Bermuda Balenciaga

“Let’s blow them up.” says Lacey. “They might be better off dead.”

“All of them?” asks Joe Jr. with a smile.

“Yes. I’m too nice to torture them to death. Let’s just take them out of their hideous stupidity in one quick…gesture of kindness.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

He presses the button.

“There is no such thing as rational sympathy for a practicing pedophile. They’d be better off shot in the head.” Lacey says. “Stop psychologically glamorizing sucking your own diarrhea until you rot from the inside out.”

“So you’d just blow them up?” he asks.

“Yes. They should possibly have never been born.” She says. “Truly. I feel bad that they lived their lives for their sake, for everyone’s sake.”

“God can still redeem their-“ starts one in Purgatory.

“Shut-up!” says Lacey. “That’s obvious.

“But Lacey people are too cool for truth and logic nowadays.” says Joe sarcastically.

“It’s cool. I’m not confused. I’ll just kill them.” Lacey smiling. “They’re gross. And useless. It’s an apology to even bother saying that.”

“What if that kills billions of people?” says Joe.

“Then God will handle it on the other side.” Sara Lacey.

“What if the best thing for them is to slowly go braindead?” asks someone.

“Then drill baby drill!” says Joe Sr. with a wink. “Let’s end their embarrassing lives for good. I’m too merciful to let them suffer.”

“I’m sure Woody Allen will do Bermuda Balenciaga first. But…he’s a great artist of history.” says Lacey. “I hope he doesn’t go to Hell. He’s very-“

“I agree.” says Joe Jr..

“He’s brilliant!” says Joe Sr..

Growing anxious, “You pressed the button. Right?” Lacey asks Joe Jr..

“Yes.”

“Or I just did.” says Louis.

“The truth is deadly.” says Kant.

“Why do they think they’re normal?” asks Lacey. “They ruined normalcy.”

“They might be rabid.” says someone.

“Like a literal rabid dog?” asks Lacey.

“Yes.”

“So we just die painlessly and go meet God and get out of our horrible minds?” asks the pedophile.

“Yes! You don’t even see it coming. So repent.” she says.

“Why repent?”

“I think you’re too stupid to go to rightfully go to Hell.” she says.

“But we still have to be accountable to God?” they ask.

“The torture when you realize how dumb you were is horrific.” says Lem. “It’s not a narcissistic realization either.”

“It’s like…real.” says a sociopath most are narcissistically jealous of on Tik Tok.

“Let’s go best the sociopath with our narcissism!” they collaborate. “She threatens my ego with her beauty. So I’ll find her flaws and harp on them.”

“Like her supposed dead stare?” asks Lacey.

Flint, Michigan dead laughs with Lacey at evil. DFM.

“Nah! It’s cool!”

Lacey rolls her eyes. “It’s nonsense. Pedophilia is just profoundly evil.”

“Do you want to come to Hell and meet your hero?” asks Satan of the pedophiles.

“Eat your breakfast.” says Michael to Lacey.

“Are you their hero? They aren’t as rational as you. You seem superior to them.” Lacey says to Satan.

“I might be less evil.” says Satan. “I can’t procreate like them, necessarily. I’m not necessarily capable of creation. I’m not…like God.”

“So you just ruin people’s lives?” asks an angry human.

“I’m not Eve.” Satan says.

“Are dead saints higher than-“ starts the angry Christian. But Lacey interrupts.

“Are you going to Hell or Heaven?” she asks.

“There are no Heaven and Hell!” says a man.

Satan laughs. “That’s funny.”

“Stop trying to be scary! I’m sure you and Satan are very in love!” says a narcissistic hater. Who secretly loves Lacey too.

“He’s Satan. He’s better company then many men. True. But…he’s Satan.” she says.

“Many living men?!” asks Louis sarcastically. He laughs.

“Yes. And some dead. At least he’s not quite as confused. Seemingly.” she says. “He admits to me that he’s Satan. As in, actual Satan.” She smiles.

