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 | | | | OOC: Bonjour! I decided to do these series of roleplays because I wanted to give Rebecca an ending that cannot be reversed, therefore she is RETIRED AND WILL NEVER BE USED BY ME AGAIN. SHE'S GONE FOR GOOD. This is set 20 years into the future, something no one else has done and wouldn't be able to do without looking like a big fat ripper. I've always wanted to give Rebecca Rancid children because that is something she has always desired and I found it fitting that she would only have them once she has retired from the world of wrestling. I wanted to give this character an ending resembling my favorite character in a movie ever - Michael Corleone. Rebecca has always been like Michael - clever, heartless and inevitably, a disaster. The line "I'd burn in hell to save your life." is a variation from The Godfather: Part 3. He said this to his daughter Mary. The characters I have used in this are characters that I HAVE CREATED. Their names are either inspired by close friends of mine on here or favorite characters/authors from books I like. However, none of these characters are based on an actual person. Only two of my other wrestling characters have been used in this - Lola Star and Dr. Dominique Smith aka the cannibal Arachne because aside from Rebecca, I loved them the most. Thank you for reading. ^.^ - EXODUS*: Chapter 1 20 years later...
A young boy lay with his back on the gravel. He had steel grey eyes that seemingly just opened a few minutes ago and crisp blonde hair that resembled a Stahlhelm and was cut just above his beautiful eyes. After lifting himself from the ground, he gazed around, confused as to what surrounded him. The only object of any importance to him was a small toy dinosaur that lay beside him, emulating the position he was in. With the swift movement of his leg, he kicked at it until it moved out of sight. Then he simply scoffed and moved away. Roark Stolz was only 4 years old but he seemed to possess as much intelligence as a 30 year old did, or so his mother believed. He could barely form together a coherent sentence but she somehow knew his mind and what it contained. Now, he walked slowly, keeping his eyes on the gravel, studying the improper placement of its stones, he even picked one up, examined its texture and then dropped it back into the floor with full consciousness of what he could achieve with it. He came to a stop once he approached someone else. Human contact to him was something he had no value for and would show it impenitently. However, contact with this person was highly anticipated by him each day. He couldn't wait for his mother, Rebecca Rancid, to hold him. Looking at her now, he gasped in astonishment of her being �?how could one woman be so incredibly beautiful? Her posture, although relaxed proved to be domineering. Her eyes, resembling the steel grey and coldness of his, were fixated on the newspaper in her hand. The angular lines of her long, thin body were completed with sharp edges and yet, he thought, she looked so maternal. It was unknown to him that his father had these exact same notions when he first laid eyes on his mother.
"Mommy!" he shouted and ran up to her.
"Roark!" her response came naturally and immediately. She shoved the paper away and picked her boy up, placing him on her lap. The resemblance between them seemed uncanny. It was as though he was part of her body, suddenly just given life and the ability to build one of his own.
"Mommy, I fell," he uttered so innocently, showing her the bruise on his elbow. It never occurred to him that he had wounds on his body until he was in his mother's presence.
She gazed at it and her face softened, even though the possibility of that seemed highly unlikely. Rebecca was supposed to be cold �?a woman who had no sympathy for anyone, including her own flesh and blood, yet somehow this was different. She held his small elbow with her long fingers and placed a soft kiss on it and then smiled. "All gone," she said finally and ruffled his straight blonde hair with her fingers.
He gazed at her, impervious to any pain but suddenly, a frown had grown on his soft pink lips. "Mommy?" he had asked. "Would you protect me from the dinosaurs?"
Laughing softly, she embraced her son, allowing him to rest his delicate head on her collar bone. "Darling, I'd burn in hell to save your life."
He would only understand what that meant when he grew older, she thought as he gazed at her, shocked by her choice of words.
"Mommy, please don't burn in hell. I don't want you to die," he said, his head still resting on her collar bone and his eyes closed.
From afar, a pair of green eyes shot darts through our Rebecca Rancid. A young woman, quite possibly in her teens, leaned her thin, fragile body against the double door frame leading to the terrace of the three story penthouse they lived in. It was at the pinnacle of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and contained one of the suites that Marilyn Monroe stayed in during the 50s. Rolling her daring green eyes, the young woman didn't take a step forward to greet her mother but instead, reverted back to their residence. Her long chocolate brown hair, seemingly shedding its original blonde roots, cascaded over her boney shoulders and rested against her bigger than average bosom she inherited from her mother. Her low cut top revealed ample cleavage and was cut right below her bust line. The garment wouldn't have even been considered a bra as it barely covered what it was supposed to. A pair of blue boot cut jeans flattered her elongated legs and tucked neatly into her knee high Christian Louboutin boots. Remy Stolz got her Belly button pierced at the age of 12 in order to spite her mother. Today, at 15, she came home with tattoo on the small of her back that made one nod in disbelief if she were ever to tell them that she still had her virginity. Walking towards the lowest most level of her house, she pushed a button to bring the personal elevator the Stolz family had personally implemented for their suite. Rebecca Rancid simply hated sharing an elevator with anyone but her children and Remy shared those sentiments.
She exited to the lobby, not bothering to greet anyone that past her, although they shot unwanted glances her way. Some were men in their 50s, deprived of a sex life of their own and eager to peek at the blossoming Stolz's goods and some were old women who harbored nothing but spite and ill will for her. As soon as she came out into the open, the air of the real world enticed her to light up a cigarette and before she knew it, the cancer stick was already held firmly between her pouty pink lips and she was puffing away. She sat on the steps, ignoring the women and men that climbed over her body, swept away by the bitterness she saw on their faces. It gave her pride to know that a girl her age could induce so much animosity by her looks alone. Of course, if these men and women were to know her family name - Stolz, they would despise her even more.
"Remy!" she heard her name from a distance but knew who exactly was shouting it.
"Yes, Mother?" she responded. The obvious sarcasm in her tone was easy to detect.
Rebecca gazed at her daughter in awe. She did not approve of the clothing she was wearing but felt that protesting would be useless. Years and years of requesting that Remy find a more suitable fashion sense for her age ended up in futility.
"I haven't seen you all day," she said indifferently. "Where are you going? I thought we had plans to go shopping today."
Rolling her eyes, Remy responded: "For new clothes? You never have time to go shopping with me. The only reason you're taking me out right now is because you don't like the clothes I wear. Is this what you call a poor excuse for quality time with your kids?"
Rebecca felt like slapping her at the moment but maintained her composure. "We are going to Bergdorf Goodman to get you your first pair of Manolos," says Rebecca, managing to force a smile on her face. Then she sits besides Remy, placing her arm around the little woman that her daughter was to become. "Aren't you excited?"
Remy shrugged indifferently but Rebecca felt that all that was needed was a little coaxing.
"I've always loved Manolo Blahnik," she said. "I own every pair of Manolo's ever made, each in a size 7. My favorite pair is the classic Mary Jane stilettos. Today you get to decide what your favorite one is. Are you up for it?"
"Not really," said Remy. "Maybe we can do this over the weekend. I have a party I'm going to tonight with my best friend. Sorry, mom."
Rebecca's flawless face seemed to hold the emotion of disappointment for a fraction of a second and then she laughed softly as though she found it amusing that the actions of her daughter, a spoilt brat, should get her so riled up. She yanked the cigarette from her daughter's mouth, threw it on the floor and stepped on it upon standing up.
"Remy, how many times am I going to have to tell you to quit smoking?" she asked irritatedly.
"Mother, don't be a hypocrite," said Remy in a saccharine tone.
"Stop talking like that!" Rebecca suddenly shouted. "You're 15 years old for fucks sake!"
"Am I?" shouted Remy as she sat put on the stairs. "Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm blind to what you really are, mother. I'm not like Roark, that's why you like him so much. He can't see that you're an ice queen. THAT's why you love him so much! You hate looking at me, don't you? You hate it because I look so much like daddy!" she screamed.
Rebecca stormed off without saying another word. Her heightened anger was too much for her daughter to experience.
It was getting dark out but time wasn't of any importance to Remy Stolz. She believed that time was unlimited at her age and death was something she never feared, therefore whatever she did with her time was the outcome of spontenaeity.
"Remy!" She was down to her last cigarette when she heard her name again.
It was her boyfriend Justin Danneskjöld. He was the son of venture capitalist - Boone Danneskjöld and his wife, lawyer - Courteney Stockton, both who were going through a nasty divorce right now. Justin Danneskjöld was 20 years old and attending Yale. His father had high aspirations for him. Remy met him through her friends in high school, he was a glorified drug dealer.
"Hi, baby," she said softly, melting in his presence. He held her in his arms before laying a soft kiss on her lips and whisking her away to god knows where.
"When I was little, my mother was famous. She was the greatest samurai in the empire. And she was the shogun's decapitator. She cut off the heads of all the lords. My mother would come home to Father and when she would see him, she would forget about the killings. She wasn't scared of the shogun, but the shogun was scared of her. Maybe that was the problem."
