excerpt #1: the Gondola (draft)
The Gondola trebuchets giant boulders of scorn at the man as he completes his first step onto the hellish contraption. Absurd, he reveals to himself, how dare they force me to voyage to the summit with common folk?
"You Fools," he says. "I should have brought my helicopter."
However, Arthur was never one to wallow in complaint. That is the task of the lawyer, or in his case lawyers, as he still stables a squad of jackyls from his more successful years. Being President of a top French automaker gave him a terrible quantity of wealth and a kinky panache for the extraordinary. So he wasn't one to quibble over petty complaints--let the bastards have it.
Nonetheless no amount of Francs could persuade the degenerate staff working the Gondola to provide him a private escort to the summit.
"A billion Francs, and you still say no?"
"Sir, we and most every company in the world no longer recognize Francs as exchangable currency."
"Well, I'll have you know a great many honorable men and business still respect the great French currency."
"Very well then, sir."
"Indeed."
The crew closes the Gondola's doors, powers the engine, and the vessel inches up the leviathan cable. Arthur takes a moment to remove the celery strands from his teeth. Then he notices the degernate couple sitting before him.
The boy looks stoned and the girl much too skinny for his tastes. College-aged; but the manner in which they slouch suggests a definite lack of education. Probably on a nice trip to celebrate some excuse for existence--marriage, he decides--and so he rightly interjects himself into such plans.
"Excuse me," he begins, "do you have the time?"
"Why it's nearly noon."
"Very well. Now, can you tell me what on earth has brought you to this infernal mountain?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry, but do we know you?"
"Ha! I don't see why you shouldn't. I was quite reknowned in my time...not to say I no longer am. Oh, but what's the use? There's no entertaining a pair of ill-equipped stoned mutants like yourselves, so why bother?" The girl shoots the boy a glance, one cluttered with previous emotion, perhaps an early morning squabble over breakfast venue or maybe something more integral to the overall failure of their relationship that still has years to foment and be realized. Whatever the case may be, the boy translates her eyes and speaks up.
"Look, mister. I don't care how French you are or how much worthless cash you have--"
"Aha! Yes, there's my boy! Yes, there he is. Merely a test, I'm afraid. I knew behind those cloudy eyes and confused brain waves there was yet some vigor. Now, what brings you to this infernal mountain?"
"We're on our honeymoon," she says.
"As I predicted. Say, you wouldn't happen to be in the market for an island, would you?"
"Not really."
"Because I have this little spot in the Pacific I need to sell. Not that I can't afford it, mind you, it's just that I'm thinking of buying a castle."
"A castle?"
"At once! In fact, that's what has brought me here. I'm meeting Herr Eberhardt at his private cottage to discuss a great number of properties that have piqued my interest over the years."
"Why are you buying a castle?"
"Well, you see I will have all this money left over from selling my island."
"Oh right, the island."
"And it feels right."
The girl points out of the window at a raccoon or something equally frivolous and the boy turns full around to see it. The two begin a hushed conversation meant to appear as though it was about the animal, but Arthur soothes it a diversion--away from himself. All too commonly does this sort of thing happen, once someone finally invests about five minutes into him they suddenly and awkwardly retreat from interaction, masking it as polite distraction or urgent interruption or the like.
Satisfied with building another wall around his social life, another moat, another tower, another gate--Arthur closes his eyes and settles into a brief respite before the Gondola reaches the mountain. He maintains his assurance that he should have called for his helicopter.