Will You Love Me Til I Die 01

Author's note:

I began this series in December of 2013 while I was finishing another series. At that time most of the world (including me) had not heard of Brittany Maynard. Brittany was a young, vibrant recently married woman who was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer on New Years Day 2014 and in April she was given a prognosis of six months to live. Brittany came to the world's attention when she announced her decision to end her life by medically assisted suicide in order to spare herself and her family the nightmare that she would have otherwise had to endure as the disease progressed.

This story has thematic similarities to Brittany's situation and I wanted to say that I wholeheartedly admire, agree with and approve of her decision. I also applaud her efforts to extend the right to make this decision to everybody. I offer my sincere condolences to her husband and family as well as to others whose lives she lovingly touched. I hope they all were inspired by the courage and dignity she exemplified in the choice that she made.

'What we do in life echoes in eternity.' Maximus Decimus Meridius (Gladiator)

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Have you ever wanted to go back in time and do something over again? Usually when someone feels like this it's because they either had a wonderful experience and wish they could relive it or they want to change something because they made a mistake or were in the wrong place at the wrong time and their life has been a living hell because of it. Either way, you really need to get over this feeling because there's a good reason why you shouldn't and an even better reason why you can't.

The reason you shouldn't is philosophical. Life wouldn't be life if you got second chances; we grow from our experiences, good and bad. In fact if you are very astute you will come to know that there is no good and bad, only consequences. An endless flow of dialectics where thesis meets antithesis and produces a synthesis that becomes another thesis that meets another antithesis to create another synthesis and so on and so on until it's often impossible to distinguish the cause from the effect. Put a little more poetically, '

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.'

A Persian poet named Jalal ad-Din Rumi said that over eight centuries ago.

The reason you can't is physics and has to do with the second law of thermodynamics and something called entropy. The arrow of time only points one way. If you enjoy mental masturbation you can go through the wormhole with Morgan Freeman and debate the possibilities of time travel to your heart's content. Just be prepared to meet yourself coming back.

In the 2002 production of H. G. Wells'

'The Time Machine',

Alexander Hartdegen invents a device for traveling through time. He uses it to go back to a time prior to his fiancé's untimely death in order to prevent it. After a few failed attempts he gives up in desperation and reluctantly concludes that the past cannot be changed and that the death of his beloved Emma is a fait accompli and he will forever be denied a second chance to be with her. So what makes you think you'd have any better luck if you went back in time?

But you don't need a time machine to sometimes get a second chance. Call it Karma or cosmic retribution or what goes around comes around, life can suddenly change course and put you in a situation where you make a very startling discovery: the best way to deal with something that happened in the past is to deal with it in the future.

My second chance began with a phone call, a very unexpected phone call. The last person I ever thought I would hear from again was Anne Cordet. I felt my heart skip a beat when I saw her name come up on my cell phone. Almost out of habit I clicked the answer button then wondered why she was still in my contacts. Anne has no concept of patience and will let it ring twice before terminating the call and will never leave a message. Don't ask me why I gave a rat's ass; I guess I was too shocked to blow her off.

"Anne, what a pleasant surprise. It's been awhile since we spoke."

"Carl you know damn well I'm the last person on earth you want to speak with but I'm glad you still remember to answer me quickly. I don't have much time so I'll be brief. I'm calling to ask you to come to a meeting that could be of great financial importance to you. Just say yes or no if you're interested and if it's yes I'll send you a text message with the place and time."

"That's awfully kind of you to think of me..."

She cut me off with a curt, "YES OR NO CARL."

Against my better judgment I said yes. Don't ask me why. The call ended immediately and in less than a minute I got the text. It read as follows:

June 17, 7 PM

(An

address in Manhattan)

Black Tie.

I was irrevocably committed now. Nobody stood Anne up; nobody who didn't live to regret it that is. As usual she hadn't given me much time. June 17 was tomorrow.

In case you're beginning to get the impression that Anne Cordet is a first class, ball busting, ruthless, heartless bitch that regards that title as a compliment and elevates being one to a whole new level, you're wrong. She's much worse than that. She's malevolent, vindictive, diabolic and borderline evil. A border she will not hesitate to cross if she feels the situation warrants it.

Anne was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the only child of a brilliant investment banker who managed hedge funds for the ultra wealthy. With her supermodel looks her mother could have been regarded as a classic trophy wife except that, unlike her daughter, she actually possessed a heart, a personality and a conscience; traits that her father's genes had obliterated from Anne's constitution.

As if to spite her father for these omissions she dedicated herself from an early age to trying to outdo him in everything. She was a straight A student all the way through to her MBA and had joined a venture capital firm and worked her way up quickly to head the mergers and acquisitions department where she distinguished herself by becoming one of the most ruthless corporate pirates in the country. A workaholic that enjoyed nothing better than taking advantage of companies in trouble and using every underhanded method she was capable of to perform her favorite trick: the hostile takeover.