That night, young Roark Stolz sat in front of the big screen TV in the theatre that was housed by the Stolz residence. He was watching his favorite movie �?the Shogun Assassin. To him, this mother was a hero and he envisioned her as the Shogun Assassin, a murdered who killed for justice. Twenty minutes later, he fell asleep on the chair he was sitting on, although unable to find a comfortable position. An hour later, Rebecca entered the theatre and picked him up in her arms. She carried him all the way to his bedroom on the second level and kissed him on his forehead before laying him in bed. The very sight of her son was accomplishment to her. It was clear that Rebecca, as a mother, struggled to tame her first child but it seemed so easy with Roark. He idolized his mother and would follow every instruction she gave him as though was one of her employees but he did it in such a manner, it seemed like he was the one in control of the situation.
Suddenly her Crackberry beeped, causing her to spring for it that very instant as she didn't want Roark waking up to the noise. Although she wore a plain cotton dress, her Crackberry was attached to her body in any event. Exiting the room, she brought it up to her ears. The look on her face had gone from soft and maternal to cold and calculating.
"Shephard" she said, speaking to her right hand man �?John Shephard, Manhattan's favorite former journalist and currently, her assistant. John Shephard had once attempted to kill Rebecca Rancid but after he learned that it was a feat impossible to accomplish and the consequences of losing his job, he apologized to her and their friendship seemed to be the same again. "Would you be so kind to make an appointment with Boone Danneskjöld?"
She heard him on the other line say, "What for?" Even though he was on the phone his voice resembled the shriek of a banshee.
"Why, John, that is none of your business," said Rebecca coyly. "Simply tell him that it's business, not casual."
"Uhh.. Okay," he said. "But Rebecca you haven't spoken to him since..."
"Thank you," said Rebecca before hanging up immediately. She rested her back against the strong foundation of her house, glancing at the ceiling and attempting to hide her frustration. During the last 5 hours, she had discovered her daughter's whereabouts in a dark alley with an empty box of pain killers in one hand and a bottle of patron to wash it down. It wasn't the setting that Remy Stolz chose to overdose in but whom she was seen there with.
Hours later, Remy's half conscious body was brought back to the Waldorf-Astoria hotel in her mother's presence by two heavily built men. They simply delivered her body and left after Rebecca dismissed them, leaving her daughter to stagger around the room, eventually falling to the ground. Without uttering a word, Rebecca picked her teenage daughter's body off the floor and tucked her into bed before laying a kiss on her forehead. She did no go to bed that night. Instead she drove to the cemetery and slept on simply a blanket over a certain grave. The tombstone read-
Sebastian Stolz
1973
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| | | | - EXODUS*: Chapter 2 Boone Danneskjöld awoke suddenly in bed at 4 AM. The cold sweat that he emitted beaded down his face as he rose to sit up. He dreamt of the worst last night. A mysterious woman caused him to plummet from Waverly Park Hotel, the one he currently stayed at and as soon as he hit the ground, he awakened. What he felt at this moment was terror. It never truly occurred to him that death was lurked around the corner, waiting to put him in a chokehold. The truth that he couldn't escape the hands of death disturbed him deeply. Then, he simply let out a soft chuckle. It was merely more audible than a whisper but had an effect of loud, ridiculing laughter. He was Boone Danneskjöld, the richest man in New York and even though he was not, his legacy would be immortal.
His attempts to slip out of bed without waking his partner that night were of no avail as she too sat up in bed with clear indications that she hadn't accomplished a full night's sleep.
"It's 4 AM!" she announced irritatedly as though anyone within the 2 mile radius weren't already aware of that fact.
"Shannon, go back to sleep," he said and then slid out of bed.
Shannon Wiltshire was a rich man's daughter and for a career, she was a professional model. At the tender age of 22, she accomplished what Katie Holmes wished she had. Wiltshire had walked every runway possible and some might attribute that to the fact that she was the wife of Senator Seth Parsons, a man in his mid forties. However, it was her beauty that charmed designers and photographers everywhere. She had the body of a goddess, dark raven hair that extended below the small of her back, elongated legs that could go on forever but when you looked at her face, the gaiety seemed to have vanished. She had thin pink lips that formed no expression whether she smiled or scowled at a person. Her eyes were a dark shade of blue, so dark that it was often mistaken for brown. When one peered into them, they would note a certain je ne sais quoi as an asset, not a flaw.
"You know how important my beauty sleep is to me, asshole," she said, hoping out of bed in frustration. She had reached the dresser in his room within seconds and began to examine her pores as though they had changed over night. "I don't intend on having bags under my eyes."
A red silk robe with black embellishments lay strew on the floor and he snatched it before throwing it over his naked body but not properly covering it. He had milk white skin and not a single hair had ever grown on his chest. His chestnut brown hair, cut to the very last centimeter made him appear as if he had always shaven it. He had a lean face with sunken cheeks and a chiseled jaw. It was a fact that he wore the most piercing brown eyes in the city, they seemed to be neither light brown nor green but a mixture of both.
"Shut up!" he demanded, pulling the robe together, but not before he knew that she had a glimpse of his body. "What on earth gave you the impression that I care?"
He had walked out of the room but she came running after him.
"Baby, I'm so sorry," she said before resting her head on his back. "I thought for a second that you were.. Seth."
That brought out a smirk on his face and he then turned to look at her. He never saw anything in her, no beauty, no intelligence yet somehow he was drawn to her. Perhaps, he thought, I only want her because HE has her.
Then after taking a deep breath he said: "Relax, go pour yourself some of my scotch. I've got work to do."
He saw her frown but turned to go into the bathroom anyway, before slamming the door shut and locking it.
Boone was 9 years old when he arrived in New York City. His parents, Norwegian billionaires, Anton Danneskjöld and Ava Danneskjöld who built their wealth in shipping chose to move to America to ensure that their son had the best life possible. However, both were murdered when he turned 25, encouraging him to build a family of his own.
He recalled the first time he ever loved a woman as he began to wash his face. She lived next door to Senator Parsons and his wife Cindy and would regularly join his son Seth Parsons and Seth's adopted brother, Sebastian Stolz. Everyday, the three would race to meet Boone at his estate, across the street from theirs and every time, Boone would get there first, followed by the girl of his dreams and then the other two boys. She had long blonde hair and her iris was so light, a shade of blue and gray, that it blended in with her eyeballs, causing her pupils, a tiny black dot to stand out most. She would smile at Boone and then blow a kiss his way each time they met.
One day as they were sitting across from each other in front of a lake, he said to her, "Court, will you marry me?" They were both 11 at that time.
Then, as Courteney turned 15, Seth Parsons began to show interest in her and they quickly became a couple. During that time, Boone no longer spoke to Courteney Stockton until they went to Yale together. She wanted to become a lawyer. Later, Boone asked Courteney to marry him the same way he did when they were 11. Their marriage lasted for 21 years.
He swung the door open, causing Shannon Wiltshire to fall on the bathroom floor as she was leaning on it before.
"Asshole!" she shouted after him before he disappeared back into his bedroom to get dressed.
"Good morning, Mr. Danneskjöld," he was greeted by his assistant as he reached his office at 6:30 AM in the morning. "You're early today."
"What an interesting observation," he said, slamming his briefcase on his glass desk. Not a crack had appeared on it.
She blushed helplessly and said: "Well you've never been one to step inside your office until 10 in the morning."
He gazed at her with infuriation in his eyes and if it were possible to convert that emotion into fire, he would have killed her with just one glance. Then he simply smiled at her, realizing that she wasn't aware of his current situation.
"Cathy," he said slowly, approaching her in the manner a pedophile would his victim. "You're a woman, aren't you?" he asked, only after gazing at her chest. "You realize how painful you women can be at times, don't you?" he inquired while brushing the back of his hand against her cheek.
She did not answer him at once but after one minute of silence, she had realized that he actually needed an answer from her to continue on with this conversation. "No.. no, sir," she said simply and when she saw the desperation on his face, she corrected, "I don't know about other women but I'm not like that, sir."
He grimaced. "Well then maybe I should fuck you."
"Mr. Danneskjöld," she said, bringing to his attention the piece of paper she had brought with her. "I really think you should see this."
He snatched the piece of paper out of her hand and turned around to read it aloud. "My client would like to have a meeting with you, Sincerely John Shephard." Turning back around, he smirked at Cathy. "Tell Shephard that I find Benji Stratford to be dull and boring and I refuse to associate with faggots."
She stared at him blankly for a second and then said, "But it's not Mr. Benjamin Stratford that wants to see you."
"Then who? John works for everybody in New York. You'd think he's everyone's ass licker but the man is still blunt as hell. I guess he's just out of money and luck, that's all. Just get him on the phone with me."
