

            “Yes.” He nodded.

 

            “You know he got all the way to Michigan and was killed?”

 

            “Yes.” He nodded.

 

            “Do you know how he died?”

 

            “The man who killed Dale?”

 

            “Yeah.”

 

            “No.”

 

            “Suffice to say I, ah, immolated the mother fucker.”

 

            “Immolated?” He asked. “As in burned?”

 

            “Yes.” I said. “That’s how someone on my level, my pay grade if you will, deals with an issue. I see something wrong and I do something about it. What he did to Dale was wrong, so I took corrective action and he understands his error now and won’t ever be doing anything like that again. That’s what you do at my level, you deal with the issue.”

 

            “And the boss and client?”

 

            “People at their pay grade just try to throw money at a problem and hope it goes away.”

 

            “Yes.” He nodded. “They do.”

 

            “Well I don’t.” I tapped the envelope in my hand with the index finger. “I’m not saying you don’t deserve this. What I’m saying is I know you can’t just go down to the pet shop and pick out a new guy like some kind of puppy.”

 

            I set the check down and slid it across the glass coffee table toward him. He picked it up and opened the envelope, having a look at the check. He then looked at the check again and raised his eye brows. He looked at me, holding the check up to show me the amount.

 

            “Is this right?”

 

            “Yes.” I nodded. “Which is why the whole thing bothers me. No matter how much I’m trying to tell you that I’m not trying to buy my way out of the guilt, the numbers on that check call me a liar.”

 

            “That’s what you think?”

 

            “I do.” I told him. “No matter what I do, did or even what I say, that check says that I don’t think you’ll really understand unless I try to pay you off.”

 

            “I could give it back.” He said.

 

            “No.” I shook my head at that. “No, you deserve the money. Debbie’s paying off another two family members who were killed in Chicago.”

 

            “You say paying off?” He asked.

 

            “I doubt she’s having anything like this conversation with them.” I said. “Nothing like a talk on this level.”

 

            “A ground level talk.” He suggested. “A talk at our paygrade.”

 

            “Yeah.” I agreed.

 

            “I know that you don’t expect that an amount of money will make it all better.” He said. “I appreciate that Dale’s killer was taken care of. And you’re right, knowing that is better than the money, but the money will help with things.”

 

            “Okay.” I said standing.

 

            “Thanks for coming.” He said.

 

            “No problem.” I said.

 

            “You did okay.” Shiri said as we drove back to the office.

 

            “You doing okay with this?” I asked.

 

            “I’m coping.” She said.

 

            “I’ve got a smaller check in my pocket.” I told her. “I’m supposed to tell you that it’s for meritorious service, but it’s also a payoff. Debbie’s pretty unhappy about all you went through and she thinks that giving you a chunk of change will take her guilt away.”

 

            “Will it?” She asked.

 

            “Probably.” I said. “She probably will think that she’s done all she can and that you’ll appreciate an extra hundred grand in your pocket.”

 

            “I will.” She said. “And you shouldn’t be so hard on her.”

 

            “Why not?”

 

            “It does help, you know.” She said. “I’ll feel a hell of a lot better with, what seventy K after taxes?”

 

            “She took taxes into account, you’ll take home a hundred.”

 

            “Pretty bitchin’ then.” She announced. “I can deal with that. Not everyone looks at things like you do. I work for her. I am in this for the money and I didn’t die, so I’ll take the bonus.”

 

            “Yeah.” I said. “I’m probably just paranoid.”

 

            “Probably.” She said. “When you go back, are you sticking with Debbie or that federal agent?”

 

            “I’m supposed to be announcing the answer to that very question.” I said. “And if you want the truth there is also the teenage millionaire we saved, and a shrink in the running. And just to complicate matters, I’ve been told I can choose up to five of those four women on offer.”

 

            “I see.” She said. “So they’re even willing to allow you an unknown late runner?”

 

            “Yeah.” I said.

 

            “So what are you going to choose Jack?” She asked. “Which one and what amount? One, two, three, all? Who?”

 

            “Yeah.” I said, to say something. “That’s the sort of questions they’re asking.”

Project Watch 'Em All - Day Three

I finished The Last Swordship yesterday, but it was a struggle. Hard to read subtitles and a story that was cliche as hell. I guessed who the mystery baddie was the first time I saw them on screen.

So today, before I leave for work, I'm watching the Hammer version of The Mummy. So far, it's much better.

Project Watch 'Em All - Day Two

Today I watch The Lost Sword Ship.

I'm hoping the 93 minutes fil;m goes faster than Spartacus did. I'd sort of forgotten that Spartacus ends about 30 minutes before the movie stops running. Epics are always a problem though, and one day, when I get back to writing reviews, I'll explain why.

For now, I'll watch this thing.

I can already tell you, it's gonna be tough. Burned in subtitles and it looks like the edges have been cut off, loosing words on each side.

