BOOK CHAPTERS BY Stuart Englander
Seasonal Allegories: Chapter 3
From O. Henry to Rod Serling, and other short stories in between
The Greatest Pitchman Of All Time
Arthur Charles Bennett sat comfortably in his patent leather armchair, a light blanket spread over his ample lap. His girth had quickly gotten away from him recently, but it was far too late to worry about that sort of thing.
His adoring and fearful family gathered around him, waiting to hear his final sage words. They adored Arthur because he provided for them the only lifestyle they ever knew, privilege and opulence. Yet, they feared his unpredictability. He was a tightly wound coiled wire, ready to snap without warning.
The great showman, the pitchman of the millennia was about to hand down his vast empire. His days were coming to an end, even though he fought every resource at his disposal to deny the inevitable. His two sons and one daughter were siblings by birth, but competitors by nature. This is how they were raised. Arthur made sure of that.
Almost invisibly and distanced from the family proceedings, sat another young man quietly in the corner of the room. An illegitimate child from one of A.C.’s numerous playdates, the young man had been mostly ostracized his entire life. Steven was his name, and his mother’s silence had been paid for long ago. She was not invited here to witness what was about to transpire. Arthur’s legitimate children could not fathom why Steven was here at all.
Arthur’s second son Martin began to fawn over his resting father, fiddling with the blanket and scrunching his pillow. Arthur batted the young man away with a sharp wave of his hand and a growly snort. “Leave it alone, Marty!” he admonished. “I don’t need your pity.”
Chloe, the daughter, was the apple of her father’s eye. In private, who knew what those two were up to when there were no prying eyes? Their closeness seemed unnatural to most that knew them, but no one dared speak of it out loud. A nearly imperceptible glaze of tears formed over Chloe’s eyes. “Why did you do it, Dad?” she suddenly blurted out. “Why would you expose yourself that way?” Her husband Justin sitting next to her, squeezed his wife’s hand hard as if to warn her against angering the old man.
“Nothing more than a calculated gamble, my lovely” Arthur replied calmly. “Either outcome will seal my place as the greatest of all time.” Arthur turned to peer out at the sun shining on his balcony railing. The white marble posts gleamed in the piercing light.
Bennett’s oldest son, Bart, stoically sat opposite his father so that their eyes would meet with every turn of the old man’s head. Bart’s cold blue eyes stared directly ahead at the matriarch’s brow.
Arthur ignored his eldest’s glance and carried on unmoved. “The day was to come eventually, and what better time than now, when those…people out there think I have my back against the wall. I have always proved them wrong, and I will do it again, one last time.”
A curious look crossed the faces of his three doting children at the same time. Each of them silently wondered if they had missed the play. Arthur knew they all had, as usual. His unwitting offspring never understood his true motives, his fierce narcissistic values, every step of the way. Arthur’s calm demeanour provided an even more unsettling aura now, especially now. The old buzzard had never been seen this relaxed before. The calm was most unsettling to those around him.
The great A.C. Bennett carried on, unconcerned by his minion’s dismay. “They all think I’m a madman. And that’s my greatest strength. Now though, one of you will have to carry on the family name, and I…” he chortled at his brilliance. “I will die a hero. Someone to look up to, because I alone took the risk no one else would take.”
“He has gone completely mad”, Bart couldn’t help thinking to himself.
Martin pleaded out loud, “But dad! Why do you have to kill yourself to make your point? It makes no sense.”
“To you” Arthur scolded. “This makes no sense to you my simplest child.”
Martin cowered at the chiding. He knew at that moment, all was lost to him. He fell silent for the remainder of the event. Always the weakest, always the afterthought, Martin fell back into familiar territory; wallowing and self-pity.
Bennett waited patiently for the first person to ask, and just as he suspected, it was Chloe’s husband Justin, who spoke up. Arthur never liked the little prick. No one was good enough for Chloe, except himself, of course.
“What happens to all this then?” Justin asked. “I assume you have a great plan for all of us.”
