Top & Tails
By Russell F. Hall
Jennings Cranton was late to the party. Fashionably late! As per expected. His only concern was that he might not be fashionably late enough. It wouldn’t do at this stage in his career to go making an unfashionable faux pas, hence he’d made sure to arrive in grand fashion extra tardy. He drove his fancy new motorized carriage up to the secluded mansion’s gate, handed to the watchman a specific gold token, then another exchanged when he shook his head and finally was allowed to drive windingly up a path towards the carriage house.
“Drat,” Jennings thought. “Appears as though I’ve bided a little too much extra time.”
There was a line of more than fifty or so motor cars similar to Jennings’ parked in a line off to the side, he noticed, as he drove along the path. Many, he noticed in fact, were distinctly too similar.
“Double drat!”
Looks like he’d selected the wrong right model of fancy new car. Well, nothing to be done. What was he to do, turn around and buy a new one only to later attempt making a more and less fashionable showing at the next party? You didn’t buck such events, not out here! If it were held somewhere in town, sure, he might have just called it a night and turned around. Jennings certainly had plenty of work to keep him occupied and didn’t really feel up to this formally casual soiree with these bunch of old nobs (or, even their decidedly more or less knobby counterparts), but you simply did not miss one of these events thrown at the old estate out in the country.
“Evening, sir”
Jennings sighed. “Wok-wok,” he said, handing over his keys to one of the valets. What a stupid secret saying.
“Shall I… claim your accompanying attire, sir?”
Of course, how silly of him! No need to wait for the doorman out here in the middle of the great outdoors.
“Ah, but of course.” Jennings handed the man his overcoat, and then momentarily removed his dress shoes to hand over his pants as well.
“Splendid, sir.”
“Wok-wok!” Jennings exclaimed with a quick wink.
The party was certainly in full swing. The Jilted Penguins were not the most prestigious secret society to emerge from ivy league pickings, but God save America, they had the numbers. As a rule, they were non-exclusive… in an exclusively selective way, obviously. Men and women could join so long as they were from a prominent family or otherwise were invited on a trial basis contingent upon meeting certain career expectations following college. Jennings ticked both the old boxes there, as he was both a Cranton (I don’t feel the need to say more) and a successful up and coming prosecuting attorney for the greater city. Otherwise, it was a gaggle of rich and successful fiends with similarly diabolical appetites who’d otherwise been rejected by one of the various similar, yet more notorious power cults attaching themselves like leeches to America’s upper crust by way of peer pressure through college. Also, the fact that their theme was to fraternize bare from the waist down at their various little gatherings made them seem all the more enticing to a lecherous playboy like Jennings, who was always glad to see it wasn’t just a room full of tired old gentleman showing it off to one another.
“Jennings!? Jennings Cranton, my dear sweet boy, you’re a bit too late for the evening so I see!”
Speaking of old boxes. Jennings walked over to greet the one and only Ms. Fanny Edwards, descended from The Edwards of upper Manhattan (You may take a moment to gather yourself), who was Jennings’ old neighbor from Beacon Hill. It was she that had first introduced a more foolish and still quite naïve young Jennings Cranton to The Penguins while he was overcoming the shame of a certain still occasionally nodded too little Faux Pas, which had ousted him from the Skull & Bones.
Never forget that the common man exists as mere fodder, or at best to serve as a useful tool if they’re sharp enough, and never forget your place set above them lest you fall to any undue compassion for their lot apart from what is most useful to display at all times. Gala charity balls imparting flare and spectacle to the common eye--always above substance, you see (as little substance in fact as one or two a month might get away with)--are a fun little preoccupation for the greater elite, and an indispensable networking opportunity to probe through official channels and eventually find one’s way to reaping a healthy profit out of the common market. Milk a public by their acclimated credulity for every bit that you may, always remembering to indiscreetly give back a little from time to time and feed them, if merely so that you might continue to milk them. Let them always remember on which side their bread is buttered, and never (for God’s sake!) fall to forgetting your place and casually fraternizing with certain of those among a common rabble, as Jennings once deigned to forget. He would never make that mistake again, God help him. But, I digress.
“Good evening, Lady Edwards, I see your looking particularly… well-groomed this evening.”