“Is he nice?” asks a hateful Christian of Lacey.

“He’s Satan. But-“ she shrugs. “He’s more honest than a lot of people I’ve met. More loving too.”

“And you don’t worship him?” asks a conservative.

“No! Of course not. At least, I sincerely hope not.” says Lacey. “Sweetheart, this imagined father who’s evil and cares about your evil desires might not exist.” She thinks. “God cares about you. He wants you to be genuinely happy. But…you have it all confused.”

“There is no Satan who enables us for eternity to be cool?” asks someone.

“Exactly. I don’t think Satan plans to suffer with you even, should Hell exist.” says Lacey. “I’m not sure he technically deserves it.”

“No! That’s not true! He suffers with us!” says an irate Christian.

“Except, why? He’s not empathetic to evil necessarily. He’s Satan.” she says. “He might want you to suffer because he hates you. But I’m not sure he’s capable of the evil a human is, ironically.”

“So he just thinks humans are total garbage?” asks a Catholic.

“Possibly. He might have used evil to find a way to destroy us. Because we bother him so much.” says Lacey.

“But then he became evil too?” says the Catholic.

“As much as he can be anything.” says Lacey.

“Huh. So…he exists but he’s possibly nice?” asks a Catholic. “But he hates humans because he knew what we were capable of? And he found us all disgusting.” He laughs. “So we are not to trust him at all. Or worship him.”

“Yes. That’s my faith premise.” says Lacey. “Whatever seems good about Satan is just God being misconstrued or misunderstood. But it has to be genuinely good.”

“So our worst nightmare as humans is to separate ourselves from our loving God? Our father.” asks an Episcopalian priest. “That’s beauty. That’s truth. Or there’s just a nothing….nothing.” He thinks. “After living the life you’ve led do you get sympathy for the Devil?” He thinks. “Because you’re so fervently hated. So deeply, passionately…psychotically hated. Possibly for no good reason.”

“A strong person of good character who’s rare in their blessings? Yes.” says Satan. “You’d rather emulate rich pedophiles.” He thinks. “You’d rather make her a pedophile to torture her even as that’s impossible. Than have one ounce of real love for her?”

“And we’re not Satan.” says Michael Rockefeller. “I might not be as impressive as Satan in my revolutionary status. But I am human. Possibly. Hopefully.”

“Michael do you hate us?” asks someone who’d like to be his friend and date him and marry him.

“Yes but only in so far as that’s not evil and I can’t stand you.” he says.

“I wonder if indulging in New Age has led us to hate you.” someone wonders about Lacey.

“Because if there is-If we can talk to ghosts…are we mad at you for reasons that have nothing to do with the present reality?” they wonder.

“You’re not a pedophile?” they ask Lacey.

“No, I think that’s possibly impossible to be possible.” she says.

“So…we either hate you because you stole Lem from Jack based on what we’ve heard.” a woman laughs. “Or you’re Michael’s and we fear and hate that family. Or you’re the correction we thought Hemingway dreaded. Or you stole Scott from Zelda. Or…Louis is happy. And we can’t stand that someone like him also gets to be happy because it makes our pain feel more hopeless.” she smiles. “Because we’re human. And God loves us. But we fell.”

And Satan works it. He pulls. He tugs.

“Where’s my evil?” asks Lacey panicking.

“What? Are you afraid you’ll lose us to eternal Hell?” asks a Christian hater. “And it’s like losing your stuffed animal collection?”

“To Hell.” says Lacey.

“Royalty sometimes tricks people. To manage things. Right? Princes don’t save.” says Jack.

“Like, don’t trust the Prince of Darkness?” someone asks.

He looks. “Light can be a lie.”

“So can sex. Right?” says Lacey sarcastically.

“No. Not sex itself. But people use it to lie.” says Jack.

“True. My thoughts too.” says Lacey.

“You might have been the one to tell me that.”

“You might have been the one to tell me that.” says Lacey.

