Lords of the Lash

Lords of the Lash Page 4

by Frank Kale

  Chapter Four

   

  Newton, MA:  Ralph Thurmond played three sports -- fencing, water-polo, and golf -- and was captain of the debate team.  He pomaded his hair with hair wax ordered online and imported from England at $100 a tube.  As a sophomore at Newton High, he was one of only three students with dress shoes that crossed the thousand dollar threshold.  His tweed debate suits had been imported from Italy, designed by a sixth generation tailor and fit the contours of his body with such precision that based on the manner in which the fabric rubbed against his shoulders he could judge if he had eaten a large or medium sized lunch.  His father had bought him a Benz upon graduation from prep school, a Benz that he’d had to wait two years to drive and during which he had often peered at longingly in the family’s six car garage.  His parents mansion, tucked away with other mansions on an otherwise unassuming Newton Street, contained a three room suite which he had outfitted with various bachelor-themed amenities, such as a billiards-table, sea-water fish tanks, and plush seating.  Family vacations were based on ski-lodgings and spanned the world.  His passport looked like a stamp collection. 

  His life would be perfect, Ralph had decided, if only his jewel of a girlfriend, Tiffany, would start sleeping with him.  Ralph was still a virgin.  He’d tried to get her drunk on numerous occasions and take advantage of her drunken state, but she seemed to have some built in defensive mechanism no matter how drunk she became.  On the verge of puking her brains out, she still managed to fend off his advances.  Sometimes he wondered, “Just how drunk do I have to get Tiffany in order to fuck her?”  Eventually he wondered this out loud to his friend Mark, another debate team member, who laughed at the irreverence of his friend and then stated, “You are going about this all wrong my good fellow.  Cocaine is the answer.”     

  “Are you kidding me?  Tiffany would never put something up her nose.  She is a health freak,” said Ralph, glancing around the school library to make sure no gossips were listening.  The statuesque tone of Tiffany’s slim body had been accomplished through thousands of hours of yoga and Pilates, and her teeth were so white that their glare could be blinding. 

  “You have to use psychology.  This is what you do my good-boy.  I remember you telling me that she likes movies.  Well girls love Johnny Depp.  That is a fact.  Watch that Johnny Depp movie ‘Blow’ and then at the end, say something like ‘Well my dear I thought as a lark we would do some blow ourselves.’ Her mind will be primed on the idea that doing blow is cool, because she just saw Mr. Depp do it.  Then you two do it together and she will be all horny, cocaine is an aphrodisiac, problem solved,” said Mark, then looking back down at his trigonometry book.

  “Can you get me some?” Ralph asked, wondering if his friend was joking or serious about the whole affair.

  “I know someone who can, yes,” said Mark.  “Give me about an hour.”

  “Why not ecstasy?” Ralph asked.

  “Try that if the cocaine doesn’t work,” said Mark.

  “Can you get me some of that too?”  Ralph asked.

  “Sure, just don’t get her too fucked up.  Sex with a passed-out girl is pretty pointless. 

  “Cocaine, ecstasy: seems, like a lot of drugs just to try to get laid,” said Ralph.

  “Humans adapt, that is what we do.  It is an elementary rule of life,” said Mark. 

   

   Arlington, MA:  Ambition had drained from Zachary like color from an old egg fresco painting.  It had been three days since he had shaved.  His pajamas smelled like pre-made foods.  It seemed a momentous event when he managed to get off the couch and do something, like clean a glass so he could pour a drink.  The machinations of his mind had ground to a halt.  He quite sincerely feared that he had nothing left to offer the world except failure.  The thought of checking his email seemed as welcome as a visit to the dentist.  At first he found himself reading books that he had long wanted to read, but as the absurdity of their thesis arguments became apparent he found himself hurling the books across the room.  Television did not offer a respite.  So-called adult educational programming seemed aimed at first graders; the rest was trash.  He found himself staring at a blank television screen, a screen where he could barely make out his own grim reflection.  It was as immobile as he had ever felt.  He thought of the law of inertia: an object at rest will stay at rest until acted upon by an outside force.  He needed some outside force to act on him, to motivate him, to give him a kick in the butt.  And then as if Sir Isaac Newton himself were calling the phone rang.  It was Samantha.  They had finally had a job offer.

  “What corporation?” Zachary asked.

  “He wouldn’t say.  He was rather secretive about everything in fact.  He seemed miffed that he hadn’t been able to contact you via email and that when he called the company number he had to talk to me.  He asked me for your phone number, but I told him that was unnecessary as I handled booking the initial appointment,” said Samantha.

  “Well, thank you.  I’ve been a bit under the weather, and I haven’t been checking my emails.  But I’ll read it later.  What is his name?  Is he human resources or what?” Zachary asked, sitting up on the couch that he had been sprawled out on for the last two hours.

  “His name is Windsor Thurmond, and I don’t know his department.  He didn’t say,” said Samantha.  “Oh, one more thing – he doesn’t have an office --.”

  “No office?  What kind of business is this?”  Zachary interrupted.

  “Virtual maybe?  So anyway I didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell him that we don’t have an office either.  But since he said he could meet us I gave him the address for the café, but I didn’t tell him it was a café,” said Samantha, who of the three partners had been the most adamant about renting office space.

  “I don’t know if that was a good idea.  I imagine he will be confused when he reaches a coffee shop,” said Zachary.

  “Well, I thought it best,” said Samantha.

  “We will work it out when he gets there.  Or we could change the meeting to my house?”  Zachary said.

  “It has already been set.  I see no reason to change it now,” said Samantha, off-handedly adding that the meeting would take place in two hours.  At first Zachary considered suggesting that they change the appointment to sometime tomorrow, but then he realized that even if he had been unable to shave and dress for the last few days, two hours was more than enough time for him to accomplish those rituals of normal living.

  In fact, it took all of fifteen minutes.  That left about one hour to check his email and research Windsor Thurmond.  After weeding through his spam and other emails he found two from Windsor, the first read: 

    

  CC: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

   

  Dear Zachary Dunbar,

   

  My name is Windsor Thurmond.  I have lately been following your work with great interest.  I currently find myself to be in what I choose to refer to as a peculiar dilemma, and I think that you may be able to help me find a solution.  I am the chairperson of a very large family trust, a blind trust.  I donate a considerable amount of the family fortune to various charities.  There is a financial matter that I am currently entangled within which I believe could be resolved with the assistance of your company Dunbar and Associates.  Unfortunately, due to the confidential nature of this work I cannot expound upon the matter here.  If we could meet at your earliest convenience it would greatly put my mind at ease.  I live in Boston, on Commonwealth Street, and we could meet there if appropriate and if not at your offices.  I eagerly await your reply.

   

  Sincerely,

   

  Windsor Thurmond.      

   

   That email had arrived two days ago.  The second he had received earlier in the day, probably around the time he was consuming a gallon of ice cream while transfixed by a squirrel t
rying to penetrate the defenses of a bird-feeder.  It read:

   

  CC: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

   

  Dear Zachary Dunbar,

   

  I could not but help note that your reply has not been forthcoming.  I can only assume that you must be very busy indeed, given the high caliber of research that you produce.  You may have judged that the job for which I am attempting to procure your services is not befitting the work that you normally conduct.  Such an assumption would be just that, an assumption, as I have not had a chance to present the job.  Furthermore, I plan to pay you and your company handsomely for your services, as I consider this to be a quite important matter, and time is of the essence.  Please do not hesitate to write with any questions, but I must repeat that I can only talk about the matter in the privacy of my home, or the privacy of your offices, as it is, I repeat again, quite confidential.  Your discretion and efficiency in responding to this matter will be greatly appreciated.

             

  Sincerely,

   

  Windsor Thurmond.      

   

  The emails left Zachary wondering whether Windsor was familiar with the nature of Dunbar and Associates: the creation and implementation of highly specialized corporate personality assessments.  However, Windsor had also mentioned Zachary’s research.  Therefore, he was at least familiar with Zachary’s psychological research background.  Zachary couldn’t imagine why corporate hiring policy would be confidential, or why he would have mentioned that he made large donations to charities.  Could the financial dilemma be concerned with choosing the most efficient charities?  Zachary had heard a statistic that some charities kept up to 90% of donations for administrative costs.  Also, there was the question of the effectiveness of the money that was used to do “good.” 

  Perhaps Windsor wanted Zachary to use his experience in designing personality assessments to do something of the same nature for certain charities that he was involved with: that would not be impossible.  Still, it would be outside the scope of his expertise.  On the other hand, he needed the money and had time to perhaps become an expert on charitable giving if the assignment was lucrative enough. 

