by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Darkness is, was, will be forever. So thought Adrey Moore, ensconced in a black brooding despair any poet would lust for. I’m floating in a river to nowhere. Adrey Moore’s emotional angst held her captive, plucked and shorn, held together by a deadly acceptance of the worthlessness of her life.
“Finish your coffee. Time to be off,” Kelvin Maybee flicked his wrist cuff and gazed at his watch. Manager of famous models, now attached to the peak of the current year’s craze, he was connected to only one, the very best.
“I’m not going,” Adrey Moore stared into the bottom of her espresso as if it could foretell a better future. “I’m like a lamb before the slaughter. I hate all this publicity, people tearing apart my life, why didn’t I do this instead of that?”
Kelvin nodded, agreeing in murmured sympathy, taking the model’s elbow, guiding her effortlessly from her stage room door. “It will all be over before you know it. Fandom is the blink of an eye. Hold on girl. Chaos will swallow you shortly into a has-been, just hang on.”
He adlibbed the familiar song. Things were unusually chaotic today. It surrounded the pair with distraught staff changing lighting, adjusting background, repositioning live streaming cameras during the seconds they were needed to bring Adrey Moore into advancing focus into the set.
“Head shot, full body, side view, catch that wistful curve, sensual cadence of her walk,” Kelvin ticked it off with his fingertips one by one, taking count, watching order spring from chaos. It amused him how every eye focused on the model’s path.
There was something special, undefined, making her larger than life. Every famous personality breathed that trait from every pore in public view. Kelvin’s job was to handle the personal side, the dark side, the imperfection impaled within Adrey Moore’s disposition. It had driven Marilyn Monroe, and others, to suicide, unable to deal with the disparity between public and private existence. “Two worlds,” Kelvin got ready to take part in the model’s final act.
“Suicide? Murder or mystery?” What would make a legend of the woman felled in her prime? The settings were ready at a moment’s notice for Kelvin to give fate a helping hand. He weighed the evidence. Having any chaos fomented inadvertently, revealed the staff’s sudden nervousness. The ethos vibrated with it, foretelling Adrey Moore’s fall from fame. Those intimately involved in the young woman’s career were too close to see it.
“An uneasy balancing act,” Kelvin motioned, made a silent signal waving a palm down. A nod from a figure cast in gloom at the stage edge and the deed was done. A fan drugged on the model’s beauty would be found at fault for the model’s eternal sleep. Wanting to keep her perfect forever would be the mantra the press would make the epitaph.
Embalmed into a living hot wax figure, cooled to perfection, the model would find her last exposure to the public a fitting diatribe to meaninglessness.
The problem with control, chaos and the river to eternal nowhere is those in charge forget the possibility of chance. Adele Moore waved to the throng of worshipers idolizing her held back by a red velvet cord, tripped, twisted an ankle. Rushed off to a waiting ambulance ride to her private hospital room. Away from the clutches of even her manager.
In the chaos was born a new order. Doctor Alcinto Veterini, treated the fabulous creature in his care like any other human, more intent on detecting her pain than the rapture of her smile. Such a simple fracture of imposed reality turned her gloom into light filled revelation. They began to talk.
“Swollen not broken. You’ll have to stay off your feet for a while,” he said to her foot.
“This is the first moment of peace I’ve had in forever. Can you keep the mob away, a day or two? Can I stay here?” Adele’s touch brought his vision to her face where a troubled wrinkle set in place.
“Need a place to stay? Is it as bad as all that? Yes, I see it is. You need to find an escape. Doctor’s orders. Lay down.”
Adele felt the whisper of a white sheet cover her. A whispered message to stay silent and the doctor left the room. “I’m afraid it is worse than was thought.”
The model’s barefoot wiggled goodbye to flashing cameras. The gurney was made a battering ram armed by nurses taking charge. “Where are you taking me?” Adele sat up, another pretty girl, now that she was not in public view. “Are you kidnapping me? I hope so.”
Instead of an ambulance ride, the doctor’s antique MG offered her a seat. “Restored her myself,” Alcinto said with pride. “I’m doing this on impulse as much as you are. Double twelve hour shifts working on life or death has taken its tole. I’m done. I don’t know where I’m taking you. Where do you want to go?”
It is a mystery what happened to Adele. Her doctor was never seen again. Legend has it her body was stolen by a crazed fan and the doctor’s body lies putrefying in a hidden culvert or other anonymous grave.
Kelvin Maybee didn’t live to see the legend grow. His underworld boss, displeased by his underling’s performance, brought him in for questioning. Truth in answers were made sure by ripping his finger and toenails out one by one. Then came the appendages soon after, until there was nothing left to tell.
The manager rode the river to nowhere singing his song of chaos, accepting Adele’s dark ‘gloom and doom’s’ revelation to his own nameless, forgotten and bitter end.