Mr. Cash

"Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets. I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without."
                                              - The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald


          I was at work in the Berkeley library, scavenging through forgotten book

passages, when I received a phone call requesting my immediate presence back home in

L.A.
            The man’s voice on the line was familiar and gay. “Hello there, old friend. Glad

to hear your voice. Have you been doing well? I very much hope so.”

         “Yes,” I said. “Fine. What are you calling about?”

         “Oh, you’re not still mad at me are you Charles?”

         “And what--” I started.

         “Listen, Charles. I’m incredibly busy right now. I must go. Please come to my

house today. It’s very important that I see you, old friend.”

         “But--”

         “Yes, well. I really must be going. You remember where my house is, don’t you?

Good. See you there at one. Please don’t be late. Good-by!” And the line went dead.

         
            I reached his parent’s house in the hills of Bel-Air by noon and paid for the cab

driver to stay put on the corner. I wouldn’t be long I assured him.

         From the suburban sidewalk, I stared solemnly at his Gothic castle settled atop its

well-manicured hillside, and felt unusually queasy. His mansion was elegant and

overabundant. The towering archway entrance was blocked by a slim mote that I was

sure held crocodiles. Majestic fountains adorned every corner of the front lawn while the

bamboo garden protruding from the backyard added a touch of culture and simple

sophistication. The whole scene looked like a David masterpiece set on display at some

overly gaudy art gallery. Its eternal beauty filled me with misanthropic contempt, and not

because I didn’t own the place, but because someone did. It was a shining example of

Man’s superior successes on this world that way out-shined his simple needs. But

nonetheless, I could feel the thing sucking me in, back into my grotesque childhood

richness.

         The soft, handsome young man with the cream-colored suit and pink Turnbull &

Asser necktie that came to greet me on the sidewalk was the same man on the phone

earlier. He stepped with fluid precision down his amphitheatre-style front stairs, smiling

and waving to me with his right hand while dragging a beautiful dark-skinned girl behind

him with his left. When he arrived at the sidewalk, he positioned the girl in front of me,

presenting her like his own statuesque Greek goddess. Her obsidian black hair and

Mediterranean green eyes exemplified exotic sensuality. I had never seen anything quite

like her.
         
            “Hello there, old friend. Please meet my girl Thalia. I’m so glad you came.”

         “Yes,” she said, opening her full dark lips to me and producing an innocent smile.

“Lex has been waiting all day to see you.”

          The man in the suit was an old friend of mine from my undergraduate days at

UCLA. His name was Lexington Cash, and I hadn’t seen him since graduation a few

years before. We had left on very bad terms, snipped every last golden link still binding

us together before I left to Berkeley to escape and work towards my PhD. His wishing to

see me then came as quite the shock, but his cool smile with that beautiful dark creature

standing beside him made everything seem alright. He shook my hand and then asked

Thalia to please head over to the pool and give him a chance to speak privately with his

old friend. She followed his every direction.

            As we started to stroll the front lawn, Lexington began pointing out every plush new

feature of his abode, smiling arrogantly with each wave of his finger. He was the son of a

wealthy British entrepreneur: Mr. Arthur Cash of Cash Wineries; naturally, it allowed

him to act the way that people of superior breed were allowed to act during these

uncertain Vietnam years, and for which I have always felt an unaffected scorn.

         “Why have you done this, Lex?” I asked innocently as we reached his backyard.

         “Done what, old friend?”

         “Called me, had me come to meet you.”

         “The ride was alright?” he inquired. I responded with a stern look. “Yes, well, I

thought since you were out of class for summer and must be missing your family and

friends terribly, I thought I would summon you home. I think that was quite nice of me,

Charles, don’t you agree?”

         Having had enough of Mr. Cash’s sophomoric behavior—the same behavior

which I had been so accustomed to seeing in our last months together—I politely told

him good-by and headed back towards my cab.

         “No, Charles. Don’t go. It’s important. Walk with me.”

            That very evening Lexington was having a 4th of July Celebration, and he

wanted me at his party— needed me there, in fact. He had a deal for me that I couldn’t

possibly refuse.

          “It can earn you 1,000 dollars for one night of your time. You liked my girl

Thalia didn’t you? You think she’s pretty? She’s the love of my life, Charles. I want to

marry her.”

         “That’s great, Lex. I’m happy for you, but how am I involved with that?”

         “I want you to try to steal her from me.”

          He paused, looking straight into my eyes, and went on sincerely.

         “It can earn you 1, 000 dollars tonight, Charles. I want to marry this girl, you

see?”
         
            “Why do you want me to steal her from you then?”

         “Because I know you’re the only man in this world that can.” He disclosed a large 

portentous smile and continued. “Go wash up at your parent’s house and be back here by

eight. If you can get her to fall in love with you by midnight, the money is yours. If not, I

keep my money and you go home empty handed.”

            It was unconventional in every way, but for whatever the reason, looking

curiously into his cool smile, I felt I owed him the favor. I shook his hand and agreed to

the deal. Once Lexington Cash was set on an idea there was no convincing him

otherwise.