“Damn stupid fool” thought Arthur.
And then speaking aloud, “Indeed I do, Justin. Indeed I do.” A sly grin came slowly to Bennett’s face, and then without another twitch, the old man became grim and determined once again. His cold, blue eyes burned like lasers into each of his guests. Their discomfort was most pleasing to him.
Arthur wasted no more time. “You’re all wondering who will take over my empire. I know, you’ve all been doting and faithful followers.” One by one, Arthur made eye contact with each child. “Bart, how much you remind me of myself. You are like a carbon copy, exactly as I have designed you. Sadly, you lack my imagination. Like a bull in a china shop, you are. You lack the nuance to achieve my standards.”
Bart’s jaw dropped at hearing this. He had no reply. He’d done everything his father ever asked of him without question, and that was what turned out to be his downfall. How faithful he’d been to his father, his mentor. He tried to take the initiative whenever an opportunity arose, but it always came back to haunt him. Bart was not equal to the challenge, and he knew it.
“Martin, you poor boy” the patriarch carried on. “Maybe it’s because you’re the younger brother. I don’t know. But you son, are far too meek for what I’m about to hand down. Perhaps, one day you will develop some backbone, but I doubt it.” Martin had already figured this out, but hearing it still stung like the bite of a deadly spider. He cowered away more, retreating to the back of the room. It was better not to be seen in his misery.
“And Chloe, my gorgeous beauty. You have the gifts to stir a man’s soul and make him do whatever you desire.” Chloe was far too aware to blush from her father’s compliment. She knew he was right. A broad smile of anticipation came across her face.
Seemingly, without noticing, Arthur continued, “Unfortunately, you just don’t possess the killer instinct I require. You proved it the day you married this putz beside you.”
Chloe and Justin let out a simultaneous gasp. The rebuke was like a hard slap across their collective faces. Chloe’s mouth opened as if in reply, but no words came out. How could he?, she thought, How could I…?
The collection of gaping jaws was a glorious sight to Arthur’s failing eyes. He knew his energy was waning quickly, so he came straight to the point. “There is no one in this room worthy of carrying on in my absence” he said flatly. Then Arthur suddenly snapped his head to his left, looking toward the occupied chair near the fireplace, and announced proudly. “Except of course, Steven.”
While his three adult children scrambled to muster a response, a small grin appeared on one corner of Arthur’s face. “Come with me boy.” he said to the youngest in the room. “We have a lot to discuss, Steve. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Steven stood up and straightened his smartly pressed suit jacket. He was tall and lean, and brutally handsome. His smouldering eyes glared in much the same way his father’s once did. Keeping silent and distant for most of his years with purpose, prepared him perfectly for this crowning moment. Without looking in the direction of his half-siblings, Steven walked straight over to Arthur and firmly shook his hand. The older man stood then, and with only the smallest, imperceptible guiding hand from his protégé, the two left the sitting room by a rear door.
In the inner sanctum of Arthur’s private office, the two men took seats opposite each other in grand leather tub chairs, separated only by a small coffee table. It was here that Arthur began to impart his final words of wisdom on his young charge. Steven listened with a quiet intensity, never giving in to emotional responses or interrupting his mentor. The lecture went on for nearly two hours. Steven asked questions only after the old man paused in wait.
“Remember this one simple rule Steve” Arthur began. “Your product is people’s own sense of emptiness. Give them an answer. Anything that tells them their lot can change, and they will be happy to buy into the…possibilities.” He kept going, “You do that by hammering at whatever it is they’re against. Be their champion. Be one of them, first. Do it as loudly as possible and make sure they know you’re one of them.”
“If they’re desperate enough, they’ll try anything once, right?” Steven asked knowing the answer already.
“Better than that, son. They will be forever in your grip, so hold it firmly, at all costs. That’s the snake oil lad. Everybody’s willing to buy in once. Eventually, you will see two groups form.”
“Only two groups?” asked the young student.
