by Ashley Woods
From the backseat, Karl smirked and gazed down at his lucent reflection on the laptop. It was all about the power, and the look, and he had it! He raised a hand carefully to move his titanium designer sunglasses up onto his head as he further admired himself.
Karl had always been the perfect specimen. His toned physique rivaled no other. He pointed his nose up into the air and surveyed his firm chin. Satisfied, he then closed the cover. He was indeed a handsome “devil” and was far, far superior in every way.
It truly seemed to be all about him these days, and the world was just as he wanted it to be. He fit in comfortably amongst the mayhem, and flourished above the struggles of mankind, and the downwards trend away from all that was good. Karl in all his blackness was quite content. He was unyielding and unapproachable, with an iron will that was forged from the depths.
As his driver continued over the bridge, Karl felt at home again. It had been too long since his last visit and he had arrived days ahead of the “usual” time to attend to the more important matters. He was back, and this definitely was “his” town. He knew that his prize was now awaiting him, and all was prepared for his arrival…
The Whitestone club site was carefully chosen back in the 1930’s, and it had been built into the side of a bluff adjacent to a deep vortex in the ocean, which was fondly called Hell’s Tunnel. It was considered by some to be a powerful and endless energy source.
There had always been the belief that the tunnel had no bottom to it, and that the past inhabitants, mythical, ideological, or otherwise, offered up their human sacrifices to these volatile waters, in order to be sucked into the hole to feed the demons below.
The present-day members kept their yachts moored by a portal which was carved into the rocks and led to the lower cavern of the club. It gave them the special mobility to enter and leave with their guests without being noticed.
The club had always followed a strict protocol. It was exclusively male, no exceptions. Openings only occurred upon the death of a member, or by a rare invitation from the very top.
Many of its initiates were selected at an early age and mentored to ensure their entrance to the finest schools. Then, they were off to the exalted positions throughout the world. Often, the Whitestone key was passed down from father to son.
The Black Veil Society was the driving force behind the club. They were the true fallen angels, and it would seem that these individuals were intentionally superficial; almost as if they were created or molded by an outside entity. And, in return for their good fortune, they were consistent in paying homage to the club’s enigmatic founder. His dark prophecies structured their lives.
As the regular club members conducted their daily and mundane social rituals, The Black Veil had their own dark rites. And, in essence, the club served mostly as a front for those activities that occurred in the shadows.
These special members were less concerned with maintaining their power and status on earth and focused more on their immortality. It was their belief, that in order to ensure perpetual bliss, that they needed to find someone special to move on with them.
“Death do us part” was the only vow the Black Veil took seriously. And of course, the “significant others” of these men had no clue that they were to be ditched at their respective death-beds; whoever went first.
Simply put, their better halves had served their purpose on earth and were not needed beyond that. Most of the members’ sham marriages had been considered mergers, for either status, sexual, or financial reasons. Or, they conveniently enabled them with regards to a myriad of other choices. Usually, love was rarely a factor. And, if it was, it struggled into their later years.
It was an insurmountable challenge when it came to finding The Black Veil’s eternal partners. Without any say in the matter, the veiled were the ones who would leave with the men when the time came. Or, more commonly, would already be waiting for them on the other side. The latter, was usually due to some unforeseen arrangement.
As these men trolled the world for their intendeds, their dangerous egos openly thirsted for a quenching of their fiery lust. Their clandestine backrooms entertained a variety of guests with whom they inflicted both their frustrations and fantasies upon. It was an endless line of prospects that were tried out and then cast off, as readily as the men used the universe and everything else in their lives.
For on the long way down, the search for their final companion was exhaustive until the special one was found who touched their thorny hearts. And quite often, more than one was needed; for eternity truly was a very long time.
As for the rest of the herd, they were merely tossed out like table scraps, or served as sweet sacrificial lambs to their leader.
Kristen Kenworth was finally sitting comfortably by the pool in her new Palm Beach house. A few months before, her stepmother had passed away after a brief illness and the Kenworth children finally received their inheritance.
Kristen’s swank domicile was 10,000 square feet, which was small compared to Palm Beach standards. It was located only a few blocks from the ocean, but not on the ocean, like Kristen had always dreamed of.
It was very modern with a tropical ambience, and she kept it filled with flowers. A sense of calm had now been restored to Kristen, at least when it came to everything, except her love life.
Kristen was more concerned these days with her charity work, and she was quite talented at making money for all of the good causes, especially animal rights, and preserving the environment. She had been invited to sit on a few committees, and she was aiming to be a chair for a major gala. She was now recorded in the elusive Social Register under her name, not her father’s.
As she innocently carried on with her life on the island, there was not much left that surprised her, or that she didn't
have insider knowledge of, except the elusive Whitestone. The men that went there were the crème de la crème!
She didn't know why, but lately she had been having strange dreams about it. Kristen began learning more about the club through off-the-cuff comments and muffled whispers. It piqued her curiosity, and even in the daytime, she couldn't stop thinking about it. It was the only place that she had not been invited to yet for an engagement, or a meal. She felt like it was being kept from her.
