Wheatley's Last Wish Three Gus Wheatley barely saw the vintage Porsche 550 Spyder, one of only 75 customer cars ever built, careening wildly around the corner of Huron and Madison Streets. He leapt from its path and into a pile of cardboard boxes stacked for trash pickup. To his surprise, the car screeched to a grinding halt. It was a gorgeous automobile and an even more gorgeous driver, Gus thought. Long, streamlined legs in nude hose slipped out gracefully, and Gus stared in wonder at the ivory skinned female divinity standing before him. English looks, a laughing mouth and wrapped in a classic mink coat, trimmed with ermine at her hood. She pushed back her hood and flamboyant red hair tumbled down. “Jesus,” she cried, “are you injured?” Gus was immediately enthralled by her appealing beauty and grace, and she leaned forward to help him up. Her face seemed to brighten and she flashed a seductive smile. “What is that luscious cologne you’re wearing?” He looked deep into her eyes, deeper than any man before him had ever, and saw the spurious fire burning brightly from her infatuated heart. “God, I love that fragrance,” she said again. He grabbed her outstretched hand and stood up. “I’m okay,” he managed to say, barely able to speak. “Well, I must buy you a drink for my heedless driving.” She brushed his bedraggled clothes. “My name is Carol. Carol Braithwaite,” she beamed with an elusive smile. Gus knew in an instant that he was in love; unresolved, hopeless love as he stared at her. “Sounds great,” he said, “is that your car?” “Yes, that’s my baby,” she purred softly and mirthfully, “hop in, uh--”. She hesitated, and Gus knew in the confusion he forgot to identify himself. “I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Gus Wheatley.” Again that tantalizing smile mesmerized him. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Gus. Shall we go?” That afternoon, they shared secrets with a bottle of crisp, chilled white wine over a platter of oysters at a cafe overlooking the river. He was honest and up front with Carol, and told her of his forlorn times and love that turned sour. She appreciated his candor. That night, as they drove the city streets, she explained to him how she acquired her affluence. “Daddy was into platinum,” she said. “Platinum used to be cheaply priced, and that’s when he invested heavily. There are no central banks holding platinum reserves, there’s a growing demand for it from China and Japan, and the auto makers are gobbling it up. The market is skyrocketing,” she told him. Gus didn’t understand money management and the stock market. For years he had been deeply shadowed by credit card debt and medical bills incurred by his ex-wife, and insolvency was his only option. He was fascinated by Carol’s knowledge and understanding of finance. “There’s only three commercial platinum deposits in the world that I’m aware of,” she continued. “Almost half of all the platinum in the world comes from a Russian mine that’s snowed in six months of the year, so there tends to be a price spike at the end of each year as automakers stockpile,” she explained. And so it went on, this beautiful, opulent woman and her destitute companion. Following his directions, he took her to where he lived. “It’s where you go when you have nothing left to your name,” he said quietly. They passed single-story frame homes most of which were boarded up. The roads were unpaved and trash littered the weedy yards. These single-parent homes were the norm here, drugs were openly bartered, children sold their bodies to survive and for a moment’s repast of heroin to forget their misery. Tears drizzled from Carol’s eyes as they stopped in front of his ramshackle home. “I’ve seen enough,” she sighed, “we’re going to my place, Gus.” That day, the world had changed for Gus. He arrived to a veritable castle with a fairy-tale princess in the finest part of Toledo. Carol’s mansion was magnificent. The house was adorned with fluted pillars and extravagant cornice work. There was even a carriage house with a 2-car garage and shop on the first floor, and a bar and tiny dance floor on the second story. Gus had never seen such wealth before in his life. He had come from a hard-working, blue-collar family, and his first wife was blue collar. Moments after passing through the doors, they were delirious with consummate passion for each other. Gus slaked his carnal appetite, fueled by years of celibacy, and had taken Carol over and over again. They made love wildly in front of the marble fireplace, surrounded by lush Persian tapestries. Passionate fires mellowed with each encounter as they sought romance in ornately decorated rooms, working their way towards the master