"Yes, Sir!" she said and ran out of his office.
"John, my good man, who will I be meeting tomorrow night for dinner? A female? Don't you think my ex wife would already be plotting her demise? I can't be seen publicly with any woman without worrying that she'd put a hit on her. Who? You're kidding, aren't you? Okay, yeah. I just haven't seen her in a long time is all. I'd love to. Tell her anytime she wants to see me, she's welcome to stop by at my place."
________________
Remy Stolz awoke upon being drenched in cold water. It was noon and Rebecca had returned for her lunch break when she found that her daughter had skipped school for the umpteenth time in a year.
"WAKE UP!" shouted Rebecca, yanking at her daughter's hand and forcefully pulling her out of her slumber machine. "You've got an appointment with Dr. Dominique Smith today in one hour."
Remy distorted her face into a hideous grimace. "What for?" she asked.
"What for?" Rebecca mimicked. "Do I even have to answer that? I think you're done making my life and most importantly, your life miserable. Smith is an excellent psychiatric with a record like no other. If I believed in God, she'd work miracles. Get dressed now, I'm delivering you to her on the ride back to work," ordered Rebecca Rancid as she tossed the sheet into a laundry basket in Remy's room.
"So you're just going to make me someone else's problem?" inquired Remy, mild irritation seeping out of her tiny head.
"Don't say another word. Just get dressed!" Rebecca ordered once again and left the room.
After forcefully kissing her mother on the cheek and then bidding her farewell, Remy surrendered her mind for a whole two hours to a woman she assumed she would never care for. She walked in a boastful manner when she entered the building and then stopped at the reception's desk to ask for Dr. Smith.
"Right down that way, Ma'am," responded the receptionist without even glancing at our petite villainess.
As she entered the office, she found a tall, slender woman sitting behind the desk. Her piercing green eyes burned a hole through the young socialite as she entered without invitation.
"Dr. Dominique Smith?" asked Remy awkwardly as she struggled to properly sit on the chair in front of her. For the first time in her life, someone had been able to thrust their power upon her, almost forcing it down her throat without even saying a word to her.
"The infamous Remy Stolz," responded Dr. Dominique. "You mind if I call you Remy, Remy? What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl."
Gasping, Remy asked: "You know my name?"
"You'd be surprised," said Dr. Dominique.
She pulled herself away from her work and then got out of her desk, slowly and dramatically walking towards her new client. Remy gazed at her, unfazed by her presence seemingly but then began to shudder as the doctor leaned over her chair and began to get closer. It sounded like she was sniffing the scent of Remy Stolz and did not care how obvious her actions were.
"What.. what are you doing?" asked Remy after sitting there uncomfortably for a few minutes.
Dr. Dominique smirked. "Don't question my methods, darling." She exhaled deeply for one last time and then moved away, locking the door as she approached it. "I'd like to smell my clients from a mile away, before they enter the door to my office."
Remy said nothing, she sat down, trembling in her seat.
"So why is it that you're in my office?" asked Dominique, a wry smile on her face.
"My mother believes that I need therapy," she responded softly.
"And do you, dear child?"
Shrugging her shoulders, she answered: "Not really."
Dr. Dominique stopped, the smile had been drenched from her face, leaving it's after effects - a white coldness on it. "Then I urge you to leave at once."
Remy spun her head around to look at the Doctor. She had never been given the option of freedom by anyone else but her boyfriend Justin and now, this woman. "Wha.. What?" She never accepted it both times. "Well I think everyone needs therapy," corrected Remy. "Don't you agree, Dr. Smith?"
Followed a loud shriek, Dr. Dominique began to laugh as Remy stared on incredulously. Obviously, she had not displayed that on her face but attempted to maintain her contemptuous and conniving glances, as she wished herself to be smarter than she appeared. However, the last person she could fool was Dr. Dominique Smith.
"So you would then have to conclude that even I need therapy, wouldn't you, Remy?" she had asked in response. Her face loose with laughter seeping out of her lips every now and then.
"Why, yes, Dr. Smith," Remy responded. "You aren't impervious to the imperfections the human mind possesses. Even you have your flaws."
"Quite a smart one, aren't you?" said the Doctor. "Would you like to tell me of my imperfections or should I tell you of yours?"
"You're the therapist here," responded Remy, smirking as she did.
"I smell slut," said Dr. Dominique immediately, causing Remy's jaw to drop. "A 15 year old slut, desperately trying to acquire the attention of her mother and everyone around her."
"Excuse me?" she had asked annoyed by Dr. Dominique Smith's perception.
"Relax, Remy. You are not just that. Those characteristics are not enough to define you. Your mind is still young, easy to sway by an outsider. I suspect that you'll meet your demise very soon, if you don't regularly seek my advice. I suggest that you had over any means of communication with you."
Getting out of the loveseat she had been seated on before, Remy simply walked out of the the therapist's office.
"You'll be back soon, child," the doctor shouted after her.
________________
Rebecca Rancid chose to have an early dinner with her friend, lawyer Wesley Johnson. They sat in the cafeteria of the Davidson Building, where his firm would regularly gather in their in the small spaces they called offices. Wesley wore a red shirt today, completed with a touch of contemptuousness.
"So word on the street is that you're wanting to get in touch with that prick Danneskjöld," cooed Wesley as he poked at his chicken with a plastic fork.
"I already have," Rebecca corrected.
Then she witnessed the hint of a smile of Wesley's face disappear. "What for, Rebecca?" he asked, like everyone within New York had ever since she made that phone call.
"John loves to gossip, doesn't he?" she implied without answering.
Just then, Courteney Stockton cut into Rebecca Rancid with her pale, colorless eyes. She was a short, stout woman, whom age was of no meaning to as one could not properly determine hers. The condition of her body had seen better days yet somehow her face was ageless. It had always remained the same, especially her damnable eyes. When she would glance at someone, they were under the presumption that she despised their existence but when she smiled, her face distorted into the shape of hideousness. Her eyes would contradict what her lips so badly wanted to state. She had passed their table but did not bother to stop and properly greet them. However, when she saw Wesley Johnson throw a nod her way, she smiled that same hideous smile at him.
"Courteney thinks you're having an affair," he stated. "With Boone.."
"Let her think what she wants," said Rebecca.
Wesley nodded impartially and then asked once again, "But why?"
He never got an answer out of her within the one hour they spent together.
Rebecca Rancid walked nonchalantly late at night. It was dark and the lights in the city resembled the last sparks left glittering on the black remnants of a bonfire. She walked, not knowing in which direction her body wished to go but there seemed a magnetic force present in the vicinity that kept pulling her towards him, towards the one thing she dreaded seeing. A few cabs that were passing by stopped, under the impression that she was waiting for one but she simply continued on without giving them the slightest recognition they were begging for.
She thought of the last time she had seen Boone Danneskjöld. After Sebastian's funeral, the two of them remained in the Waverly Park Hotel, a hotel built and designed by Sebastian Stolz, the last hotel he had ever been commissioned to do. All the guests that visited had gone back home, back to their lives but the two best friends had remained to mourn his funeral. Courteney was dealing with a client in Hong Kong and wouldn't be returning until the weekend had commenced, therefore Boone begged of Rebecca Rancid to stay at his suite in Waverly Park to keep him company. Without invitation, he leapt over her and began making love to her that night. It was not an act of love nor hate but a desire to crush her completely on the inside and out. A desire he had for a long time now. He felt no contempt for her and regarded her as the most beautiful blonde, before his own wife, that he had ever set his eyes on. Her long body stretched on the bed under him, trembling with pleasure, accepting whatever he had thrust upon her. Then in the morning, they said nothing to each other. She lay on his bed, naked and in heels, her head thrown back gazing at the ceiling as though she were not alive. He got dressed and went to work at ten in the morning and when he returned that night, she had gone. No phone calls had been made. She took very cautious steps to avoid him in public and if they were to bump into each other, she would walk along without noticing him.
Now she stood in front of the Waverly Park Hotel. Its shadow towered over her, conquering her being and enabling her to feel small and petty in front of it. She attempted to enter but there was a force so strong holding her back. The light was still on in his suite when she left. She called him on her cell phone and asked him to meet her at Il Bastardo.
It had only been a minute since her call but there he was, entering the restaurant and finding her at once. When he saw her, it troubled him deeply. It troubled him because even though she had been drinking and sporting disheveled hair, he still felt for her what he felt at Sebastian's funeral. As soon as their eyes met, a courteous smile came upon his face but hers remained the same. She did not get up to greet him nor show any enthusiasm in his presence but her eyes motioned for him to sit down in front of her. He obeyed immediately and broke the ice with a: "Hello Rebecca."
"You know why I'm here," she responded, taking her eyes off him, now that he was aware she acknowledged his presence. She couldn't bare to look into his eyes.
"The old me would have," he corrected. "But I remain clueless. Rebecca, why didn't you contact me after that night?" he asked bluntly.