         
         As I walked into the party that night, bright and beautiful girls dressed in skimpy

sequin dresses hung from the grand staircase, exploding with laughter and color

like the fireworks outside. The men at the party, all intelligently dressed in double-

breasted Saint-Laurent suits and drinking small glasses of pinot noir, spoke casually in

their carefully arranged circles of acquaintances. Most of the people mingling at the party

I knew from my days at UCLA. Most hadn’t stepped foot out of L.A. since

graduation, living off their parents’ wild fortunes, blissfully unaware of life outside

the hills of Bel-Air and the glimmering beaches of the Riviera. Why should they be

bothered with such worldly burdens, they thought. They were the sons and daughters of

the world’s elite, the heirs to this great continent’s most powerful and important places.

They spent money in a way which made it unreal to them, that turned it into something

less tangible.

            Now dressed in an olive green suit with a navy blue necktie and moving with a

certain drunken vagueness, Lexington began approaching me from the top of his grand

staircase.

         “Glad you could make it, old friend!” he said as he stumbled into my arms at the bottom
step. “Please have a drink and make yourself comfortable.”

         “Thank you, Lex. I think I might have a little champagne.” 

         “By all means, Charles. Just wander over to the kitchen and grab yourself a

glass.”

         As I made my way to the kitchen area, I stared at the ground in front of my feet

trying to avoid as many useless conversations with old acquaintances as possible. There

were a few guests, however, that I enjoyed seeing and gratefully stopped to reminisce

with. But the most important guest of the night, the one I was most anxious to talk with

again, was still yet to be seen.

         Once I finally reached the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of Arthur Cash’s

finest crystalline liquid, I stepped out onto the back patio to be alone. I initially felt

disappointed to see that the patio was already occupied by a mysterious little thing in the

corner, until I realized that thing was Thalia. A healthy smoke arose from her darkened

corner while her black limbs shifted in the shadows. Once she felt me peering at her from

the lighted doorway, she peaked her head into the light and smiled, offering me a seat

next to her.

         I took my seat next to her in the darkness and picked a Marlboro out of my suit

pocket. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

         “The fireworks,” she said lightly. “I love the fireworks, but unfortunately I don’t

think anyone in there very much cares to watch them.”

            I laughed and responded, “No, I don’t believe anyone in there cares for fireworks.

I think it’s the drinking that excites them.”

         “It’s quite a shame,” she said. “To miss such wonderful colors.” She paused and

then continued. “And why might you be out here all by yourself?”

         “I like the fireworks, also,” I said, and watched her smile.

         “Well, it’s refreshing to meet someone else who does,” she said. “Charles, I don’t

take you for the kind of guy to be wandering around Bel-Air, mingling with this crowd.

I take you for a nice, artsy fellow.”
         
         “Is that so?”

         “Yes. I’ve never seen you here before.”

         “Well, I used to live here. A few years back before I moved to Berkeley.”

         “Yes. Lex said you were from Berkeley,” she responded, looking at me like I was

a screaming firework about to burst brightly in the infinite night sky. “What brought you

back to L.A. then?”

         “A business deal of sorts.”

         “Is that so? I didn’t take you for business,” she said sadly, watching me fizzle out

softly and fall colorless to the ground.

         After both of our cigarettes were reduced to ashy butts, we headed back into the

house. She brought me upstairs to Lexington’s office to show me his college tennis trophies—

the trophies we’d won together in doubles tournaments. She didn’t know that half of

them belonged to me and proceeded to tell me of Lexington’s athletic accomplishments. I

thought it was humorous so I let her continue.

         “Did you ever play sports back in college, Charles?”

         “I swung the racket around every once in a while,” I told her.

         “Is that how you knew Lex? Did he give you tennis lessons back then?”

         “Yes, I believe that was it,” I responded innocently.

         “If you don’t mind me asking, Charles, why don’t you ever keep in touch with

Lex? I mean, outside of today, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak of you.”

         “It’s a bit complicated.”

         “Oh, that’s fine. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

            “No, it’s quite alright, “I laughed. “It was a girl, you see.”

         Her name was Amelia. She was an international student from Italy studying at

UCLA for the summer. She’d met Lexington and me at a tennis tournament that her father was
coaching in. Wildly bored with the games, she decided to sit in the upper bleachers

reading Flowers of Evil and drinking Coke. She was beautiful, we agreed, and instantly

we both were in love. Amelia, though, Amelia could only love one of us, and she chose

to love me. We dated for a few months, but throughout our relationship, I knew that

Lexington loved her more than I ever had. She was meant to be with him, but for

whatever the reason, the heavens had not willed it. My and Lexington’s tennis game

started to fair poorly. He considered me more of an opponent than a teammate, and

subsequently began to lose himself in the Bel-Air party scene. In October that same year,

Amelia returned to Italy. I chose not to follow her. Lexington on the other hand,

would’ve followed her to the ends of this Earth.

         “A girl?” she said.

         “Yes,” I responded. “Just a foolish, beautiful little girl.”

         I looked down at the clock sitting on Lexington’s desk. Midnight. I told Thalia that it

was late and that I really must be on my way. She asked me to please stay and tell her

about the girl, but I told her I’d save it for another time because I really needed to be

getting home. She offered to call a cab for me and walk me downstairs, but I told her it

wasn’t necessary; I told her it was very nice to meet her, that I’d keep in touch. I told her

anything just to get me down the stairs and out the door.

            "Please let Lex know I said thanks.”
         
         I walked through the towering archway entrance, down the infinite front steps,

over the crocodile-infested mote, through the magical fountain garden, and stepped down

onto the hard, black pavement. And then, gazing curiously into the bright and voluble

night sky, I walked all the way home.