Julian's story

Julian's story



Julian Pt I
Oct 16th, 2006 1:55 pm

In 1924, an upper class Munder City aristocrat's wife gave birth to healthy baby boy, fourth in line of sons. The family was rich, not only in monetary wealth, but in influence and history. Their French roots could be traced to the colonial days of sugar and rice plantations. The boys lived a very normal childhood as many did in the second quarter of the 20th century. They were children raised during the second World War, but the effects never touched the family. When others were growing victory gardens, the du Laurent family was sending away to Paris for mother's new fur. The youngest son studied in Amsterdam for five years before returning home to marry at age 27. The blushing bride, Marie Belle Robidoux, a fine example of the French upper crust of Munder society, gave birth first to a daughter, Arienette, then a son, Gage. It should have been a normal family story. But this is Munder. Nothing is normal here.

My name is Julian du Laurent. Up until my thirtieth year, I thought I was to be condemned to this life of normalcy. Then I met her. For the three years preceding that night, I had been living a secret, secondary life. I did what was expected of a man in my family: wed, had children, ran a local bank. But that was not me, it was not who I am. I was introduced by an associate to an after hours social club for gentlemen like myself. I was nervous at first, my refined upbringing instilling a natural revulsion for places reserved for the miscreants of society. The tramps, confirmed bachelors, and other sexual deviants of the day. But I found that the club offered me something I never felt in life before, that is, a place I belonged. Some chose to live the lifestyle, others like myself hid. To this day, I do not know which would have been more difficult.

I can remember the night clearly, because it is the night that changed my entire life. October 17, 1957. I sat at the bar, enjoying a drink and the company of a young doctor, when I noticed a woman walk inside. Normally, a single female would not have drawn my attention. But then I saw that I was not the only one to spot her. In fact, every person in the bar had taken at least a second to glance in her direction, if not to turn completely to gawk. I did think this odd, but attributed to her glamorous beauty and commanding presence. I watched over my companion's shoulder as she sat down at the bar and ordered a martini- on the rocks, dry. I tried desperately to keep up with the conversation, but found myself constantly distracted and looking over to her. Eventually the man, tired of my inability to stay focused, politely excused himself. Not that it bothered me, in fact, I do not think I even noticed until five minutes after he had already gone. I sat alone in the booth and tried not to be too obvious. I think my heart stopped when she looked up and made eye contact with me. I should state here that such a thing has never before happened to me. Where I can surely appreciate the beauty of the fairer sex, I have never felt such an attraction to a woman. So you can imagine my astoundment when I could not peel my eyes from her.

My heart ripped out of my chest and soared through the roof when I saw her slip away from the bar and approach. Words can do no justice for the beauty of this woman. Her pale, delicate skin looked as precious as the porcelain of a child's baby doll. She wore her blond hair slightly shorter then; straight, it curled in right at the nape of her neck and not a strand was out of place. Her emerald eyes sparkled, and her perfect red lips stood out in contrast to her complexion. But the thing you really noticed about her was that body. Curves in all the right places, perfect proportionate angles, encased in a daring red dress. Neckline definitely too low for what was considered appropriate of that era, yet she pulled it off with grace.



Julian Pt II
Oct 17th, 2006 2:05 pm

She walked up and sat down at the table. No waiting for invitation, no asking if the seat was taken. She knew it was hers. I wanted to say something, a simple greeting even, but I was tongue tied. Her first question threw me in for a loop. She asked if I knew was true beauty was. I could only say the first thing that came into my mind. I met her eyes and told her I was looking at it.

We spent the rest of the evening talking, mostly about me. My job, my family, my ambitions. I did not think it was very interesting, but the look in her eyes made me feel as if I were the only other person in the world and that every word I said mattered. It became late and I confessed that I had to get home. She asked me to come with her instead. So I did. In the last few years of our marriage, I had hardly so much as touched my wife, and now I found myself making love to some woman whom I had just met. It was the single most confusing, yet wonderful experience of my life up until that point. I asked if we could watch the sun rise together. She laughed and told me to scram.

I could not get her out of my mind. She haunted me. As I sat behind my desk at work, I day dreamed about her. Everywhere I turned, I thought I glimpsed her. It was as if she infected me somehow. When I sat at the dinner table, the children spoke about their day at school. I could not hear them; I only heard her words. I laid down in bed for the evening. To the right, my wife rested with her book, but all I could imagine was her perfectly formed naked body resting there. I returned to the club every night, but she never showed. I gathered the courage and went to her apartment on my lunch hour. Some polite boy turned me away at the door. Had she found a lover? Was it to be only one night that I would know her? I did not know what to do. I just wanted to see her again.



