by Tara Brent
“Oh god, Agent Smith from the Matrix sequels!” she said, feigning fear. The officers didn’t react. “You know... cuz you are all dressed like him? And he made multiples of himself?” Nothing. She sighed. “I mean, I don’t blame you, the sequels were trash.”
“Ma’am you are trespassing on private property,” said the agent closest to her, who she assumed was in charge. “We must ask you to leave.”
“Does it count as trespassing if I was invited though?” she inquired.
“It totally still counts as trespassing,” he said unemotively.
“STAND DOWN YOU MORONS,” came a voice bellowing through a bullhorn. Bethany looked past them and saw a woman zipping toward them in a golf cart, bullhorn in hand. The agents parted and she pulled up to Bethany. “You really are something else,” the woman said, shaking her head. Through the bullhorn: “STAND DOWN BOYS.” To Bethany: “Hop on in.”
Bethany decided to go along with it and hopped into the passenger seat. “I’m Honeywell,” said the woman, “Mr. Blackwood’s right-hand.”
“There’s a masturbation joke to be made there, but we latter day saint types usually sidestep crass humor,” said Bethany.
“Funny. Now what were you thinking? Do you know how many enemies Tristan has? Don't you think that those bored security guards are itching to use the skills they’ve honed?”
“Not gonna lie, kinda didn’t expect him to have this level of security,” said Bethany.
“Your ‘boyfriend’ for lack of a better term is one of the wealthiest people in the world and uses his fortune to get what he wants regardless of who he tramples or pisses on as he does so. You don’t think people hate him? That people wouldn’t try to rob him? That creepy strangers don’t want a lock of his hair or some shit?”
“All right! I get it, sheesh! He invited me and didn’t text me and I’m not the type of girl to be shown up, especially after coming all the way here! I cleared my afternoon for this!”
“Which is why I’m taking you to the mansion,” she said. “Whether or not you’ll get to see Tristan is a bit up in the air.”
“Why? He’s not entertaining other company is he? His sister DID warn me about him, after all...”
“Hardly. Tristan has a condition and he’s not feeling well.”
“He could have texted me.”
“When he’s like this, he is not highly functional. He probably didn’t even think about it.”
“Well doesn’t that make me feel special?”
“Don’t blame him. He’s in a lot of pain. He will make it up to you tenfold.”
Bethany grimaced. “Yeah. I know he will.” She sighed. “So finally we see the crack in his divinity.”
Honeywell snorted. “As he is wont to say: even Achilles had his heel.”
They made it to the front.
“So to be clear,” said Bethany, “He doesn’t have any family besides his sister, right?”
“Correct.”
“No bastard kids or adopted youngsters scampering about this place?”
“Correct.”
“And he doesn’t have any roommates.”
“Yes, Bethany, the house is big. Would you like to come inside?”
“OK.” Bethany took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
“So what I’m getting is a taste for ancient civilization,” said Bethany, staring dazzled at the art and architecture inside.
“He had this specially built by his favorite architect,” said Honeywell. “The instructions were essentially ‘think ancient Egypt meets Ancient Babylon with a contemporary flair.’”
“Well they certainly nailed that,” said Bethany. “So any rules I should know? Is the west wing forbidden? Are his former lovers mummified in the basement? Does he have a room full of cryogenically frozen clones imbued with his memories so that if he should die unexpectedly you just boot one of them up and he keeps going?”
“Probably not?” said Honeywell, with less certainty than one would expect. “But there is a room you may like, assuming you are fond of cats—”
“YES SHOW ME THE KITTY!”
“All right all right JEEZ this way,” said Honeywell.
“Wait,” said Bethany, as they made their way downstairs. “You don’t live here, do you?”
“Hardly,” she said. “But I find myself here often enough to help manage his affairs.”
“And by affairs you mean—”
“Business, affairs, Bethany,” snapped Honeywell. “Are you usually this paranoid?”
