Death of a Star

“Jesus, Collin. It’s cold as hell out.”

I take one more supplicatory look at tonight’s patron star – give me strength, I pray – and twist in my wicker chair to see Richard closing the gate to my back yard. He clutches his overcoat tighter and walks the path through my wintered wildflowers with a stiff gait. That overcoat probably cost more than my mortgage, but a knee-length won’t cut it tonight. A stiff breeze could – what’s that Dad used to say? – freeze the balls off a brass monkey. I crack a smile at the thought of Richard losing a couple marbles.

I have to remember to keep that smile on tonight. But I see the red sole of Richard’s Louboutin trample an early blooming crocus and it ignites the bitterness in me. I grimace. No, it’s a sneer, aged like wine and poisoned. I bite the inside of my cheek and flash back to my smile, hoping the slip was imperceptible in the dark. I think he missed it. I need more control and a quick glance at my star centers me.

When Richard walks up, I don’t stand but offer a comfortable smile. “Richard, my good man!” As if I already have a few drinks in me, I make a wide gesture to the bottle and empty glass on the small table in front of me. “Have a seat and have a drink.” Turning back to gaze at the small fire crackling in the chimenea, I pull my first drink up to my lips. “You’ll warm up soon enough.”

Still standing – to assert his presence, as he does in every conference meeting – Richard picks up the bottle and holds it at length. I brace myself. He looks down to inspect the label like some sommelier trying to prove himself dignified. “Hm,” he says and puts on a mildly approving face. The condescending undertone – if you could call it that – would have needled me some months ago. But tonight, I can’t let it phase me. It is too special a night, with much to celebrate. I’ve also come to peace with knowing I could never afford Richard’s level of pleasure. Fine by me.

“Breaking out the good stuff, huh Collin?” Another jab. I keep my smile. “Well, it’s worth it tonight.” Richard pours himself three fingers from my favorite bottle. “Numbers are in,” he continues. “Board meeting’s tomorrow. Reporting to the shareholders next week.” I throw up a little in my mouth. Richard smiles up at the stars – bottle in one hand, glass in the other – then back at me. “We’re on the way, buddy, straight to the top. Soon we’ll be as high as the stars.” He raises the bottle up to the night sky and lets out a satisfied sigh. I watch him sink into the chair beside me and carefully place the bottle back on the table.

I let him breathe in the moment. Richard has always been a company man. He loves this corporate crap – quarterly reports, shareholder value, defining himself by his title on LinkedIn and how many people work beneath him. Poor man’s probably never loved anything else. It’s everything to him.

Pity threatens to ruin me while I pour myself another. Was Richard born this way? Did his parents beat the humanity out of him? Either way, that would make Richard a product of circumstance. Can’t blame him then. Can I? Some PhD psychologist would equivocate and point to this and that which makes a person. For a moment, I’m tempted to reconsider Richard’s entire paradigm. Some would say that’s the angel on my shoulder talking. Then again, the devil was an angel once.

I shake it all off; wheels are in motion. Suddenly I stand up. “You know what we need, my friend?” I hate that I had to call him that. “Let’s get a picture before we get too shitfaced. Commemorate the night, and all.” Richard nods solemnly in agreement and stands. I pat my jacket pockets. “I’ve left my phone inside. You got yours?” I know he does.

Richard pulls his phone from his overcoat’s inside pocket and flicks on the camera. He stands close to me, raises the phone for a selfie, and puts on a smile that would make a college frat boy proud. I let him take a few shots. One with arms around each other, one making a show of sipping from our glasses. “Nice,” he says.

We look through the pictures and I scrunch my face in disapproval. “No, no,” I say. “Think about what we’ve achieved. We need something classier. Hey, Emmy!” I cup my hands to my mouth and call toward the back door. “Emmy! Come out and take our picture.”

“Just a minute, hon,” we hear from inside. A moment later, my wife and partner, Emily, steps out the door still slipping an arm through her jacket. She has her hair held up with a green bandana tonight and reminds me of Rosie the Riveter. “Richard! So glad you could come by tonight and celebrate with my Collie.”

Despite moving north to Massachusetts a few years after we got married, Emily’s Southern drawl remains pristine. She knows Richard, who her parents would call a “damn Yankee,” hates the elongated vowels and extra syllables. She’s laying it on extra thick.

“Emily. Bright, as always.” Bright wasn’t a compliment in Richard’s book. “A picture, please?” He offers his phone. Emily takes our picture, telling us to pose this way and that, in the garden then by the cherry tree. After a dozen photos, Richard reaches his limit – which gives me another smile. “I think that will do, Emily,” he complains. “We’ll get back to our drinks.” You can go inside now, in other words.