bedroom. And so it went, on and on, passing the hours and the days, consumed by a fiery passion; a supernatural passion. The days passed swiftly with Carol and Gus hadn’t gave his encounter with the mysterious man a second thought; that is, until day five came to pass. Four On the fifth morning of their torrid love affair, Gus knew that something was maladroit between them. Carol seemed distant; as if bored and regretful of their relationship. He could feel that this resplendent, godlike woman who rescued him from a fate worse than death was casually slipping away from his life, and he seemed powerless to stop it. In bed she maintained a distance from him, keeping the covers drawn tightly around her. “Carol,” he said when she recoiled from his touch that sunny Monday morning, “what’s happened between us?” Her glance was icy cold, and she didn’t let it linger on his eyes for long. “I don’t know, Gus. I suppose intimacy brought out the wreckage we both carry within our hearts. We come from two vastly different worlds, Gus, and our passions collided like two freight trains on the same track. I guess it’s over now.” “No,” Gus said, “it can’t be, Carol.” For the first time in his life, Gus had been happy. He had sampled a life he wanted to last forever and he couldn’t go back to the old one. “So, just like that, you want to break it off? Carol, I love you, honey. Please, love me back.” Carol turned away from him. “Stop it, Gus. We both know this all happened too suddenly. Maybe we went too fast, expected too much from each other. I’m sorry.” Gus began to shake uncontrollably as his world collapsed around him, a man sucked down by a whirlpool of desperation, clutching at whatever he could to keep from sinking back into his abyss. She stared at him for a moment, feeling pity for him. Then, turning away, she slid a drawer open on the night stand. Carol tossed a handful of hundred-dollar bills onto the table. “What in the hell is that, Carol?” “Take it, Gus. Take it and go. Godspeed.” Gus looked at the hard cash scattered on the table and it infuriated him. “Is that what you think of me, you little demimondaine?” He climbed out of bed, enraged by her offer. “You’re buying me off? Paying for a week of screwing you?” “Gus, stop this. It’s over.” He turned and started to walk away, then stopped. His eyes fell on the money and he snatched one of the crisp hundred dollar bills. “You bet your sweet ass I’ll take some of this. It’ll buy enough nose candy to forget this shit ever happened,” he screamed at her. That night, Gus Wheatley sat in an empty room of his broken-down tenement house, lulled by sirens wailing in the night. He used his nose to empty another bag of heroin, retreating into his medicated self. He was soon nodding off, soporific, his eyeballs rising in his head like two balloons set adrift in a milky sky, as the heroin danced with him among the shadows and the red sweatshirts. He was trapped in a gold filigree ball, dangling over the mouth of a bearded demon, floating down, deeper and deeper, into his inner psyche, dark and forboding. The heroin carried him through his nightmares and beyond his tormenting reality. Daylight broke through the clouds in Gus Wheatley’s foggy mind, and he awakened with a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach that quickly changed to hunger pangs. He stumbled towards the single cabinet in the kitchen and found an untapped bottle of vinegar. Gus learned a long time ago that slugging it down would shrink his stomach, thus alleviating the emptiness. He looked at the expensive watch that Carol bought him the second day they were together. “Oh, my God,” he said aloud. The calendar indicated that it was Wednesday, the seventh day. In his drug-induced stupor he had completely lost a day. He remembered the odd man under the bridge tell him that at eleven o’clock, they would meet again. Gus scratched his head, contemplating whether to meet the old man again. His chance meeting with Carol Braithwaite tumbled over and over in his mind, and he closed his eyes to picture the Porsche Spyder almost running into him. “The cologne!” Gus widened his eyes and shouted it again. “It was the cologne that turned her on! Son of a bitch,” he laughed, “the old man’s a mystic, and that was a love potion he doused me with.” He raced out of the apartment, looking at his watch. With a little bit of luck and a lot of effort on his part, Gus could make the appointed time. He saw the I-280 bridge with minutes to spare and skidded down the embankment, tumbling down the hill when he collided with a rusty paint bucket. His pants were torn and covered with dirt, and his elbow was bleeding from a nasty abrasion. He crossed through the undergrowth and tangle of thorns, scratching up his legs. The old man wasn’t anywhere in sight. He crossed over a set of railroad tracks, shiny from train traffic, then the blacktop road that led to the “No Trespassing” gate and the big blue mound of road salt. Gus felt sharp pains cutting across his chest and he was dangerously out of breath by the time he reached the river bank. He saw the Christmas tree skeleton, still resting at the water’s edge. He sat on a waterlogged railroad tie, pressing his hand to his chest. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart keep tempo with his pounding headache. “Well, now,” Gus heard a familiar, obsessive voice from behind. “You look like an out-of-shape man who’s about to have a heart attack, do you know that, Gus?” Gus swallowed hard, trying to spit out words from his parched throat. He watched in horror as the old man reached into his pocket and pulled out his hand with gnarled fingers pointing at him like an imaginary gun. “I do believe it’s loaded this time, Mr. Wheatley,” the man said, smiling diabolically. “Goodbye, Gus.” “Wait!” Gus managed to scream out the word. “I have a last request, don’t I?” The man continued to point his finger at the terrified Gus. “Well, it’s not customarily the procedure, Mr. Wheatley.” Gus was sweating profusely and dirt clung to him like old plaster on a crumbling wall. “I met a woman,” he blurted out, “I fell in love with her.” “I know all about it, Gus,” the old man said, “but it was hardly your charming demeanor that captivated her heart, so don’t get too rabid over it.” He continued to point his finger gun at Gus. “I’ve got to know old man,” Gus stammered, “was it that foul-smelling ointment you smeared on me?” The stranger smiled at him with ruddy cheeks that glistened like waxed apples. “Of course, Gus. Your charisma is quixotic, after all, and I simply brought it out for you.” “Please,” Gus pleaded, “I want more of it.” “You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Wheatley,” the stranger belched out, “your original wish is about to be granted.” He closed one eye as if taking careful aim with his finger, pointing it squarely at Gus’s chest. “Try to fall away from the river, Mr. Wheatley,” the stranger said, “water tends to bloat bodies. Very nasty, indeed.” “Wait,” Gus cried, “I can give you money. Just another week is all that I ask.” “Now Gus, what use do I have for money? The land and the river bank provides everything that I need. And wishes, too.” Gus remembered his watch. “Here,” he said, motioning to throw it towards the stranger. The man caught it and studied it with squinty eyes. “I think it’s worth a lot of money,” Gus said. “Indeed it is,” the man said, still staring at the timepiece, “a Rolex Perpetual, Oyster collection. Carol’s tastes are certainly exquisite.” Gus was counting on the fact that the stranger seemed to have an fondness for choice adornments, judging by his gold necklace and walking stick. “I figure I could buy another week with that thing,” he added. The stranger looked up at him with hostility. “It’s not a thing, you dim-witted nouveau riche. It’s an elegant timepiece. I had one just like it years ago. Had to sell it when I needed some cash. It is good to have it back again.” The stranger positioned it across his wrist as he admired the white gold glistening in the sunlight. He raised a bushy eyebrow up high enough to peak at Gus, wearing that sickening grin again. “What’s to stop me from fulfilling your wish and then relieving you of this elegant treasure, Gus?” Gus swallowed hard again, feeling the sweat trickle down his forehead. “Morals?” “Hah,” the stranger scoffed, “wrong answer.” “Because there’s more where that came from, then.” “You’d steal from the woman you love, Gus? My, my,” he mocked, “sinking to a new low, even for a washout such as yourself.” “If it meant spending more time with Carol, then, yes. I’ll do anything.” The stranger attempted to slip the watch onto his wrist, but the band was too narrow for his thick bone structure. “It doesn’t even fit, Gus. Three days, tops.” “Six,” Gus said. It was odd, bargaining for days to live. “Five,” the stranger said, “and not one second more.” “Agreed,” Gus finalized. The old man turned away and began to trudge along the river’s shore, hobbling on the peculiar walking stick. He seemed to poke and prod at every indistinct clod with that stick, Gus observed, and from a distance, looked innocuous enough. He had a Santa Claus beard and an equally disheveled mane that concealed most of the furrows in his greasy brown face. His back was swayed from a huge cargo of fat that hung over his baggy trousers. The man was pregnant from too much junk-food abuse. Gus