Julian Pt III
Oct 20th, 2006 11:20 am

Asking around, I discovered that she ran a little jazz club on Foundation. It was a miserable, failing little thing. I imagined that at one time it had been a place of high renown. I stepped in one night. The lights were dim, the building filled with smoke. The depressing beat of the blues band filter through my ears in waves. At the bar, there was a young boy working. He stood out. After all, who ever heard of a bartender with only one hand? My eyes continued to scan the room. There were a set of stairs that lead upwards into some balcony lounge. Another young boy at the base of them, guarding the door I suppose. In the corner of the room, I recognized the boy who had turned me away at her apartment. That was the first sign to encourage my hope that I was in the right place. I ordered a drink from the bartender. His name was Benji. We chatted a little. My eyes constantly watched the bar and I waited.

Midnight. Five whiskeys later, I was about to give up. I was sitting alone in a booth near the back when I saw it. There was that beautiful doll, dressed to the nines. She strolled on in with an very poised gentlemen. Tall, dark, handsome. She stopped at the bar to collect some mail from Benji. There was an exchange of glances between the gentlemen. Hatred. She didn't notice, or didn't care. She took the man's arm and lead him upstairs, walking past the boy attendant without a glance. I couldn't take it. I could not let her escape again. I got up and approached the stairs. The pair had reached the top and the boy stood in my way. He told me I wasn't welcome. Only special guests were permitted. The couple didn't appear to notice the commotion I was making. My heart fell again.

But then, as she stepped into the room and turned to shut the door. There was a brief pause. She looked at me. She smiled. She saw me and knew I was there. Yet, she made no move to allow me entrance. I was left at the bottom of the stairs, defeated and heart broken.

I walked over to the bar. Ordered another drink, but was told no. Benji said I had enough and should go home. He called me a cab.





Julian Pt IV
Oct 27th, 2006 8:07 pm

We tucked in the children and gave the emergency phone numbers to the babysitter. Marie and I had an important engagement we could not overlook, a chairty dinner for the police department. Everyone knew the worst criminials were found within the department, but that was never spoken. Anyone who was anyone would be there and if I wanted to keep good relations with those who trusted me with their money, then I would have to go. Marie was just excited to show off her new string of pearls I bought.

It had been six months since that night at her club. Six grueling months of monotonous work and false living. I wasn't sure I was even alive anymore. Not since that night with her. I felt dead and empty. Everything paled in comparison to being with her that night.

Dinner was a bore, as usual. I spoke with some of the gentlemen from our country club. They were going to expand. That was good. It means another loan, another account, another something to take mind off of her. Marie was busy chatting with some of the wives. Silly, meaningless gossip. James Frankford, the regional head for a local shipping company, was talking to me. My head nodded to indicate I was hearing all he had to say. But I wasn't. I was watching the door, waiting. I knew something was coming. And then, she appeared.

She entered the room on the arm of the gentleman from the club. And just like the first time I met her, I saw heads turn and heard conversations pause. I didn't even know who or what she was, but it had to be something special. It was at that moment that I realized how true those words were. There was something very odd about her. It was in the way she walked, how she held herself. It was more than just her confidence which I dismissed it for earlier. Teamed with her unnatural beauty and overwhelming char, it was easy to overlook. But my anger over these games she played allowed me to look past it all. There was something very wrong with this woman, and I was afraid to find out.

I made my way to my wife and politely excused her from her company. I made an excuse of the babysitter calling. Like a good wife, she didn't ask any questions. We made it as far as the door when I felt it. Her eyes reached down through my body and tugged at my very soul. Slowly, I reached for our belongings from the coat-check attendant. My eyes gazed upward as I placed the fur coat around Marie's shoulders. Our eyes met. That dull, dead feeling I had in the pit of my stomach for the past few months, I saw in the eyes of this woman. What was she?

I attempted to usher my wife quicker out the door. She was alerted by the rushed pace at which I tried to depart. Then my worst fears were realized, their eyes met. Marie's lovely features burned with jealousy as if she suddenly knew everything that had happened between the two of us. The only redemption to the encounter was that it spurred her to leave quicker. I could not help but take one last look as we departed. She was grinning. It wasn't a smile of the beautiful angel she pretended to be. It was the cruel, proud smile of a creature who knew she just destroyed something.