Fanny Edwards blushed, covering all but the upper portion of her mask with a fine but certainly not too ostentatious fan ordered all the way from Paris.
“Oh, do you really like it?” Fanny Edwards giggled like a bashful school maid, “The latest risqué trend over in France, don’t you know? Personally, I found it’s left me a bit… sparse, don’t you see?”
“Not at all.” Yes, it had, and it was a foremost stomach-turning spectacle; the fat old which. “How bold, I’m very certain. All the ladies should be jealous and looking to copy you at the next party, rest assured.”
“Oh, well I suppose all you little boys will certainly be running around thanking me from now on, then.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Jennings attempted to barely cover a scarcely muttered under-his-breath little comment by coughing and clearing his throat.
“What was that!?”
“Sorry? Forgive me, it seems I’ve something coming up in the back of my throat; would you excuse me a moment, Ms. Edwards.
Jennings swaggered his way over to the refreshments. Finger sandwiches… how quaint. At least the punch was bloody well spiked! Jennings always ensured to gather his way around while avoiding the oysters at these events, however—or, at least not to imbibe quite so early in the evening—lest another sort of faux pas might arise and utterly embarrass him. On the other hand… when in Rome.
Jennings looked around to gather the spectacle playing out in a wide-open ballroom. Most should have both the common sense and decency to wait until the parlor and other such various back rooms were opened to them, but it never appeared to bother some men running around making a spectacle of themselves out in the open. Even before they were all good and drunk, no less! The Skull & Bones surely would have set their membership straight… though, they would also likely have waited for a more discrete opportunity to do so. But, on the other hand, that’s also a part of what Jennings appreciated about The Jilted Penguins: less of a strict, stuffy formality you see.
“I say…”
Jennings’ attention suddenly pointed to seemingly a new member. Well, not exactly; he wasn’t sure who or what this exotic masked creature was or how she came to be at the gathering, but Jennings was certain that he liked the cut of her jib. He sauntered his way across the open ballroom floor, surely making a spectacle of himself. What did he care-- it’s not as though he had anything to be ashamed of. Give them all an eyeful, and what not.
“Well, good evening.”
Jennings set his palm on a wall against which the delicate, mysterious flower shyly rested and leaned casually but seductively inward.
“Careful.” No lilting violet, apparently: her tone was abruptly confident, if terse. “It’s a bit early yet, don’t you think?”
“I’d always thought so,” recovered Jennings in his most debonair tone, “But, suddenly I’m not so sure.”
Jennings gathered that the mysterious beauty sharply arched her left eyebrow beneath the mask to compliment her smirk.”
“Bold one then, are you?”
“Indeed,” replied Jennings even more debonairly if one might believe.
“Oh, how bold, I do say?”
“The Boldest.” He leaned a bit farther in.
“It’s not what I understood.”
Jennings was taken aback. Did she know him somehow? Had he met her somewhere—surely not! Certainly not at one of these fine gatherings; he would have remembered. He suddenly hadn’t any response to speak of, so the strange alluring beauty behind her mask gathered up his hand and seized the initiative.
“Well, then, my dear Mr. Jennings Cranton, let’s find out just how bold you truly are. Shall we?”
She did know him! My word, but this wasn’t fair; who was she!? Jennings was so overwhelmingly puzzled all of a sudden, don’t you know. He felt certain that he’d never met anyone quite alike to this delicate, yet alluringly confident young Trollop guiding him back toward the middle of a ballroom floor. Yet, he found himself up to the task, never the less.
It was a moment for one to look back over through the course of their rich lives. A trifle embarrassing from various angles, certainly, but she didn’t seem to mind and neither in that instant did Jennings have a mind for much of anything apart from this task at hand. A couple danced. They danced in the middle of the floor there, in Shakespearian fashion: backs away from one another. It was a biblical moment. Surely, it turned out to be a crowing portion of the evening as many would later recall: a less than briefly casual procession between a pair of strange lovers beneath a full moon, no less. It’s overlooking aspect merely changed slightly as the couple turned about on the floor, and when they had at last finished: a standing ovation!
“Good show,” Colonel Mustard in the ballroom bellowed out a not at all back handed compliment.