Once she got control of a company the real fun began. She used an intricately constructed formula to begin cutting high salaried staff, reducing R&D funding, stopping the match of 401k contributions, selling assets and a myriad of other nasty obfuscations to artificially inflate the stock price so it could be used as collateral to fund the startup companies that were going to be the real money makers in the future. When she had squeezed as much as she could out of the company she sold what was left to anybody who still wanted it and took a big tax write off against the gains she made. In the meantime, it was the employees and the misled investors who got to pay for all of this.

After working for the venture capital company for two years she decided, like Ross Perot had done in the insurance business, that she could do this better all by herself, so she took the fortune her father left her and started her own company.

This is how I came to know Anne. I worked as a VP for one of the companies she raided. She promised me and a lot of other people above a certain level that we would make a fortune in the stock but neglected to inform us when it was about to crash so we all ended up doing most of her dirty work and getting screwed in the end. All I had to show for two years of fourteen-hour days and a lot of sleepless nights was a tersely worded letter of dismissal when I was no longer of any use to her. Sitting in a meeting with her was worse than what the generals in Hitler's army must have gone through in meetings with that maniac.

I put my wife through a hell of her own by not being around because I was busy unwittingly digging the grave of my own career. I missed my two kids' birthdays and even a Christmas because of Anne's reign of terror.

So what possessed me to agree to meet with this monster after a year of trying to rebuild my job and family? I guess it was simply curiosity. I wanted to know what new depth of depravity she had sunk to that could possibly make her want to have anything to do with me. We weren't in danger of running out of virgins she could suck the blood out of were we?

When I got home and told my wife that I was going to a meeting the next night with Anne she looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. "Carl, if you do anything with her besides talk, we're through. Do you understand me? I will not let her finish destroying our lives."

"I hear you Sandy. I'm just curious to see what she's up to. I have no intentions of having anything else to do with her under any circumstances. Since she said it was a formal occasion I hope there will be a lot of other people around so I can just get the hell out as soon as I discover what she wants."

I came home early the next day so I could get dressed and as soon as I walked in the phone rang. It was Anne. I clicked answer and she started speaking before I could say a word.

"Carl. Anne. You still live in the same place don't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sending a car for you. It will be there at 6:15. Be ready."

The call ended before I could even respond. At exactly 6:15 a black Mercedes S550 pulled up in front of my house. I told Sandy I would let her know when I was on the way home and opened the front door. As I walked to the car a uniformed chauffer got out of the car and walked around to open the back door for me. It wasn't until I started to get in that I noticed the driver was a strikingly beautiful blonde woman. She closed the door after I sat down and resumed her position in the driver's seat.

"My name is Melissa and I'll be your driver tonight. There's a split of Champagne in the little ice bucket and a glass on the back of the seat in front of you. You can choose one of the selections on the pad if you would like to listen to some music while we're en route."

We started our journey to the address I had been given. I opened the Champagne and poured myself a glass. I touched the selection on the pad for a Mozart piano sonata and it began to play. I took a sip of the wine and sat back in the comfortable seat. Melissa never said another word as she nimbly navigated us toward the city. I knew we must be in the high rent district because we were very close to the park. At precisely 6:55 the car pulled up at the entrance to a pair of ornate gates off one of the avenues that was lined with very expensive looking Georgian style buildings.

As we approached the gates they swung open and Melissa drove through them. When they had closed behind us, she pushed a button on a remote control and a garage door that had been built to resemble a corner of the building began to open. We drove inside and the door closed behind us.

We went down a short ramp and turned a sharp corner where there were about eight parking spaces and Melissa pulled into one of them. She turned off the ignition and opened her door to walk around and open mine. When I got out she told me to follow her to an elevator where she punched in a four-digit code. The door opened and we stepped inside. She pressed the button for the second floor. The elevator began to move up silently and stopped.

The doors opened onto a foyer. There was a door at one end with an ornamental wrought iron gate in front it that led to the street. It looked to be made out of expensive wood with beautiful handles and hinges. The foyer looked like something you would see in a governor's mansion. About twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide with framed mirrors along the walls and a very elaborate ceiling with scrolls and other decorative elements. Two iron benches with padded seats covered in expensive fabric were on either side. Sconces on the walls lighted the room. At the other end was another door with molding and brass levers and hinges.

Melissa told me to go through the door and when I was ready to leave she would meet me here in the foyer. I walked to the door and pushed the lever down and opened it. I walked in to a beautifully decorated formal living room with a large oriental rug in the middle and two matching sofas and four chairs with side tables at the edges of the rug. The windows in this room were very tall and on one wall they were two sets of French doors that opened onto balconies with stone railings where you could stand and look down at the street below. I was standing in front of one of the French doors admiring the view when I heard a grandfather clock begin to chime and as soon as the seventh ring sounded a door at the other end of the room opened. I turned when I heard the door and saw Anne.

I was startled. I had never seen her in anything except tailored business suits before. Tonight however she wore a floor length formal gown made of maroon velvet. It was cut low enough at the neckline to actually show a little cleavage. She had never worn anything that would make you think she even had tits in all the time I knew her. Around her throat was a necklace of diamonds that looked like she should have armed guards on either side of her to keep it safe. She wore earrings and a bracelet that were the equal of the necklace.

