by Miller, Tony
“Charles, please. There’s nothing that I would not be willing to feel. Your conversation and interest is the most delightful experience I can recall in all my memory. It is sad, I suppose, that I failed in life to realize that truthful and sincere communication was more valuable than anything in the physical universe. I, too, was distracted by the physical attributes of this house and my societal status. It means nothing to me now. Talking to you means everything.”
Charles again fought the impulse to take her hand. He wanted desperately to touch her or hold her or somehow pull her into this universe completely. He knew he couldn’t.
Come on, Charlie, he thought, snap out of it. You’re infatuated with a ghost, you fool, and on the first date, and you don’t even know her that well. You haven’t acted like this since your first crush, Casey, and that was puppy love. He laughed inside at the thought of the ridiculousness of his situation.
“Anne, about your fiancé, what happened?”
Anne sighed. “I suppose it only fair to go from love to but a parody of it. An impression of real love, a ghost you might say, but with no substance. That’s what I had with Paul, my fiancé.”
Anne brought her feet beneath her until her knees were under her chin. She leaned her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and went to a sad and painful time. “Paul Randolph Hawthorne was a handsome man on the outside.” She continued as if in a sort of reverie of actually going back to a moment in time rather than just remembering it.
“He was charming, witty and intelligent. He was educated and from a wealthy family and likely to inherit a fortune. So, what could possibly be the problem?” The word problem, Anne said with a sort of forlorn irony. It was as though she relived a question she’d long ago answered. The exasperation melted away, replaced by her next statement, which she delivered with certainty: “he had neither heart nor soul.”
She paused as in deep thought, then continued. “I remember the first time I saw him. It was in 1902 and I was seventeen-years- old. My father had taken me with him to his friend Judge Hawthorne’s home to drop off a book he had borrowed on the Stoics-a philosophy that believed that emotion prevented clear thinking. The Stoics held to the belief that it was better to avoid the highs of life, which would help prevent the lows. They believed a person should always be in the same mood or else he may suffer from a mental illness.”
Charlie chuckled. “A mental illness if you’re not dull? Man, that’s funny.”
“Well, let me correct myself. I’m blaming the Stoics for the mental illness part when that was really more attributable to the field of psychiatry. Sigmund Freud was all the vogue and his label of “hysteria” to describe any woman willing to fight back against the domination of men was of course quite a burden for women. In essence, Dr. Freud popularized an old myth, and named a mental illness after a woman’s womb or hyster-a label not easily removed.
“The fact that my former fiancé was quite the advocate of psychiatry should have been my first warning. I didn’t know this, standing beside my father as he chatted with Judge Hawthorne in the library of his home.”
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“Father!” Paul interjected into the room; it caused all heads to turn to him.
“How could you entertain such a beautiful woman without as much as a warning?” he said this while entering the room with a flourish. He came to a stop three feet in front of me and smiled with total confidence, with his ‘oh so perfect teeth.’ He was charming, confident and handsome on the outside.
<><><>
Charlie noticed Anne begin to fade.
“Are you alright, Anne?”
A frustrated and sad look came over her.
“I’m sorry Charles, I must go.”
In a panicky voice Charlie beseeched, “why must you go? When will you come back? How will we meet again? Where? Don’t go Anne.”
“I must free your foot,” she said almost to herself. She bent forward and touched Charlie’s ankle where it entered the broken board. She looked up into Charlie’s eyes and said tenderly, “sorry to have kept you here so long.”
Charlie looked down. His foot was freed and setting atop a perfectly good board. There was no sign of any broken boards. He stood and shook out his foot. Anne stood and looked into his eyes.
“Thank you for listening, Charles, I hope we meet again.” She faded more.
“Anne, please, there’s so much more I want to know about you,” Charlie pleaded as she seemed to recede into the distance. He caught her small wave as she disappeared. “Damn!”