  He decided to google Windsor Thurmond: there were five hundred results, many of them duplicates.  Most seemed related to charitable giving.  From what Zachary could glean Windsor was a major player in the philanthropic world, giving tens of millions to various charities over the last thirty years: education, poverty, civil rights, and world hunger were the major themes.  It seemed that Windsor had never actually held a job in a company other than his position as a chairperson of the blind trust, if that could be considered a job at all.   Three other family members, Donald, Philip, and Charles, were also listed in the top “Thurmond” search results.  Unlike Windsor, each had listed business ties.

  After choosing an appropriate outfit, Zachary drove to the Alewife train station in Arlington and took the Redline.  While sitting on the T and playing Sudoku on his phone he noticed a new text in his inbox.  It was from Jasmine.  She had made the first contact!  It read: That was fun having you at the show…what about coffee…J. 

  He fumbled with his mini-keyboard as he wrote his reply: Yes, that was fun…You are very competent…Coffee would be swell.  But then instead of sending the message, he saved it in his drafts folder, thinking the message too stuffy and decided that he would write a better, more hip, message later.  Zachary exited at the Davis Square T stop and walked to the coffee shop, wondering: would I attempt to write a hip text if the recipient were a white potential date?  

  Ridiculously, Samantha and Omar stood outside under umbrellas waiting in the rain, and Zachary could read from the expression on Samantha’s face that she regretted scheduling the meeting at a coffee shop. 

  “Omar, hello, it has been a while,” said Zachary, shaking Omar’s hand.

  “Hello, my good friend,” said Omar, offering Zachary part of his umbrella.  “Do you have any idea what Windsor looks like?”

  Before Zachary had a chance to answer Samantha said, “Okay so this was not well planned.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  We always meet them, so -- I don’t know -- this threw me off.  The fact that he was coming to meet us threw me off.  I made a mistake.”

  “Don’t worry.  I just looked at some pictures of him on the internet.  I know what he looks like.  He will stick out here.  There aren’t many people 70 plus at the coffee shop, right?  In fact, I think he will be the only customer who is 70 plus.  Actually, if you two want to go inside where it is dry I’ll wait out here,” said Zachary.

  “I’m sorry, Zachary, this whole thing was a mess up.  I don’t even have his cell phone number to call him either,” said Samantha, while Omar waved his head and laughed.

  Zachary replied, “Don’t worry about it, seriously.  Oh, and by the way, I looked over the emails that you told me that he sent me.  Apparently he really wants to work with us.  He didn’t say why exactly, or what exactly he needed us to do, but whatever it was he was confident that we could accomplish it.”

  “That is the gist of what he told me on the phone as well,” said Samantha.  “Ok, well we will take your offer to go sit inside.  I am starting to soak.  Again, sorry...”

  Zachary laughed and began hopping up and down to stay warm.  A smoker offered him a cigarette – why else would he be standing outside in the rain?  Eventually Zachary spotted a taxicab dropping off an old man.

  That looks like the guy…

  Zachary approached and extended his hand, “Windsor?”

  “Yes, Zachary?”

  “Yes, hello, it is a pleasure to meet you,” said Zachary.

  “You as well, I have been looking forward to this meeting with no small amount of excitement and trepidation.  Are your offices here above the coffee shop?”  Windsor asked.

  “Actually, Windsor, we don’t have an office.  The nature of our work really doesn’t require it.  When we, the partners, meet as a group we meet at this coffee shop, and when you told my partner that you don’t have an office she thought that she would invite you to meet here too,” said Zachary.

  “Oh, I see.  You young folk are very creative in your business dealings.  However, this coffee shop will not work.  The information I need to impart is highly confidential.  Furthermore, my first order of business was to explain that before I can tell you anything that I need you to sign a non-disclosure form.  I had been planning to inform you that I could send a lawyer to your office, or that we could take a trip to my lawyer’s office.  I wanted to tell you about the non-disclosure in person, before trying to shuttle you off to sign it,” said Windsor.

  “It is too rainy out here.  Let me get my partners Samantha and Omar.  They drove here and we can all take a ride to your lawyer’s office,” said Zachary.

  “I would very much appreciate that Zachary, and that would be a good step in the right direction,” said Windsor. 

  “Any step out of this rain is a step in the right direction,” joked Zachary. 

  Windsor laughed.  

  A minute later Omar, Samantha, Zachary, and Windsor walked toward Samantha’s car, which was parked only fifty feet away.  Zachary explained to Omar and Samantha that they all had to sign non-disclosure forms.  During the ride into the city Windsor regaled them with stories about growing up in Boston.  He talked about the charities that not many people realized were housed in Boston, charities with a global reach.  He also asked about their passions in life, and asked each of them what they would do with a million dollars to use in the betterment of someone else’s life.  Omar, Samantha, and Zachary, each tried to think of the noblest cause they could imagine, as their host was a philanthropic big-wig and they didn’t want to disappoint. 

  After they had finished, Windsor said, “It is interesting that when I ask that hypothetical people never mention themselves.�
� You all are a cause too.  If there is one thing that I have learned over my years it is that you cannot help others until you have helped yourself.  I don’t mean being greedy, or surrounding yourself with material objects, but rather, having an understanding and a love for your own position in the world.  It is from the perspective of love and caring that one can truly help others.  So from this perspective perhaps you might need to use some of those hypothetical million dollars to get in touch with your own soul – to travel the world – to meet new people, and then you will be an even better philanthropist.”

  “Well, you would know,” said Zachary.  “You have spent a life time doing it.  Have you ever thought of writing a book?”

  “I have briefly.  But certain circumstances prevent it, circumstances we will delve into once the forms have been signed,” said Windsor, becoming quiet.

  Samantha parked in a private parking spot that Windsor owned in Beacon Hill, and they walked one block to the lawyer’s office: McGrubb and Partners.  Windsor informed them that McGrubb had long since passed away, but that no one had changed the name, for fear, the joke ran, “That he would sue them from the grave,” which apparently was a quite applicable joke if you’d ever had a run-in with McGrubb.  The offices were housed in a three story brownstone.  There were 20 associates and 5 partners. 

  They met with a partner, Louis Hoyt, on the third floor.  He had wiry hair and beady eyes.   Zachary watched him consume two cups of coffee during their brief meeting.  He spoke so clearly that Zachary could imagine him working as a play by play sports announcer. 

  “…obviously Windsor and I have attorney client confidentiality.  But that doesn’t mean the old bugger wants to tell me everything about his life.  I wouldn’t want to tell an attorney everything about my life either.  So I am not privy to the information that will be discussed in this conversation.  What Windsor did do was to outline what he would be discussing in this sealed envelope.  If what is discussed today is ever, at any point in time, mentioned to the press or anyone else for that matter, this envelope will be opened, and you, all three, will be sued to high-heaven.  Understood?”      

  Zachary, Omar, and Samantha nodded their heads in the affirmative.  They were told to carefully read the fine print before signing, which they all did.  After the non-disclosure forms were signed, copied, and filed, Windsor asked to speak with Zachary “alone for a brief moment,” and Omar, Samantha, and Louis all left the room.

  “Yes?” Zachary asked.

  “This window has a beautiful view of the city.  I have many lawyers and I have found many beautiful views from their windows,” said Windsor.

  “It is a breath-taking view,” said Zachary, standing by the window with Windsor.

  “I must ask you to overlook and not judge too harshly what you may find to be the peculiarity of the conversation we will soon have,” said Windsor.

  “I will do my best, but judgments of peculiarity are not something usually under conscious control,” Zachary noted.   

  “Omar, that is not a Caucasian sounding name,” said Windsor.

  “No, it is not,” agreed Zachary.

  “I have a, let us say condition, where it is difficult for me to tell the difference between races – is he—.”

  “African American?” Zachary said.

  “Yes,” said Windsor.

  “Yes, he is,” said Zachary.

  “I suspected as much, and from more than just his name – it was his voice that gave him away, more resonant and deeper than is typical of a white, and also his scent, muskier, though I apologize I know it isn’t proper for me to speak that way.  I’m just rather nervous about the discussion we will soon have,” said Windsor.

  “I see,” said Zachary, his analytical facilities on high-alert, though able to make no sense of this man as of yet.

  “It would calm my nerves if it were only you and Samantha who were to come.  The less people who hear of my situation the better,” said Windsor.

  “It is a small company, 3 partners only.  He will have to hear what you are going to say.  We work as a group,” said Zachary.

  “I have not been forthcoming.  He has signed the confidentiality agreement, and later you can tell him everything I have said if you see fit, that is if you accept the assignment and you think he can add to it.  However, it will be impossible to have him at the meeting, and it isn’t for the reason that you might think.  It isn’t that I want to discriminate.  It is that it will already be difficult enough to tell you what I have to without him there never mind with him there…This will all make sense after I tell you my story.  If you could trust me and take my word up to that point I would very much appreciate it,” said Windsor.