Her hair was longer than I remembered. The color was chestnut brown. I had seen her almost every day for two years and never once did she wear it down like it was tonight. We walked toward each other and before I could raise my hand to shake hers she did something that utterly shocked me. She put her hand on my arm and leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I would have sworn she wouldn't even know how to kiss.

Her perfume was exotic and could have been sexy if anybody else were wearing it. This was not the Anne Cordet that I knew. What the hell was going on? Where were all the other people I expected to be here? Something was not right.

"I'm very glad you decided to come tonight Carl. Aren't you going to tell me I look nice?"

"I thought about it but then I remembered who I was with. You know you look a lot better than nice and I know you don't give a shit what anybody else thinks; especially me."

"That may have been true in the past but I've changed since you last saw me. I'm trying to be a kinder, gentler person now."

"And how's that working for you Ms. Cordet?" I said snidely.

"Please Carl don't be so bitter. Can't we at least be civil with each other for one evening?"

"Where did you learn that word?"

"Which one?"

"Please."

For one fleeting second I thought I saw a hurt look on her face. I quickly dismissed it but didn't say anything else to her.

"Carl you have a right to feel as you do but I hope you can change your opinion of me when I've told you why I invited you here tonight."

"I'm all ears Anne."

"Hmmm, cut to the chase. I hope you learned that from me Carl but for once in my life I intend to take my time telling you what I have to say to you. Before we get to that I'd like to show you around and have a glass of Champagne if it's not asking too much."

"Show me around? What is this place and why would I want to know what it looks like? I thought this was going to be a fancy party and this was some kind of rented venue for the rich and richer to rub elbows."

"Actually Carl this is my home. I live here."

"I'll take that Champagne now if you don't mind."

She went to a tablet on the wall and touched it. A voice said "Yes Ms. Cordet."

"Anthony would you bring two glasses of Champagne to the second floor living room?"

"Right away Ms. Cordet."

"You live here? Like you own this place?"

"Yes."

"How big is this apartment? Half a floor? A whole floor?"

"It's not an apartment Carl. I own the whole building."

"Jesus Anne it must be eight stories. And this has to be the most expensive land in the city. I can't even imagine what this place is worth."

"My father bought it before I was even born. We lived here until I went away to school. I decided to move back a year after my parents died in a plane crash."

"I had no idea. I'll accept your offer to see it now."

A panel opened in one of the walls and a distinguished older man walked into the room carrying a tray with two crystal flutes filled with Champagne. He walked up to me and said, "Sir?"

I picked up one of the flutes and then he walked over to Anne and presented the tray to her. She picked up her glass, looked at me and said, "Carl, I'd like to propose a toast. To starting over."

I raised my glass half-heartedly enough to convey that I wasn't enthusiastic about toasting starting anything else with her and hesitated before I took a sip of the bubbly wine. "Wow, that's delicious. What kind of Champagne is this?"

It doesn't have a name; it's made by the house of Taittinger in Reims especially for their most valued friends. I stopped getting it some time ago because I cut out alcohol for a while but I've decided to indulge myself again so they were kind enough to send me a few cases."

"In that case, tell Anthony not to get too far away and let's get started with the tour."

"You are currently on the second floor which is the main floor of the building with an entrance from the street. On the side of the stone stairway leading up from the sidewalk to that massive door you saw in the foyer is a door that leads to the first floor, which contains a basement with storage, laundry facilities, wine cellar, utilities, storm shelter, a nicely appointed exercise room, three bedrooms with baths for full time employees like Melissa and Anthony and a few other things. Below that is the garage with additional storage and parking for eight cars. I only have the one car so I sometimes lease the other parking spaces to my neighbors."

We walked though the rest of the second floor, which had a library, a study, an office, a formal dining room that looked like something out of Buckingham Palace, a breakfast room with French doors that led down more stone stairs to a modest but impeccably landscaped back yard, and a kitchen that Wolfgang Puck would envy.

We returned to the main floor living room and went through the door to the elevator and rode up to the third floor. This was the entertaining floor. There was a complete theater with couches instead of seats where forty people could watch videos and movies on a huge screen. There was a billiard room with three tables for pocket pool, billiards and snooker, a smoking room for cigars, a fully stocked bar with stools and tables and taps for draught beer, a video room with every kind of electronic game you could imagine and four bathrooms with showers.

The fourth floor was devoted to business with conference rooms, offices, computers of every kind, bathrooms and two bedrooms for occasional out of town business clients.

The fifth, sixth and seventh floors were the bedroom floors with four suites on each floor consisting of large bedrooms, closets, sitting rooms, formal living rooms, fantastic bathrooms and small kitchens for en suite dining.

The eighth floor was the master suite. Picture Hugh Hefner's place if he had more money and better taste. Why you would ever want to leave there is a mystery to me. On the roof was a Japanese garden. With bamboo and flowers of every kind interspersed with fountains and pagodas. In the middle of fucking New York City!

It had taken almost an hour to just walk through the place. We returned to the main floor and she led me back to the formal dining room where two places were set at the incredibly elaborate dining table.