CHAPTER THREE
Stanley Myers had flunked kindergarten. Unbelievable but true. He had two major problems in kindergarten: a speech impediment, and no interest in kindergarten tasks. His kindergarten teacher called Mr. Myers into her office one day and pronounced with certainty that his son was retarded.
Stanley’s father was devastated. She gave him a card with the number of a testing facility to sort out just which Special Education classes might help Stanley live as normal a life as possible.
Mr. Myers was a kind, gentle fellow who loved his son very much. He wanted only the best for him. He slept little up to the date of Stanley’s testing.
At the testing facility important folks took Stanley from room to room, test to test. In the waiting room Stanley’s father conjured up the possibilities. He pondered of all manner of dim futures for his son.
The time ticked by as the testing went on far longer than his father could have ever imagined. By the time the director came to the door Stanley’s father was drained.
“Mr. Myers, could you come to my office with me?” His morale sunk with each step to that office. When he got there he sat heavily down on the chair and mustered up all his courage to face the devastating news.
The director sighed and looked down at the report in his hand. He slowly shook his head as though not believing. Stanley’s father was having difficulty breathing. The director looked into his eyes and said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, I don’t know how to take it myself.”
The room seemed to close in on Mr. Myers. He felt sobs trying to wrest themselves from his analytical control. He pulled all his self control together to face this.
“Your son just scored the highest IQ ever tested in this facility.” Stanley’s father sat stunned as confusion enveloped him. It seemed his son’s life flashed before his eyes.
“Combined with his creativity score of two hundred, frankly I just don’t know what to say at the moment, besides feeble congratulations. I’ll tell you this, he’s certainly smarter than anyone at the school who labeled him retarded.” They both laughed.
“Holy smokes, that explains a lot.” Mr. Myers’ head cleared and his smile got wider. His life changed at that moment. The explosion of this bombshell sent mental shrapnel through not only Stanley’s father, but through Stanley and Charlie’s entire life to follow.
CHAPTER FOUR
Charlie looked around Anne’s bedroom. He had the tripod in his hand and all else in his pockets. Finally he was satisfied that Anne’s room was as he found it. The key, where was the key? He put the tripod down and checked all his pockets. No key. He dropped to his knees and searched the floor and under the bed. Stop, he told himself. Think. Charlie closed his eyes and went back to the moment he put the key into the lock. I’m turning the key. I’m pushing the door. The tripod is slipping. I’m scrambling to catch the tripod. I’m catching it, recovering and closing the door. That’s it! I left the key in the door. Charlie had an almost photographic memory.
He picked up the tripod again, grabbed the key from the lock, and was out of there. He picked up the freeway a few blocks over and was soon tearing down it with the accelerator to the floor and all windows open. The boiling rush of cool morning air bouncing around inside his car was invigorating. At ninety mph Charlie let off the accelerator and slowed down to seventy-five. He checked his watch; it was four-thirty in the morning. He thought about his last few hours. It seemed unreal, like a dream.
Well, not exactly a dream, but it now seemed like it sure could be some obscure mixture of dream and reality. However, there was no use thinking about it. This job was for Stanley to figure out.
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his cell phone, hit the address book and punched Stanley’s number. After six rings Stanley answered, and there was a long sigh, followed by Stanley’s sarcastic voice.
“Uh, this is either a nightmare, of which I’ll awake shortly screaming, or my senses are indeed awake, and it’s Charlie calling at four-thirty in the morning and the end result will be similar … me screaming! So I ask you, Charlie, why in hell are you calling me at four-thirty in the morning?”
“I didn’t think you could sleep under the weight of what you know. The sheer brilliance of your enlightened mind must surely make it impossible to sleep. Why, it would be like sleeping on an airport runway with jets of wisdom whooshing in.”
“Charlie, I’m going to stab you in the eye with a pencil when I next see you!”
“You didn’t like my Ernest P. Worrell imitation?”