“Bravo,” the rest occasionally cheered while they clapped. Surely, it hadn’t been that long. On the other hand, it was certainly a most vigorous display of young passion set before the eyes of a jaded room, and Jennings and the lady both were seemingly awash in each other’s’ amour, and perspiration.
They headed out to a moonlit balcony to recover from the affair. Jennings still didn’t know who this mysterious lady was, though he surely felt by this time he understood at least a certain aspect of her, as a book recounted. Adam and Eve were they, standing there overlooking a garden paradise while stripped from their innocence; or Lilith, perhaps, more in keeping with this potent image of a masked femininity keeping to her wiles and the upper hand. Like a wanting demoness, she smiled towards Jennings under the moonlight. Playfully, she toyed with his puzzling visage as if seeking to captivate his very soul that evening on a balcony. It was like staring into the grinning maw of a ravenous she-wolf, and Jennings only hungered for more. He’d stepped long ago past a void looking to satiate his desires. What did he care if any demonic creature such as this ravenous beauty here swallowed a forsaken part of him; his body yet ached for more of her rough and gentle touch. Virtue be damned! All the world should be his playground, and here nothing less than an utterly captivating diversion for one night.
“Oh, poo.” The woman buxomly pouted. “Sigh… well, it sounds as if they’ve all started without us, doesn’t it?”
“What… oh, yes—yes, it sounds as if they might have.”
An ominous chanting in the background was a sure sign that the grand and mighty High Penguin was about to make his entrance, if he hadn’t already.
“Well, I suppose we should be moving along then.”
“Wai-“
Jennings began to protest, but the woman had already snatched up his hand to lead him back to the ballroom. They shouldered into the chanting crowd aligning a makeshift avenue. The greater occult surely has a strange and captivating power to entreat that otherwise prominent personages should behave like a gaggle of utterly ridiculous morons tripping over themselves to align with various archaic rituals, which were probably cooked up out of the blue once upon a time by a cadre of nerdy outsiders looking to claim a laugh at their betters’ expense. Surely, someone’s ancestors were rolling over in their grave to observe this sorted spectacle of men and women alike, young and some very far over the hill, gathered opposingly in two lines dressed in the finest examples of men’s black and white bowtie tuxedos (only naked every one of them from the waist down), and chanting in unison to a tune of pure mumbo-jumbo while the greatest and fattest of diabolical fools among them waddled bestowedly his merry way along. His Grand Penguinness paused his walk to look over his prodigious right shoulder; directly at Jennings it seemed; staring directly through the man. A flash sweat chilled his very heart to stop.
“Dear, God,” he turned over a thousand times in the span of a few seconds a terrible questioning in his skull, rattling throughout his forsaken bones. “What is this, what’s going on here?”
The old fattest and grandest of Penguins suddenly glanced down to seemingly observe a body’s manhood (nothing he hadn’t seen before), or perhaps rather he was staring at a pair of prominently joined hands, but in any case he turned back in continuing to waddle his way along after a few moments. Jennings remained in shock until The High Penguin finally made his way to a red velvet rope blocking off a notorious parlor and its similar back rooms, at which point Jennings suddenly noticed that both of his hands were tightly clenched and a mysterious woman had seemingly vanished into thin air.
A rope set to lay across the path of His Waddling High Penguin was immediately lifted by a chosen underling, and he proceeded then as did an orgy of flesh to follow about the back rooms. Only the finest young prostitutes and gigolos were selected and imported (blindfolded of course) to fill in these lustful soirees and at least one of them would surely be selected later to decorate the bottom of a harbor in various segments, as an offering to certain dark powers below. But, that is neither here nor there.
Jennings fumbled, and staggered occasionally along through a sordid display of entangled body parts. A strong, intoxicating yet all too familiar aroma lingered about the room and wound back into his blood, but he was searching for something. Someone… wasn’t she? Surly, it hadn’t been his imagination that whole time! Had he simply whipped it out and masturbated all over the center of a ballroom floor? Was he that overworked? In either case, he felt certain this gathering of wholly malignant debauchees would have applauded the spectacle, but it wasn’t like that! No, she had been real. On the other hand, it was just a passing fling anyway, and Jennings certainly wasn’t head over heels or anything so ridiculous; it’s just that he couldn’t get a memory of this single strange woman out of his head or be bothered to think for so much as a moment about anything else. He had to find her. It was simply that time again, and no one else here would do.