Project Watch 'Em All - Day One

I have a lot of DVDS that I haven't watched. I have decided it's time to do something about that. I'll watch at least one disc a day, until I've got them all watched. More or less, I may skip special features and I'll stop watching if a movie or show sucks. I'll also skip stuff of Syd's that I have no interest in.

I'm going to start with The Criterion Collection DVD of Spartacus that I got like, a year and a half ago.

I don't know why I've never watched it, I just haven't. I'll let you know how it goes.

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Forty-Nine)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Chapter Forty-Nine: She Gave Her Angels

 

She gave her angels, that summer night

Prince

 

            You ever have one of those days where you find you suddenly understand a character in a book? I mean a character that you previously didn’t empathize with, but then something happens to you and you find that you’re suddenly sitting there thinking that this must be exactly how The Badger must have felt when Toad stole that stupid motor car or whatever.

 

            I found, as I opened the inner door that separated his office from mine that Jack made me understand a character. I understood Trillian in a way I never had before. In Life the Universe and Everything, she keeps trying to engage Zaphod, but he keeps being aloof and depressed. Eventually she walks out on him and I remember being sort of exasperated and I may have even shouted ‘Finally!’ when she just teleported herself the hell out of his life. I couldn’t understand standing by while the guy just let his depression eat him up. And there I was, watching my own version of Zaphod Beeblebrox sitting morose in the center of his greatest success and I wasn’t getting the hell out of there either. Oh Trillian, I misjudged you.

 

            He was sitting at his desk, sunk low in his chair, which is never a good sign. He had that look on his face, like he was trying to bend a spoon in Hyde Park using the power of his mind. I’m not sure he’d left the day before, since he was wearing the same shirt that he’d had on the night before and was there when I’d gotten there. He looked like he wanted to bite something, and there I was, thinking of putting my head in his mouth.

 

            “Can I ask you something?” I asked as I entered his office.

 

            “What?” He asked, sharply but not angrily.

 

            “Why does the money bother you so much?”

 

            “You really want to know?” He sat up straight and half leaned across his desk.

 

            “Yes.” I said. “Why does it do this to you?”

 

            “People with money are fuckers.” He said.

 

            “What?”

 

            “Everyone I’ve ever known, who had anything like money, was a complete and total shit.” He almost snarled as he spoke. “They think their money will buy anything, they think they don’t have to be decent human beings, and most of them are so stupid that you actually feel yourself getting dumber by talking to them.”

 

            “You never had a problem with Liberty.” I said, putting my hands on my hips and tilting my head at him.

 

            “Yes, I did.” He said, leaning his head forward and glaring at me. “Liberty is beautiful, and clever, and selfish. She knows how to get things, giving away whatever seems like it’ll cause her the least trouble. She bought me and sold me when I was a kid. Then, years later, when she needed something again she came and decided to buy me again. You think that car was a thank you? It was a payoff. It was just a more complicated one than a check.”

 

            “So why did you…?” I started, but how do you ask that question?

 

            “Because she fucks like a wild minx.” He said, more bluntly than I wanted to hear really. “Men are not smart, or deep, or spiritual. When you women do your little tricks that excite us, we loose precious brain blood and can’t do no good thinkin’ ‘bout things. We get the idea of hot monkey sex in our heads and our tiny little brains refuse to process anything not connected to the acquisition of that sex.”

 

            “And she has money.” I said. “And people want to be around money.”

 

            “Maybe other people do.” He said. “I’m not smart to begin with, so making me stupid with the idea of sexual gratification takes me down to a level of grunts and growls.”

 

            “What about Char?” I asked. “She’s not a shit is she?”

 

            “Char is sort of a shit when it comes to the money.” He said. “She uses money to get what she wants. She buys her way out of obligations, pays off people when they become tiresome. Char is okay, if you keep her at the right distance, but I wouldn’t want to be twenty-four and in her sights again.”

 

            “What about me then?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest, readying myself for the blow. “Am I a shit?”

 

            “You can be a little selfish sometimes.” He said, raising a palm. “You can be a bit spoiled once in a while.”

 

            “I see.” I’m not sure if I looked like I was about to burst into tears, but I felt like I was. “So I’m a shit too.”

 

            “You aren’t a shit.” He announced.

 

            “Just selfish and spoiled?” I asked.

 

            “Sit down.” He said pointing at the red leather chair.

 

            “I don’t feel like sitting.” I’m afraid something had come up from someplace and I was having a bit of a moment.

 

            “Sit down!” He stood up and shouted so loud that my legs ignored whatever orders my brain was giving about steadfastness and sank into the blue chair. I couldn’t get them to listen, but I could at least disobey a little.

 

            “I’m sitting now master.” I managed to snap at him, putting my feet flat, my knees together and my fists on the arm of the chair so I could avoid the classic position of supplication. “Do you want me to pant like a dog too?”