“You think I’m evil and lying about it.” says Jack.

“I’m quite sure that’s true. I’m sorry.” says Lacey. “If you’re in Purgatory why don’t you let go of it?”

“I might not be able to until you die.” he says.

“Because why?” asks Lacey.

“It’s like the resurrected Titanic analogy, possibly. You might have a tie to the past.” he says. “That’s unbreakable.”

“But not because she’s Marilyn Monroe?!” laughs a woman.

“Exactly.”

“We’ve loaded them on the ship. All of them.” says Amelia Earhart.

“Then let’s blow it up!” says Lacey.

And so the speed boat tugs the resurrected Titanic into a vortex in the Bahamas. And as they twist into a curve of storybook lore the plastic augmented ship pulled along carries passengers going down. Down the drain.

“Activate the salvation button.” she says.

“Got it!” says a pilot.

“They’ll get plenty of chances to repent. Right?!” asks Lacey.

She decides the best thing to do is pray herself that they do.

And so as the ship goes down below the bottom of the ocean to the center of the earth it falls into a black hole, gets sucked back in time, and as a tiny ship pulled by a tiny speed boat it dances into the air the size of a bug. A bug flying over England in August of 1944. A bug about to be blown-up.

And there it goes. Boom.

“It already happened. And I’m dead.” says Joe Jr. “Are you going to come and find me.”

“It was just your imagination.” says a demon.

“Well, some things are. And some things are not our imagination.” says Lacey.

“I’m going to ask God to get rich. But not white people rich. Black people rich. Like you and Michael.” says a black man joking around with Lacey. He cries.

“Can we make it though?” she asks seriously. “It’s difficult when you’re thirsty and hungry?”

Silence.

“If God is real then we’re almost embarrassingly fortunate.” she says.

“True. I don’t want to get unthankful.” he says.

Silence.

“Is your stepmom in politics?” he laughs.

“Is she my stepmom? Is that even a thing?” Lacey wonders.

“I doubt she’d let the father who raised you play her like that?” he says.

“Well that’s good.” says Lacey.

“She’s old though.” he says.

“I hope she’s genuinely happy as a person regardless.” says Lacey.

“Do you trust them?” asks a professor.

“No. But she was the one who gave me my baby shower, really.” says Lacey.

“So she gave you the baby shower for your first child?”

“Yes. She was there when Karrie was born.” says Lacey.

“So she’s not your birth mom. But she’s your possible stepmom?” asks a so-called white supremacist. Who’s possibly looking for the black hole in his own speed boat.

“He’s a black hole.” says a white woman jokingly.

“He’s upset for reasons of social class.” says Lacey.

“The way she goes on and on about speed boats. Dang idiot. I bet she’s a Jew. Or a whore. Or a kike! She gotta be a kike! Or damn pedophile! …Because I got my own speed boat!” he says like she’s fool.

“I’ll see you all later! I’m on my way down to find Michael!” he says.

“Did you mean dyke?” yells Lacey.

“No! Because if I say dyke they’ll think I mean Van Dyke. And we all know that might mean you’re old money Dutch. And the lies you tell about your plantation family are an abomination to my white soul.” he says.

“Lacey is the white plantation history just like…actual fact? Like, science?” asks a Jewish woman.

“Yes.” says Lacey. “On the mother who raised me’s side.”

“And she’s possibly being replaced by a black woman?” asks the Jewish woman. “And he’s focused instead on issues of social class towards you?!”

“He’d rather convince himself you’re lying or gay than defend his white heritage all while pretending to be a white nationalist?” she says, aghast. Appalled.

“I think he’s delusional enough to think Lacey is the actual so-called nigger who turned everyone else black.” says Michael.

“Size-up!” mocks Satan. “Size-up!”

The white man in his speed boat goes through the black hole.

Rest in peace?

“Well…hopefully he’s too stupid to go to Hell?” hopes the Jewish woman. Sincerely.

“Or is it uneducated?” asks Lacey.

