Drawing The Lie

“So they call it adawda I believe?”

“I think pronounced ayahuasca.”

“Whatever, the point is I heard he’s gone off the deep end,” mimicking a sip.

Her husband gasps, “Drinking?”

“Pills too!”

“How are you so sure?”

“Nicole, left work early. On her desk, she left her calendar open. Guess what it said.”

“What?”

“Pick up Jasper’s medication.”

A stupid silence fell, “That’s it?”

“Just last week Jasper hurt his back,” she tosses her hands, “Hurt back. Medication. You know that’s some type of opium.”

“Like chocolate syrup to a sundae.”

“Once the deal is through Nicole will have the board with her.”

Across the grand hall, a sophisticated man in pinstripes holds court, “First he tells me no, then says yes, forcing me to actually work! The man is losing his mind!” 

“I’ve noticed a difference as well in Jasper. Not as sharp,” suggests an expired meatball of a man. 

“He used to… well for lack of a better term be smart,” adds another. 

“There are people implying he’s uh,” and the suave man draws an imaginary line across his bowtie.

Several listeners nearly choke on their drinks. Meatball, especially astonished, inquires for detail, “Suicidal?”

“Yes.”

“How? The man is a monarch! Creator of Leaflet Publishing!” 

“And growing luxury line —”

Meatball shakes his head, “I don’t believe that at all Rory!”

“As they say Micael,” shrugging Rory, “Once one reaches the mountain top, all they have left to do is go down.”

An elegant brunette joins the circle, flashing a chest full of silver, “How is everybody’s evening so far.” 

“Confusing,” admits Micael.

“It’s been a minute since everyone has gotten together. Investors, reporters, and even,” she points across the room, “The trash.”

Rory scoffs in his brandy, “Sydney dear, you have a problem with Lionel and Patricia?”

“Parasitical parvenus those two. I know for a fact Lionel is the puppet to the college girl who just got drunk with the right assistant in college.”

“The people are saying that tonight is a changing of the guard,” instigates Rory.

“Bullshit,” Sydney replies, “Anyone even attempting to assume they know Jasper is as high as he is.”

“So it’s true?”

“What’s true?”

Rory sniffs his pointer finger, “He’s a skier.”

Sydney laughs, “Well, of course, he’s on course to be a billionaire before 35. It would be a problem if he wasn’t.”

“People are concerned about him,” Micael says cautiously, " But why? I cannot track it. Some are saying depression, others drugs —- Tom from finance was mouthing off that Jasper ordered a sell-off of his copyrights to pay an incoming lawsuit.”

“Fuck off!”

“No, I’m serious. I just heard while getting a drink. It looks like the company is fragile on the money end.”

“Well, that clothing brand is getting bought,” Rory smirks.

Sydney and Micael both giggle, spilling drops of their drinks. 

“At a deserved discount,” mocks Micael, “His line looks as if Goodwill impregnated a private school’s uniform.” 

The dinner continues to flourish with mindless comments on wine preference and wealth. People of self-appointed importance strut their custom-fitted suits and scintillating dresses. It is all too perfectly gilded and as see-through as a vail garment. While they indulge in crabcakes and cucumber rolls, saying things and speaking on topics because they're bored, the man in everyone’s discussion lies bedridden miles away. 

“These cunts,” he mutters.

His penthouse is pristine, spacious, and unremarkable in terms of originality. He hates everything about it. From the mahogany wood tables to the led granite sinks, he wishes a jackhammer stood in the closet to tear it all down. 

“What was I racing to all this time?” 

A memory of a twilight walk in his old neighborhood, many years before hand-stitch Italian suits and diamond wristwatches, enters his mind. It was not a special walk in any way but a walk he most definitely went on between his job at UPS and his job as a bartender. For those 40 minutes, he was free as a cottonwood seed. It was then he planned, reflected, hypothesized, and dreamt of his life and what it would be. There was a seductive uncertainty back then that is gone as ancient Rome. 

His sister enters, “Get the hell up!”

Jasper flails his hands, “No one even says hello anymore.”

She calms her voice, “Hello Jasper, can you please get the hell up? The dinner is already going.”