“Actually, it was pretty good. But I wish to remind you, Charlie, that Jim Varney is dead! So, you may soon have more in common with Jim than the ability to affect the Ernest voice unless you have a good reason for calling at four-thirty.”
“No, just missing you.”
“Charlie!”
“Okay, I have to tell you something now. Meet me at the Denny’s on Herndon,” then he abruptly hung up.
CHAPTER FIVE
Judge Hawthorne immediately turned around at Paul’s sudden entry into the room. “Paul, this is Anne Meux,” he said as he nodded toward her. Paul reached out his hand, which caused Anne to extend hers. He took her fingers between his fingers and thumb and bowed slowly until his lips gently brushed her fingers in a soft kiss. He rose up slowly until he was gazing steadily into Anne’s eyes. She suddenly became uncomfortable and, as if sensing this fact, he smiled broadly.
“It is my utmost pleasure to have a potentially dull morning suddenly irradiated by such beauty.”
Anne blushed.
“Paul, this is Dr. Thomas Meux, Anne’s Father,” the judge continued.
Paul extended his hand and gripped the doctor’s hand firmly.
“Dr. Meux, please forgive me for being so bold toward your daughter. The villain in this scene is the unparalleled beauty of your daughter, and I believe you had a part in that so perhaps it is you who owes me an apology.” The men all laughed, and Anne blushed once again. Although quite uncomfortable, Anne remained poised until such banter died a natural death.
“Well, Anne, perhaps we should be on our way.” Dr. Meux turned to Judge Hawthorne.
“Thank you Judge, for the book loan. It was enlightening!” Then to Paul, he said, “pleasure meeting you Paul.”
As Anne and her father turned to leave, Paul lightly touched Anne’s wrist. She turned to him. “Anne, would you do me the honor of being my guest at an impromptu meeting of ‘The Thought Foundation,’ tonight at seven o’clock at the Hughes Hotel?”
“What exactly is this foundation?” she inquired with a touch of boredom.
“Why, ‘The Thought Foundation’ is an exclusive club of intellectuals and persons of means who have the wherewithal, both mentally and financially, to steer this country and others to the safe harbor of responsible control.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Oh, no, Anne, it won’t be. We have a guest tonight who has just arrived from New York. His name is Ludwig Stephan Diefendorf.”
“Well, that’s certainly a mouthful.”
“He’s from Vienna, originally. His family is descended from a prominent family in Germany, of course. He has just returned from study abroad and more specifically with Dr. Sigmund Freud and Dr. Joseph Breuer.”
Anne’s father raised his eyebrows, looked at Anne, and with a half-smile said, “Anne, how could you possibly refuse an offer to gain such important information that could aid you and once and for all proving you know more than your father?” He chuckled.
Anne knew the social protocol. If she refused, it would be an embarrassment to her father and, in a small town like Fresno, the wagging tongues could be relentless. She loved her father and would never want to hurt him.
“I would be delighted, with father’s permission, of course.”
“Of course, Anne, I look forward to the coming lectures on your newly found enlightenment.” Her father winked at Paul and continued. “We must go then and we will see you this evening, Paul.”
After Anne left, Paul went back to his room. There he saw Ludwig busily writing at his old desk. “Ludwig, hurry to the window, and I’ll show you what opportunity would look like if it wore a dress.” They both approached the window and looked out as Paul nodded toward Anne and her father climbing into their carriage.
“Ludwig, I’m going to marry her. She lives in the most expensive home in Fresno and cares for her dying parents.”
“What are they dying of, Paul?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” He turned slowly to Ludwig, and Ludwig turned slowly to Paul. They chuckled evilly.
“One of her parents is a doctor who has done quite well, investing wisely and amassing a tidy fortune. My lovely wife and I will assuredly inherit that fortune. My poor wife will be so upset at the untimely deaths of her parents, that melancholia and eventually acute hysteria, with its attendant paranoid delusions, will understandably cause her to be committed to an asylum of loving care. I will, of course, become the executor of the estate and carry out my duties faithfully.”