“What? Me? Paranoid? Never,” said Bethany. “Also, have you slept with him?”
Honeywell rolled her eyes and opened the door. “Welcome to Mount Olympuss,” she said.
Bethany’s mouth fell open. “Ok but seriously what?” The room was enormous and full of plants and cat jungle gyms. The ceiling was a curved screen of the sky and nature sounds filled the space. There were little streams of actual water along with some large touch screens teeming with digital fish that kittens were trying to pounce on. Cats were everywhere, all seeming to be the same beautiful breed.
“Tristan is fond of Savannah cats,” explained Honeywell, “and he thought they should have their own space. So here we are.”
“This is nuts,” said Bethany, walking through the space. “Also, wait, Mount Olympuss?”
“Yes, as in pussycat, like Puss-in-Boots, not as in—”
“Vaginas?”
Honeywell scowled. “Yes, not as in vaginas.” They made their way further into the room. “These are all of his cats save for one. Eighteen years ago, right after he finished college, he rescued an abandoned Savannah kitten.”
“There was a stray purebred Savannah? How does that even happen?”
“Sloppy rich people I guess. Anyway, he named the kitty Gilgamesh, and when Gil was a few years older and Tristan’s fortune blew up, he bought himself a dozen or so female Savannah cats, none of whom had been spayed.”
“Ah, so I guess they followed the bible and were fruitful and multiplied?”
“Exactly.”
“Naughty Gilgamesh,” muttered Bethany.
“Ah yes, god forbid a Mormon condone polygamy,” Honeywell said crisply.
“You know...!”
“Anyway, Gil sleeps in Tristan’s bed exclusively. Tristan used to bring Gil with him everywhere but I mean he’s an OLD cat now.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I honestly dread the day Gilgamesh passes away. Tristan doesn’t always showcase his emotions, particularly personal negative ones. Like sure general hatred for those he deems unworthy, but you know what I mean.”
“Right,” said Bethany, absently. “I’d ask how he could afford this, but like...”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Huh. Does it seem at all messed up to you that he’s doing all this for cats when there are so many problems in the world? All the money he spent on this could have been spent to, I dunno, fund cancer research, feed the homeless, assassinate the Kardashians...”
“Mr. Blackwood spends an average of 21.48% of his fortune on humanitarian causes. Note the root word of ‘humanitarian’ as human. And that doesn’t count the money spent on projects that indirectly benefit positive worldly effects such as clean energy companies providing countless jobs that very literally make the planet a more hospitable place to continue living.” Honeywell cocked her head to the side. “Approximately how much of your paycheck goes to such causes?”
“Erm,” said Bethany, shifting awkwardly, “A chunk of my paycheck goes to the church, and they do a lot of charity...”
“That’s what I thought,” said Honeywell.
“Hey! I’m not a gazillionaire!” pouted Bethany.
“But I’m talking about a percentage,” said Honeywell.
“Whatever. But doesn’t Bill Gates donate like 90% or something?”
“No. The highest is Warren Buffet who has donated approximately 71% of his fortune. But perhaps Warren likes people better than Tristan does.”
<
br /> As they spoke, one of the kittens approached Bethany, purring. To Bethany’s surprise, the kitten leapt up, grabbing onto Bethany’s clothes, and climbed her way onto Bethany’s shoulder. “Oh goodness! Isn’t she social!” said Bethany.
“That’s Nefertiti,” said Honeywell. “She is very bold.”
“Well he does seem to have a thing for bold women,” said Bethany slyly.
“Indeed.”
“So wait, Nefertiti? Gilgamesh? Do all of his cats have such epic names?”
“Yeah, they are all named after ancient rulers or mythological heroes,” Honeywell responded impatiently. “As I was saying,” continued Honeywell, “Tristan has great contempt for most of humanity. He doesn’t suffer fools, disdains hypocrisy, scoffs at organized religion—no offense— and frankly just finds most people to be unworthy. Animals though? He’s a big softy.”
