A short story by K. Samways
‘Thank you, Albert,’ Mr. Jones nodded, claiming his drink from the proffered tray perched upon his servant Alfred’s delicate fingers.
He took pause from gazing over the city outside his window to consider the warm brown liquid nibbling away the ice in the middle of the glass.
He gave it a swirl with his right hand, chuckling as the cubes clinked against the crystal walls. There would always be more ice. At least, the kind he needed.
“Do you know how to ruin a family?” Mr. Jones, feeling suddenly sentimental, turned to Albert who had taken his customary place against the wall in the shadows of the room.
“No, sir.”
Of course he doesn’t, thought Jones. All he does is stand there all day and take orders like an idiot, so his family can frivol elsewhere. Yes, by minimum standards, Albert was a well cared for employee, paid in excess with special privileges afforded to his wife and children, allowing them to lead a relatively carefree life — provided they obeyed the rules with which their new class came.
As for Albert, he was no more than a servant to Jones, being at beck and call twenty-four hours a day, only permitted to vacation when Jones was vacationing, often travelling with him and still working; he was never doled much time with the family he so well provided for. The man’s wife had probably taken several new lovers, Jones chuckled again.
“Simple. Opposition and fear.”
The snicker preceding these words cast a chill over the room, and Albert refrained from shivering. It was rare to see Jones act so cavalier about his generally sinister doings. A small silence slowly ripened as Albert knowingly stayed dumb.
“I’m bored. Call Victoria,” Jones snapped.
“Yes, sir.” Albert inclined his head a few degrees then left the room.
Jones again turned toward the window, regretting his impulsive display of emotion. His control was not slipping, he reassured himself, and soon his friends would see what they could accomplish together. He chuckled again, feeling amused — the idea that any of them were friends. He almost laughed out loud. Language is a funny thing. And it is fun. It was part of what made the game so arousing: the odds just unpredictable enough to allow for good gambling. He had to admit, he was dealt a good hand, but he was growing more suspicious that Smith had an equally good, possibly better, hand.
He contemplated his suspicions as he finished his drink, his eyes devouring the city below.
“Mrs. Smith, sir.” Albert returned shortly after he left, escorting an elegant middle-aged woman held firm and youthful with an expensive and complex regimen.
“Victoria.” Jones couldn’t help but smile, nearly genuinely, he thought.
“Mr. Jones. Lovely to see you again.”
They kissed each other on each cheek, long since laughing away fears around any illness. They sat at the bar with the view of a million twinkling lights poured out before them.
“What, may I ask, are you looking for?” Mrs. Smith asked bluntly, knowing Jones’ position all too well.
“Perhaps a little less conversation,” chirped Jones as he placed his hand at the ridge of Victoria’s knee just under the hem of her dress. Her legs uncrossed themselves immediately and she drew back.
Then, as if rehearsed, she took his hand and, walking away from the window, glided toward the bedroom. Jones could hardly keep from coming for the words still lingered in his mind and as a whisper on his tongue:
“Opposition and fear.”
The Halfwit Writer 