Emily ignores the slight. She happily clicks the phone’s screen off and hands it back to Richard. “You boys have a good night, now.” She walks up next to me, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and heads to the back door. Emily turns back to me. “Oh Collie, the stars look good tonight.” She throws a wink at Richard, which makes him squirm, and steps back inside.

I let out a laugh – the first genuine part of me tonight – and settle back into my chair. “That Emmy’s a piece of work, ain’t she?”

“She is, indeed,” replies Richard. He smiles but there is no adoration in him. “Well, we can get back to celebrating.” He refills his glass and raises it toward me. I raise mine in gesture only then set it back down while Richard dives deep into his. The stars look good tonight. That was Emily’s sign that she accomplished her part. Now, I’m up.

“You want to know why we’re sitting out here?” I ask.

“Yes! If it weren’t for your little fire, I would have left by now.” Huh, an actual joke without condescension.

I point to the sky. “It’s crystal-clear. Perfect for a telescope. Which I just happen to have.” I pat Richard’s knee, stand up, and begin walking to the corner of my yard furthest from any light. I keep talking to draw him in. “We’re stars now, you and I. There’s no way we won’t land promotions after tomorrow’s board meeting. We’re stars. What better way to celebrate than peek through the looking glass and see the other stars we’ll be with.” I know, it’s cheezy. I’ve never been good at segues. But Richard takes the bait anyway and joins me. He’s a sucker for metaphors and speeches.

“My favorite constellation is Orion,” I continue. “Ever since middle school, you know, when the mind starts to appreciate the quieter things. The deeper things. During the dark of winter, I could always count on Orion looking over me from up there. He’s a good listener when you need one.” While I’m looking up at the constellation, Richard is staring at me. Probably wondering how soon he can go home and get to bed. No rest for you tonight, Richy Rich.

“I never paid much attention to the stars,” Richard replies weak and more than a little confused.

“You should. You know what’s special about Orion? See that one star on his shoulder – the red one?”

“Yeah. Huh, I never knew stars could be different colors.” That tracks – Richard probably slept through most of high school.

“That one’s called Betelgeuse, like the movie but spelled different. Go ahead; take a look.” I gesture for Richard to use the telescope. It’s a reflector so the eyepiece is near the front end. Richard bends down, practically doubled over. The star is too far away, so he’ll only see a slightly larger red dot. But that’s not the point.

I take my phone out of my jacket and type a quick text. Before I can send it, Richard pops back up. “I can’t see much of – who are you texting this late at night?”

I hit send and tuck my phone away. “Just checking the weather. Hoping the sky stays clear.” My phone – a plot hole Richard would notice if he hadn’t swam through his drinks.

“Sure,” he says. “Anyway, I can’t see much in the telescope.”

“Yeah, I know. But here’s what makes Betelgeuse interesting.” I ignore everything else and lock eyes with Richard. The yard, the patio, the cherry tree all fade away. “The red supergiant is nearly burned out and about to die. And a star like that – when it goes it goes big. Supernova. We’ll be able to see the explosion without a telescope, even during day. The eruption will glow for weeks, for months, before all that’s left is the skeletal neutron star.”

I’m barely blinking. The focus I project – the subtle and unflinching power with which I hold Richard’s gaze – is well beyond a passing interest in astronomy. If that’s all it was, I would still be smiling. He can’t look away, but he picks his fingernails and takes a pensive, half-step back from me. Pull it back, Collin; almost time, but not yet. Make a joke of it.

“Ha.” I smile. “Emmy says I nerd out too hard.” Richard’s shoulders relax and I know I must be careful. “Here’s the kicker though. Betelgeuse is over six hundred light years away. That red twinkle we see tonight is six-hundred-year-old news. It could have exploded yesterday, and we wouldn’t know for centuries.

Richard is relaxed but looks offended I’ve turned our celebration into a science lesson. “Yeah, cool,” he offers. “Neat. Hey, my glass is empty.” He points back to the patio, and we walk that way.

I keep up my momentum. Time to bring it home. “Have I ever told you about my son?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“Your daughter? Sadie?”

Her name is Maddie. “No, my son. My daughter was two when Emmy had our baby boy, Walter. Old family name. Walt was early - four pounds, seven ounces. His first five weeks were in the NICU.” I have Richard’s attention, so I pause to let that sink in. “There were typical complications, so many follow up appointments, blood tests, everything. I lost count of the waiting rooms we sat in.”