caught up with him and the old man paused to wipe the transudation from his brow. “You want to betroth this woman, yes, Gus?” “If the opportunity arises, sure. Why wouldn’t I? I love Carol.” The old man guffawed at Gus’s comment. “She doesn’t care about you, you insipid-minded cretin. It’s the elixir.” The old man spotted something stuck in the muck and he pushed on it with the tip of his walking cane. The broken neck of a bottle appeared, and he continued to walk. “Besides, Gus, once a man’s married, he’s absolutely bitched. He loses his identity as a man, he shaves, showers, and works, all the while dragging a ball and chain throughout his married life.” He paused to stare at the bridge abutment and the street art, then turned to Gus. “A man drags a weighted ball filled with debt, constant nagging, and an impressive aggregate of personal freedom that has been lost and contained.” He turned and moved towards the abutment again. “I take it you were married, old man?” “Yep.” “What was she like?” “Hah,” he began, “her skin was an oily brown wax and her body was soft, from too many hours spent in a sun-bleached lounge chair. She wasn’t fat in the usual sense of the word, but her body seemed to tell the world that it never felt the benefits of exercise.” He poked at another object embedded in the mire near the river’s edge. “Even her dishwater blonde hair was oily, and whenever I got close to her I always perceived a heavy mix of grocery store perfume and coconut tanning lotion.” The object was just another piece of broken glass. “Isn’t that what you wanted to know about her? Whether or not she would merit a second look on the street and worthy of a good screwing?” “No,” Gus said, although that was exactly true, what the stranger said, “I meant, what kind of a person was she?” The old man smiled. “That’s not what you meant to say.” He watched his footing amid the slippery rocks near the river. “She was a woman quite fond of French country cooking, Etta James, Broadway plays, movies made between 1938 to 1967, provoking literature, and spirited horses. And yes, she was quite adept at the art of love-making. And, good looking. At least in the beginning.” Suddenly, the old man stopped the conversation. His eyes fell upon the half-frozen muck and he lowered himself on shaky legs so that he could tug at another object rooted next to a rotting chunk of driftwood. At first the muck held it stubbornly, unwilling to release the object, but the old man was persistent. He pulled the bottle out and swirled it around in the river, then pushed himself up. “Yes, yes,” he said, holding the bottle up into the sunlight, “five days worth.” Unexpectedly, Gus swiped the bottle from the old man’s grasp. “What’s to stop me from having this chemically analyzed and reproduced so that I will have a perpetual supply? Hell, I could sell it and make a fortune, old man.” The stranger’s nostrils puffed up and his eyes seemed to enlarge. He raised his walking cane and placed the tip against Gus’s chest. Instinctively, Gus moved back until he was against the abutment. “You insolent, uncouth Irish Mick,” he said, wrenching the bottle from Gus’s hand, “don’t you ever, ever demonstrate your coarseness to me like that again, you hear?” Gus felt his chest tighten and he was unable to breathe. His chest and arms began to tingle. The old man pulled the cane back, and Gus collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. “Don’t be such a milquetoast,” he could barely hear the man say, “it was just a mild heart attack.” Gus felt his head yanked backwards with a violent tug, and the stranger slapped first one cheek, then the other. “You’ll survive,” the stranger said, “this time.” Gus felt the strength returning to his limbs and he could smell the odoriferous concoction the old man applied. “I will see you next Monday, Mr. Wheatley, to consummate your wish. Don’t even consider not showing up, or you’ll rue the day.” Gus stood up, breathing heavily and rubbing his chest. “Go,” the old man ordered, “while the redolence is at it’s peak. By the end of the week, that skirt you’re chasing will be chasing you away. You’ll have nothing to live for.” Gus turned and began to walk away. “And don’t forget, Gus Wheatley, you have a date with destiny in five days.” The old man started to cackle and Gus felt his chest tighten again. He scrambled up the embankment, trying to escape the eerie laughter. Gus had no money left, save for a few cents. He needed to get to Carol as quickly as possible. Glancing around, he spotted a couple of women waiting at the bus stop. “If the old man’s potion works on one woman, it ought to work on others,” he said loudly.
Copyright © 2003 Drakeman Robert Kincaide |