She looked up at him, clearly miffed by his answer. "I don't think you made any attempts to contact me either," she said calmly even though the agitation was oozing out of her eyes. "Don't you think it's clear why or do I have to say it out loud to you?"
"I'd rather here it out loud," he admitted.
"I love Sebastian. I still do and I always did," she said with monotonously flat voice.
"I never doubted that," he said. "But he's dead now and I'm alive. I'm the last chance of love you have left!" he declared loudly causing her to throw a glass of wine in his face.
The strangers around them glanced in complete curiosity, awaiting his reaction but he did not give them any. He grabbed a towel that a passing by waiter had stopped to give him and wiped his face.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "You know that I still want to sleep with you," he said in conclusion.
"Boone," Rebecca said in finality. "I didn't come here to discuss this with you. I came here to make a proposition, a business proposition."
"Go on," he said, shifting his glance from her to the table.
"I would love if you invested in a new project I am planning to build," she said, suddenly with such grace and enthusiasm, as though she was discussing business with John Shephard and Sebastian Stolz. "I want to build a summer resort at Hudson Valley. A resort in which each individual suite lay scattered around the valley, allowing every family to enjoy the privacy they deserve. I figured that our target market is neither rich nor poor, weak nor strong, married nor unmarried. For once, I would love to build a project that centers around every single human being, one that caters to any man. That ought to generate a great amount of profit, don't you think? Perhaps then we could expand."
His eyes grew wide with excitement. He had missed the days when he would be part of the round table, when Sebastian was still alive. "I'd love to be involved in any way I can," he said. "Maybe we should discuss this more, at my office or yours. It's getting late."
"Sure," she said.
"And Boone, I do not wish to ever sleep with you again."
He got up after she did and they both parted ways.
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| | | | - EXODUS*: Chapter 3 Sebastian Stolz was 5 years old when he shot his parents. His tiny hands were not stable as he grasped the gun tightly, staring at his beloved mother with a mixture of fear and defeat juxtaposed with shock. Shock that he was actually going to go through with this. He did not look at the tears that beaded down her red rosy cheeks. He did not hear her crying out loud, begging him not to pull the trigger. His mind, albeit experiencing subsequent growth, had only focused on one thing. What will happen to me? All he cared for was his own safety - his own life, he did not care for others. He pulled the trigger.
Sebastian's father, Bertram Stolz, was a working class man. He lived his life choosing to excel in mediocracy. His main objective in life was to earn enough money to feed his family and shelter them. What he did with the rest of the money was his business and his business only. He told himself that being wealthy was too hectic and unnecessary. By gaining money, he assumed that it would attract thieves and people who wanted to harm him. He believed himself to be a genius. Once, one a cold, endless mundane night, two former German soldiers abruptly decided to rob the Stolz household. They had then raped Adelle Stolz, Sebastian's mother, forcing Bertram to watch while choking him. Then, one of the men found it amusing that having their son, a young dishwater blonde, green eyed Sebastian Stolz shoot both his parents. They cut him several times and then threatened to murder him if he refused to shoot his parents.
At the age of 8, after working in sweatshops in Indonesia, Sebastian was sold as a slave to a South African businessman in Lesotho. He would work in a sweatshop that made furniture.
Senator William S. Parsons and his wife Cindy had visited Lesotho in order to adopt a son, as the third child of their family, as encouraged by Cindy. As they arrived outside, the young boys and girl flocked towards them, begging for money and food. Cindy immediately began giving out canned goods she had bought with her and begging Parsons to adopt at least two of the children who had approached them. William S. Parsons was a capitalist who did not approve of charity, nor did he intend to adopt another son. He gazed upon the children in disbelief. Sympathy would ooze out of his pores as he reached down to hold one of them. He resented that they lacked fortune in life and was born into poverty but he did not feel that it was his moral obligation to give them those benefits which he gave his own children. Then he looked farther. Sebastian Stolz was the only child who had not approached them. He did not even notice the Senator and his wife's arrival, nor did he seem inclined to care. He sat down, dark blonde disheveled hair, weary eyes, working on a chair by himself. Polishing the wood of a simplistic, strong chair that would exude elegance in both a poor man's home and a cathedral. That is my son, he thought to himself. As he approached Sebastian, the young man gazed up at him for a quick second. Then he completed his work.
"That's a nice chair," commented an impressed Senator Parsons.
Sebastian then stood up.
"Sit," he mumbled. He did not know what that word had meant before but somehow it rolled out of his tongue at that instant.
The Senator sat, leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt better than he had sitting on a chair at the white house.
"You speak english," he asked.
The boy nodded his head.
When he was 11 years old, Sebastian Stolz had been brought to the United States of America. He was the third son of Senator William Parsons. He taught himself to speak english after 2 months in the states by reading an incongruous assortment of books. It had pained him that he had no knowledge of anything he came across and he would then examine it and work his own way around it. His brothers, William Parsons Jr. and Seth Parsons did not approve of him at first. Later, Seth grew fond of his new younger brother. He would take Sebastian to play with his friends Courteney Stockton and Boone Danneskjöld. By then, Sebastian and Boone became quick friends. The two grew closer as they grew older. Although Sebastian was four years younger than Boone, he was always looked at as the older brother.
During their teenage years, Sebastian was the only one that worked. It was against his father's wishes but he did not care. He spent his summers catching rivets, plumbing and working on construction projects, whether he was being paid for it or not was not his concern. Then he and Boone would go to scrapyards in the evening, collecting items they found valuable.
At the age of 17, Sebastian Stolz went to NYU. He did not touch a penny the retired William Parsons had given him. Instead, he took out a loan and used it to pay for his education. Then on the day of his graduation, he paid everything back, down to the last penny.
Sebastian had never spoken of his parents death but one evening while they sat on a summit at a cliff by a river, Sebastian told Boone what had happened. He described in explicit detail what he felt during both their murders. It did not occur to him why he did so. Ten years later, wealthy Venture Capitalist Boone Danneskjöld had Karl Werden and Albert Braun incarcerated and then whipped to death by the prison guards. Sebastian regretted confiding in Boone about his past.
At the age of 29, Sebastian Stolz became the richest and consequentially the most denounced man in Manhattan, Boone Danneskjöld was the second richest. Every investment he made raked in millions and millions of dollars. He had never taken a loss on a single investment although choosing to invest in businesses with the highest stakes. When asked, he said he never once doubted the clients that he picked to give loans to. Sebastian was also an architect. He constructed a building out of sheer boredom one night and it sprouted out of the ground within the next week. He built his own furniture, tailored his own clothing. He could achieve anything he wished to, with little effort and all of his intelligence.
He had only second guessed one investment he made. The building was the Rebecca Rancid-Stratford hotel. For years, Sebastian had loathed the writings of Benjamin Stratford and Benjamin Stratford had despised any project that Stolz touched.
He had wrote, "Mr. Stolz is nothing but a glorified brick layer" about the Plasma hotel that Sebastian built in an issue of the New York Times.
Once Sebastian was contacted about a loan to construct the hotel, he stated that he wished to meet with Benjamin Stratford, against his own will and perhaps out of curiousity. The meeting was arranged and Stratford declared that he needed the loan for a person reason. His mother was suffering from a disease which he would not name and he threw all his money at the best doctors that would treat her. He then gave out millions in the name of genetic engineering and AIDs foundations. Then he proceeded to tell Mr. Stolz that he never would have asked him for a loan if he weren't the last resort. Sebastian Stolz had sworn to never loan Benji Stratford a penny, not even if he was starving out in the cold.
Then he met with the architect herself, a miss Rebecca Rancid. She had long, flowing blonde hair that looked its best in the light of his office. Her eyes were neither blue nor green but a colorless grey that exuded strength but also graciousness. She had worn a navy blue blazer with long black stockings and high heeled booties that made her legs look 5 feet tall. She had carried sketches, possibly of the building in her hand. She did not smile at him once but simply stated that she wished for a loan as soon as possible as she would like to start the construction of her very first building.
"Why should I give you a loan?" he asked.
"Because I plan to pay it back to you by the end of the week, Mr. Stolz," she replied. "I feel that my hotel will be a great success and I will pay you back every penny."
"How can you be so sure that it will?" he asked, attempting to test her.
"Because I designed it."
He stopped and looked at her.
"So it is you that designed the hotel?" he had asked, mildly shocked at first. He was under the impression that it was a Benjamin Stratford project.
"Yes," she responded and then brought out the sketches, opening them on his desk. "There it is. I designed every single corner of that building. Every arch, every stairway - everything was sketched by me, no questions asked."
He looked at the sketches, perusing over them neatly and slowly. He had never seen anything of this kind before. He had never met someone who exuded so much talent.