 

            He walked around the desk, and I was positive that he was going to hit me. I stuck my chin out, because I was going to be damned if I would flinch from his blow. I did close my eyes though, because I didn’t want to see it coming. If I could see it coming, I might flinch. He stood in front of me, and I could hear his breathing as he stood there. His breath came out twice, each time sounding like a bull’s snort.

 

            And then I felt the back of his hand.

 

            However, it was not a well deserved smack that I got. He stroked at my cheek with his knuckles, and then started wiping the tears from my eyes with his thumbs. He held my face in both his hands while he worked, and I could hear a sort of resigned sigh come from him. I felt horrible then, thinking like I had that he intended to beat me.

 

            “You are a little selfish sometimes.” He almost whispered the words to me. “You are a little spoiled once in a while. A little. Once in a while. These are flaws, but they’re your flaws and I love you for them. I am unreasonable and difficult to talk to because of my propensity towards sullen silences and my paranoid need to never tell anyone anything. These are flaws and they’re my flaws, but I can make you come so hard that you need to use your fingers to uncurl your toes so you forgive me for them.”

 

            “That’s not why...” I started to say, and then he did slap me.

 

            “Man is talking.” He didn’t slap hard, not excessive. It was the sort of open handed slap he’d learned to give as part of our play time, just like the phrase. I suppose if you don’t get that sort of play then there isn’t a good way to explain why it made me feel so good.

 

            “Sorry. I just sometimes think…” I was cut off when he gave me an almost identical slap across the other cheek.

 

            “When spoken to.” He told me and then leaned back.

 

            I know he’s not really comfortable with this, but he knows I like it. If I didn’t explain to him my need for correction, he would never even raise his voice, he never did in the past. He’s only started since we started again, after I told him about my college level discoveries.

 

            “Yes Jack.” I said, putting my hands in my lap like a good girl. “Sorry Jack. I deserve another one Jack.”

 

            “I’ll decide when you need hit.” He told me, which is just mean. Getting me started like that and then saying that was enough.

 

            “Yes Jack.” I tried not to sound disappointed, but I was just starting to enjoy that.

 

            “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

 

            “Put me over your knee and tan my hide, Jack?” I bit my lower lip and flashed my eyes at him. He likes that, it makes him open to suggestion. “Tie me to the bed post and flog me?”

 

            “While it would pass the time, that’s not exactly what I was referring to.” He said.

 

            “I know Jack.” I said.

 

            “You want me to answer that dangling question, don’t you?” He asked.

 

            “Not just me.” I said. “Jill and Alice deserve and answer to it, so does Karen for that matter. You should really have some kind of decision for them this weekend.”

 

            “You’ve been arranging things, haven’t you?”

 

            “Maybe.” I said, and felt an impish little smile crawling on my lips.

 

            “You have an opinion?” He folded his arms across his manly chest and glared at me.

 

            “I like Alice.” I said. “Jill is okay, but she’s got a lot of growing up to do. You know how I feel about Karen.”

 

            “That ain’t no kind of answer and you know it.” He said.

 

            “I can’t pick for you.” I said.

 

            “Do you think we could do it?” He asked. “Could you manage it?”

 

            “Can you?” I asked. “That’s really the important question.”

 

            “I asked you first.”

 

            “You know I can.” I said. “Now, can you?”

 

            “I’m still thinking about it.” He said. “When have you arranged for Alice to get here?”

 

            “She’ll get her Friday.” I told him. “Karen and Jill have cleared their schedules so we can all line up in front of you in silky lingerie, and try to entice you.”

 

            “I see.” He said. “You know what?”

 

            “What Jack?”

 

            “I’m going to take your suggestion.”

 

            “Which one Jack?” I asked, I couldn’t remember making one.

 

            “When we get home, I am going to tie you to the bed post and we’re going to see how bright of a red your ass can get.”

 

            “Are we Jack?”

 

            “Yes.” He said. “I think you’ve got it coming.”

 

            “Am I being punished or rewarded Jack?” I asked, leaning forward so he could look down my shirt.

 

            “Well, we’ll see how you feel about it after it happens.” He said.

 

            “You’re going to have to say something definite.” I told him.

 

            “Fine, you’re being punished.” He said.

 

            “Not just about that.”

 

            “Yeah.” He said sitting down in the red leather chair and taking my hand in his.

 

            “You really don’t have to choose between us you know.” I told him. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other. You can pick everything and go with it.”

 

            “Maybe.” He said. “Maybe.”

 

            “You’re going to have to pick, why not just do it?” I asked.

 

            “Just do it?” He mused.

 

            “You can’t wait around forever,” I told him. “This requires action on your part.”

 

            “You’re right.” He said and seized his hand around my wrist. He yanked me across to him and with a pretty quick motion had me across his knee with my fanny aimed in the air. I cried again, my mascara ran a lot, but it was just from the pain of being spanked. He made good on his word when we got home too. That’s why I’ve got to type this while standing. That’s a good pain though, I like this pain. It makes it hard to sit, but it makes me happy in my heart.

 

            Assache I can handle, it’s heartache I can’t abide.