“Two at first” said Arthur. “They’re the most important. You’ll have the haters and the followers. Both will be equally militant, and equally vocal.” He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Harness the power of that emotion and you’ve got ’em. The more the haters despise you, the more loyal your following becomes. In the divide is where the real power lies.”
Steven nodded in appreciation. “So the haters are like fuel to the fire of the followers. Sooner or later the ‘club members’ will do anything to defend you.”
“That’s right.” replied the great showman. “Steve, the one reality is that people generally can’t think for themselves. It takes too much work, so it’s much easier to follow a cause that aligns with their basic belief system, especially when it promises changes to the status quo.” Arthur paused for a moment, and then added, “These are the ones that you’ll profit most from. Think about that for a second.”
Steven’s eyes widened with the realization. “Like a captive audience” he said finally. “They just keep coming back to the trough.”
“Exactly. Those are the ones who always stop to browse at the gift shop on the way out. They can’t help themselves because they desperately want to belong, and they need to show their loyalty. Of course, the whole time you will promise them the world. The fact that you can never deliver is, well, not even worth thinking about.”
Steven sat back silently to let everything sink in. He was beginning to understand why the old man chose him. As the illegitimate son, he was already the subject of either pity or ridicule. The divide was predisposed.
“They’re the same ones who think they still have their freedom. It’s brilliant!” Steven exclaimed.
Time was growing short, so Bennett carried on with the lesson. “The next part is very important. Exposure plays a key role.”
“You mean the media, the news channels?”
“The news channels, the talk shows, the comedians. Especially the comedians.” Arthur allowed himself a soft chuckle. “Those idiots can’t help themselves either. moths to a flame. The more outrageous your behaviour, the more material you give them to talk about you. The more they talk about you…well, you understand where I’m going here.”
“Oh, I definitely do” Steven exclaimed, trying to control his excitement. “It’s like a carny show. People can’t get enough of the antics. Whatever I do next is news. No such thing as bad publicity, right dad?”
“Yep, and that’s your ticket to anywhere you want to go with it.” Arthur’s heart swelled with pride as he witnessed the look of recognition on his youngest son’s face.
“That’s why you were never shy about having me with my mother. It all feeds the act” Steven said thoughtfully.
“Of course,” answered Arthur, and then he gave the lad a note of caution “you have to remember though, never to let your base think you’ve sold them a bill of goods. They have to believe you have their back at all times Whether you do or you don’t is immaterial.” Arthur started to laugh. “How could you? Ah, the shit that people will buy into.”
“And the henchmen. What about the henchmen?”
“Those morons who fall all over each other just to keep their place at the trough. They’re a dime a dozen, but you must keep them in constant fear. They have to walk a razor’s edge, always on the brink of being ousted. Remember that son, even if it's your own kin.”
Steven let out a belly laugh, but then just as abruptly, he looked concerned when his father’s laugh suddenly turned into a hacking cough. He reached across the table to assist somehow, but the older man waved him off. Steven had to know the answer to one question.
“Why the infection? Why did you allow yourself to get sick?”
Bennett righted himself and then pointing toward the window he said. “Go look outside, boy. Look at those throngs of faithful admirers. Every one of them is mine, forever.” Arthur stood now to deliver the defining message. “Right now they think I’ve been cured. I’m like a superhero to them. When I die, whether it’s today or tomorrow, I’ll be mourned the same way. My legacy is sealed. That’s my gift to you, son. Use it well. Make me proud.”
Fatigue was taking its toll. Arthur went to his desk nearby and sat down heavily in his office chair. Steven followed his father over and stood beside the old man. Together, they gazed out through the window to the heavenly blue sky.
“I will father. You can bet I will.”
With that, Arthur C. Bennett drew his last breath. A broad smile stretched across the face of the new pitchman. Steven was prepared now to carry the torch. Nothing or no one could stand in his way. That same smile grew on the younger man’s face, perfectly matching the one on his dead mentor.
As always, thanks for taking the time. Seasonal Allegories is available in Kindle and paperback here.
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