“Uh, doesn’t he own a major meat production company though?”
“And it is ranked the single most humane meat company in the United States and possibly in the world,” she replied calmly. “Plus, he keeps the prices down, so that consumers don’t need to choose between their conscience and their wallets.”
“Huh,” said Bethany.
“Also,” said Honeywell, “You two have had dinner together, right?”
“Sure,” she said, “Not too many times, but enough.”
“And what did he eat?”
“Hmm. Well last time he had a pesto gnocchi with portobello mushrooms, before that he had eggplant lasagna, I think for our first meal he had bean and cheese enchiladas, which, by the way, risky meal for a date, but I assume he’s wound too tight too fart... WAIT, is he a vegetarian??”
“Almost,” said Honeywell. “On his own, he tends to favor a semi-strict vegan diet, though he makes exceptions for certain humanely-butchered lean meats as he recognizes humans to be omnivores. Socially, he’s functionally a vegetarian, leaving room for eggs and cheese but rarely having meat since he can’t always verify where it came from.”
“Jeez Louise, how did I miss that?” said Bethany.
“You’ve heard the joke about how an atheist, a vegan, and a cross-fit athlete walk into a bar, and the reason I knew that is because they all made sure everybody knew in the first fifteen minutes of their arrival?”
“HA! Sorry, that’s funny. Yeah, I’ve heard it.”
“Right. Not so much based in reality, that joke. It’s just that most other people are open about things that also apply to others. Most people eat meat or believe in god, so mentioning any of those things isn’t seen as ‘weird.’ Tristan may not be able to shut up, but he’s more inclined to remind everybody of how amazing he is than his particular idiosyncratic views on reality or dietary ethics.”
“Hmm. Right. Also, wait, is he an atheist? I feel like he can’t be, what with how much he drones on about how he’s blessed and divine and all that.”
“Well I know he isn’t any kind of Christian. Might be some kind of pagan or non-practicing Buddhist but honestly I can never tell what he means literally or metaphorically, and since it has little if anything to do with our business, I don’t press it,” said Honeywell. “If you could unravel the mystery of Tristan Blackwood, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“But I don’t drink,” said Bethany, still petting Nefertiti.
“Then I’ll drink it or you,” said Honeywell. “Either way, I win.” She licked her lips. “I’ve become quite fond of Bee’s Knees cocktails, especially when they put in those little honeycombs.”
“Living up to your name, huh?”
“Quite. Now, I’m going to bring you up to Tristan.”
Bethany set down Nefertiti and followed Honeywell upstairs.
“The rules are simple,” said Honeywell as they walked. “Don’t talk anymore than you need to. Avoid all loud noises. Your phone needs to be on silent with the brightness turned all the way down and preferably on ‘smart invert.’ Note that he will likely be cranky and very displeased with both of us. He won’t be thrilled that you’re seeing him at his weakest and he’ll be pissed at me for letting you in.”
“Then why are you letting me in?” asked Bethany.
“I dunno. Part of me wants to say it’s because I think it’s good for him to be reminded of his status as a fellow human mortal. Buuuut the real reason is because, and you can quote me on this, fuck’im.”
“Ah,” said Bethany, awkwardly. They walked in silence for a bit as Bethany quietly marveled over the paintings along the stairway. “Wait, do you mean ‘F him’ as in like disregard him or as in, like, you want me to, you know, bow-chicka-wow-wow...?”
Honeywell gave Bethany an exhausted grimace. “Screw him is all, okay?”
“You’re not clearing things up here,” pointed out Bethany.
“I mean I don’t care about him feeling insecure for five goddamn minutes,” she said. “You could try to sleep with him but he’s surely not up for it at the moment.”
“Wasn’t really my plan yet anyway,” murmured Bethany.
