I met the wife briefly, but her husband couldn’t be bothered to socialize with anyone beneath his pay grade. He had done well and made some money, but greed had driven him to invest heavily in high-risk stocks. Fortune had turned on him, but he still considered himself better than simple folk.
She was pretty and expensive. Lovely dresses and shoes with names, glitter, and magazine taste, because if it was good enough for a model, it was good enough for her.
They were both married when they met; he saw a trophy, she saw a bank account, and the wedding, thrown at the very height of his money-making, stunned those who attended. But a man who flaunts his money will soon be a man who loses his money.
She wanted more. He would not settle for less. Yet the reality of creating wealth stood in the shadow of spending. He bought a new truck and an old house; the truck because it made him look bigger, and the house to flip. She started dating a lawyer because the writing on the wall was getting clearer.
I drove by this house every day on my way to work, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why he chose this one. Old, beat up, and in a poor neighborhood, but later his wife would tell people he meant to buy all the property around it and gentrify the whole area. The money was running low, and the woman was leaning towards the door.
The fight was ugly, public, and fueled by alcohol and disappointment. She wanted a pool at the house, but he said no. She went out into the yard with a shovel and started digging, A hole formed, and he filled it with water and painted a sign that read, “Pool Now Open”. She threw mud on his truck. He grabbed her and sat her down in the mudhole. The video of the fight surfaced, and the judge ruled he had to pay her money or give her the house. He saw this as a ploy to get money, so he unloaded the house on her, but she sued, saying it was not fit to live in, and the judge made him finish the work or pay to have it completed.
In the space of a few years, he had lost the bubble rising to the top, and so did the work himself. Lights were on in the morning when I passed the house, and his truck parked in front after five. Perhaps this was his bower to her, initially a way to lure her back. But she and the lawyer married beside his pool in an ordinary ceremony, and she looked happy in the photos.
By all accounts, the house was perfect when completed. It was a bright white glowing beacon with new windows, polished wooden floors, and a small brick patio where once a tiny pool had sat. I went by one morning and saw thick, black smoke rising from one side, getting up in a hurry smoke pushed by fire within the walls. As I drove past, I could feel the heat from the fire, deep and fierce, like the hate of a man who has lost everything and blames someone else.
Take Care,
Mike
Mike writes regularly at his site: The Hickory Head Hermit.
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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