“Pardon, sir, right this way a moment if you please.”
“I’m busy, can’t you see!” Jennings snarked carelessly at the well-muscled shirtless goon in a pair of splendid dress shoes and tuxedo bottoms. “Don’t forget who you’re addressing, and move aside you underling--I’m trying to look for someone.”
“Afraid not, Mr. Cranton.” The man respectfully, but firmly set his palm against Jenning’s chest, and he suddenly was reminded of his pecking order about this mansion. As in life.
“Right this way, if you please.”
“I-“
“The High Penguin would care to impart a word with you, Mr. Cranton in his study so, frankly, whether you care or not I’m obliged to say.”
“Ah…” a familiar creeping sensation instantly returned, “yes, of course. Well, why didn’t you say so to begin with!?”
“Right this way, sir.”
“Yes-yes, I know the way, thankyou; I’ll find it myself if you please. Good evening.”
If the gesturing of a middle finger held up had by this point in time found its way to the echelons a better social hierarchy, Jennings surely would have waved it in the man’s face just for show. He was terrified; frankly, petrified--utterly and thoroughly so--yet he could never allow anyone to glimpse. Wherever shall a ravenous beast gather its flock, they remain in check only by a mutually held aspect of contemptuous power-mongering, always looking to cull out the week for a chance to tear apart something fallen. The heights of earthly power thus remain ever tenuous a line to walk above its precipice. Such is by design, you see. Comfort is for the weary but unwary, and such begets a fall into the void. We all must fall at some point. Evil is as the eternal struggle within each of us, manifesting externally to grow beyond our independent control.
Before him stood a terrible pair of doors for their inconspicuous demeanor. Abandon all hope, ye who enter; pass here into a study of woe and have your immortal soul be devoured. I shall grant to you a gilded pass into the marbled towers of splendor only to gobble you up. Know me, and despair.
“Pull yourself together, Jennings.” He shook his tormented mind from its stupor. “Surely, its nothing that dreadful.”
Jennings approached a pair of finely carved Cuban Mahogany doors flanked by muscle-bound shirtless guards in matching dark slacks. One set his palm against Jennings’ chest, never bothering to veer from his blank stare into a far-away void.
“I’m Jennings Cranton.” His voice only trembled slightly. “I was invited to come here by the High Penguin; let me pass.”
The Guard removed his hand to allow that Jennings might pass, were he not instantly blocked by another. He sighed, and lowered to shake his head from side to side.”
“Wok-Wok.”
The second guardian allowed him to pass. The doors swung open, and were closed immediately behind. A stench of potent sex and incense gathered in Jennings nostrils as a beautiful, terrified and bloodied young tortured soul chained to a large desk central to the room beseeched him for help. The High Penguin gathered up his staff to strike her temple, silencing an unwelcomed annoyance. If only there might be invented some potent mix of volatile chemical cocktails designed to keep so much rabble in check. Really!
Apart from all that, the room’s theme was mainly Egyptian, cobbled together with an eclectic mix of similarly archaic designs. That’s the thing about the occult: they miss-mash everything together to impose a spell, viewing wonder and showmanship to be far more important than any more paltry sense of historic accuracy. If History, as it were, seemed more interesting to gather an acute measure of, secret societies never would have been able to bond themselves so inseparably to many institutions of higher learning by ensnaring a mix of young and bored minds from the prevailing affluence. Whereas the Judeo-Christian God, of a far wider acceptance to respectable society (the sheep!), constantly nags to foster a more virtuous gathering of humanity, filled with compassion and ultimate generosity to a point of—God help us all—admonishing we should follow an ascetic path towards the right hand of a benevolent father, the leftward path on the other hand lies paved with a host of worldly possibilities to ensnare lost souls.
