All that Glitters
The jazz too loud, the lights too bright, the women too pretty, the speaking too easy, the alcohol too tasty, the hideaway too perfect. He lived in a shack just down the road from those saxes and light, but the irony of his situation kindled a transparent fire far greater than the size of his humble abode. He owned the talk of the town, the finest automobile from the Big Apple to Timbuktu, a 1938 silver Super Mercedes. It was the top of the line, priceless in the eyes of more than half of New York City, but not to the beholder. He sold that too perfect hideaway down the road to live in his shack with nothing but his pride, one tailored suit, and rolling magnificence.
When the sun bid the day its goodbye, it was far from a somber one in the spirit of New York’s elite. They all flocked to the hideaway in their glittering garments and trendy top hats, along with the man who lived down the road. Again he set out to romance another girl so as to enter his former nightery. He had his eyes set on the wealthiest woman of the locale. She was indeed, in some aspect or another, a relative of the great Rockerfeller, and that was all he needed to know. He watched, waited, until he saw her drive past his house. That was his cue to start up his Benz with a loud attention seeking roar, and shift into gear after gear until not only did he bear down on the clutch as he cruised into the center of the drive, but also seemed to clutch the jaws of every man, and woman alike, only to bring them straight to the ground with the slight of his hand. He knew she was staring, so he turned and shot her a wink as dozens of girls fainted just near of her, all hoping it had been directed towards them.
After a few weeks, she was completely infatuated with him. He picked her up and together they drove for miles on end, laughing, kissing, and falling in love. Oh love! He had grown to love her not for only her money and allure, but her wealthy heart and beautiful mind. He hoped she would love him just the same after she knew the truth, his truth, that behind the mask of his smooth suit and tie, he was straddling the rugged line of poverty.
She left behind only the faint scent of Chanel No. 5 after she fled in anger along with all his hopes of their love in his heart, for now he had almost nothing to care for. He had his vehicle and that was all that should’ve mattered to him. It wasn’t. She had left him with a choice after her eyes fell upon his shanty, sell the car and claim back his money, or keep his conveyance and lose her. How could he part with either? This new bond between girl and boy, could it be greater than the relationship he shared with his beloved machine? He needed his woman. He needed his car. He wanted his pride and with both he could keep it.
His plan was a selfish one, to kidnap the woman. In his mind, it was the only option. He called upon her, asking her to accompany him to the theatre for drinks. She denied his first call, but the after the fifth it seemed useless to ignore his disparity. She agreed to the theatre, but denied him of a drink.
Her plan was a romantic one, to recount her true feelings and tear down the walls of social etiquettes she had once held close with a frightening grip. After settling into the leather seats, she immediately confessed her love to him. She made the choice to be true to her heart and honor this man she had honestly fallen in love with.
He heard her speech, all of it. Word – for – word. And each word, each syllable was a stab to his chest by a knife sharpened with painful regret. Then and there, in that Super Mercedes, glory on wheels, god of automobiles, he made the choice to be true to his heart and honor this woman he had honestly fallen in love with.
Shortly after the crash and her funeral, he resumed life in his shack just down the road from the hideaway, with no car, no suit, and no pride left in the shell of his heart.