A flare sparks within Jasper, finally getting him to sit up, “Yes, my gala.”

Rachel rolls her eyes, “Don’t act like you forgot.”

“What do you mean?”

“You play so many games that you end up playing yourself too,” she puts on a heavy gold bracelet, “Officially a delusional elitist.” 

Jasper walks to the other room, putting on the first suit he sees. A midnight purple coat with a navy blue tie. Yelling from the other room, he pleads, “Why do I do this to myself?”

“Specifics.” 

“This fucking tie… I mean why is it, over all these years I try to pursue more I end up feeling less.” 

“Oh my God you are so dramatic.” 

“That lack of empathy will set this human race back to sticks and fire. That, and our pathetic love for half-truths.” 

“I wish the public knew this side of Jasper Lorraine.” 

“I wish the public just backed the fuck off!” Jasper finally ties his tie, “Jasper is this, Jasper is that. Jasper is lonely, Jasper drinks baby blood to stay so good-looking.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“Someone… probably,” Jasper walks back into the living room.

Rachel laughs, “Wasn’t there a time you wanted to be so big that people made up conspiracies about you?”

“Yes,” Jasper defiantly concedes, “But I thought they would be more James Bond double life-like. They have me pegged as some warlock globalist psycho.

“I told you the Gandalf costume was rushed.”

“I’m a Tolkien fan, screw me!”

“Well, you aren’t gonna like the recent bullshit.”

Jasper walks to the window, overlooking the city, “What now?” 

Rachel stands next to him, “Some think you’re suicidal —”

“That People’s picture of me over the bridge? I was on a walk and the wind felt nice!”

“Others got you as an addict —”

“The whole country is on Adderall!” 

“Would you let me finish!”

“Pause….”

Rachel drops her head, contemplating if the glass is thin enough to throw Jasper threw. She decides it's not, “Jasper you don’t look well — Your hair is matted, you got duffle bags for eyes, and your smile is off.” 

“It’s been tough since the winter line dropped. It’s traumatic when your baby falls.” 

“They want your crown.”

“A crown of thorns at this point.”

“No, listen. There are people saying that you are a bastard.” 

“What do Mom and Dad have to do with this?”

“Idiot! I’m speaking metaphorically! They think you are a fraud.” 

“Fuck off,” Jasper sneers. 

“Listen! There are serious people saying that the J.J. Tywing franchise wasn’t written by you — wait! — You stole the idea. And that your clothing venture is gimmicked Gucci. They are scheming a lawsuit for the winter wolf emblem peacoat.” 

“But they look nothing alike! I made those clothing with my own hands and mind!”

“Doesn’t matter! They got ins in the industry —”

Jasper rolled his shoulders, looking up for the first time all night, “Timeout. They think I didn’t write J.J. Tywing?”

“Rumors are you stole the idea from Nicolo Yendys.”

“Who?”

Rachel shrugs. 

A revolting disgust sends Jasper into an earth trembling calmness, “Put on your coat, we are going to my gala.”

Jasper washes away his self-pity with each stride and handshake throughout the hall. Even though he put himself in this spot, he got him here in the first place. They have underestimated him, and when his back is against the wall, that is when Jasper produces his best work.

“I must say, Jasper, hosting a gala is not… how should I say?”

“Style?”

“It just seems a bit random — and I know Jasper Lorraine is not a random person.”

Jasper camouflages his gushing with a blank face, “No I am not.”

“People are saying that this is a passing of the torch —”

“Excuse me, Ari?” the euphoria evaporates. 

“Not me, of course! I-I-I just heard from Isabell that after the disaster release of the Artic collection and loss in profits —”

“Isabell who?”

“Isabell Mathers. 

Jasper hands Ari his drink and leaves. Isabell Mathers, an Ivy school lawyer who morals with the highest bidder, has been anti-Jasper since their breakup. Right around the bar, Jasper finds her entertaining Rory Debenen and Sydney Yavari. 

Jasper approaches, “How lucky am I to find you three altogether! Rory, how are things across the pond?” 

“Good! Very good! Warner Brothers just signed us to direct their new summer blockbuster.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s an animation film of a Moe, the wise Maple tree, and how he teaches this young hydrangea bush to accept herself for who she is.”