"This.. this is wonderful," he said, unable to control the words that were coming out of his mouth. "Mrs. Stratford, I truly had no idea you were a woman of such talent. Perhaps if I had seen your sketches before I met your husband, I would have given you the loan - no questions asked, of course."
She smiled faintly at him. "Benjamin Stratford is not my husband, Mr. Stolz."
"He isn't?" asked a confused but involuntarily interested Sebastian Stolz. "Then why did you name it the Rebecca Rancid-Stratford hotel."
"Mr. Stolz, I believe you are the only person in New York to think that Benji Stratford is a straight man," she said. "And I'm Rebecca Davis."
"Well, Rebecca, if you don't mind me calling you that," he responded.
"Not at all-" she interjected. "-I would like you call you Sebastian as well."
"Go ahead," he said. "I do not think of Benjamin at all. I don't care what he says he is and what the public says he is. I could care less about him at all. But you -" he stopped abruptly. "You are something. I don't know what it is I feel when I think of you."
"You think of me?" she asked.
"I do now."
He had accepted her application for the loan that same day. After she left, he knew what he had felt. For the first time, he felt love. A juxtaposition of love and respect for another human being. He realized this when he would continuously visit the site of the Rebecca Rancid-Stratford as it was being constructed. It was an involuntary feeling but then he began to accept it. He would see her many times at the site. Once when she saw him, she offered to give him a tour of his investment.
Weeks later, the construction of the Rebecca Rancid-Stratford hotel had been completed and experienced the aforementioned success. A few months later, after Rebecca had retired from her wrestling career, she began have sexual intercourse with Sebastian Stolz. Then he officially referred to her as his girlfriend and the two moved into the Presidential suite of that hotel, which Benji Stratford willingly bowed out of.
The rest of Rebecca Rancid's friends, however, still despised her boyfriend. Wesley Johnson stated to Rebecca that his wealth was based on luck alone and that he would soon meet his demise with that same luck. When Rebecca had a brunch with English Professor Dana Bowles, she informed her that Sebastian was a chauvinistic pig who's mind was only on money and not women. She predicted that Sebastian would betray Rebecca very soon.
That all came to an end when the couple announced their plans to marry and they did later in december of 2009. A few months later, a daughter was born to the Stolz couple and then a year before Sebastian had passed, she had given birth to a son.
No one ever knew the reason for his passing. He did not die by a murder or suicide nor an illness. He simply died and provided no reason for it. Even so, four years after his death, they were unable to find the reason.
________________
Remy Stolz and Vivienne Jolie-Pitt were on their way to a famous New York comedy club that evening. Vivienne Pitt was the second biological child of actors Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, along with her brother Knox. She went to school with Remy. As the girls walked, they discussed the greatest actress of the decade. Her name was Lola Star and her most famous role was playing Marilyn Monroe in the 2014 film Sex Symbol. She had now been cast as Carrie Bradshaw in the remake of the Sex and the City movie. Remy and Vivienne were big fans of Lola Star and Remy also met the musician/actress as her mother was good friends with and responsible for Lola.
"I wonder what the show is going to be like today," mused Vivienne Pitt as the young blonde held hands with Remy.
"Are you actually looking forward to a dumb show?" asked Remy jokingly. "We are in the midst of great young men, Jolie. I wouldn't worry about the show," she added. Remy would always call Viv "Jolie" because she loved her mother Angelina Jolie dearly.
As they entered, they saw Suri Cruise on the stage. The young 17 year old Comedian was getting ready to do her routine. Suri was the daughter of actor Tom Cruise and his wife Katie Holmes but after a falling out with her parents, she moved out of her house at 16 and did drugs with her friends. Then she traded drugs with comedy and was an instant success.
Remy and Vivienne met with their boyfriends, Justin Danneskjöld and Justin's friend, Cody Cunningham, who's mother was a famous porn star and drug user.
"Cody and I were just talking about the comedian's parents," says Justin as they pass a lit cigar around the table of foursome. "Tom cruise was a great actor in the 90's. Now he's a washed up Kabbalah worshiper."
"Wasn't he a scientologist?" asked Cody uninterested as he dabbled with the cigar.
"Yes, yes he was," replies Remy. "Until he got a tumor from the RFID chip he had inserted into his right hand."
"But..." Justin continues. "Like any other false prophet, his opinions change and he gives up one religion for another. He doesn't have a true God."
"Do we really care about God?" asked Vivienne Jolie Pitt. "God is so.. 2009."
"I don't care about God," Remy answered without thinking.
All eyes were on her.
"Then you better start, baby," said Justin, leaning over and smacking her lightly on the head. "The apocalypse is coming soon."
"What nonsense he sprouts!" yelled Cody dramatically and then laughed. "The apocalypse is made to scare human beings. Religion works solely on fear. The more you fear, the more you are inclined to believe."
"That is blasphemy, Cunningham," Justin argued. "And you know it. Religion is simply the love and acceptance of God in ones life. Have you never believed in faith, Cody?"
"No, I haven't," Cody responded.
"Guys, let's stop with this God talk, it is getting on my nerves," said Vivienne.
"Shut up, Viv," Justin ordered.
"Don't tell my girlfriend to shut up, asshole!" shouted Cody upon approaching Justin Danneskjöld. He seemed ready to kill.
"Gentlemen, is there a problem here?" asked the bouncer who was watching them argue loudly.
"No, not at all," said Cody. "Infact, we were just about to leave."
He held grabbed Vivienne by the arm and began to march out. Viv turned around and mouthed "I'm sorry" to the young couple that was left behind.
________________
That night, Rebecca had managed to enter the Waverly Park hotel for the first time since the incident. She wore a beige trench coat over a black translucent slip and her classic Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes as she entered his suite. Boone had been up all night in those last three weeks since their first meeting. They did business and only business together. Their talks consisted of nothing else. Tonight Rebecca brought over the final drafts of the Hudson Valley resort.
"These are wonderful," he told her.
She stood over him as he saw all the drawings, excited that he would be able to be part of this venture.
"I think so too," she had said. "I removed that elevation you had done. I hope you don't mind."
"No, I think it looks great this way," he said.
She walked towards the window and removed a cigarette from a long tray he had left on the table.
"It's weird being back here again," she says.
He doesn't respond to her but simply nods his head.
"I thought I would never come back here again," Rebecca continues as she lights the cigarette and takes and quick puff. "I guess things change."
He rolled the drawings back up and then looked at her. Her long, almost naked body draped over the edge of his window. She was looking outside, disinterested in him but impressed with the view outside the window. She had no worn a bra and it was a natural inclination for him to look at her breasts.
"You look lovely" he said to her suddenly.
Her head spun around and she smiled. "Thank you," she said eventually and then shifted her gaze back outside.
He rose from the chair and approached her, touching her arm at first. "So what's the real reason you came here?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" she questioned.
He said nothing. It was only after a few seconds of exchanging glances that their lips met. It was an uncontrollable urge shared by the both of them, at the very same time. Perhaps one could blame the environment the two were in and Rebecca would eventually come to do so. She wrapped her legs around his waist but did not touch him. The cigarette was still in her hand as they kissed passionately. However, she dropped it out of the window once he carried her in his arms. He placed her atop the table, on top of all the drawings. It was then that she realized what they were about to do.
"Stop," she said abruptly. Her tone of voice was not aggressive nor demanding but soft and almost a plea. "We're making a mistake."
He stopped at once, backing away from her.
"But I thought you.." he said. "You came in here looking like that. I couldn't help myself."
"I told you I never wanted to have sex with you again," she snapped.
________________
Justin had taken Remy to his mother's suite in the Hilton Hotel. The two lovers drank champagne as they discussed the finer things in life.
"You really didn't mean that when you said you didn't believe in God, did you, Remy?" he asked, closing in on her.
"Well, no. I don't really know," responded Remy absentmindedly.
Justin sighed. "Look," he said. "We are the future. I of Stockton and Danneskjöld and you of Stolz and Davis. The president is your godfather already. We must not let the arrogance of our parents cloud our judgement. My father was always selfish. Sometimes I question his motives as to why he started a family and then I realize that it is irrelevant. I'm here now. I'm here to fix his mistakes and revamp our family name. And you, dear, Remy are here to fix your mother's problems. Your father was a great man. He cared a lot for society and he gave a lot to society. However, it is because of your mother that the name Stolz is an ugly stamp worn on the head of your brother and you instead of a name of goodness. I think once the two us grow up, we will make a great difference."
Remy sat back, gazing upon him as though she had never seen a light so bright as the one emitted by him. A smile had unknowingly crept upon her face and remained there for the rest of the night.
"I totally agree!" she managed to say in response.
"Then let this be our night," he said, pouring them another glass of champagne in bed. "To the Future King and Queen of New York." | | | | | | |
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| | | | - EXODUS*: Chapter 4
Seth Parsons held a gun to his head as he sat in the privacy of his own office. The pressure of the metal ring was one that he had become accustomed to. It was not the feeling of which one coped with but which one came to accept gradually. He was not sitting at his desk but facing the window, reluctantly hoping that some source of life outside might see him. He wondered if perhaps then he would work up the courage to take his own life.