“No, I see your question.” she says.

“Maybe he was uneducated and evil hearted?” worries the black man.

“Let’s pray for him if we can.” says Lacey.

“It isn’t safe to trust people who might be lying and dangerous.” says the black man.

“Exactly. It isn’t necessarily personal.” says Lacey.

“No. It’s about loyalty and righteousness.” she says. “As a Jew I get it.”

“And what was the beef with me then?” she worries.

“Because you use plated silver.” says a woman explaining his stance. The stance of the American man in the black hole on a speed boat who labeled himself a white supremacist.

“The Rockefellers are white trash!” yells a women in his camp.

“Because of Lacey marrying into the family in the afterlife? Or what?” asks Simon.

“No! They did it to her.” she says.

The man pauses in the black hole in his speed boat.

“How are they white trash?” asks Rocky.

“Your family?” she asks.

“Yes. How are the Rockefeller’s white trash?” asks Lacey.

She looks at Lacey horrified. “Why do you use plated silver?”

“What’s wrong with plated silver?” Lacey asks.

The woman almost cries. “Lacey, it’s not real silver.”

“What do you mean by not real silver?” asks Lacey.

“It’s not pure silver.” someone else in her camp says.

“No! But sterling silver isn’t pure silver either.” says Lacey.

“So…” the woman rolls her eyes. “In your mind it’s just like…a silver coating on a cool looking piece.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s literally what it is.” says Lacey. “Are you questioning personal property rights?”

“Yes! We secretly are.” they finally admit.

“And human rights in general as a societal premise?” as someone.

“Yes!” they say. “Then we can do whatever we want!”

“And you didn’t recall that her family are historically significant silversmiths?” asks a man. “In reality.”

“I told myself, high, after raping my emotionally battered husband that that wasn’t true.” the woman in the speed boater’s camp says.

“But what if it is true?” asks someone of her with concern.

“Then why is she using cheap silver?!” she protests.

Lacey struggles to see the woman’s point.

“Because you don’t see the point?” she asks Lacey.

“What is your point?” asks Lacey.

“That there’s a difference between sterling silver and plated silver.” she says.

“There is. Of course! One’s worth more. But plated silver is still silver.” she says.

“But it’s plated. Wouldn’t you rather use sterling silver?” asks a man.

“For what? asks Lacey.

“Do you want me to make a list of the sterling silver things you should have instead of plated silver?” another man asks.

“Yes! Please!” she says.

“Alright! A letter opener, a silver tray for the mail, a pair of binoculars, a handbag, a pair of reading glasses, a thimble, a tea pot, a serving tray and serving tray.” he says.

“Was it men like you with your demons who drove me insane as I fried my brain on gin? Zelda asks. “You loved me!”

“A thimble? And a handbag?” asks Lacey.

“Do you not use thimbles?” he asks Lacey. “And you’re right. That’s a heavy handbag.”

“It is an impractical bag. And sterling silver is somewhat soft. It will look like an aluminum bag after a while. Cheap and possibly ugly.” says Lacey.

“So that was an insane list?” he asks.

“Possibly.” says Lacey.

“I can’t think of a good list!” he says indignantly.

“Do you use sterling silver?” asks the woman.

“Yes. And no.” says Lacey. “I have a few pieces.”

“Why don’t you use it everyday?” asks the woman.

“It’s an antique tea pot. And then the other pieces aren’t meant to be used everyday. They’re like knives, baby cups, etc..”

“And jewelry doesn’t count to us.” she says.

Silence.

“So you’ve bought tens of thousands of perfume and other stuff but not silver?” she says.

“Yes.”

“Why not?!”

Silence.

“Does it just seem indulgent and crass?” the man asks.

“Do you come a really wealthy family?” asks the loudest perfume hater of Lacey.

“It does seem crass and indulgent.” says Lacey.

“She might.” says Michael.

“Lacey…so…you were mad at us for being stupid.” says a perfume collector.

“Yes.” says Lacey.