  “This is a most unusual conversation we are having,” said Zachary.

  “I know Zachary, but honestly, this whole situation is most unusual.  I’m the only person in the world I know who is like myself, and I can say the world is a better place for that, but please…”

  “I will have to talk this over with my partners.  We work as a team, and though I don’t understand the nature of your reason for not including my black partner it does not sound good,” said Zachary.

  “I can assure you that it is not good, and for that I can apologize for I am truly sorry, but you will not understand until you hear my story.  Please hear me out and give me a chance.  You don’t have to take the job, but give me a chance,” said Windsor.

  “I will talk it over with my associates immediately.  Give me a minute,” said Zachary.

  “Thank you,” said Windsor.  “Oh, one more thing: I don’t mean to pry.  But Samantha and Omar seemed very close, are they a…?”

  “A?” Zachary asked.

  “A, you know…” said Windsor, starting to breath heavy.

  “A couple? Yes, they are husband and wife,” said Zachary, again attempting to analyze the situation.  “Is something wrong?”

  Windsor lurched forward and grasped onto to the edge of the oak table in the center of the room, looking as if he might empty the contents of his stomach onto the table.  Moreover his entire body shook violently, as if he had just jumped into a pool of ice water.  After a few moments his body steadied and the color returned to his face.  Slowly, he stood back up and brushed at the edges of his mouth to remove any gathered spittle.  Zachary at this point was holding onto his Windsor’s shoulders, not sure if he should call for help, but as Windsor appeared to have recovered he decided to do nothing.

  What was that about? 

  After taking a deep breath Windsor said, “I must apologize for the behavior of my body.  Were this any other day I would not have asked you that question.  However, given the nature of the information I am about to reveal I needed to ask it.  Normally, I would ignore the subtle glances that I saw passing between Omar and Samantha.  I would ignore the way I saw her tenderly grasp at his hand when we were walking on the sidewalk.  I would ignore that they stood a little too close for the allocation of personal space in the elevator.  I would ignore all that because I would not want to awaken from my dream.”

  “Windsor, I have no idea what you are talking about.  Are you okay?  Should I get help?” said Zachary.

  “I’ve needed help my whole life.  But no one can help me in the way I need to be helped.  Yet, you can help me in another way.  That is what we will soon talk about.  However, it will be impossible to have Samantha here.  She will take what I have to say too personally.  She will have to leave with Omar,” said Windsor, moving away from the window and sitting at the opposite end of the table in a black leather seat. 

  Zachary continued to stand, unsure how to proceed.  On one hand, he needed more information from Windsor before he could talk to his associates; on the other, he did not wish to continue asking Windsor questions, as his answers were becoming increasingly veiled.  Perhaps the best course of action would be to tell his associates that Windsor only wanted to talk to him, that he would fill them in later on
the contents of the work, and then listen to what this strange old man had to say. 

  Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that Windsor wished to exclude Omar because he was an African-American and that he wished to exclude Samantha because she was married to an African- American.  That was behavior, that as an enlightened member of society, he could not condone.  That was bigotry, pure and simple. 

  But Windsor was a philanthropist.  One, he suddenly remembered, who had given substantial sums of money to civil rights causes.  No, there must be another explanation for all the mystery and Zachary told Windsor to give him a moment, that he would tell his associates to meet him later at the coffee shop or his house, and that he would return to listen to what he had to say. 

  “Your house would be better – as it is private,” said Windsor.

  Zachary nodded as a shiver ran down his spine.  He wondered if that shiver were a manifestation of cognitive dissonance, believing himself not to be racist but fearing that he was about to commit a rationalized racist act by asking his associates to leave.  However, in the hall, when he informed them that Windsor had developed “cold feet” and only wanted to speak to him for now, they professed to understand.

  “And you will fill us in later?” Samantha asked as she and Omar entered the elevator.

  “Of course, I will call you on my cell as soon as this is all over – perhaps in twenty minutes or so, I don’t imagine we will be in there longer than that,” said Zachary.

  “Should we wait for you at the car?” Samantha asked.

  “No, I’ll find my own way home, and I don’t want you to wait just in case it should be longer,” said Zachary.

  Omar and Samantha waved goodbye, and Zachary tried his best to make natural eye contact with Omar, though he often questioned his ability to feign expressions, suddenly needing to feign that he was neither a potential racist nor an adulterer, and then turned and made his way back into the meeting room.

  “I hope you had a good reason for that,” said Zachary, sitting in a black leather chair three spaces removed from Windsor.  But Windsor did not answer, staring blankly and seeming lost in thought.  Suddenly, a knock on the door broke Windsor from his reverie, and Louis entered and inquired if there was anything that Windsor needed.  Windsor told him that there was nothing and asked not to be disturbed again until they had finished their meeting. 

  “I will place a sign on the outside of the door, telling no one to enter,” said Louis.

  “That would be fine,” said Windsor.  “Thank you and that will be all.” 

  A large bird, perhaps a crane, flew parallel to the expanse of windows on the side of the room, a rare sighting of a large bird in the city, and Windsor wondered if it were some sort of omen, though he knew nothing about augury and laughed inwardly at his sudden irrational bout of superstition. 

  “In actuality you were the only one I really wanted to talk to, because it is Trait Theory that has caught my fascination.  I’ve been following your research intently,” said Windsor.

  “Oh?” said Zachary.

  “Yes, but I was unable to contact you through Harvard, as you have resigned.  So I thought I would attempt to hire your services through your company, Dunbar and Associates,” Windsor continued.

  “Oh, is it as simple as that?  That you asked my associates to leave because you wished to speak to me alone about Trait Theory?” Zachary asked.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple,” Windsor admitted, pointing at the tray in the center of the table.  “Would you like a cup of coffee before I begin?”

  Zachary shook his head no.  “If you have been following my research, then you know why I resigned and what happened with Mr. Capobianco.”

  “An unfortunate incident on the path to progress,” said Windsor.

  “That is one way to put it,” said Zachary.  “My critics would put it other ways.”

  “No matter what we do in life we have critics.  Do you know I have been criticized to high-heaven for the charities that I haven’t chosen to give money to – what I call: failure by omission?” Windsor asked.

  “No, I did not.  But I suspected that you might want to use my psychological research to more effectively choose charities,” said Zachary.

  “An interesting idea, and I am sure that you are filled with interesting ideas, my young man, but that is not why I have asked to talk to you,” said Windsor.

  “Well, then what is it: speak,” said Zachary.  “My associates are awaiting the phone call for what this is all about.”

  “This cannot be rushed, I must ease my way into the speaking, as I have previously hinted, for the telling will be difficult,” said Windsor.

  “Should we get a masseuse in here to loosen you up?  What can I do for you Windsor?  It is just us.  I have signed the form,” said Zachary.

  “I’m sorry, I have that feeling that I am sure we have both shared as young boys, standing on a diving board, about to be the first to jump into a pool and not sure how cold the water will be.  I hear my friends behind me and they are saying ‘Jump.  Jump.  Jump.’  But the more they tell me to jump the more my body freezes and I do not move,” said Windsor, not looking at Zachary and staring out the window. 

  “Is there some way for me to jump in first, and to lie to you about the temperature of the water, and to tell you how nice and warm it is here?” said Zachary with a smile, trying to establish a welcoming atmosphere.

  “Very good, that was very good,” said Windsor, becoming silent for approximately a minute, during which Zachary was not sure if he should attempt to break the silence. 

  However, Windsor turned away from the window and looked upon Zachary with a heavy sigh.  “I’m sorry but I am not going to be able to talk about this today.  I hope I can in the future.  Honesty, I still feel sick from shock, and I feel myself too weakened to embark upon my story.  I hope you can forgive me.  I’m sure I will regret this later, but physically I find myself unable to speak about difficult matters at this point in time.”

  “Omar and Samantha?” Zachary asked.

  “Please let us speak of everything later.  I feel ill,” said Windsor.

  “Should I get help?” said Zachary, standing and moving toward the old man.

  “No, I will be fine in time.  Leave me here please.  An associate will bring me home.  If you could leave your cell-phone number with the secretary that would be good, and on a future date if I get the courage I will call you,” said Windsor, speaking softly.

  The next day Windsor called, saying, “I must apologize for my peculiar behavior.  However, if you can drive over at this moment, right now, I believe that I am in the right frame of mind to get this all off my chest.”

  Zachary had a planned lunch with an old friend, but he badly needed work.  Before he had a chance to answer Windsor added, “And I don’t mean to inconvenience you but if you can arrive in say the next half hour I think you will find me still in this frame of mind, which will allow our business to commence --.”

  Zachary interrupted and told Windsor that he would depart straightaway.