“Do what seems right,” seems fine and well for those lacking of means to argue, but “do what thou wilt” holds endless possibilities for certain among the rich and well-to-do, if only they might be bothered to keep it an open secret before view of their dazed fodder. Subterfuge, and endless profiteering: that’s the way! Mixed of course with a bit of too much overly ridiculous ritualizing and senseless carnage to sate darker appetites, but what can one do regarding such affairs? Do all the benevolent Lord’s flock gathered in church on any given Sunday truly believe, or do they merely recite the correct words to cement their place amid a worldly shepherd’s rabble? One needn’t truly believe in such otherworldly powers to impart, or benefit from their effects once so imparted among the host of humanity. Jennings was never sure about the Devil and his ilk, or whatever obscure, wretched design he’d been called to follow amid this naked rabble, but he knew what side his bread was buttered on. Only a fool gazes into the maw of ultimate worldly power merely to question its point and thus turn aside.
“Jennings Cranton, my boy—sorry about all that--clearly a mix up.”
“Indeed.”
Jennings dare not more than ever so tersely respond. Not yet. In any event, the fat semi-naked old bald man now absent his mask rifled down a drink from his glass made of the finest crystal before pouring another to hand directly to Jennings, and then another for himself.”
“Yes, a whore is never familiar with her actual place it seems, until you drive it home… oh, and on a separate note, I see you’ve become acquainted with my niece!”
“I-“
Oh, my god, thought Jennings: so that’s who she was!
“Y-your niece, your imminence?”
“Oh, come now, let’s not pretend. You’re a bright young man, I’m given to realize—you know exactly who I mean.”
“W-well, I, uh… I d-didn’t realize who she was until just now, I can assure you.”
The High Penguin, in a sort of grand casual fashion reached out to still the glass that was badly shaking in Jennings’ hand, lest it spill its expensive contents over his blood-stained Persian carpet.
“Steady there, now, of course not; how could you? Matilda wouldn’t have said anything, I’m quite sure. Likes her games that one. Anyway, do have a drink my boy and steady your nerves.”
Jennings began to sip most delicately from the glass of good… actually, really quite good stuff. So, Matilda was her name. Matilda… my, how that rolled across the tongue.
“In any event, I’m glad she discovered one of the finer young men among all that rabble to provide as her escort through the early evening. I… do trust you saw fit to guard well enough her most delicate virtue from the rest of those wolves.”
Jennings drained his glass in a single reflexed gulp and slammed it down on the gilded marble topped desk next to a dead hooker. Better not to die sober at least, if he could help it.
“O-of course, sir.” He was suddenly out of breath. “Might I trouble you for another glass of that?”
The High Penguin, his Brobdingnagian eminence, poured Jennings another full glass of fine cognac which he immediate drained in a single gulp, and following that a third which he had at least the good common sense to manage. He sipped what he expected might well turn out to be his last drink while his fat imminence continued.
“In any event, I didn’t summon you in here to discuss Matilda’s delicate virtue (however jaded by this point).”
“You… you didn’t, your imminence!?”
“Of course not! What exactly do you take me for? She’s my niece, not one of my daughters—if Matilda were my daughter we certainly wouldn’t be having this, or any following conversation I can assure you!”
Jennings drained his glass again with a great sudden refreshment.
“Oh, thank you, your imminence! May I have another glass, then?”
“May you… I think you’ve had quite enough of my fine brandy for one evening’s time, wouldn’t you agree?”
“… I”
“It was a rhetorical question! Get ahold of yourself, and stop making for such a degenerate spectacle. Honestly, I’m starting to feel like I might have chosen the wrong man for this position.”
Dear God, but he was right! Jennings was behaving far too casually while in the presence of greatness. He’d been so stunned by a continuous stream of realization that he’d forgot his lesser place… wait, What position?”
“Yes,” chuckled the greatest and fattest of all Penguins, “I’ll allow that revelation a moment to sink in.”
“What exactly do you mean by position, your imminence?”
“Why, what else, my boy!? Your new judicial appointment of course—we’ve got a new soon to be prosecuting attorney coming up through our ranks out of Yale, and need another soul on the bench in any regard.”
Oh…OH! Oh, wow, a promotion! What good news—and here Jennings was expecting that he might next find himself coming-too and chained to a piece of furniture somewhere while being beaten to death. But…
“That’s wonderful news, your eminence, but… surely, that’s not entirely within our organization’s control. Won’t I need to be voted onto the bench? What if the people won’t select me? I certainly have seen to quite a few innocent people being tossed in jail, and let others off whom I’m sure everyone knew quite well were guilty.”