We get to the patio. I successfully brought the mood down to where sitting doesn’t feel appropriate, so we stand while I refill our glasses. I set the empty bottle back on the table. “And then …” The grief never really goes away. “Well, after we said our last goodnight to Walt, we had to face the medical bills.

“Emmy and I do our best; we’re honest folk, you know. We fund raise and take out loans and set up payment plans. About six months in, COVID hits and my job doesn’t survive lockdown. Emmy’s able to work and keep the lights on but just barely. We have to make choices between bad and worse, and it’s either groceries or paying medical debts.” I shrug.

“At first, nothing happens but some red-marked letters in the mail. After a while we stop hearing about it all together. Four months later, COVID’s everywhere but the three of us are still healthy. We feel blessed. Until we get a letter that our medical debt has been bought by some company up north and payments will be expected. If not, we’ll be sued, and our paychecks will be garnished.”

I pause to see if any of this registers with Richard. Nothing. He’s frowning at my sob story, brows furrowed, but he hasn’t put it together yet. I need to give him more dots to connect.

“The letter came from a collection agency, not the actual company that owned our debt. Emmy and I have nothing left to give, so we research the company. We call and we write letters pleading for a grace period or some kind of understanding. Desperate, we drive up to the company’s brick and mortar. We aren’t even allowed in the door.

“The company bought our debt for pennies on the dollar and they wouldn’t budge one red cent. Our checks were garnished by 6 percent for several years. Doesn’t sound like a lot, but it was enough to force a choice between lights and water some months.

“In the meantime, tech was booming during lockdown so I got an entry-level gig at a cyber security firm. I’m a quick learner and climbed that ladder. Fast forward and now I’m Director of Information Security at our wonderful company.” By now I’ve dropped my facade. No need for that anymore. I let loose my pain and bitterness from their prison. “The same company at who’s doors Emmy and I begged, all that time ago.”

Richard’s frat-boy ease is long gone. He sees the rough picture and now he needs to know the sweet and satisfying details. I lock his eyes, take a step toward him, and keep going.

“When Walt was in the NICU, you were just the head of sales, but you got promoted into the development department. You must have wanted to make a quick name for yourself, so you had the company buy millions of dollars in medical debt for only thousands. It must have worked. After the board meeting tomorrow, you would be looking straight at CFO.”

The way I said “would be” catches Richard mid-breath. His eyes go round with realization, and he drops his glass. It shatters on the concrete, but I keep my eyes on his. I smile now, but this time it’s real. I take another step toward him, enjoying the pressure I can exert on him.

“What do you want?” Desperation and fear make his voice shake. “I – I can erase the debt.”

“My debt’s already paid, Richard. Yours on the other hand …”

“I can pay you! I’ll pay back everything.” I’ve edged him back to the fence; he catches his breath when his back touches it. “Just don’t hurt me, Collin.”

“Hurt you?” I laugh. “Good lord, Richard, I don’t want to go to prison too.”

“Prison? I didn’t do anything wrong. Buying debts is perfectly legal.”

As if on cue, I see red and blue flashes illuminate the trees at the far end of my street. “You’re right, Richard, it is legal. But forcing an already mourning family to pay them is evil. Oh, and–” I turn toward the street and point Richard’s attention to the approaching lights. “You know what is illegal? Skimming off the top. Say, by six percent sometimes. You’ve taken millions from the company.”

Confusion mixes in with Richard’s mounting terror. “I’ve never!”

“You know that, and I know that. But the board?” I shrug again. “I’m in Information Security. And my team – top-notch. We know how to stop the hackers; or act like them if need-be. While you were stargazing, the board received a tip to check the financials. Considering those lights coming closer, they’ve already found your digital fingerprints all over corporate cookie jar. All that was left was for Emmy to post our pictures from your phone. That led them right here.”

As the police car parks beside my house, I step away from Richard. His confusion and fear have burned away into fury. But it’s no match for my satisfaction. Emily emerges from the house with a celebratory glass of wine. We hold hands and watch the officer give Richard his rights.

“Look on the bright side, Richard,” I call over. “You are a star. You made it right up there next to Betelgeuse and burned bright. But then your life began to explode the day you bought our debt. Now you’re seeing the nova’s glow years later.”

Some say revenge will never make you feel better. And if I had extorted him or hurt him – somehow overpowered and killed him – they’d probably be right. I’d have a darker soul for it. There’s a fine line between revenge and justice. I can’t say for sure what this is. But holding Emily and watching the man who nearly destroyed our family get shoved into the back of a police cruiser – this makes my heart a little lighter.