Trust Fund Baby ~ 42 A Satire

Chapter 42

I wasn’t capable of driving to work. I over the legal limit in love. If a policeman pulled me over and asked me to take a sobriety test, I’d step out of my M760i and when asked to stretch my arms out to the side and touch my nose with my index fingers, I’d poke my eyes out. I’d be handcuffs and taken to the station. The only saving grace would be a blood test, which would show no alcoholic content, but a libido gone wild. I’d no choice, I asked the Big O as he’s know to Mother and his other girlfriends, or Oscar to drive me to work. 

Oscar took the Mercedes, although I prefer the sexy Porsche. The Porsche was being detailed by a detailing crew Oscar called in on orders from Mother. Oscar explained Mother wanted him to use the Porsche to take her to a private and isolated beach this afternoon. As soon as Oscar turned right on Rockefeller Drive, he reached over with his right hand and tapped me on the arm.

I turned my head toward Oscar, “What’s up, amigo?” Amigo is part of my limited Spanish vocabulary. 

Oscar quickly returned his right hand to the steering wheel. He’s a strong guy, proud of shirt popping physique. He said, “You got to help me, man. I’m dying.”

My heart crashed into my gut. He’s only twenty-seven years old. He’s got his entire life in front of him. Oscar is the stud all other studs emulate. And, he attracts beautiful women like I attract mosquitos if I go outside after seven at night. He’s macho with a capital M. Oscar exercises, eats healthy, limits his drinking to red wine. Sometimes life isn’t fair to those who are not filthy rich. I wanted to show empathy. I said, “Too bad, man. Everybody has to go sometime.”

“That’s not what I mean, man. Can we talk hombre to hombre? I mean man to man. You got to promise me, man, whatever I tell you is sacred. You can’t repeat it to nobody. It’s like I went to church and I’m in the confessional. You a Catholic?”

“No, we’re Episcopalians, we’re close to being Catholic, but without all the guilt,” I said.

Oscar seemed to think that one over. He scratched his chin, and ran his hands through his grunge. I made a mental note to check Mother for razor burn. He half turned to me and said, “My friend Jesus, won’t like it if you tell anybody what I’m going to say to you.”

“You’re friends with Jesus?” I asked.

“I hope so man, but I’m talking about Jesus, Jesus Cruz. He just got paroled after serving ten years for manslaughter ,” said Oscar.

I remembered Jesus is a common Mexican male name. It’s pronounced Hey Zeus. I’m a licensed psychologist so I should listen and be able to keep a confidence. It’s been my profession for seven days, but who’s counting. I said, “We got four miles before we reach the Loomis Building. I can’t be late I have a hot chocolate waiting for me. You’ll have to talk fast..”

“I didn’t know you like hot chocolate,” said Oscar.

“I’m not talking about the drink. I’m talking about the woman I’m going to marry,” I said.

Oscar turned toward me and said, “Let me know when you going to take her to meet your Mother and Father, I’ll take a day off. This is a good segue into what I want to talk to your about. Your Mother is killing me. She wants sex all the time. I enjoy the ladies. The ladies know an evening with me is like slipping off into a erotic movie. The problem is, your Mother is insatiable. What is wrong with her?”

I said matter of factly, “She’s nuts.”

Oscar nodded, “I knew that after the first time. What am I going to do? I can’t take this pace much longer.”

I saw the Loomis Building looming three blocks ahead. I had to give Oscar some advice. The man is desperate. I don’t know how I do it. Answers come to me directly from some hidden place in the cosmos available only to those who are pure of heart and filthy rich. I said, “Do you know The Mayor Ronald Bitters Low Income Housing High Rise Apartments?”

“I visit my abuela Maria every Sunday over there. I know where it is, why?”

I didn’t want to show my ignorance and ask Oscar what an abuela is. At first I thought it was the name of another girlfriend. Then, I thought, Oscar might be hiring himself out as male escort for older women. I later learned it meant grandmother. I responded, “You familiar with the guard at the gate?”

“Treyvon. We’re buddies.”

I said, “I tried to hire him to spell you. I have your best interests in mind. Why don’t you ask Treyvon to substitute for you while your body recovers. I’ll pay him in cash so he doesn’t have to report it to the IRS, then I’ll write it off as a charitable cash deduction.”

Oscar pulled in front of Loomis. He sat still for a second, then looked at me, “You the man.  You deliver the goods, amigo.”

We fist bumped, I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Life was good and getting better. I took one look back and saw Oscar smiling and singing in Spanish as he drove away. I walked toward the Loomis entrance singing an Ed Sheeran song. Lawrence, twisted his head, turtle like and shot me a look. He said, “Mr. Sanderstuff are you high?”

I answered, “Should I sing an octave lower. I have great range. I once won a karaoke contest.”

“Have a nice day,” said Lawrence then made a note on his iPad.

I ignored Genevieve’s perpetually vacant stare and planned how I can cut the group session shorter than the fifteen minute average time I’ve spent with them.  As soon as I got rid of them, I’m going to ask J to meet my parents over dinner tonight. I don’t believe in long engagements. 