“Because it scares you?” the loudest perfume collector asks.

“It means you don’t get it. And I liked you guys.” says Lacey.

“Just as people?” she asks.

“Yes, just as people.” says Lacey.

Silence

“Why do you need me to be worth billions?” asks Lacey.

“Trillions is more like it.” says a hater.

“And you needed me to be labeled as a millionaire in some way?” asks Lacey.

The loudest perfume collector closes her eyes to think.

“Like…clearly labeled?” asks a hater.

“Yes! I mean…doctor’s prescribed you as lower middle-class.” the loudest perfume hater says.

“Lower middle-class?” asks a man.

“Yes! I mean she lived in an apartment. And she collects perfume. Collecting perfume is trashy inherently.” she says. “I’m just impersonating a woman who impersonated rich people. At least, that’s what we all thought.” she says.

“Even if you inherently millions from a silversmith family with an honorary knighthood?” asks a woman.

“Well, no. But-But that’s-How-Why do I have to believe it?” she asks. “Why do I have to care?”

“Who’s making you care? What did I do to make you care?” Lacey asks.

“Maybe you’re not homosexual. But then you’re-You didn’t-It’s just dumb that I attacked you then.” she says.

“It might have been.” says Lacey.

“Why the heck do you collect perfume?” she asks.

“It’s art to me. Olfactory art.” says Lacey.

“I don’t experience it that way.” she says.

“How do you experience it?” asks Lacey.

Michael laughs. Raises one eye-brow.

“Is that about me or you?” asks the loudest perfume collector.

“Me.” says Lacey.

“Okay. So, I wear perfume to be attractive.” she says.

“And you like the way it smells?” asks Lacey. “Or do you not experience the smell much?”

“I mean I smell it. But…” She looks serious. “Not like some people, I guess. How do you experience it?”

“I think my brain processes it differently. But…I’m more fascinated by what you mean. So you wear it the way I’d wear lipgloss or jewelry?”

“Yes! But it’s also like what I saw you write about it being a marker of social status.” she says.

“How does that work?” Lacey asks.

“Okay! So…let’s say you wore a-“ she shrugs. “Like a $50,000.00 ring from your favorite jeweler.” She points. “That’s an exclusive bottle of perfume.”

“But…do people smell the perfume on you?!” asks Lacey.

She thinks. Needs to ponder it.

“Your pheromones might not be as readily detectable to us. If your father was born in 1894. It’s possible very few people ever smell anything from you.” says the loudest perfume hater.

“Okay. So she smells…like literal grandma. Or great grandmother?” asks hater.

“Woah!! Do you wear the old perfumes the way they were meant to be worn? Like the vintages?”

“If the fact that my parents who raised me wear Nahema to perfection means anything?” says Lacey.

“So Nahema smells good on them?” asks a hater. Who realizes that evolution is more something Lacey understands than her. Possibly. Because parents’ generation is possibly genetically different than grandparents’ or great grandparents’.

“Possibly. The point is you wear perfume to make a statement. People experience your perfume. And they enjoy it. They complain at times but mostly they compliment you on it.” she says. “And on me it’s not like that.”

“I bet older people smell your perfume? And you do.” says the loudest perfume hater.

“Yes. But I didn’t know that that was necessarily a thing, so to speak.” says Lacey. “Until recently.”

“Do you bought some that only you could experience for the most part?“ a perfume hater thinks. “And you thought it was just normal. Like…everyone was fascinated by this super cool artistic thing that allows what feels like actual time travel. And…like a sterling silver toothpick collection it really is only meant to be watched. And enjoyed by the user.” He laughs. “And you imagined people could vaguely smell it like a distant billboard. Not like how they smell the people who you smell?” he says. “I bet if Lem wore Dior Sauvage you’d get why it’s considered sexy. But as it stands right now? What does it smell like?”

“It’s nice. But it smells like toothpaste. In a tube. Perfume is asexual to me. I imagined it was how everyone experienced it.” she says.