Julian Part V
Nov 22nd, 2006 1:40 pm

To say the ride home was unpleasant would be an understatement. My darling Marie's beautiful face was stricken with anger.

"Is it true?" she asked me. I had an idea what she alluded to, but did not know exactly what 'it' was.

"About you and her. Did you..? Were you..?" She stumbled over her own words. Poor young naive Marie. I felt pity when I looked at her face and saw devastation. I realized at that moment that all this time, while I was trying to protect her, all I was actually doing was destroying her. Her entire existence was invested in me. But I was really a stranger to her.

I pulled over the car and looked her in her eyes. I told her the truth, all of it. It was difficult at first, especially given her sad sobs, but as I went on it came pouring out. I told her about the late evenings, the clubs, my lovers. I told her that I adored her. I told her that as the mother of my children, I cherished her for everything she gave me. I told her she was an intelligent, beautiful woman and that she deserved better than this, better than me. I could have told her the secrets of the world and it would not have mattered. Her life, her dreams, had been shattered.

The next morning we woke and acted as if nothing had happened. Marie would never admit anything was wrong. She would never face the fact that her life, our life, was just an act. I felt some relief after telling her, but a certain feeling never left my stomach. The guilt, the remorse, the feeling that in this I was alone, all of it never left.

It was just over a years since I first met her. I was finally able to shake her from my thoughts. She was no longer there every waking moment. She was only a fleeting image in my late hour dreams, my nightmares. I sat at my desk working on some numbers when my secretary interrupted to inform me that a young man insisted on speaking to the manager. I was about to have her make some excuse when I caught a glance. The boy was familiar and it only took a few seconds to register. It was confirmed when I went to shake his hand, no right hand.

He introduced himself as Benjamin Bowers. I invited him to sit and listened to every word he had to say as if looking for the hidden treasure beneath it. He said that his employer had a business proposition for me. She required a series of off-shore accounts, various routing options, power of attorney, numerous investment plans, significant loans, etc.- mostly legal on its own, but put together smelled distinctively of illegal activity. He knew I was able to see right through it for what it was and that was when he added the final offer. If I was unsure of any item in the proposition, she would meet me for dinner to discuss it. All thoughts paused in my mind. I thought I had rid of her and here she was again tempting me from afar. He took the pause as hesitation and leaned forward to take back the paperwork he handed me. I clasped it back to my chest with such zeal that it took us both by surprise. I agreed it would be prudent to meet her in order to discuss some of the final details before accepting.



Julian Part VI
Nov 24th, 2006 12:45 am

I arrived at her apartment around ten. I do not know why I never questioned the time. Honestly, very few ever eat that late at night. But I had a feeling we would not be doing a lot of that anyway. Yet another young man allowed me inside, took my jacket and escorted me into a sitting room to wait.


The place was immaculate. It was clear that no expense was sparred in decoration. Everything had a very Old World class to it. I took a seat and was served a glass of whiskey while I waited. I could smell food being prepared. It was only polite, after all, to keep up with the assumed expectations. My eyes danced over the far north wall, which housed a series of antique photographs. They were all nude ladies, and rather tastefully done. Each expression on the girls' faces reflected a story of its own. Some sad, some playful, far too many appeared frightened for my liking.

I was about to turn away when one caught my eye. It normally should not have. It was in no prestigious placing and nothing set it apart from the others. Nothing at all, except for the fact that the stunning blond looking back with eyes eager to please was no other than -she-. A photograph quite easily fifty years my senior with an ageless angel staring back. A horrible feeling of dread washed over me, reminiscent of the charity dinner. I could not shake the feeling that I was the mouse who just strolled into the lion's den.

I turned to leave and there she was, as if she had somehow sensed the panic I gave off. I froze and looked into her eyes. She looked back in mine and grinned. The beautiful splendor of her face should have warranted a warming, welcoming smile. But it was not. It was the grin of the devil who just stole another soul. She handed me a wine glass. I raised my hand to refuse, the glass of whiskey still clenched in my grip.

"Oh, come now, Julian. Take the glass. It is by far the easiest decision you will have to make all night." She forced the glass on me again and this time I took it, setting the whiskey aside. I half expected a light dinner wine, but instead the glass was filled with a thick tar-like substance. I sniffed and instantly recoiled from its metallic odor. I started to put the glass to my lips, regardless, but she stopped me with a cool touch of her hand.

"Oh no, not a sip yet." Her expression had not changed at all. She just looked at me with that devilish grin. "First, I have to tell you what it all means."

And that is how it began.