He was 16 years old when he first wanted to become President of the United States of America. His father had high aspirations for his older brother William Parsons Jr. Seth was meant to be unaccountable, thought his father. He experimented with drugs at a very young age and was a scatterbrain. However, during the Parsons boys teenage years, Seth began to show interest in economic matters whilst his brother, a former straight A student was whisked away by certain extra curricular activities that involved alcohol. Their father was nonetheless shocked by the outcome. It seemed as though the two boys had traded lives whilst they were in their preteens.
He had originally fallen in love with their only female childhood friend, Courteney Stockton. It was she who unknowingly made him rethink his true goals in life. All that was required of him was a minimal effort and the rest of his plan automatically fell in place. The only other person who believed Seth was of any importance to the world was his youngest brother - Sebastian Stolz. Sebastian saw Seth as the oldest brother in the Parson's mansion. He would hardly ever communicate with William Jr. unless he initiated small talk which usually consisted of the weather and food. Seth planned to marry Courteney but one day, he changed his mind. He announced to the world that their relationship had been terminated before she found out. Then she saw him with several women - each relationship had not lasted more than a month long. By then, he experienced great success in his career. He proceeded to become Senator of the state of Arizona. He made no effort to talk to her and when she would speak with him, his answers were short and indefinite. Eventually, the two stopped speaking once she married his former best friend.
Seth Parsons became the fourth president who was unmarried before being elected. He took with him the first female Vice President to ever make it into the white house, Brittany Montgomery; Governor of New York and wife of Tyler Montgomery. The only thing that he regretted was the fact that his father and brother could not be alive to see him do what they never could.
During their time in the white house, Parsons and Montgomery had an affair which Seth did not once deny. When asked about it by the media, he would smile shrewdly and inform them that his personal life did not affect them. But evidently it did. The media had been tearing into him for the last three years. They deemed him the next James Buchanan, the only president who had never married. Many assumed that he was a closet homosexual and the news stories ran rampant with that idea. Ironically, the LGBT community supported him very much. All this stopped when Seth saw model Shannon Wiltshire in a magazine. He asked for her to marry him without having ever met her and she agreed at once upon receiving the proposal. The two had been married for almost a year now and had been publicly open about their sex life. Shannon was a very candid woman. She would tell the media that they engaged in oral sex before he had a big speech to give so it would shake the nervousness off him. Then the media portrayed him as a playboy who scored big with the hottest model in the world.
However, rumors had been crawling the internet, mentioning Shannon having an affair with an unmentioned man. This prompted Seth to get in contact with his newly divorced childhood sweetheart Courteney Stockton, although she refused to speak to him ever again.
Eleven minutes had passed and not a single soul walked passed the window. This prompted him to turn around and put the gun back into his drawer. He thought that when he would allow himself to die, it could not be in this office.
Shannon Wiltshire had just woken up and she lay stretched on a recliner that she had involuntarily taken a cat nap on this evening. Jet lag might of been the cause of her fatigue as she had arrived at 2 am from a catwalk in London. Just then, Seth Parsons had walked in. She jumped off the recliner at once, fixing her hair and clutching the glasses that were over her eyes in the palm that was hidden behind her. She thought about fixing her make up at once but remembered they were not in the bedroom. He did not even look at her as he entered and not until a minute had passed since he was in the room.
"Where's that book I've been looking for?" he asked after rummaging through a few drawers. Then he looked at her.
She had never felt so horrific before. The look he gave her was not out of rancor nor approval. He just looked straight at her, like he was looking beyond her, as though a hole had parted through her abdomen and what was behind her suddenly became apparent.
"I told you not to keep it there," he said, moving past her in a petulant manner and reaching for the window sill where George Orwell's 1984 lay. He grabbed the book and stopped for a second, gazing down at it. Then he left abruptly without further remark.
She had known since then that he was no longer attracted to her at all.
That night he had a drink with his old friend. Boone Danneskjöld had accepted immediately when Seth had called for him. The two still spoke on several occasions, being sure not to avoid each other in order to further their own personal agendas. Boone was not aware that Seth attempted to contact his wife prior to this meeting.
"So what's the emergency, Mr. President?" asked Boone jokingly as he poured himself a drink without invitation. Being in the White House was something he had become accustomed to. He treated it like his second home.
"I heard about your divorce from your wife the other week," replied Seth. He sat faced down to the table, hands in his wavy brown hair with a touch of grey to it. "So I thought you needed someone to keep you company. Someone who understands," he corrected.
"Oh bullshit, Seth!" exclaimed Boone. "We both know you never gave a fuck about me. I believe you would rather have a talk with her. You've always hated me for taking her away from you. But the truth is, you took her from ME."
Seth raised his head. His eyes were the color of ice blue and it was impossible to tell whether he was burning holes through Boone Danneskjöld or smirking at him.
"How much does she want?" he asked.
"Half," replied Boone after pacing about the room they had been secluded in. "She wants half of all my earnings. Bitch is a horrible lawyer. She's never won a case in her life and now she wants half of MY money. Without Justin she wouldn't be getting a dime."
The smirk on Seth's face had widened. "Have you tried to reason with her?"
"You know that she isn't the biggest fan of reason, Seth," concluded Boone Danneskjöld.
"Do I?" he inquired. "Court's been pretty reasonable since I've known her."
"Fuck you," he replied. "What was your reason for leaving her then? All she ever did with me was whine and complain about you. Do you know that I lucked out, that I got her to end up marrying me by telling her I was a better man than you were?"
"You were a better man than me," he admitted. "Not anymore."
"Well that's your personal opinion," stated Boone. "Why did you leave her anyways?"
Seth looked away and then said, "I don't wish to discuss that." Then he changed the topic. "Another reason why I called you h-"
"I KNEW IT!" Boone interjected. "It's never a personal matter with us, just business."
"What I was going to say is," Seth continued. "Your latest project is an issue with Montgomery. She believes in equal opportunity businesses and she will not allow all of your resort to be built in Westchester. The Hudson Valley had experienced pollution in the last 7 decades and only local businesses should be allowed to profit. You cannot just walk in there and buy the best they've got and not offer them anything in return. I'm afraid you and Mrs. Stolz are going to have to change your plans."
"You believe that load of crap?" asked Boone agitated.
"I don't care enough anymore, Boone," revealed Seth. "That woman practically runs the country. I have long since retired."
"But it was your dream to become President," recalled Boone. "Why then are you taking it for granted now?"
"Responsibility is a curse," he replied. At this moment, Seth realized that he had confessed the truth for the first time.
Boone did not say anything more. He grabbed his coat and left.
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Somewhere during this conversation, Remy found herself having sex with a Japanese businessman in his expensive suite on 23rd and Fifth. Justin had told her that a woman would only be able to be considered equal with a man if she was as promiscuous as him. That if sex was so evil, God would have never made it feel so good. He also told her that money was worthless in the world. It was simply an exchange of paper between two men in order to buy foods and services that would be worth nothing in heaven. When she asked him why the men she would sleep with paid him, he resorted to, "It's an exchange of power" and claimed that he donated whatever money the men gave him to the homeless. He called her the next Jesus Christ. She was a savior who would sell her body in order to feed the poor and helpless.
After they had finished, she sat clothed in simply the clean white sheets on his bed while he got ready to leave for Japan on a business trip.
"How much?" he asked.
"Pardon?" she responded.
"How much for sex again?" he repeated.
She gazed at him, disgusted by the question. "Nothing," she replied. "Can I make a call?" she asked, picking the phone next to the bed up.
"Yes. You make call then you get out of here."
He had left to go into the bathroom when she picked up the receiver. She reached into her Chanel clutch and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with a number on it. Once she dialed the number, she waited desperately on the other end. She listened to the dead whirl of metal, which was the sound of a bell ringing in an office. She heard the voice of a woman answer it and screamed immediately.
"Dr. Smith, I need your help!" The words came out as not a cry for help but the only natural response to what she felt these past weeks.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Dominique Smith is not in her office today. You can only make an appointment with her for tomorrow," said the cold, reproving voice of the new receptionist.
"Hello?!" Remy asked in confusion.
"Hello," the woman responded. It took Remy a moment to understand that the voice on the other end was not a recorded one.
"I really need to speak with Dr. Dominique Smith," she repeated.
"Like I said before, it cannot be done," responded the receptionist.
"Is there any possible way I can get in touch with her?" asked Remy, her eyes closed and ears pressed to the receiver. "My name is Remy Stolz, daughter of Rebecca Stolz and I'm a *very* important client of Dr. Smith's."