One perfect Palm Beach afternoon, floating in her pool and fueled by red wine, Kristen was obsessing again about the Whitestone and the fact that Gregory had taken her to that strange house on its property.
Curiously enough, she started recalling from her childhood that her father had items bearing the club's name, that were hidden away in the back of various drawers and closets in their Palm Beach house. She had never thought to question him about it and figured it was just another silly club.
As Kristen re-filled her glass, her imagination switched to overdrive, and she began to really go out on a limb. She thought that if she ever did hook up with a member that it would not be just by coincidence.
She would never put it past her father to have made some type of arrangement to ensure this type of fate. It would be along the same premise of “offering your first born to the Devil in return for his blessings.” She began laughing to herself, “Of course, that wouldn’t work because I am the youngest.”
Then she drunkenly thought again. Since her father had been extra successful, maybe he had to bequeath all of his children, and now she was next? Her sisters certainly acted like they married “Stepford” husbands. She giggled as she paddled through the water, “Yes, I would definitely not put that past him.”
Mr. Kenworth had always been somewhat secretive about belonging to the Skull & Bones at Yale, and he knew many political figures from there. He was also a prime member in The Council on Foreign Relations. These groups had always been clouded in controversy and conspiracy theories. Whitestone seemed to be right in line with them, maybe even more so.
As she climbed from the pool, and reached for a towel, she thought again about her last meeting with Grego
ry. She took one last sip of wine, and further discerned that she was getting too old for dalliances with playboys like him, no matter how sexy he was. She had to get back on course and keep looking for the man she desired on all levels and couldn’t live without. She sensed she would soon find her answers. She knew she was getting closer, she could feel him, he was on the island somewhere…
11 ANTHONY FIORE
Kristen was quite looking forward to going out tonight. The Season was nearing, and she enjoyed the fact that once again, there was a global selection of men. It made dating even more interesting. More yachts arrived each day at the docks at the end of Australian Street.
At the last moment, her two friends called and said they weren’t going to go. One said it was because she was “sick of the old Palm Beach men”, “That’s just peachy,” Kristen thought, “She really didn’t mind going solo, because she knew she would not be alone for long.
She wished that Suzie would move down from Chicago. She would never back out on plans, especially on the cherished Friday night. She was a great friend and always liked the same things that Kristen enjoyed.
Kristen started assembling her best attractants, which included her new Dior cocktail couture with the exposed back, and her Chanel clutch. It took almost two hours before she approved her hair and make-up. It was getting close to prime time at the lounge, and she needed to force herself away from the vanity.
She clacked her way to the car in four-inch Manolos. It was the perfect night, with just the right amount of humidity. There was also a full moon out, and it lit up the ocean as she drove past it. Kristen felt hopeful and sensed that it was going to be a special night for her.
She pulled up to one of her favorite venues and was instantly greeted by the valet service. As she walked in, the bar was alive with pop quartet music and conversation. The lights were set low to create a romantic atmosphere. They were also dim enough to hide the cheating spouses at the back tables from inquiring eyes.
Jerry, the bartender greeted her and gestured toward the only empty seat left, “Welcome back Kristen! It has been a while.” He scooped up the reserved sign and placed her usual Absolut and orange juice in front of her.
“How are you doing tonight?” He leaned over to give her a kiss on her cheek.
“I’m on the hunt by myself tonight.
Jerry smiled and placed a bowl of cashews in front of her.
“Are you dining at the bar?”
“No thanks, I am not hungry.” Kristen laughed.
Jerry pointed to the crowd, “You just missed the West Palm, and other wannabees. They left as soon as I told them the drink prices. At least, I didn’t have to waste my time carding them.”
Kristen shook her finger at him, “That’s not very nice to say Jerry. Even the Palm Beach crowd thinks your prices are outrageous.”
Jerry laughed, “Quite true. But, I do make their drinks very strong, and worthy of the cost.”
Kristen smiled at him and looked around. Normally, this establishment was for the more mature patrons over age sixty; usually way over. And the older they were, the younger their dates seemed to be. Tonight, it was refreshing to see that plenty of men of all ages were present.
The circular bar had a line of liquor bottles on shelves in the middle, that obscured the view of the other side. If you didn’t eventually see someone you liked on your side, you needed to pick up shop and go over there.
A well-grayed man to her right began talking to her.
“Can I get you another drink sweetheart?”
Jerry promptly came over and placed a fresh one in front of her. Kristen was not sure she wanted the obligation that came with the cocktail, since she was on a roll tonight and wished to remain independent, until she found someone that she really wanted to speak with.
She graciously tipped her glass toward him and gave a nod to thank him.
“Can I get you to dance with me when the next slow song plays?” He smiled at her.
Kristen did not want to disappoint him.
“Sure, that is very nice of you to ask.”