“Yes, he’s being surprisingly patient,” said Honeywell, candidly. “Here,” she said. “Through this door is a corridor. It functions a bit like an airlock, only for light and sound. He’s very sensitive right now. Don’t do anything to bother him beyond what’s necessary, okay?”
“I thought you didn’t care about him?”
“I care for him deeply and tremendously,” said Honeywell calmly. “Doesn’t mean I also can’t stand the bastard.”
“All right,” said Bethany, “once more into the breach. Oh, and Honeywell?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s hang out again. And when we do, let’s try to pass the Bechdel test, huh?” And with that, Bethany made her way down the dimly-lit hallway.
The door she was looking for was all the way down on the left. Taking a breath, she turned the handle and opened it slowly. The door creaked loudly, and she heard an aggravated groan from inside. “Honeywell, you’re fired,” she heard Tristan murmur.
“It’s not Honeywell, it’s me,” said Bethany in a stage whisper.
“Oh god, Honeywell is double-fired,” he muttered. “Go away.”
“Fat chance,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
“Not so loud! Or high-pitched. Don’t talk,” he said.
“Well,” she whispered, genuinely trying to be quiet this time, “this all could have been avoided if you had just texted me to cancel.”
“I was distracted,” he said bitterly, still not moving from his bed.
Bethany made her way forward gingerly; the room wasn’t dark so much as utterly black. Each careful step, she felt like she was taking a risk. She felt with her hands outstretched as she made her way forward.
She felt something soft against her foot, followed by an indignant “Mreeow!” coupled with her own spooked squeal.
“Both of you shut up or get out,” said Tristan.
“Aw, you must be Gilgamesh!” whispered Bethany, ignoring Tristan entirely. She felt around and found him, petting him until he decided she was worthy of his purring on her behalf. “Yes you’re a good kitty aren’t you!” Tristan groaned as Bethany and Gilgamesh bonded. “Come on now,” she said, picking him up. “We’re going to go see Daddy!” To Tristan, she added, “and by the way, that doesn’t mean I’m going to start calling you ‘Daddy,’ so no getting any ideas Mister!”
“Bite me,” he muttered into his pillow.
“Aw,” she said, rocking Gilgamesh in her arms. “Is your daddy being a poopy-fart? Yes! Yes he is being a poopy-fart!” She finally managed to find her way over to Tristan’s bed. She pulled out her phone so she could see He was laying on his side, barely under his sheets, his entire bare torso exposed. He squinted his eyes and put his hand over his face. “Turn the light off!” he said through his teeth.
“Oh stop being such a big baby.” She set Gilgamesh down next to Tristan’s head. Gilgamesh purred even louder, licking Tristan’s cheek until Tristan star
ted to pet him, at which point Gilgamesh curled into a croissant.
“This is too precious,” said Bethany. “You two are spooning! Ima join you.”
“Do whatever you want so long as you turn off that light and stop talking,” he said, pleading at this point.
“Wait,” she said, obediently turning her phone off, “Are you wearing anything under there...?”
“No. I wasn’t exactly expecting company,” he said.
“Well all right then,” she said. She got started.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“If you’re going to be naked, then so shall I,” she said.
“We can’t even see each other, and we haven’t even kissed yet, and I have a skull-cleaving migraine, and now is the time you want to get frisky with me?”
“Yeah, why haven’t we kissed yet?” she asked, trying to keep casual. However, her heart was beating out of her chest, so fast that she was actually alarmed. What are you doing?? she thought wildly. You’re a virgin and this is so not the moment!!!
“Most women find me to be excessively dominant and controlling but I didn’t want to push you away because you might be special. Plus you’re so bold that I just figured if you wanted it you’d have done it. Case in point, I might add.”
“And here I was waiting for you to make the first move,” she teased, finally naked in earnest. She set her phone down on her pile of clothes and climbed into bed next him.
“This bed is massive,” she noted. “King size? This is emperor-sized!”
“What’s an emperor to a god?” he replied.
“What’s a god to a non-believer?”
