Chapter Twenty

The gods conceal from men the happiness of death, that they may endure life. - Lucan

Chapter 20

James and Jill had become fantastically rich. James had built a huge house in Los Angeles, and lived there about half of the time. Jill had taken her money and built her secret hideaway deep in the forest in Oregon, as she had said she would do. James was usually there the other half of his time.

The two of them were currently in Miami, in a swanky suite in a swanky hotel. They were standing on the balcony.

“What the hell happened to you, James? You used to be a decent guy, but now your just this rich,” Jill paused for a second, thinking of an appropriate word, “douchebag. Perfect clothes, perfect house, perfect car and no soul.”

“What are you talking about? I’m still me! This stuff is all just... stuff! It’s marketing. I can’t ride the wave of the male birth control pill forever. I’ve still got to schmooze investors.”

“Schmooze fine, but you don’t have to get them whores for fuck’s sake!”

“I never got anyone a whore! Where did that come from?”

“You might as well have! You take these other rich douchebags out to clubs, get them liquored up, I guess they can find their own whores but you’re pretty much pointing them out!” Jill was getting flushed, and her eyes were tearing up.

“You don’t want me to go to the clubs? Fine, I won’t.” James said.

“Yeah, you can just have them all over to your house in L.A. These people aren’t going to invest in anything you offer. They’re just getting all of the free party out of you that they can. The second you need something from them, they’re all going to vanish into the night, never to be seen again,” Jill said.

“That’s not true!” James said.

“It is true, and you know it,” Jill said. “Have you even been doing any research lately? Or has it all been partying all night and taking so-called meetings all day.”

“What do you want from me?” James exclaimed. “Can’t I enjoy the fruits of my labor?”

“Enjoy the fruit all you want, just be the James I used to know, not this playboy asshole you’ve become,” Jill said.

“OK, you know what? If you think I’m an asshole, then maybe you ought to just leave. I’ve never been anything but me, and the guy you see now is the guy I am,” James said.

“Fine,” Jill said. She went inside and gathered her things and hurriedly stuffed them into her suitcase. James stayed on the balcony. “See you around, asshole,” Jill said on her way out the door.

“Whatever,” James said. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and called someone.

“Hey man, my night just freed up. You want to go out and cause some trouble?”

#

Jill took the elevator down to the lobby and asked the concierge to call a cab to take her to the airport. She could feel tears trying to well up, and fought them back as much as she could. She didn’t want to be seen crying and sloppy in a lobby full of perfectly dressed and coiffed rich people.

The taxi arrived shortly. She put her luggage in the back seat, and then sat next to it.

“How ya doin’ tonight?” the cabbie asked her. He had pasty skin and bags under his eyes.

“I’ve been better,” Jill said. “And I don’t want to talk right now. Please take me to the airport.”

“Sure thing,” the cabbie said.

As they drove through downtown Miami, Jill looked out the window and tried not to think about James. The city looked entirely too glamorous. It seemed fake, like they’d paid Hollywood to design the place in return for being able to film there.

She noticed a group of thirteen or fourteen men, of varying ages, standing on a street corner. They all wore sober black and grey suits, and seemed vaguely menacing. She wouldn’t want to have to walk past them. Some of them were roughhousing, while the others looked on, or had conversations of their own.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” Jill said.

The cabbie looked over at the group of men, then at Jill in the rear view mirror. “What? You mean you haven’t them back in L.A. or where ever you’re from?”

It had been a long time since she’d been in a major urban area. She’d go and visit James in Los Angeles now and then, but mostly she just stayed at her house in Oregon and ignored the outside world.

“Well, I’ve never seen them. I live in the sticks, though.”

“Oh. Well, they’re morticians. They’ve all been out of work, you know. No one would hire them to do anything else, so they hang out and cause trouble. No better than a bunch of teenage thugs.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Honest to God. You see those guys when you’re out walking, you stay away.”

“OK, good to know,” Jill said.

A few blocks later she saw another group of men hanging out on the steps of a courthouse. This group was dressed all in black, and had... priest’s collars?

“So what’s their deal then? Street preachers?”

The cabbie looked at her again in the mirror. “You really do live in the sticks. All the priests are out of work too. They might be worse than the morticians. And they’re rivals.”

“How’s that?” Jill asked.

“Well, the morticians blame the priests for stopping death. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I guess some people gotta have someone to blame for their lot.”

“I’m surprised the priests are out of work,” Jill said.

“Well, have you been to a church lately?” the cabbie asked her.

“I guess not,” Jill answered. She hadn’t been to church for ages.

“Yeah, well, neither has anyone else. Seems that with no promise of heaven, or threat of hell, there’s not much use for church.”

Jill thought about it for a minute. “I’d think someone would start warning people of the apocalypse and get them packed in.”

“Yeah, they tried that. It didn’t work. There were other people saying the apocalypse came and went already, and here we are. The Jehovah’s Witnesses were pissed.”

“Wow. I guess maybe I should pay more attention to the news,” Jill said.

“Why bother? It’s not like you’ve got to worry about it. There’s nothing out there that can kill us. I’d say, stay happy and secluded in the sticks. Sounds pretty damn good to me.”

They arrived at the Miami airport a few minutes later. Jill paid the cab driver and pulled her suitcase out of the car after her.

“Hey, you take care of yourself out there,” the cabbie said.

“You too. Bye,” Jill said. She shut the door, and the cab pulled away. What a totally fucked up night, she thought. She walked into the airport and set about getting a flight home.

After she’d made her way through the concourse and was waiting at her gate for boarding to start, and older woman came over and sat down next to her.

“Hello,” the old woman said.

“Hello,” Jill said, somewhat cautiously. She was worried someone had lost his or her old person, or that the old lady was just crazy.

“Man troubles?” the old lady asked her.

“I beg your pardon?” Jill answered.

“You look like you’ve been crying, or like you’re going to start crying any second. I thought I’d just ask the obvious question.”

Jill laughed, a bit. “Yes, I’m having man troubles.”

“Hmm. What’s the problem?”

“This guy I was with used to be a really decent person, but since then he’s made a whole lot of money and become a real bastard,” Jill said.

“I see. Not much advice I can offer you there,” the old lady said. “You know, it’s funny. In the old days, we’d probably wish the bastards were dead, but now we can’t even wish that.”

Jill smiled and said, “Well, I guess we can always hope for serious injuries and comas.”

“Oh! Ha ha! Yes, I suppose so,” the old lady said.

Just then there was an announcement over the P.A. telling the passengers on Jill’s flight that boarding would begin, and that anyone who needed extra time to board could get on now.

“Well, that would be me,” the old lady said. “Don’t worry, time heals all wounds.”

“Thanks. Bye,” Jill said as the old lady made her way to the gate.

The flight home to Oregon was uneventful. She arrived at the Portland airport where a friend met her and gave her a lift. Jill stayed the night at her friend’s house, and the next morning the two of them drove down to Gold Beach, Oregon where she had her boat moored while she was in Florida.

Jill insisted that her friend come up to her house for the night, hidden away far up the Rogue River. They untied her boat, an aluminum jet boat that could float in two feet of water, and set off.

It was hard to be depressed in such beautiful surroundings, and Jill relished the feel of the wind in her face as they powered up the river to her cabin. After about an hour, they arrived and tied up to Jill’s dock. They walked down to the shore, and Jill pushed the button that would lower her freight elevator - a contraption she’d rigged up so she wouldn’t have to haul two weeks worth of supplies up the hill at a time. She put her suitcase on the platform, and sent it on it’s way up the hill. Then the two of them started the long climb up the stairs to her cabin.