"Oh my god, Remy Stolz!" shrieked the receptionist. "Yes, yes, Dr. Smith told me to give this to you. It's her cell phone number. Do you have a pen and paper ready."
After acquiring Dr. Dominique Smith's cell phone number, Remy immediately made a call.
"Hello dear child," greeted the voice of Dominique in a manner that suggested she knew that Remy was urgently attempting to make contact with her. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Look, I never wanted to see you again and I never thought I'd need your help but it turns out I do. I'll admit that much. Ever since our last visit, my boyfriend and I have been doing something we never took part in before."
"Sexually?" implied Dr. Smith.
"No.." responded Remy. "Forget it. I made a mistake calling you."
Before she could hear another word, Remy slammed the phone back onto the receiver. She wished to call her mother but hesitated fearing that she would never be allowed to see Justin again.
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Rebecca Rancid stood bent over her office desk, located on the highest floor of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. It was a mahogany desk constructed by Sebastian Stolz. After his death, she never wished to look or touch any of his creations but this desk was the only object which she simply could not let go of. A permanent watermark had taken it's place on the left side of her desk, on which a glass of water lay. It was half empty
before she took another big gulp.
She had received a phone call from Boone alerting her about the Hudson Valley issue a few minutes ago. She suggested that they meet at the site of the resorts with the Vice President as soon as possible. She stood over the desk now, gazing at the blueprints for the Hudson Valley Resort. It was a project she had undertaken as an ode to her husband but it was unknown to anyone else. It was a project she wished would one day come to life. But that day would not be in the present, she thought and then she packed the
sketches.
Just then, the door to her office flung open and there stood John Shephard.
"Rebecca," he said as he entered. The tone he took was one that he had always taken around Rebecca, one of defense. "Did you hear?" he shouted. "Did you hear what they want to do?"
"Yes, yes I did," she said, continuously arranging and rearranging papers on the desk as he spoke to her.
"They are going to murder him!" declared John. "They are going to beat the life out of him by tying his hands behind his back and then with the same profits the he made, with the same products and inventions he's responsible for - they are going to kill him with it. What are we going to do, Rebecca?" he asked helplessly hanging onto the edge of her desk.
She did not respond to or look at him. Her answer came simply, as if it was a thoughtless instinct.
"You said the same about Sebastian."
John gasped. "I know I did and it happened to him. Is this different then? Will Boone be the next one to go?"
"I don't know," she responded calmly. "We'll find a way, John. We will."
Rebecca and Boone travelled together to the site where the Hudson Valley Resort was being constructed. Some of their workers were being heckled over the past couple of weeks and one had been badly injured by a local. All lawsuits were forced to be dropped or construction would cease immediately.
Brittany Montgomery had already arrived at the site. She stood at the edge of the Bear Mountain Bridge. It was 9 AM and the sky held the most electric shade of blue one had ever come across. One was so easily able to distinguish the pure white fog of the cloud and the limitless sky. When Mrs. Montgomery gazed up at the sky, she thought to herself that only a woman like Rebecca Rancid would be able to reach past it.
However as she saw the woman approach her, she felt nothing but contempt.
"Rebecca Rancid," she said, extending her hand. "This is the first time we meet. How do you do?"
"Let's dispense of the pleasantries," said Rebecca Rancid sternly. "Mrs. Montgomery, it is not my duty to fix the problem of the local inhabitants. However, I welcome whoever would like to stay at my resort, even locals. The resort was not created specifically for any market but for any man who would wish to vacation there."
"The Hudson Valley locals don't wish to stay at the resort," declared Brittany Montgomery.
"That is their prerogative," reasoned Rebecca. "But I should not be forced to change my project in order to satisfy the desires of your illogical people."
Brittany glared at Rebecca Rancid as though she wished she could kill her with her eyes alone. When she was not looking at the blonde before her, she able to understand her logic. However, when she saw Mr. Boone Danneskjöld following her, she felt a very bitter taste in her mouth.
"Brittany Montgomery," he said loudly as he approached the Vice President. "With all due respect, I believe you should let the Hudson Valley Resort be and continue your job as Seth Parson's ass rimmer."
Both women glared at Boone as he stated those words but the ostentatious smile on his face remained.
"Mr. Danneskjöld, I suggest you learn to address me properly or I will be forced to leave Hudson Valley without listening to a word you and your colleague here utter."
"Please do," replied Boone shrewdly. "I assure you that whatever you say or do will not stop the construction of The Hudson Valley resort. It was not I who asked for you to come down here and pass your petty little judgement on this project but my partner here did."
The Vice President glanced at Rebecca Rancid and then stormed away from the two. "I will see to it that The Hudson Valley resort never becomes a success. Eventually, it will be destroyed if I have to come down here and do it myself." When she spoke, she spoke directly to Rebecca Rancid as though Boone was not present.
When it became night, the two chose to stay in one of the few bungalows that was constructed that night. As she walked through the doorway, she noticed her muddled reflection dancing on the white marble floors that had been specifically selected. The steel grey walls were serene and exquisite while proving a cooling effect during the hot summers in which one would usually vacation. As of now, there was no furniture in the bungalow but only a queen sized bed in which Rebecca would sleep in that night.
"Boone," Rebecca asked as she flipped through the pages of a magazine. "If you were going to send her back, why did you bother inviting her in the first place?"
Boone, who had been unbuttoning his shirt at this time smirked at her through the mirror. "I wanted to let the fat bitch know that there is nothing in her power she can do in order to destroy this beautiful resort. Besides, the hideous grimace on her face had to be the most revolting yet rewarding expression I have ever received in my life."
"I think she actually liked the place," Rebecca continued on as if she hadn't heard Boone. "Perhaps, Boone, it just wasn't you she didn't like."
His smirk grew bigger as he turned around to face Rebecca Rancid. "Perhaps you're right, Rebecca. I might be an unlikeable, unapproachable man but that doesn't stop you, does it?" he asked, slowly beginning to walk towards the bed. "I know deep inside that ice cold heart of yours that you still want to fuck me. And here we are, with the perfect opportunity to perform such a task. Just you and me, baby. So let's do it again."
"I do want to fuck you," she responded. "But not in the way you think."
He ripped his shirt off and jumped into bed with her, almost on top of her but she sat on her side, without flinching, watching him drawing in closer and closer, like the darkness around them. When he placed his lips on hers, she understood that it wasn't his intention to please her but to terrify her. She was not terrified nor did she respond to his actions. He had took off her clothes with the tactlessness of a mad man as if his body had been aching for hers. He felt that she hadn't been aching for him. She did not give him the response he desired nor the one he detested but none at all. He felt like he had been touching a mannequin, a woman who possessed no life. Then, he rolled over besides her and fell asleep.
The sunlight seeped in through the venetian blinds in the bedroom that morning, waking Rebecca Rancid up from the beauty sleep she had managed to acquire that night. When she turned around, she saw that Boone lay awake in bed as well. He was starting at the ceiling, his faced much more relaxed since yesterday.
"What did you mean when you said you wanted to fuck me but not in the way I think?" he asked dumbfounded.
She rose from bed without a word and walked through the bungalow naked. After finding her suitcase, she threw on a fresh pair of clothes and chose to fix breakfast. Boone had followed her into the kitchen. He stood a few inches behind, watching her silently.
Then suddenly a rock flew past the glass windows of the living room. The door had been broken open and four men forcefully entered the bungalow. As they entered the kitchen, Boone grabbed a knife that would soon cut him in the cheek. One of them grabbed Rebecca by the hair and assisted her towards a car parked outside the bungalow and then after senselessly beating Boone, made sure he joined her. Then the men drove away.
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Remy Stolz sat up in bed in the meat packing district of Manhattan. She had just been in bed with a forty year old Irish man who was currently shooting up just a few inches away from her. She turned to her and smiled.
"You an addict?" he asked. His voice did not contain traces of curiosity but sounded as though he was inviting her to join him.
"Addict?" she asked, as though she was oblivious to the meaning of it.
"Are you addicted?" he repeated, grinning through his teeth.
"No," she responded simply.
"You are addicted to sex," he stated as though it were a fact. "I'm addicted to drugs. We can trade."
She gazed at him and groaned in agony, repulsed by his words. Justin was selling her for less and less money as the weeks went by. He informed her that as she was less valuable to society as she kept on having sex with men, therefore she was less in demand and her price had been reduced. Remy had gone from sleeping with big businessmen to small businessmen and then the illegal businessmen. The man she was with at the moment, crawled back into bed with her. His eyes peeled back, rolled into the back of his head. He then proceeded to lean on her for support.
"Isn't that character your pimp?" he asked, barely alive.
"He's my boyfriend," Remy corrected irritatedly.
A few chuckles managed to escape the man's mouth at that time and then he said. "Honey, a boyfriend doesn't pimp you out."
The door to his apartment had been thrown open all of a sudden.
"Eh, what are you doing in here?" he asked.