Jasper notably hesitates before turning to Sydney, “Sydney!” 

“Hello old J.”

“Haha! Still younger than you —”

“Doesn’t look like it,” she rifles back. 

“Sleep hasn’t been a priority for me lately.”

“What’s on your mind J? How could someone like you get tied up?”

Jasper shakes his head, “It’s all these jackals I got around me.”

“Hm?”

“Parasites if that makes it clearer.”

“I’m sorry what —”

“Are you sorry Sydney?”

Her bottom lip quivers, “I’m not following —”

“This night,” Jasper sighs, “Was really just supposed to be pointless. A get-together of the people who I believed helped me to the spot I am at now. I thought let’s just have a couple of drinks, shoot the shit, maybe dance.”

“I’m having a splendid time —”

“Shut the fuck up, Rory,” who quickly cowards to a sip of his drink, “But no, I cannot even get that. Instead, I have nothing but leeches trying to take me down for reasons beyond me — Isabell!”

“Yes?”

“Why are you trying to suck the life out of me? I’m sorry it didn’t work out but you are so boring.

“Jasper you’re drunk.”

“Maybe but these rumors of yours are the most interesting thing you’ve done since getting Botox.”

Isabel unknowingly touches her cheeks, “Talk to Sydney over here.”

Sydney clenches the cherry in her teeth, “Don’t throw me into the pit because you can’t interlope right.” 

Thus, a he-said-she ensues. Like mopping the ocean, Jasper strains to follow but simply cannot. Allegedly, Isabel was told by one of Syndey’s people to write an article. Sydney counters that no approval was ever given. That this is Isabel’s attempt to destroy Sydney’s creditability. All of it though reflects nothing but word salad to Jasper. He’s at the tip of the branch when he needs to find the seed — no the farmer who questioned Jasper’s creations. 

Nodding, smiling, chuckling, Jasper waltzes the charcuterie board of egos and two faces. He is stopped several times to comment on some societal trend or political upheaval. Other people grab him to discuss the origin behind him like he is some mythical beast sent to Earth. Between vague adjectives and grins, he ponders the drunk nights of before. People then didn’t care how long the whiskey was aged so long as it was 45%alc/vol. It was then he could slur words with friends who told stories that actually happened. The game was in the fact there was no game besides embellishing a couple of hours to intoxication. 

“I don’t understand the jazz on a night like —”

Jasper halts, turns to the man, and grabs him by the shoulders, explaining as though he didn’t know two plus two, “There is nothing to understand. I just like jazz.” 

“Funny, you say that because I too —”

Jasper marches away to find Rachel tending to a couple by the stage. As she finishes her sentence she introduces Jasper, “Jasper meet Lionel and Patricia.”

Jasper shakes their hands, “How do.”

“Lionel is an investment banker, an executive at H.J. Global.”

“Oh, that is a thing.”

Rachel eyes Jasper, “And Patricia is her husband.”

“Is being a wife an occupation?” 

“If you’re married to a guy like this,” she laughs, “But also I’m close with Nicole, we went to college together.”

“No way!” Jasper realizes, “Where is Nicole?”

“Need another reminder for your 12:15 meeting with Mr. Staun,” injects a mellow feminine voice. 

“Ah! There you are!”

“I just went off to grab a martini. I see you’ve met my good friends Patricia and Lionel.” 

Jasper continues to calculate, “Yes… yes, I have.” 

“Lionel here is the one who managed the IPO of Lorraine Cloth.”

“Still working out the details with your team but the deal looks solid so far.”

“That’s splendid,” Not Nicole, she has nothing to gain. Wait, he thinks to himself, they went to college together?

“How is the industry?” asks Rachel.

“Premiums are at all-time highs which is good. There is no shortage of companies who need funding no matter the climate.”

“This may be a dumb question but basically what do you do?” 

“Ah, well you see as a business gets bigger it only gets more complicated. In order to get even bigger, the business needs funding which is where I step in…”

Lionel goes on about the history of calculating policies while Jasper stands eyes open and dumbfounded. Does he know that no one cares? Rachel is obviously toying with him because no one with a pulse wants to learn about banking— especially at a party! 