  But if this odd duck cancels again I’m billing him for something…

   

   

  Newton, MA:  Perhaps Mark had been right.  Tiffany sat spellbound by Johnny Depp as a charismatic drug-dealer.  She held Mark tighter as the plot thickened and the cocaine empire began to collapse.  He’d have to be as nonchalant as possible when he reached into his backpack and took out the baggy with the white powder, and ready to employ any debate techniques he could muster.

  This is a very social and a harmless thing in small amounts, besides we just watched the movie…we have to…I went out on a limb for this stuff…Don’t be a worry wart…

  Or maybe he wouldn’t have to say anything and she would just snort it without argument.  That didn’t seem likely though; she had even brought a snack of organic oranges and organic almonds up to his bedroom to keep her metabolism running at what he
r nutritionist had recommended as optimal efficiency, having bluntly explained earlier in the week, “It isn’t what you think.  People get fat from not eating because not eating causes your metabolism to slow down – snack, snack, snack…” 

  Supermodels do cocaine…  

   

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street, Windsor Residence:  Before Zachary had a chance to use the lion-shaped knocker, the door was opened.  A servant introduced herself, told Zachary that she had been waiting by the window, and brought him up to the fourth story by means of a small elevator.   Antique furniture and antique decorations filled the residence, though the fixtures were modern.  On the fourth floor, the servant led Zachary to a large door at the end of a hall.  Inside Windsor sat waiting, reading a book.  Immediately upon Zachary’s entrance, he put down the book and shook Zachary’s hand.  For a few minutes they exchanged pleasantries and then Zachary said, “Well, what’s this all about?”

   “Yes, let us waste no time,” said Windsor, his face then growing serious.

  Zachary took a good look at the room in which he was seated.  There were books on shelves and boxes of books piled all around, a library with books coming and going. 

  “You are a scientist Zachary and I would like to do a little experiment with you.  But first so as to completely lighten the mood I would like to offer you some of my finest wine,” said Windsor.

  Zachary accepted the glass. 

  “Before we start this experiment,” said Zachary, “whatever it is, I meant to ask, you said you have a condition where you see black people as white people.  This aroused my interest to say the least, and I followed up on it.  From a psychological perspective I could find no instance of another case of this occurring.  The closest psychological correlate that I could find is that people with Borderline Personality Disorder will engage in black and white thinking, which assumes that everything is one way or another, that there are no gray areas so to speak.  But this theory does not refer to actual visual perception; it refers to the perception of ideas.  So then I wondered if it might be a visual problem that you suffer from.  Therefore, I spoke to an ophthalmologist friend of mine.  He told me that the only visual problem he could think of was a disorder called Snowy Vision.  This is where white specs are introduced to a black background, and black specs are introduced to a white background.  He said this could cause you, in certain visual circumstances, to see black people as more white and white people as more black.”

  “Interesting, however, I see black people as completely white and white people as completely white.  It was something, that through rigorous conditioning, I believe, that I may have been taught to do as a child,” said Windsor.

  “Really?  This is quite fascinating, in what way?” Zachary asked.

  “It is extremely difficult for me to think of, never mind relate.  Therefore, I cannot and will not speak of it, now, or perhaps ever,” said Windsor, drinking heavily from his glass.  

  An awkward conversational silence descended over the room.

  “Well, what was the experiment then?” Zachary said, in what he hoped was a cheery voice.

  Suddenly Windsor looked up, seeming surprised that he was not alone.

  “Ah, yes.  We were about to conduct an experiment.  Zachary, I believe you can help me.”

  “Yes, you have told me that before,” said Zachary.

  “Come over here and sit by my side,” said Windsor.

  Zachary sat in a large leather seat to Windsor’s left. 

  “Here take this stop-watch and take my pulse,” said Windsor.  “You can take it at my neck or wrist, either place, I don’t mind.”

  Zachary placed two fingers upon Windsor’s neck – cold -- and counted. 

  “65, which if I remember is quite average for a sitting pulse rate,” said Zachary.

  “Zachary, my house is four stories.  It is nine thousand square feet of living space.  I have nine bedrooms and five bathrooms.  There is a four car garage in the basement.  There is a roof garden and a green house on the roof.  I apologize that I did not give you a house tour but I thought it unnecessary.  In any case, as you can see my living arrangements are spacious and therefore I have three housekeepers who help to assist me,” said Windsor.

  “You seem to be in quite good health but I am sure you can use the help,” said Zachary. 

  “Here is the point Zachary: when first hired, I knew that all my housekeepers were not white, although they all appeared that way.  You see my mind forms a construct for my black housekeeper Alexus, a construct so that I can cope with the very existence --.”

  “What do you mean cope with her very existence?” Zachary interrupted.

  “I’ll get around to that my good boy.  But back to what I was just saying, occasionally there are blips in my system, and I have to turn away from her face, much in the way that we all must avoid staring at the sun.  The difference is that staring at the sun causes blindness and for me knowingly staring at an actual black person causes a peculiar sickness, something akin to road rage or alcoholic fervor. “

  “Okay, supposing this is all true, which I must admit I still have a hard time believing,” said Zachary.  “What was the point of taking your pulse just now?”

  “It was this, good fellow.  If I strain my mind, I mean really strain it, the way that you would probably have to strain your mind, to say, do a difficult math problem, I can perceive the blackness of the blacks.  This became a necessary exercise as exemplified by the following episode: when I first started dating my wife, God rest her soul, I became paranoid that she might be a black.  So when she lay asleep in bed, I would turn on the light, loom over her face and concentrate deeply on the whiteness I perceived.  I asked myself was this woman really and truly a 100% white woman, or were there traces of blackness in her, or even was she completely black, I truly had no idea, so effective my mind is in turning black people to white people.  One night, as I rubbed my fingers against my temples, and really tried to deconstruct any fabrications I may have created; she opened her eyes, and said, ‘Windsor, why are you peering down at me?  This is a most strange behavior from you who I love so deeply.’  I immediately apologized and told her that I was considering buying her a hat and was trying to measure the size of her head.  It was the only excuse I could think of on such short notice.   But she, lovely dove she was, believed me completely, and swiftly fell back to her peaceful slumber,” Windsor explained.

  “Understood,” said Zachary, qualifying, “I mean somewhat.”           

  “Anyway, I realized that although perceiving blackness as whiteness allowed me to effectively function in the world --.”

  “What do you mean by that: effectively function?” Zachary again interrupted.

  “Just that, function, like a normal human, but allow me to continue: I also needed to occasionally turn off my ability to see black people as white people, or to change from an auto-pilot to a manual mode if I may be allowed to make such a bumbling comparison, so as to make important life decisions, such as the selection of a mate.  Therefore, I took it upon myself to develop such a skill.  In the newspaper, I placed an advertisement for a dishwasher, and on the application I asked the applicant to declare their race.  This was a stroke of brilliance, I must admit, as it was a direct way of identifying the race of all those who applied for the job.  Eventually a black person applied, it was a black woman, and I hired her.  Then I divulged to her the actual job responsibilities: that I wished her to sit in a chair, a comfortable one of course, so I could stare at her face for hours on end.  She told me that she was not a prostitute.  I assured her that there was nothing untoward about the proposal.  I merely wished to stare at her face and never needed to touch her.  She became quite surprised when she learned that it was to be a full-time job.  And indeed most days I did stare for approximately eight hours.  It was through this rigorous training of my mind, that I was able to break through the fabricatio
n, and to see her blackness, at times that I chose.  However, my reaction was always the same, as soon as I perceived her blackness I felt a combination of nausea and rage as if I simultaneously wanted to pummel her and throw up.  Yet, now I had a skill I could use.  When I turned this skill upon my fiancé, I learned that she was indeed white, and later we were happily married.”  

  “Windsor, I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start,” said Zachary.

  “Yes, I understand, but I believe this experiment will answer many of them.  You have just taken my pulse and so we have a baseline measurement of 65.  I will now ask my housekeeper Alexus to enter the room and sit for a moment.  I will engage in small talk with her.  But while I engage in small talk, I will use my skill to perceive her blackness.  As we speak I wish you to measure my pulse, when I perceive her blackness, my pulse should spike dramatically,” said Windsor, who then requested through a rotary styled phone that Alexus be sent to the library.

  “Windsor this really isn’t necessary,” said Zachary.

  “Is that so?  Can you say that you believe all I have said?” said Windsor.

  “It is difficult to believe I must admit,” said Zachary.

  “And so you think I am a loon.  And that is how you are evaluating me.  You are asking yourself what nut-house I should be sent to,” said Windsor.

  “No, that is not true,” Zachary said feebly.

  “That is okay.  By this experiment I mean to show by demonstration what your mind so obviously has difficulty accepting,” said Windsor.