“I believe we can make that happen, Paul.”
They both looked back out the window.
“Yes, we can, Ludwig. The foundation of our success in this endeavor will however require some thought.” Paul faced Ludwig.
“Is that not the purpose of ‘The Thought Foundation?’” They both burst into laughter.
CHAPTER SIX
Stanley entered Denny’s and quickly scanned the entire restaurant, spotted Charlie in a booth, sauntered over, and dropped down into the booth. Stanley was six foot two inches and slim, with a half curly, tousled, mop of brown hair. He had dark brown eyes and wore glasses. Stanley was a handsome guy, and was often hit on by the ladies. He dated occasionally, but just didn’t have time for trivial pursuits. Science was the mistress, and he was in love.
Stanley’s personality was fairly intense, and he possessed a laser ability to concentrate. He had an acerbic humor and his caustic remarks often cost him anyone who might have become a friend. Charlie was like a plastic container. The caustic acid of Stanley’s personality had no effect on him. The more acidic the remarks Stanley hurled at Charlie, the funnier Charlie thought them to be.
Stanley loved that about Charlie. He needed to curse, spit, and bite at the attempts of humans and the physical universe to hide their secrets from him. He needed to verbalize it as he did it. He truly didn’t intend to hurt and felt bad when he did. Charlie’s immunity to Stanley’s acid was a godsend to Stanley’s efficiency.
“Good morning sunshine!” Charlie chirped in his cheeriest voice.
“You know, Charlie, just because a few other misfits like yourself are scattered around this tabernacle of the tasteless, don’t think I couldn’t grab that butter knife from your greasy and soiled hand and slowly cut your throat!”
“Stanley, is it just me or has anyone ever told you you’re not a morning person?”
Stanley looked around Denny’s, then back at Charlie. “Why do we always meet here at Denny’s? Are you attempting to attach cheap to your growing list of low life attributes?”
“Well, number one, we’re less likely to run into anyone we know who would only interrupt us. Number two, Denny’s will let us sit here for hours and keep refilling our coffees.”
“Okay Charlie, so let’s discuss why we’re here.”
“Well, let’s see now, hmmm, okay, how about this: for the last seven or eight hours I’ve been in an in-dept
h conversation with the ghost of Anne Meux!”
“Oh, really!” he replied with his best boredom.
“I knew you would be riveted.”
“Okay Charlie, I actually believe you would have neither the creativity nor the attention span to lie. So go to the beginning of this story and, detail by minute detail, tell me everything.” Charlie did.
“And then you walked in and sat down across from me and said: You know, Charlie, just because a few other misfits like yourself are scattered around this tabernacle of the tasteless, don’t think I couldn’t grab that butter knife from your greasy and soiled hand and slowly cut your throat!” Charlie affected a nasal whine for this last dramatization.
“Okay, Charlie, please shut up for now.” Stanley closed his eyes and began to think.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Anne heard Paul’s carriage as she stood at her mirror putting the last pins in her hair to secure the curls at the top of her head. She stepped over to the window and peeked out. He stepped out of a Phaeton, a fancy carriage with a top to give shade and repel rain. He was quite the striking figure as he dismounted the brightly painted blue carriage. Anne knew she should be enthralled by the interest of such an eligible bachelor, but somehow she wasn’t.
Well, it’s time to get it over with, Anne thought. Perhaps plugging her ears with cotton and simply watching his lips, pretending to listen would get her through the evening.
She slowly touched up her makeup, checked her dress and stalled until finally a fashionable amount of lateness had elapsed. “Wouldn’t want him to think me eager,” she said and laughed out loud.
Paul and Anne arrived at the Hughes Hotel, and hotel porters stepped out to steady the horses as they dismounted. They walked into the lobby and it was very evident that this was the largest hotel between San Francisco and Los Angeles. It was an impressive hotel, the first in Fresno to have an elevator.