The fat High Penguin suddenly burst out laughing.
“I-“
Jennings decided it might be best not to interrupt the man, as he seemed to be having a fine time rolling around on the ground. Finally, after a minute or two he somehow managed to catch his breath.
“Oh,” he gasped, “oh my, how very droll. Jennings, my boy, I think I’ll be keeping you around after all—if nothing else, you’re certainly good for the humors, I must say.”
“Thank you, y-“
“Jennings, do stop tripping over yourself a moment and listen, will you? I can assure you that it’s all been sorted. I don’t invite pants-less men into my office based on any tenuous speculative notion, I’ll have you know.”
Jennings was about to answer again, but the High penguin held up his hand.
“Clearly, my boy, you do not understand how this political business all works. But, you will--you will in short time I can assure you. Oh, but, eh… there is just one other unfortunate bit of business first, I’m afraid... Jennings, you may answer now.”
“W-what… to what unfortunate sort of business are you referring, your imminence?”
The High Penguin shook his head, clearly distressed by his pondering.
“Well,” he finally replied, “it’s certainly a delicate matter which greatly pains me, as I’m sure it may you, only to a lesser extent I can assure you… here, have another drink. I’ll have one too.”
The man sighed heavily. Suddenly the weight of all his power seemed to drag him down to reflect the shell of this hollowed out old man the likes of which Jennings hadn’t appeared to notice before.
“We’ll drink together, then.”
And, so they did. The High Penguin continued.
“Jennings, we wrestle with dark powers here upon this earth, as I’m sure you well understand at least in some passing sense. Sometimes… well, all too often I’m afraid, our worldly desires will require a dreadful price in order to become fulfilled. This was my goal to start with, so it’s my price. I’ve called in a most unwilling debt to see it paid.”
He sighed deeply.
“It’s no wonder then that she would have found her way drawn to you before this business as well.”
“I’m sorry… I don’t understand, your imminence, whom do you mean?”
“Here,” he answered, “take this. You’ll be needing it-it… it’s yours from now on to hold onto. Never forget, Jennings. Keep it from now on, always, as a millstone tucked away in one of so many fine dresser drawers. I know I shall ever regard it as such… and have.”
The High penguin sighed for one final time that evening—a deep sigh, as if to carry the weight of an entire world always at his side like a pouch of silver. He drained another glass then, and seemed to perk up.
“Well, nothing to be done about it by this point—can hardly stop here, can we?”
He boisterously clapped Jennings across his back.
“Come,” he said, “Matilda’s waiting for you at the altar.”
Matilda… at the altar? A shotgun wedding ceremony!!!? Actually… that didn’t seem quite so bad, come to think of it. Matilda… it truly did roll off the tongue. Who else—who else might Jennings have ever found to so yearn for—who else might he find to share his bed and impart even perhaps a token of grace, and maybe even an occasional twinkling of happiness for the rest of his life, such as it might be? If nothing else, the honeymoon would certainly provide Jennings with a rousing stream of memories to carry into his old age. And, there would be children of course, if she were fertile enough to carry his seed, and maybe an animal or two along the way kept as pets. Jennings had always carried a soft spot for animals. What had Matilda really looked like under that mask, he wondered. Certainly beautiful, but how beautiful might she have truly been? Ooh-la-la! Such an alluring little notion to ponder; like a fine little present afforded by life to ultimately unwrap; like-
“Well, are you coming, or no?”
“Oh, forgive me your eminence, yes—I mean, YES, yes of course I’m coming!”
“Well, good… glad to see you’re so perked up about the matter. I thought you might be more… sullen, about it all.”
“Oh, not at all! It’s a great honor and a privilege, truly, but…”
“But what then?”
“But, what about the dagger?”
“What about the dagger?”
“Well, your imminence, it’s just that… well, I don’t fully grasp its purpose.”
“I can assure you that is entirely not the case.”
The old Penguin never bothered to turn around as he pressed a secret button to open the book case, and waddled through.
“Come, Jennings.” A haunting voice echoed from below. “The ceremony awaits.”
Top&Tails, Russell F. Hall