The old wealth networks had been carved up; he’d gotten to the wives. Pretty easy, actually. They were bored, kept in county estates far away from any fun, lonely, highly moisturized. The carpets unfurled if you looked good enough. And Karl, my boss, possibly the vainest man alive, knew that.
“They don’t mind you sleeping with their wives?” I asked, waiting there at the bathroom door with his towel. Karl had a thing about humiliating me, nothing particularly innovative, just the usual tests his kind conducted to reassure themselves the market still decided what was evil, and what was evil but helped the trend line.
“These men are practical.” he said, pausing to peel the whitening strips from his enormous teeth, scraping them from his fingers onto the rim of a wine glass. “A beautiful woman sitting alone doing nothing—since the husbands are gone most the year on business making enough money to allow their wives to sit alone doing nothing—is its own kind of tragedy. I’m a practical solution; these men outsource when they don’t have the time.”
“Makes perfect sense, sir” I said, mentally going through my checklist before we got started.
- Remember: °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡°
- Heaven’s yours if you want it bad enough
- The carpet unfurls if you look good enough
- Karl my boss
- Karl my boss, the vainest man alive
- Doesn’t want to be like his father
- Et cetera
- Et cetera
We went down to the car. Karl had finally decided on a suit—same as he always decided. Armani, dark navy, pinstripes: it was 2010. He was getting used to wearing one thing because he was being audited. “Limited fashion choices in jail.” He did what was needed. And as was always the case for the Western man, what was needed was impossible.
Impossible was my job, paid hourly. Burner phones, Plan B prescriptions, uncomfortable conversations at the dry cleaners. I was a full-service driver. I checked my watch. We were late. I opened the door for Karl and he nodded, noticing, yes, I’d re-stocked the mini bar. I’d spent the entire weekend detailing, conditioning the leather, vacuuming. The GMC Yukon was the only evidence I had to prove to my peers that, despite their predictions, I’d not failed in life (and consequently, I’d developed an almost religious obedience in keeping the (rented) car immaculate). Without any real passion or talent, I found solace in consumer goods. In that way Karl and I were alike. Our boundless vanity provided a welcome distraction.
- Remember: °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡°
- Spend all your money
- Spend it again
- Max you credit cards out
- Fall into debt traps
- Debt worked for China
- Little Italy’s gone
- China’s everywhere now
Our first stop this afternoon was halfway uptown. Neo-Georgian, once a piece of real estate that signified the type of wealth which could withstand even the most useless Third-Generation Curses, an eccentric uncle into boats or a son with an appetite for politics, it had now been let go, purposefully, down to the loose bronze knocker. The new owner, Wang Qishan, CCP head of Anti-Corruption, was a man who nursed his misfortunes, no matter how small, as they gave him an excuse to revaluate what was considered “ethical,” including helping Karl with JP Morgan’s Sons and Daughters Program.
“CCP officials don’t lack money, they lack the promise of survival,” Karl said, putting some cologne on.
Like all good Party members, Qishan had never recognized his daughter as anything important. It was only after speaking with Karl that he’d taken a more liberal Western view, learning this localization program could set her up with a cushy, do-nothing position, and more importantly, an American Bank account. He’d even decided to throw her a birthday party. I still remember Karl’s face backflipping that day, betraying his permanent erudite satisfaction when she, in her skin-tight Elena Velez, first emerged from the marquee.
Qishan had called back to the mainland this month, so we’d been stopping by to “check in” quite often.
- Remember: °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡°
- Karl was neighborly for hours
- Scholar of the First Sin
- He couldn’t stop checking in,
- being neighborly
- “The Chinese have more sayings about money
- than all the other countries combined.”
- Et cetera, et cetera
I sat alone in the car and ate my sad little lunch, what they, the marketers hoping to catch metropolitan neo-luddites in the 18-34 demographic, were calling “caveman keto pasta,” since once again, I was on a diet. I felt a weariness down in the very soul of me, which was seemingly located somewhere down near the bottom. I believed this could also possibly be gout. As a good hypochondriac, I took out my phone and looked up “causes of gout.” I saw a banner ad for luxury apartments in DUMBO targeting the titans of our age (actors, entrepreneurs, graphic designers) and put the phone down.
When I first took this job, I thought it was the best way to ensure I’d never do another significant thing with my life. Not that I’d ever done anything significant before, in fact, I’d always been a disappointment, especially to women, but the more I drove, the odometer now reading 13,999, the more it became clear: I would succumb to the temptation of ambition on this path. I was powerless. I’d been exposed to a whole other side of existence: fumoirs, freeport art, summer houses. It all sat just feet away from me each day. And for being such a ruthless, heartless, evil man, Karl was charming. He made this life seem familiar, as if it were already my friend, ready to welcome me with open arms. He knew what he was doing, giving a taste to a genetic peasant like me, with all his horrible generosity. After sitting in car together for so many hours, I hated that I liked him. That I dreamed. People talk too much to their drivers.