“It’s pretty crazy because let’s say Frank’s numbers are too high,” he winks, “I get them lower if you get me.”

“No, I don’t,” They’re all in out in!

“Hm?”

“Have you ever created anything?”

“Some deals have —”

“I mean have you physically put objects together.”

“I’m not quite —”

“Have you ever doodled a house in crayons or built a fort out of pillows?” 

Lionel thinks for a moment, “One time in high school I tattooed a dick on my friend’s back.”

Jasper tucks his lips, “I don’t get you,” before tracing his finger to Patricia, “I don’t get you either. Nicole?”

“Yes?”

“Who wrote the tales of J.J Tywing, the valet turned mobster?” 

Nicole nervously laughs, “Er-exc-are you serious?”

“Just a question that I want answered.”

“You, of course!”

“Second question. Where does Lorraine Cloth Incorporated come from?”

“You — sometimes even your own hands.”

“From start to finish, correct?”

“Vertical integration.”

“Ah, see she went to college to learn that one.”

They all laugh because they think they must while Rachel bits her lip, shaking her head. 

“It’s funny,” Jasper resumes, “Because I’ve heard through the grapevine that the answers to those questions are in fact no.”

“Who would even think such a thing —”

“Oh, someone has,” Jasper raises his hand, “And they stand in this ballroom right now sipping my alcohol and speaking deceit.”

“Oh no he’s getting dramatic.” 

“I’ve provided jobs, fostered careers, and simply pursued an ambition because it’s my fuel for existence. There was no way I would be working eight hours at a desk to barely own a car. Only to witness my parents rot on dollar-menu healthcare.”

“A noble venture indeed —”

“Don’t interrupt me, Liam!” 

Jasper turns and lifts his arms, embracing all before him, “Everyone!”

Heads twirl instantaneously, enraging Jasper even more. He steps in front, politely asks the lead guitarist to stop, “I’m so sorry. You guys are killing it! Playing true! Please help yourself to anything. I just need to be the main character one last time.”

The man nods and fist-bumps Jasper, getting a smile out of him, “Good man,” he mutters, walking to the center, “Hello! Thank you for all attending this evening. It’s on these cold nights that friendship and community mean such warmth.”

Rachel points a finger gun in her mouth. 

“There really is no special reason for tonight other than to drink, talk, and enjoy the pleasantries of wealth —”

The people clap for no reason.

“It’s amazing how we get. How we get from point A to point B, from one job to another, from misunderstanding to comprehension. It is at the and in ‘start and finish’ where much of the miracle happens. Some refer to it as the journey. My position, right here on this stage, is that get, that and.” 

“Here it is,” whispers Micael.

“As some of you may have heard — not from me, of course, that would be too mature and moral. That there is debate over the authorship of my beloved creation J.J. Tywing. Some suggest too that Lorraine Cloth is illegitimate. There are magical lawsuits coming — that once the public finds out about — will leave me ruined.” 

The crowd idles in tense muteness. 

“Seeing thy people want truth and I am a man of the people! Here it is! Straight from the source!” 

They titer forward. 

“The rumors are true!” 

Several glasses shatter, springing a buzz of wheezing and shouting. Rachel adjusts her posture, beaming at her brother’s greatest lie. 

“Leaflets Publishing and my stake in Lorraine Cloth will be granted to…,” Jasper looks around, spotting the Jazz bands taking shots of whiskey in the back, “why the hell not,” he laughs, “To Jameson and The Chords Jazz Band!”

 “What?” 

“Are you fucking me!” 

“He can’t do that!”

The band dog piles in celebration, flipping over several tables and beer cases. Sydney, Rory, and the rest wave and cuss over what they now believe is nonsense. Nicole rushes to Lionel and Patricia, “Wait I can sort this out! Rachel! Rachel!”

Rachel recognizes her. 

“Rachel, Jasper is not serious, right? He’s just joking around b-b-because the committee had a whole team set for the succession — I mean the whole stock was to be divided with me and —”

“Hush,” Rachel places a long straight finger on Nicole’s lips, “Here’s back better than ever,” she admires, witnessing her brother’s two-inch dimples for the first time in years.