  Moments later there was a knock.  Alexus entered and Zachary saw a pretty and petite black woman.  He wondered what Windsor saw. 

  A pink elephant maybe?

   Windsor instructed Alexus to sit and told her that they had been discussing the presidential race and were curious for her opinion.  As she spoke about the virtues of Obama as compared to Hillary Clinton, Zachary held Windsor’s wrist and measured his pulse.  At first it remained steady, approximately 65 beats per minute.  But two minutes into the conversation it began to rapidly increase, and Zachary began to fear for Windsor’s safety, observing that Windsor’s heart was beating much too rapidly for proper health. 

  Therefore, he released Windsor’s hand and said, “From what this young lady has already said I think she has proved your point that Obama is the better choice.  Thank You.” 

  Gathering that she was no longer needed for the discussion, Alexus rose and excused herself from the room.

  As soon as she exited, Zachary exclaimed, “That was remarkable!  I can’t believe what I just witnessed, though I have no way of definitively knowing that the cause was as you have described, your pulse increased substantially while you were speaking to your housekeeper.”

  “What you could not observe was the dark side to all of this.  Yes, when I perceive blackness as blackness my heart beats faster, but as I have mentioned I also enter a sort of nauseous rage state.  Those two conflicting characteristics are important, nausea and rage, because on the one hand I wanted to do my housekeeper harm, but on the other hand I wanted to leave the room and throw up,” said Windsor.      

  “So that is it then, you are a racist?” asked Zachary.

  “Yes, but there is much more to it than that,” said Windsor.

  “Continue,” said Zachary, still trying to gauge what this could all mean.

  “It is hard to explain, but when I realize that someone is black and not white, which is not often, though as I have mentioned blips do occur, I want to do them harm.  My mind tells me not to, so of course I do not, but the overpowering urge is still there.  I think it is part of the reason that I haven’t had children.  I wondered: would my children be like me?  My wife, God rest her soul, would never have believed me had I told her.  She never understood why I would never have children, poor woman.  I wanted to adopt and she wouldn’t stand for it.  So we remained childless…On the surface, I am a philanthropist.  I give millions to charity every year.  But in my sleep I see visions of blacks dead and black blood, and when I awake those visions are still there, and I want to taste what I have dreamt.  I want to taste the blood.  I want to taste the death.  Do you know what it is to want to taste a black man’s death?  I mean taste it.  Really taste it?”  Windsor asked.

  Zachary shook his head no.

  “It is with great effort that I have remained a moral man.  I continually lie to everyone, myself included, saying that my life has been easy, but it hasn’t.  There is a bloodlust in my bones that I just can’t shake.  I’ve contained it for 77 years, and I have no doubt I will contain it until I die.  But it hasn’t been easy, not one bit.  Every day that I don’t act on my desire is a day that I suffer,” said Windsor.

  Zachary wasn’t sure what to say and remained silent.

  Windsor continued, “Often I dream that I am a plantation owner with a farm full of strong-bodied African slaves.  They are fresh off the boat and confused.  They wonder: what will I do here?  What is my purpose? I talk to them with a translator.  I tell them, ‘I am your God and you will die by my whip.’ And then I whip them to death and then I lap up their blood.  I lap it up with my dogs.  I lap it up until I can lap no more.  And then I awake.  And then I am refreshed and alive with the taste of their black blood on my lips...”

   

   

  Newton, MA:  Ralph sat alone, sighing and stunned by his failure to persuade Tiffany to engage in a bout of drug induced depravation.  Not only that, she had become furious when he had suggested it.  She had flown from the room in a fit and demanded that they end their three month relationship.  The whole plan had backfired terribly.  He stared at the two lines of cocaine that he had carefully measured out, as instructed on the internet.  He stared at the two pills of ecstasy that he had taken from his pocket and placed on his coffee table.  Completely on impulse, he snorted the coke and swallowed an ecstasy pill. 

  She won’t stop me from having a good time...  

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street, Windsor Residence:  It had been shocking for Zachary to hear that Windsor was physically unable to see black people, but now, as he admitted that he wanted to lap their blood, it all became too much.  Zachary started to think of his own safety.  What if Windsor mistakenly perceived him as a black man?  He glanced around the room for exits.  He started to think of excuses so that he could leave…

  “I hope what I have been saying hasn’t been troubling you,” said Windsor.

  “I must admit that these are troubling words,” said Zachary.

  “Although now I am sure you understand why I did not want your associate Omar to hear what I had to say,” said Windsor.  “It would have been difficult for him to remain unbiased in his view of me, given his state as a black person.”

  “That is an understatement.  I am sure,” said Zachary.

  “Can I continue?” said Windsor.

  “Yes, but I must admit that I am curious as to where this is all going, as I have just remembered that I have a dinner engagement with a partner and will soon have to leave,” said Zachary, trying to sound convincing.

  “Subterfuge is not necessary.  I can see I have made you uncomfortable.  But all I can do is speak the truth.  All I can do is to be honest,” said Windsor.

  After a short pause in which Zachary considered his options, he instructed Windsor to continue.

  “My story takes a dark turn at this point I must warn you, and I also must remind you of the confidentiality agreement,” said Windsor.

  “I remember it, and I am a man of my word,” said Zachary.

  “I know you are.  From your research I can see that you are a man of high-principles,” said Windsor.  Zachary thought it odd to hear himself praised from a man who had only moments before admitted a wish to lap up the spilled blood of a black man.  Still he nodded and tried to look thankful for the praise.

  Windsor, perhaps becoming aware of the incongruity betwe
en his praise and the nature of his story, looked momentarily embarrassed, and said, “I am sorry.  I have spoken to you from behind the cloak that I so often slip on to deal with matters of the world.  Allow me to continue.”

  Zachary nodded again.

  Windsor drew a deep breath and gulped his wine.  “My newfound skill at discerning blackness allowed me to more completely function in the world and, as mentioned before, allowed the completion of important life decisions.  However, there was also a drawback.  The fact that I could peer through the constructed white and see the real black, meant that my desires were heavily aroused and were only contained with great effort.  Now I will admit to you a strange fact.  I spoke to you of my dreams of black people, how in those dreams I essentially ate them.  It is strange that when I picture a black person in my head, I do not experience the rage or the nausea, it is only a desire, a sweet longing, to tear into their flesh as if I were a cannibal.  I also imagine myself salting their flesh, peppering their flesh, and cooking their flesh with other foods.  In any case, it is when I am presented with an actual black person that I get sick and I get mad.  However, if I remain in the presence of that black person, and I continue to perceive them as black, the rage and nausea subsides, and it is replaced by that same longing that I experience in dreams.  In short, I am calm.  And the thought of digesting their flesh is a thought that brings me much pleasure and contentment --.”

  “This isn’t the point that you are going to tell me that you have eaten black people, or that there are black people all around this room chopped up in boxes or anything like that is it?” Zachary asked, realizing that he was the one for whom the pulse rate had now increased.

  “Zachary, I swear to you on my wife’s grave, God rest her soul, that I have never harmed one hair on any black person’s head.  In fact, I have donated millions to civil rights causes,” said Windsor.

  “Then what is this all about?  What do you want me to do for you?” Zachary asked, growing restless.       

  “It will all be clear in a moment my good fellow,” said Windsor, and glancing at Zachary’s empty glass, added, “Would you like more?”

  Reluctantly, Zachary nodded his head in the affirmative, and hoped that the wine hadn’t been spiked with anything meant to knock him out or kill him: dreams of violence, but nothing he has stated causes me to think that he will act on those thoughts…still, I must be careful…

  “So now I am left with this ability to better function in the world, but simultaneously my desire to do harm has increased exponentially.  I’m a newly married man.  I am a philanthropist.  On the surface, my world is perfect.  I’m written about in the society pages of whatever city I travel to.  My wife is photogenic and we make a dashing couple.  With her I make new friends.  We travel the world.  We are great conversationalists.  But always, always, no matter what is currently happening, whether it be a conversation, a bull fight, a great feast, a movie, a sailing adventure, a game of cribbage, sex, anything, there is always a second strand of thought running through my head, and this second strand of thinking says one thing over and over again: Windsor, you must capture a black and you must eat that black’s flesh.  I can’t express to you the insanity that this caused me to feel --.”

  “Why didn’t you go for help?” Zachary asked.

  “I did and still do. Psychoanalysists, psychiatrists, psychologists, I am quite familiar with the kind.  They, as you have, signed confidentiality agreements, even though they are already bound by ethics to stay confidential unless I planned at that moment to murder someone, which I always tell them to not be the case, but at times it has been a fine line, a fine fine line my boy.  But through great restraint I have kept my hands clean.  However, there was one occasion when I did go beyond a line of sorts --.”