Kristen found the man interesting to talk to, as she kept her eye roving around the room for others. She learned he was from Boston, and in town for the week-end to make sure the repairs on his mega yacht were being taken care of.
As Kristen peered through the bottles, she noticed a man staring back at her with a quizzical look. She saw him pull out a pair of glasses, as he studied her more intently.
The song changed, and she now accepted her neighbor’s request. The dance floor was the size of a postage stamp, and it was not easy to avoid the other toes. Even though, Kristen had her back to the man who had been watching her, she could still feel those eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He had now moved a few seats closer to get a better look at her, practically leaning off his chair.
“Robert St. Germain!” Kristen completely froze up in fear, as she realized who it was.
Kristen begged her partner, “I’ve got to get out of here. Please help me!” He rushed her into one of the private side dining rooms.
Jerry observed this and hurried over with her purse. He came into the room with them and locked the door. Now that Jerry was there, her baffled dance partner returned to the bar.
“What’s wrong?” Jerry asked.
“There is a man in there from Chicago who I am really afraid of.”
Jerry gave her a doubtful grin.
“Seriously Jerry, he is a real nut case. How can I get out of here?”
Jerry now looked a bit worried, “There is a door in here that leads to the garbage area, and then out to the side street. You valet parked. Right?” Kristen nodded.
“I will tell the valet to meet you over there. Don’t worry, you will be fine.”
Kristen was thankful that he did not try to ask her any more questions about Robert, it was too long of a story.
“Thanks Jerry, you are seriously a life-saver.”
As Kristen rushed out the back exit, she was mad that her evening was cut short right at the beginning of it. The valet was waiting with her car.
Now that she was outside, and Robert was nowhere in sight, she calmed down a bit.
“To hell with him. I am not ready to surrender the night yet.”
Kristen began the two-block drive down the street to the Brazilian Court Hotel, to hide out in their small restaurant. She passed her car onto the next valet.
Looking nervously behind her, she walked in the hotel entrance. She felt safe now. Although, Brazilian Court was very popular, she doubted Robert was classy enough to know about this island insider place. Most of all, he wouldn’t be able to use his phony credit cards here.
She walked through the lobby, and into the quaint area, were a few people dined at the small tables. She observed that all of them looked married, or on dates.
As she narrowly brushed by a table of four businessmen, they stopped talking and took a look at her. She gave them a shy smile.
One of the businessmen stood up, and took a seat at the bar, turning his high chair to face outward. He then crossed his arms and stretched out his long legs. It seemed that he was deliberately trying to block her from walking by.
Kristen looked down at his very expensive shoes, anticipating that he would pull them back in. They didn’t move. She then looked up at his face. He was laughing at her.
“No, no, you’re not getting out of here without letting me buy you a drink first.” The other men from his table were watching and were very amused.
“Oh, if you must,” Kristen said with a pretend sigh. She sidled into the chair next to him.
“Come with me. Let’s go sit in the love seat,” he said, and motioned to the waiter. He helped her off the chair and held her hand lightly, as they walked over to a private area which faced away from his friends.
His companions all waved at them and went back to their discussion. The waiter came over with a very impressive bottle of red wine and set it on the low glass
table in front of them.
“Will there be anything else Mr. Fiore?”
“No, that will be all, thank you.”
Kristen thought to herself, “Ooh, la, la, an Italiano.”
Mr. Fiore leaned over and poured Kristen a glass, and then one for himself. Kristen enjoyed his attention.
He handed her the glass, and then raised his, saying,
“Here’s to meeting my Dream Girl.” Kristen was surprised that he was talking like this.
She looked him over. He was wearing a light summer suit and had a strong build, structured limb by limb, and coated with a great natural tan. His hair was dark brown, designer-cut, with a kind face, and dark green eyes that were inviting. He had that handsome Palm Beach look, like he had just come off the golf course or his yacht.
Kristen was feeling timid and didn’t know what to say. She coyly smiled at him, as she took large sips of her wine for courage.
He tried to read her moves, “So, does the Dream Girl have a name?”
“Kristen,” she mumbled into her glass. She never acted like this before. She was so nervous.
She straightened up, “Kristen Kenworth,” and held out her hand. He rubbed it softly, and Kristen felt a slight rush of adrenalin.
“I am Anthony Fiore.”
Her body warmed another ten degrees. She finished her glass, and Anthony stood ready with the bottle and topped her off again.
Whatever nerve she had briefly honed in on, now shriveled away. She sank back in the seat, tapping her foot. He was really going to have to pry a conversation out of her.
Anthony said cheerfully, “Let’s do some shots. A lot of them.” He ordered a tray of the best whisky in the house for their group. His friends toasted his idea with their empty glasses.
Anthony handed Kristen her shot and held another one in his hand watching her intently. She drank it with ease.
“Now drink this one.” He handed her the other one, like a mother bird with a worm, and smiled as she tossed it down even faster. It smoothly descended through her body, warming her all over, everywhere.