And suddenly, the men behind the guns opened fire. They were merciless in their actions, killing the aging man and the prostitute he was with - Remy Stolz..
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| | | | - EXODUS*: Chapter 5 Rebecca Rancid paced the lobby of the Plasma Hotel. She had arrived precisely thirty minutes ago yet had not mustered the courage to visit the suite she had intended to. The concierge had inquired from time to time who she was waiting for but she had given him no answer. She had never been here before, but she found this place proclaiming its ownership of her, closing in about her with ominous intimacy. She felt his presence as though he were right behind her and he was. He was in the corbels, supporting the ceiling that seemingly weighed as much as the sky. His cavetto moldings edged each wall, enforcing it to work cohesively as one single structure providing shelter and exaltation of the men within it. Then she saw rows of dracaena marginata cutting through the dromos. It was in them that he was most present. She did not believe in the maintenance of plants. She asked, "Why put so much energy into something that is going to die eventually?" and responded with: "Because one must not take life for granted." Today, there was nothing more lively and effervescent than those needle like leaves that draped over their brick coping.
It was then that she had chosen to walk past the dromos and call for an elevator with the simple push of a button. She ascended to the very top of forty story building yet she had felt like she was ascending into heaven, the highest point in the sky. As she exited the moving room, she felt an unexplored anxiety come over her. The choleric nature of which she opened the door to his office, startled everyone within it.
She announced: "I'm pregnant!" as though she was dropping a ton of boxes onto the floor after carrying them for miles.
He sat behind his mahogany desk, looking up at her. In front of him was Mr. Walter Forbes and his wife Gwendolyn Forbes. Also present was Sebastian's assistant Wayne Townsend who was the only one to gasp as he heard the news.
Rebecca held Sebastian's glance for a minute and then he went back to discussing business with Forbes as she had just pulled a stunt to acquire his attention. She left his suite immediately after that and began to descent from the same place she had ascended to get here. Following her was a concerned Mr. Wayne Townsend. He had gotten into the elevator with her, despite her protests.
"Don't be upset," he stated after observing her frowns in a calm, placating manner. "I'm sure he was simply shocked and didn't wish to display it in front of Walter."
"It's not that which upsets me," she said softly. "If you don't mind, Wayne, I would like to talk to Sebastian about it first."
Wayne nodded his head wearily. "Certainly," he said. Then, as they reached the lobby again, he held the door open for her and then ascended back to his boss's suite.
Wayne Townsend was the only man Sebastian Stolz had been able to withstand whilst he was conducting interviews in order to hire an assistant. All the other prospectives had given Sebastian promise laden speeches after begrudgingly praising his work. Townsend was the only one who could offer concrete evidence of what he had accomplished. One would have demanded more money from a man as rich as Sebastian Stolz but Wayne Townsend asked for simply the worth of his work. Even though he literally lived in the office, Sebastian would seldom speak to him. He was a man of very few but important words. Townsend would act accordingly and say very little to him. He would never speak until spoken to. Yet the two managed to miraculously work as a cohesive unit, perhaps because their thoughts were so in sync with each other. However, today was one of the few exceptions where Mr. Wayne Townsend would consult Sebastian Stolz about a matter what was not only his personal concern but one which Sebastian seemingly wished to discuss with no one. When he arrived back at the office, the Forbes had left but Sebastian still sat at his desk.
"Sebastian," Wayne said upon approaching him. "You've got to talk to her."
His green eyes dramatically gazed up at Townsend and he smiled thereafter. He pulled out a black velvet box from the top most drawer of his desk and pushed it towards Wayne Townsend.
"Open it," he requested.
Townsend opened the box and in it he found a 24 carat canary diamond ring, cut to perfection held down by the smallest clasp.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" asked Sebastian.
"But, Sebastian," Townsend said upon examining the diamond with his naked eyes alone. "Why didn't you send me to bring this to you?"
Shrugging, Sebastian stated: "Is it that hard of a task for a man to pick up an engagement ring?"
In 2007, John Shephard wrote about Sebastian Stolz,"
"When Sebastian Stolz walks down the sidewalks of New York, he breaks the biggest rule by wearing a smile on his face. He smiles, not in order to mock the usually expressionless faces in the city but because he is the only man who has found true happiness."
That extract was relevant at this time because Sebastian felt in that way as he walked towards the Rebecca Rancid-Stratford.
She sat alone in John Shephard's suite, watching the door. She knew that any moment now, he'd come right through it. And when he did, she stood up immediately, involuntarily as if his presence had commanded her body to do so.
"How was the Forbes case?" she asked.
"Went well, but that's not what I came here to talk about," said Sebastian, cutting right to the chase as he approached her. "I've been meaning to give you this for a few days," he continued, opening the box after sitting down before her. "I want you to marry me," he stated in a clement manner.
"I'm afraid that this child will pass away far too early for its time. This has been something I experienced twice," she stated as he slipped the canary diamond onto her fourth phalange.
"You have to be optimistic about it but those are not the reasons why I wish to marry you," corrected Sebastian. "You're the only woman fit to be my wife whether or not we have children is of no matter to me. I love you and no one else."
It took fifteen years for Remy Stolz to die.
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"The Hudson Valley Resort was a beautiful place," proclaimed the raspy voice of the round man who was driving. "But it's you rich folks who enjoy breaking apart good things and creating your own projects which end up costing more money."
"It's not your money we are spending!" Boone argued back before being choked by the other build male who sat in between him and Rebecca.
"You rich folks earn too much money. Yes, it's not our money that you're spending because you earned it but you're robbing us of the benefits of making money," he responded, glaring at Rebecca through the rear view mirror.
"How?" she asked, confused and amazed by his audacity to state such a blasphemous thing.
"Because people buy your products first. They live in YOUR MANSIONS," he said, emphasizing on each word carefully.
"We only create the best possible products for our customers," said Rebecca bravely. "And most importantly, to generate profits."
"Money!" he yelled. "Money is the root of all evil. No one sees mediocrity as valuable these days. What happened to living simply? Why must we constantly over complicate things?"
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Justin Danneskjöld stood outside one of the housing projects, smoking on what looked like a joint. He was approached by a sketchy man who presented him with a pink thong. Upon seeing the object held up for his taking, he let out a few chuckles.
"What in the world is that?" he asked amused.
The man, however, did not smile nor mirror his reaction but simply said: "The remains of your girlfriend."
Justin's face fell and he immediately snatched the flimsy object from the man.
"The cops are going to find my DNA all over this thing," he stated stupidly. "So are you coming tonight? The burning of the thong. Sounds like a night for the boys. Make sure the beer is ice cold."
Then, with simply a wink, Justin left his friend and headed home to the Hilton Hotel. He stopped to watch the cop cars speed by him in amusement before cutting across the city.
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They had stopped by a summit at a cliff somewhere and then both Boone and Rebecca were assisted out of the car towards the cliff. Now as they stood above it, the fat man behind Rebecca told them to observe it as he puts a nice little bullet into their skulls.
"Look at the world before you," he advised. "Look at how you've crushed it and now how we're going to crush you."
"Don't you think this is selfish?" asked Rebecca Rancid. "Much like you claim us earning money as? I believe this is the most selfish thing a man can do - to take a life of another."
With a slight push, the man asked her to, "Shut the fuck up, bitch."
"You two get to die like Romeo and Juliet," joked the more built and masculine man that was seemingly choking the life out of Boone. "Say buh-bye now!" he exclaimed as he grabbed Boone's head and shoved it towards the gun.
"1...2..." counted the other man as he watched Boone squirm.
"STOP IT!" suddenly a voice had come from within them. It was Boone Danneskjöld. "Please.. I'll do anything just don't take my life away from me," he begged, not once glancing at Rebecca who simple stood still, eyes closed and awaiting her so called demise.
"Anything?" asked one of the terrorists. "So you mean you'd destroy the new Hudson Valley Resort if we didn't end your life right now."
Boone, who had gotten down on his knees at this time, gazed at Rebecca. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I will. I will give up my job, donate all my money to charity. I'll do everything right.."
Rebecca's eyes shot up at once. She gazed at Boone. He was reduced to nothing at this moment. There was blood mixed with sweat on his cheeks and forehead and he was suddenly beyond comprehension. Then she felt it coming from the empty pits of her stomach - the ugly thing that was pity. This was the first time she had ever felt pity for the man that was Boone Danneskjöld.
"Forget it!" the man declared.
He grabbed the helpless Boone up at once and then after a short silence..
BANG!
A bullet had been put in the head of Boone Danneskjöld. The three others watched in silence as his lifeless body fell to the ground and became one with it. Then the fat man let go of Rebecca Rancid.
Her eyes were still fixated on Boone and then she gazed at the two men before her, a soft smirk seemingly forming from the creases of her mouth.
"I've been in prison myself," she stated. "You know who's name to take when you're in there." | | | | | |
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