For the past month I told myself I was collecting leverage; I’d only keep driving until we could get the kinds of treatments (teenage plasma, horns of endangered animals) reserved for lives that enriched The Market. And maybe a new TV and wardrobe and Persian rug for the front of the house. I wasn’t so un-American that I didn’t believe money could fix everything. I kept driving.
- Remember: °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡°
- You believe there’s one God
- Even demons believe that
Two hours and thirty-nine minutes later Karl was on the steps, laughing, saying goodbye to the Qishan women, kissing both of them on the mouth. 28. Remember °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡° The real Sons and Daughters program. Karl got the wives to get to the children, all part of his “20-year plan.” They were the future elite of the CCP, so he got dirt early—and just to be certain he got it himself. Karl simply liked to think of himself as a passionate businessman.
29.Remember: °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡°
30.His teeth get bigger each day
31.Got them worked on
32.He ate kids
33.How could you do that to kids?
- He scraped her from his fingers onto an empty wine glass
We left and took 33rd across to Park Ave. Next stop, some diplomat’s where seventeen floors up, the wife was hosting a benefit. “Dying animals,” Karl said. It would be the usual crowd of thousand-year-old Board Treasurers, homicidal Wall Street-types, and academic drones all trying to fuck their way into becoming bureaucrats. The benefit’s scientists would give their speeches pinpointing whose fault it was the dogs (or whatever) were dying, usually blaming whichever demographic they wanted to guilt into coughing up funding. Karl found Western civilization ending this way, slowly, procedurally, to be a perfect playground. There were a lot of benefits, rooms with well-dressed drunk women he could display his empathy to, mostly by buying 18th-Century cabinets and Renaissance bronzes.
Before going up, he stood outside the car and made some calls. He laughed with someone on the other end, then stopped, turned around.
He tapped on the window. “It’s for horses,” he said, flat tone revealing his disappointment. “Horse women are never my taste; they seem to have an aversion to cutting any patch of hair. Unless they’re dykes. Then you get a sort of architectural project.”
“You want to go, sir?”
“No, we’re here. Might as well see if Senator Gillibrand came to pick another thoroughbred.” Here he meant tall, muscled secretary. “I’ve been needing to remind her of something.”
Ten minutes later we were back on the road. Karl was very drunk, humming Drake’s “Laugh Now, Cry Later” making the noises as if he were every single instrument. It was impressive how quickly Karl could get drunk. He started talking about raises and the acidic glow came to my stomach again. I checked the odometer. It’d now hit 14,000. I wondered how many atrocities the miles carried. My mother would still die in the end. But how? I pressed on the gas. I saw tofu dreg buildings, nets on factory windows, good and bad deaths. I saw the daughters. I watched them growing older, becoming important, making decisions knowing that Karl would have to benefit, my mother having to die inside that.
“Driving pretty fast, huh?” Karl said, seatbelt off, swaying the backseat as we swerved through traffic. He laughed. “Good, we have one more stop.”
- Seriously pretending you're Count Dracula;
- Better late than never made,
- has anybody ever noticed that I talk too much?
- You promise,
- Rainforest Cafe Adderall
I remembered the manual. Maintenance schedules. Fluid specifications. Every generation must kill the generation that came before it, and it’s this calling that leads to a specific sort of annoying excitement for the future, an optimism.
“Slow down! You just missed our turn! What’s wrong with you today?”
I was the driver. Crash ratings for the GMC Yukon were tested at 45 mph. Most concluded this was sufficient speed for significant structural chassis damage and passenger harm consistent with mortality. I needed more practical spiritual knowledge than what was addressed in the GMC car manual.
- YCGWYWNN
- EE STAR2
- YPRNR
- perfect girl
- never did nothing wrong
I looked out the window. There were people buying clothes, drinking coffee, people who drove themselves. We were going now 60, I wondered if that was fast enough to make up for all of it.
- Karl decided in 2003
- He was getting used to it
- This Western man needs impossible things
- Jail he always said
- You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
- and I don't want to go home right now
“You hear me, you fucking idiot? Don’t you see the red light? I’m going to throw up if you don’t slow down!”
51. Remember °ʚ(๑මั‸මั๑)ɞ♡°
52. Karl decided for hours
53. Scholar of the First Sin
54. He couldn’t stop deciding
55. World’s primary scholar on American Navy interventions
56. Between now and then
57. Hungry but he couldn’t eat anymore
58. Not polite
59. When I say I love you I mean it
60. I hear grandpa’s voice
61. I’d do anything for my mom
62. YCNGWYWN
63. STAR2 EE
64. YPRNR
65. I’d do anything for my mom.