  “I don’t know if I want to hear this,” said Zachary, crossing his arms tightly.

  “This affair has since been rectified.  But the facts are this, and I merely tell you them so as to better illuminate my current situation:  Not eating the flesh of a black became a burden too great to bear.  My wife noticed that I had began to consume an all meat diet.  I feasted on bacon, pork, beef -- any red meat.  But their substance was like water to an alcoholic.  The meat ran thin through my veins.  I needed to consummate my desires or I felt that I would internally combust.  And so I made a decision.  I would construct a small room in which to imprison a black.  Then I would eat that black person from head to toe.  To think of it brings me pleasure still, I am sad to say --.”

  “Windsor I must warn you that if you tell me you have murdered someone I will be bound to report you, and the confidentiality agreement will be of no use to you,” said Zachary, worried that if Windsor admitted too much, he might try to kill him there where he sat.

  He could have a gun stashed about this place anywhere…

  Zachary knew of a condition, Projection Syndrome, whereby psychotics confessed their faults and then projected those faults onto the person that they had, only moments before, provided a confession.  In which case, if Windsor were to admit that he were a murderer and then project that admission onto Zachary, he might imagine himself a hero for killing Zachary. 

  Yet strangely he does not seem insane…sociopath? It is all up in the air…      

   “My good fellow I must insist that nothing of the kind has happened.  I did no violence.  However, I did build a new home for the sole purpose of including a hidden room in which to imprison a black.  After this home was built, I spent many weeks perfecting that room.  Mostly, I just painted it over and over, until I got the color just right.  I wanted it to be the color of hope and yet the color of death, and that color was not apparent until I had tried many different shades.  Speaking of it now, I clearly see those actions as not belonging to those of a sane man.  But I was caught up in a lust for blood of proportions that had been hitherto unknown to me, and so the desire to get the color just right before the capture, seemed natural.  It also has occurred to me that part of my brain may have been procrastinating – that is the part of my brain, albeit a small part, that did not want to commit the act.  In any case, a black was procured.  I will not tell you the means.  I will not tell you the method.  But a black was procured --.”

  “Windsor, this is quite illegal!”

  “The matter has been rectified, I swear to you!  Allow me to continue, and you will understand all,” said Windsor, in a brisk tone.  It was the first time Zachary had observed even a hint of violence and he noted it carefully. 

   “She was a girl.  Later, I will furnish you her name if you so desire, because making contact with her is completely appropriate for you to do.  You may wish to verify that my story is true, or you may wish to hear her side of the story.  That is fine by me, so long as you stick to our aforementioned confidentiality agreement – but I have already mentioned that as a man of great character and honor you should find no difficulty in doing so,” said Windsor, and then waited for Zachary to reply. 

  Zachary merely nodded his head in affirmation, and so Windsor continued, “And there she was on one side of the bars.  And there I was on the other.  To stand there and imagine myself devouring each inch of her body brought me indescribable pleasure.  To imagine it now, still brings a tingle of pleasure all about my skin.  But I continued with my affairs of the world.  And yet, for the first time in my life I was truly a happy and contented man.  The desire to eat a black had always kept me in a perpetual state of frustration.  But now with one so close at hand I could imagine the act and my desire seemed fulfilled.  Her terror was substantial.  I considered the act as good as done.  How could there be any possibility of releasing her?”

  Zachary nodded. 

  I hope he didn’t just think I agreed that he should not release her? 

  Then why did you nod? 

  Because this man frightens you…

  “Predictably, she begged for release at all moments.  I goaded her on.  I l
oved to hear that desire to be free for it only increased the imagined pleasure of what I believed would be my future feast.  However, all the days she was so imprisoned I fed her well, and I never touched her.  I provided her with reading materials, and there was a television for her to watch.  I imagined a shot to the head to be the most humane way to end her life,” said Windsor, ceasing his story to sip at his red wine.  Zachary saw that sip as comparable to a sip of blood, and a cold breeze ran upon his body.

  “Yet, something changed inside me.  A quiet voice, the voice of my mother in fact, told me that this act could not occur.  I became violently ill.  I had a fever over 100 for two weeks.  Obviously, I couldn’t send anyone down to feed her.  It had to be me.  Sickly, and almost dying, I fed her daily.  She saw my pain.  She sensed my conflict.  When I recovered I no longer wished to eat this girl.  That is a lie.  I still very much wished to eat her, but not nearly as much.  Or rather, the small part of me that did not want to eat her had grown large enough to whisper in my brain, to say, don’t do this.  But I saw no way out of the matter now.  I would go to jail.  My life would be over.”

  “So what did you do?” Zachary asked, suddenly curious about Windsor’s solution, considering he had sworn to have never committed a murder. 

  “Quite plainly I spoke to her about it.  Her name, which I will reveal now, is --.”

  “I don’t know if I want to hear this,” said Zachary.

  “It is okay.  She lives in the area.  She is a happy woman with a family.  Dare I say it: we are even friends,” said Windsor.

  “Okay, tell me,” said Zachary, though as doubtful about this situation as Windsor’s claimed colorblindness.

  “Her name is Shanice Cook.  She lives in Quincy.  She is a grandmother now,” said Windsor.

  “How long was she imprisoned?” Zachary asked.

  “Six months,” said Windsor.  “And I can say with complete candor those were the six best months of my life.  But I knew it couldn’t last.”

  “So what happened?  Why aren’t you in jail?” Zachary asked.

  “The details are of no consequence.  You can talk to her about it if you would like.  I can furnish you with her address and phone number.  I could even call her and tell her that you are planning on stopping by.  The point is that I came very close to acting on my ultimate desire.  It was only by a combination of luck and my strong will that I was stopped.  I came within a breath of committing a horrific act,” said Windsor, and then added. “And one that would have pleased me immeasurably.”

  “It sounds like you regret your decision to let her go,” said Zachary.   

  “No, it was the best decision of my life.  It allowed my life to continue.  It is true that in my mind I fantasize constantly about eating black flesh, but through years of therapy, I’ve come to the conclusion that the actual act would not be pleasurable.  It is the dream of the consumption of black flesh that brings me pleasure, not the reality.”

  “You just said that eating her would have brought you immeasurable pleasure,” said Zachary.

  “I apologize, that was me dreaming in the present tense.  You see I never can escape it,” said Windsor, with a slight grin.

  “So you don’t believe you are a danger to society?” Zachary asked.

  “For most of my life yes, I was a horrible danger.  If I had been an impartial observer of a person exactly like me I would have recommended that they be locked up forever.  But now, after decades of therapy, I have learned to come to terms with desires that cannot be condoned in a civilized world.  I have learned to dream and not to act.  Believe me Zachary, I realize how lucky I am, and the potential victims too.  Apparently I should have been a serial killer.  But I had access to the best health care that money can buy.  All my therapists had Ivy League educations.  And if the urge to eat a particular person ever became too strong I could just take a vacation.  Your average serial killer doesn’t get that opportunity, the opportunity to slip away from their prey and take a breather by sipping on martinis in the Bahamas or parasailing in the Mediterranean.  Also, I could sublimate my desires through all my community appearances and social events.  If my life had been dreary, if I had been, say, a factory worker, I am sure that I would have killed with impunity,” said Windsor. 

  “Okay, so somehow your story had a happy ending.  You freed the girl and miraculously did not go to jail.  You have never acted on your desires to kill multiple people and eat their flesh.  I can’t believe I am going to say this, but I am already sitting here and I’ve listened to all this, so I guess I must ask, as absurd as it sounds to me: How does this relate to your job offer for Dunbar and Associates?” Zachary said, the start of a headache descending over the lower part of his skull. 

  Samantha is going to think I am the crazy one…Why the hell didn’t I record this?

   

  Newton, MA:  Ralph’s thoughts were racing and the steering wheel felt like silk.  The stars in the sky seemed to be communicating and moved like flocking birds.  The music from his radio had never sounded so clear, and though he knew that driving while intoxicated was a risk, he believed himself in better control of his car than on a normal day, when his senses were not heightened, and when his peripheral vision was not so magnificently increased.  It felt good to touch his body.  It felt good to touch anything.  He needed a girl with whom to share the experience.  Tiffany had hung up on him four times and now her phone was turned off.  There were no other prospects at school. 

  Calling for an escort had obviously been the logical thing to do.  Right now all his decisions made perfect sense and were 100% correct; he knew that for certain.  Asking for a petite blonde had also been the right choice.  His GPS informed him in a robotic voice that had never sounded so sensual that he only had 3 miles until his destination, the blonde. 

  Why can’t life always be like this? 

  Everything was enjoyable, such as licking his lips, rubbing his toes together, smelling the scent of his car, or looking at the pretty red and blue lights trailing him.