“What does Lem smell like?” he asks.

“Utterly fantastic.” says Lacey. “But no. That’s not how most men smell…unless they’re old.” she catches herself saying.

He laughs. “But there’s the occasional Millennial man who smells good too?” he wonders.

“Yes. My ex-husband smells good.” she says.

“But not like Lem?” he says. “But you are only 39.” He thinks. “I’m sure your father was worth…$50 million? Or more. And lived like a king. Loved like a king. But he didn’t live in an age of kings. So you don’t fit.” he says.

“Yes! But I think that’s possibly the source of our confusion. You didn’t understand how I was experiencing perfume.” says Lacey.

“And you didn’t understand how I was experiencing perfume.” says the loudest perfume hater.

“True.”

“Do you cook like a grandma?” asks someone.

“Yes!” says Lacey.

“So what does it all look like from that perspective?” asks a hater.

“You seem like different people.” says Lacey. “You all are obsessed with affecting people? And altering yourselves? Putting on different personas. You enjoy it yourself but you also love making noise and an entrance.”

“Do you?” asks a perfume hater.

“Not in that way.” says Lacey.

“But Floris Violets smells good!” says a perfume collector. “And…”.

“No. We’re like the make-up artists who spend exorbitant amounts on make-up.”

“So for you guys it’s a way out.” says Lacey.

“Out of what?” asks the loudest perfume hater.

“Out of whatever makes you sad.” says Lacey.

“Yes!” he says.

“It’s psychological. But it’s fun. And yes, it’s an escape at times. What is it for you?” he asks.

“It’s an escape the same way an oil painting is.” says Lacey. “Or architecture. It’s something I enjoy but it’s a very introverted enjoyment.”

“Oh. So it’s like what you’ve said three billion times.” says the loudest hater.

“How do you escape? Because for us it’s like an addiction. An elegant, less than totally evil addiction.” he says.

“I don’t escape that way often. Or if I do it isn’t by choice. Sometimes in extreme pain my mind goes into shock. Against my will. But…there times I play games on my phone. Like Candy Crush. Although I do drink coffee. But no, I’m not sure I’m an escapist.” says Lacey. “Not in that way anyway.”

“So you truly thought we were all just enjoying art?” asks a perfume addict.

“Yes!”

“But we were too upside down pretentious to admit our sophistication.” says the loudest hater.

“Yes.”

“Because to you it’s just art.” A hater thinks. “That’s nice that you enjoy it in that way. I’m sorry you don’t experience what we do.”

“So yes! We like to be attractive!” says a male perfume wearing hater.

“There’s no way to make fun of the sadness. And you already knew. We just look like bitchy idiots.” says a perfume hater.

“And she looks like an extremely eccentric, albeit intelligent, woman.” says another perfume hater. “Because it is about social class. I just didn’t realize I have no sympathy for her as a human being almost at all.” she says.

“Why not?! Don’t you like art too?” asks the previous hater.

“When will you quit?” asks the last hater of Lacey.

“Collecting?” asks Lacey.

“Yes.”

“Possibly never.” she says.

“What’s the point of collecting art?” she asks.

“Wow! You ask cutting edge questions!” says another hater to the previous hater.

“Beauty needs to be preserved.” says Lacey.

“I think museums are ugly though.” she says.

“Where would you store the art then?!” asks the loudest hater.

“You don’t store it!” she says. “You use it!”

“So art should be out in the wild? In its natural habitat? And that would be where?” asks Lacey.

Silence.

“On a rich person’s castle? Or a big, scary church wall? A hospital?” asks Lacey.

“So we are those artistic heathens who bought art? And didn’t appreciate it. Our portraits. And we couldn’t see the genius?”

“Maybe essentially. Some people might have a better understanding than you’d think. Apparently.” says a ghost.

“They buy the art to be impressive.” says a male perfume hater. “And so do we.”

“I need to be more responsible with my art.” she thinks.

“Especially given global warming.” says a woman.