I caught a break, I was too early for Carlos to ride the elevator with me. I spoke too soon, the elevator stopped at the sixth floor. I repeatedly jabbed the “close door” button to no avail. The sliding elevator door opened and a custodial cart entered, followed by Carlos.

“Hola, amigo. How they hanging?” said Carlos standing in the elevator door way preventing the doors from closing.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by hola. I knew what he meant by “How they hanging.” It’s guy speak for how are things going. I responded, “Good to see you, Carlos.” I thought no it isn’t, but I don’t want to get you angry, you might be carrying a gun. I added, “Life is good and I’m in love.” 

Carlos gave me his five tooth grin and stole a look down both ends of the sixth floor corridor, then stepped in. “Don’t tell anybody, but I just stole two iPads to supplement my income.”

Why was Carlos telling me this? Before I could respond, he said, “You wanna buy one, I let you have it real cheap since they got a pass word I don’t know. You’re a smart guy, you can figure it out. I give them both to you for a hundred dollars.”

“No thanks,” I said.

“You driving a hard bargain. How about fifty for the pair.”

I said, “What if I give you twenty-five and you return them.”

“You kidding me, right?”

“I’m in love, Carlos. I’m a changed man.”

“It’s a deal. You in love with the black lady who has the body men fight over? The one with the eyes that melt your heart? The one with the lips you want to kiss and not stop kissing? The one with skin that looks like coffee with a swirl of cream?”

“Uh huh. I’m going to ask her to come home and meet Mother and Father,” I said thinking Carlos described J perfectly. 

Carlos shook his head, “Man, you making the mistake of your life. You a filthy rich white guy. She’s a hot black woman. One of two things gonna happen. They’re going to write you out of the will, or she gonna dump you because you not bad.”

“How do I show her I’m bad, Carlos?” I asked.

“I am the right hombre to speak to. I wrote the book on being bad,” said Carlos.

“Is it available online?” I asked.

Carlos looked at me quizzically, then added “I like you. I’m going to help you to be bad. We going to bypass the 21st floor and take the elevator up to top, then we’ll come back down. This will give me time to give you an introductory lesson to being bad.”

That’s what Carlos did. He finished my intro lesson as the elevator jerked to halt at the 21st floor. 

 “Thanks for the advice,” I said. I gave Carlos twenty-five dollars and knew he wasn’t going to take the iPads back, but I felt good the way I was helping humanity. 

I walked into the office determined to show J and the group I was a bad boy.


Incredible NASA Moon Video With Clair de Lune Playing in the Background


A Short Story: “The Happy Prince” by Oscar Wilde

The Happy Prince Part 1 of 2

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.  He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed.  “He is as beautiful as a weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon.  “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow.  His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed.  He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow.  So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.  This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows; “she has no money, and far too many relations”; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds.  Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.  “She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.”  And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.  “I admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.”

“Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

“You have been trifling with me,” he cried.  “I am off to the Pyramids.  Good-bye!” and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.  “Where shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air.”  So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him.  “What a curious thing!” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining.  The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.  The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I must look for a good chimney-pot,” and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw—Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks.  His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow; “you have quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter.  In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall.  Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful.  My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness.  So I lived, and so I died.  And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep.”

“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself.  He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

“Far away,” continued the statue in a low musical voice, “far away in a little street there is a poor house.  One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table.  Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress.  She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball.  In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill.  He has a fever, and is asking for oranges.  His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying.  Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt?  My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow.  “My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers.  Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King.  The King is there himself in his painted coffin.  He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices.  Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger?  The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.”

“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the Swallow.  “Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones at me.  They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect.”

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.  “It is very cold here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger.”

“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured.  He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing.  A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover.  “How wonderful the stars are,” he said to her, “and how wonderful is the power of love!”

“I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,” she answered; “I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.”

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships.  He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales.  At last he came to the poor house and looked in.  The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired.  In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble.  Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings.  “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I must be getting better”; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done.  “It is curious,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.”

“That is because you have done a good action,” said the Prince.  And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep.  Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath.  “What a remarkable phenomenon,” said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge.  “A swallow in winter!”  And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper.  Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect.  He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple.  Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so he enjoyed himself very much.

Today’s Quote on Dreams by James Allen

“Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so shall you become.”

Excerpt From
As a Man Thinketh
James Allen

“If All The Skies” Poem by Henry Van Dyke


by Henry Van Dyke

If all the skies were sunshine,  Our faces would be fainTo feel once more upon them  The cooling plash of rain.

If all the world were music,  Our hearts would often longFor one sweet strain of silence.  To break the endless song.

If life were always merry,  Our souls would seek relief,And rest from weary laughter  In the quiet arms of grief.

“To Nature” Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

To Nature

It may indeed be phantasy, when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings ;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety.
So let it be ; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only God ! and thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice

Today’s Quote on Gratitude

Be glad of life because it gives you the chance to love, to work, to play, and to look up at the stars.

Henry Van Dyke