  That’s a cop…fuck…     

   

  Boston, Commonwealth Street, Windsor Residence:  Windsor shuffled through papers on his desk.  Finding what he had been searching for, he handed a pile of magazines to Zachary.

  “Do you recognize them?” Windsor asked.

  “Of course, this is every magazine in which I have ever published research,” said Zachary, handing the stack back.

  “I am not a scientist, but science does interest me.  And nothing has caught my attention so much as Trait Theory research,” said Windsor.

  “Yes, I remember you mentioned that you were interested in Trait Theory at the lawyer’s office.  How can I help you?” Zachary asked, though thinking that he probably would not, in actuality, help this man, in any manner.

  “My interest in Trait Theory is this: For reasons of sanity, it is impossible for me to think of my childhood.  Fortunately, I am able to naturally block it out, much like I naturally block out a black man or a black woman’s face.  However, unlike black people, where I have through intensive practice taught myself to willfully see through my fabrications; I have never tried to do this with my childhood.  It was, in fact, the last piece of advice my mother gave me.  With her dying breath she literally whispered into my ear, ‘Do not look back.’ Therefore, I choose to remain ignorant about the particulars of my formative years --.”

  “So you are saying that you don’t remember any of your childhood till when, 3 years of age?” Zachary asked.        

  “Until age 5,” said Windsor.

  “Impossible,” said Zachary, finally ready to call Windsor’s bluff on something.

  “Then you aren’t up to date on your psychological research.  I can cite you at least five references for such occurrences,” said Windsor.

  Zachary considered the claim.  He did think he remembered reading studies mentioning something of the sort.  “Well, if
such memory repression has occurred, I imagine it would have been through the imposition of considerably traumatic events.”

  “So, as I said, my childhood does not exist, which is to my advantage – the absence of this memory allows me to function in the world, much like turning black faces to white faces allows me to function, and so I attend my charities, and so I give my speeches on the possible eradication of polio from the globe and so on and so forth.  There are no family albums at which I can gaze.  My mother burned them all.  Yet I have this one picture,” said Windsor, handing Zachary a framed photograph.  A broad-shouldered man and a beautiful woman stood in front of five children, all boys, and all wearing suits; in the background, a fire place, one with a gargantuan hearth, perhaps at a skiing resort, and no one was smiling.

  “Where are you?” Zachary asked.

  “Second from the left,” said Windsor.  “The others are my brothers, Donald, Phillip, Henry, and Charles.” 

  “Where was this taken?” Zachary asked.

  “In the alpines I believe.  That is my first memory,” said Windsor.

  “This picture?” said Zachary.

  “Yes, I remember the flash of the camera bulb quite clearly, as if I were a newborn staring up at hospital lights.  This picture is also the last time I saw my brothers, though not the last time I saw my father or mother,” said Zachary.

  “Why didn’t you see your brothers again?”

  “When my mother and my father divorced, she got me, and he got my brothers,” said Windsor.

  “That does not seem very equitable,” said Zachary.  “But why wouldn’t you have seen your brothers?”

  “My mother wouldn’t allow it.  It was part of the divorce condition.  I don’t want to get into the details.  But you will have to take my word that I never saw my brothers again,” said Windsor.

  “Have they tried to contact you?” asked Zachary.

  “Yes, many times,” said Windsor.

  “And?” Zachary asked.

  “And I have followed my mother’s advice always: I do not look back,” said Windsor, placing the photograph back on his desk.

  “And your father?  The picture was not the last time you saw him?” Zachary asked. 

  “That is more complicated.  I don’t wish to delve into the details.  He also, per the divorce agreement, should not have contacted me.  However, my mother allowed it from age 5 to 7.  Suffice to say, my father was the holder of a knowledge that did me considerable good.  Without his help I would have quite likely died,” said Windsor. 

  “Can you elaborate?” Zachary asked.

  Windsor sighed and drank more of his wine.

  “I cannot,” said Windsor. “And please, do not ask me again.”

  A creaking, perhaps floorboards, sounded from beyond the door.

  “Did you hear that?” Windsor asked.

  “Hear what?”

  Windsor rose from his chair more swiftly than Zachary would have guessed the old man capable, and opened the door.  No one was in the hall.

  “I think someone has been listening.  It is of no matter.  But let us retire deeper into my chambers,” said Windsor. 

  The proposal sent a shiver down Zachary’s spine, who felt content where he was, sitting beside an exit.

  Windsor made his way through the room.  Zachary remained sitting.  At the far end of the room Windsor fiddled with a grandfather clock.  It swung from the wall, hinged, and revealed a hidden room.

  “This will offer more privacy,” said Windsor.

  Zachary considered making a witty quip about cannibalism.  However, he did not wish to introduce humor to the situation, fearing it would make him an easier target. 

  “I’m fine where I am,” said Zachary.

  “Would I have told you any of those things if I planned to do you harm?” Windsor asked.

  “Perhaps, reverse psychology,” said Zachary.

  “Please, all that remains is for me to detail the job offer.  It will take but a minute.  Please,” said Windsor, laying open the palm of his hand and gesturing toward the room.  Zachary thought of a biblical phrase learned as a child. 

  And he was led as a lamb to the slaughter.  And as a sheep is silent before the shearers, he did not open his mouth. 

  Zachary believed it unlikely that Windsor would invite him into his home, introduce him to his house-servant, and then do him harm.  But what was that Poe story, The Cask of Amontillado?  Hadn’t Fortunato been lured ever deeper by appealing to his ego, his knowledge of wine?  Then he was buried alive, behind a brick wall. 

  Has Windsor been appealing to my ego with Trait Theory?

  However, up to this point Windsor had done nothing to intimate a violent proclivity towards Zachary.  Furthermore, he genuinely seemed to want Zachary’s help. 

  Although Montresor had genuinely seemed to want Fortunato’s help too. 

  In any case, Zachary dispensed with the Poe analogies, and entered the room.

   Although the door had been disguised as a grandfather clock, the room itself was not hidden, as the far wall contained many windows, windows which offered a view of the lighted Boston skyline.  In the center of the room two white sofas faced each other and between them ran a bear rug, complete with a head and snarling teeth.  Upon the rug was a black coffee table and upon the table more bottles of wine. 

  Follow me, Fortunato…

  Zachary and Windsor sat on opposite couches, and Windsor immediately uncorked a previously opened bottle. 

  I’ll wait for him to drink first.

  Windsor poured generously and immediately gulped half his glass.  Zachary followed, though drinking less.

  “What do you know about my brothers?” Windsor asked, red wine about his lips like a trail of blood.

  “Only what I could learn on the internet, that they hold prestigious jobs.  I forget their names and exactly what it is that they do.  Although I do remember that two of them were involved in finance, which I found interesting because at Dunbar and Associates, we do consulting.  That is our bread and butter, so to speak,” said Zachary.   

  “I’m going to repeat my question: what do you know about my brothers?” said Windsor, with an eerie grin.

  “I don’t follow you,” said Zachary.

  “Trait Theory my good fellow,” said Windsor, staring expectantly.

  “I still don’t follow,” said Zachary.

  “Do I have to spell out your theory for you?  Very well --.”

  “Okay, I see where you are going with this.  You are saying that because I know something about you now, and your traits, then it could logically follow that I know something about your brother’s traits as well, given that you have the same mother and father, and given that you very likely inherited some common traits,” said Zachary.

  “Precisely!  Bravo!” said Windsor, with a clap. “So then what might you know about my brothers, brothers who I do not know at all?”

  “Well according to Trait Theory, which I must remind you has not been proven definitively and is still in the initial research phase, if your parents, or even either parent was racist, and that racist trait was brought about for them by a stressful event, then it could be that they passed that trait, racism, onto all four brothers with a probability of between 45 and 95 percent, depending if one or two parents were so afflicted,” said Zachary.

  “That’s it?  Just racism?” Windsor asked.

  Zachary could sense that Windsor would not be offended by strong words, and so he added, “Well, not to mince words, cannibalistic-murderous-racism.”

  “To put it another way, my brothers could be a pretty sorry lot.  I don’t doubt it Zachary.  Let me ask you this: you know that I become enraged when I see a black person and that later when the rage subsides I want to eat them.  You know that I have never eaten a black person.  You know that I cannot remember my childhood until age five.  What does all this information, according to Trait Theory, tell you about me?”

>   This was a question that Zachary had been considering during the entirety of their meeting, and so he had an answer somewhat prepared, saying, “It is unlikely for a trait as strong as cannibalistic-murderous-racism to spontaneously occur in a person.  Furthermore, what has become a stressful event for you -- viewing black flesh – should not in actuality be a stressful event at all.  Yet this event, this stimulus, causes the desire to do harm.  I believe considerably traumatic events must have occurred to you during your formative years to such a degree that even just viewing black flesh has become stressful.  These events were also probably events that occurred to your parents in a similar way, thus perpetuating the trait:  cannibalistic-murderous-racism.  But there is a caveat: the reliability of the information I have received, or rather, have you told me any lies?”

  “I would readily submit myself to a polygraph.  But I know that you know that a polygraph is not reliable and that they can be beat.  All I can do is to provide you with information, such as the phone number of Shanice Cook, so that you can check up on what I have said,” said Windsor.

  “But what then is the job?” Zachary asked.

  “My position in the world, as chairperson of a blind trust, a trust instructed to donate generously to charities allows me to do much good.  Although I have followed my mother’s advice, or rather her survival strategy for me, and have never contacted my family, I still have often thought of them in the present and future tense.  The problem with meeting them is that it would invariably lead me to the past, and that is something I must avoid at all costs. Still sometimes I wondered about my brothers and wondered how happy they were in their jobs, or in their marriages, or anything.  But then I started to read your research, and I grew concerned, because of details I did not wish to discuss, that my brothers could be just like me.  However, through your research it also seemed possible to me that some of my relatives have not inherited the trait you have so accurately labeled cannibalistic-murderous-racism.  The stressful stimulus would not be there for them all --.”

  “Black flesh is everywhere,” interrupted Zachary.

  “That is not the stimulus I speak of,” said Windsor.

  “What then?”

  “I do not wish to speak of it,” said Windsor.

  “I cannot help you if you are not frank with me,” said Zachary.  “You keep withholding information.”

  “I withhold information for the sake of my own sanity!” Windsor exclaimed, suddenly rising from the sofa and seeming to grow in size, as if his tweed suit jacket had been shielding from view a massive chest and hulking shoulders. 

  This man is a beast…

  With closed eyes Windsor held his wine glass in front of him, snapping it into shards by the strength of one hand alone.  Holding out his hand, he examined it, finding it to be covered in wine but free of blood.  There were no cuts.  Windsor then walked toward the windows, and used a box of tissues which lay on the window sill to clean his reddened hand. 

  Zachary remained seated, not sure what to say.  With his back to Zachary, and while still looking out the window, Windsor said in an unsteady voice, “I understand that you are a psychologist, so it feels natural for you to want to know all you can about me.  That is what you have been trained to do.  But I have already told you that I have an army of therapists who help me to get through the days.  Normally, it is in my therapist’s presence that I am able to throw my temper tantrums, or cry, or release emotions in whatever way benefits me.  But this is not therapy, and I am not interested in your prowess as a therapist, I am interested in your ability as a researcher, specifically, Trait Theory.  Therefore, I must insist that you stop prodding me for details that I would never even divulge to a therapist.  There are some things that should remain covered in the mind, for the sake of sanity; I am sure you can understand, seeing that you are a professional.”

  Zachary had to admit the truth of Windsor’s words: Zachary was not Windsor’s therapist, and if events had been so traumatic in Windsor’s youth that their mere suggestion could instigate an emotional outburst such as the one-handed shattering of a wine glass, talking about those events now, without a plan for how to deal with those memories could be dangerous for Windsor’s mental health, and it could also be an ethical breach on Zachary’s part.

  “I understand.  But you have obviously been giving me all this information so that I can connect it to Trait Theory in some way, so what is the connection that you wish to find?” Zachary asked.

  Windsor smiled, his rage seeming to have subsided as rapidly as it had appeared, and he sat in a leather chair by the window, again facing Zachary. 

  “It is this: I am an old man who will in all probability soon die.  I have expressed that it is not possible for me to contact my family.  However, I still feel very much connected to them.  I have no children of my own.  Each of my three brothers has children and grandchildren.  I would like to find a single heir upon whom to bestow my considerable fortune.  And I want that heir-apparent to be nothinglike me.”

  “You want to find someone to whom the family traits have not been passed along?” Zachary asked.  

  “Particularly that trait we have been speaking about.  It is also important to me that the donation follow the normal customs of an inheritance.  There are three branches, and from those three branches or rather the three brothers, there are three generations of my family to choose from.  I want you to find from among them those who lack this trait, so that I can order them by generation and current age.  In that manner I can make a proper bestowal, a bestowal that is fair,” said Windsor.   

  “And how would I go about doing this?” Zachary asked.

  “Through research my good fellow,” said Windsor.  “I know that you have resigned from your post at Harvard, so you have time on your hands.  Also, I will provide you with all the funds you need.”

  “I’ve put Trait Theory research on the shelf for the moment,” said Zachary. 

  “Think about it: I am giving you a chance to investigate a once in a lifetime trait.  This could get you your reputation back within the academic circles and I will pay you handsomely,” said Windsor.   

  Zachary could care less about the academic circles, but the continuation of Trait Theory research could be useful for the betterment of humankind.  Then, somewhat less magnanimously, Zachary thought about the still-unopened mortgage bill on this counter: a three grand bill, the monthly payment for his half-million-dollar home in Arlington.  Thus far he’d paid 1/3 of the total principle of the mortgage.  If he were to go under now, it would be a devastating loss.  The home was for sale, but as of yet the Realtor hadn’t been able to drum up any interest. 

  “What terms are you offering?” Zachary asked.

  “I’ll pay you $6000 per week directly, and your firm $3000 per week, plus all incidental expenses, research expenditures, travel, food, lodging and so on and so forth.  You will receive this money for as long as the work continues.  But I want this to be your only work.  You must work on it full-time,” said Windsor.

  “That is very generous,” said Zachary.

  “My means are nearly limitless, and no work is more important to me than the completion of this project.  I must find an appropriate heir-apparent so that my good works can continue,” said Windsor.

  “How would I go about conducting this research if you don’t contact the family?” Zachary asked.

  “As I said, they often attempt to contact me.  Usually I don’t open their mail.  But sometimes curiosity gets the better of me.  Most of the time it is a Christmas card or a birthday card for me, or something of the sort.  However, about a year ago I received an envelope that will be of great use to this project – it is back in the other room on my desk – a family tree,” said Windsor.

  Zachary nodded.

   “My idea is to draw up a letter to my family.  In the letter I will explain that I am searching for an heir-apparent.  I will state that I am looking for a
single heir who is endowed with certain qualities that only scientific research can prove, and that those who wish to be considered for the inheritance must submit to this testing, and that the testing will be related to racism.  And, I hope the majority will agree.  As I am worth about 3.5 billion I would think that the chance would be worth it.”   

  “So they would come here to me and I would test them?” Zachary asked.

  “No, you will go to their homes.  You will be taking a traveling companion with you, a photographer.  As I have shown you the one and only photograph of my family, I would, before I die, like to at least amass some current photos of their homesteads and their families, but without the burden of contact,” said Windsor.

  “And what sort of testing would I conduct?” Zachary asked.

  “Whatever testing you thought to be appropriate,” said Windsor.

  Zachary realized that weighing the pros and cons of the proposal (cons such as Windsor’s possible insanity) would be more than a gut decision.  He needed time to think it over.

  “So what do you think? Is this job for you?” Windsor asked.

  “I will have to contact my associates first,” said Zachary.

  “I have no doubt they will be discreet.  However, time is of the essence.  If you cannot take the job I need to know right away.” 

  “Then I will talk to my associates immediately…”

   

   

  Phone call, Zachary to Samantha, 9PM: “I don’t trust him, but for Trait Theory this could be ground breaking.  Do racists pass racist traits onto their children?” said Zachary, having just told Samantha the crux of the meeting.

  “Trait Theory, all you care about is fucking Trait Theory.  That man is a monster, and you want to make him a customer?  You want to serve him?”

  “It could be through no fault of his own that that man is a racist!  That is something that Trait Theory can help to figure out.  And if we can prove it we can fight it and if we can fight it we can stop it!” exclaimed Zachary.

  “Oh, get off your high-horse Zachary.  The man is a racist plain and simple.  Do what you want,” said Samantha.

  “You are just angry because…” Zachary trailed off.

  “Because what?”

  Zachary did not answer.

  “What were you going to say?” Samantha asked.

  “Nothing,” said Zachary.

  “Because my husband is African-American?  Because my children will be African American?” Samantha asked.

  “Will they be Jasmine?” Zachary taunted.

  “Oh, fuck you,” said Samantha.

  “Do you even love him?  How can you sleep with me and say you love him?” said Zachary.

  “You don’t know anything about love,” said Samantha.

  “Oh what, and you do because you study it?” Zachary asked.

  “We’re done after work, and we’re done at work, everything is done, done, done,” shouted Samantha.

   “Fine!”

              “Fine!”

   

 

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