What the Bransdale's Did In a Week

A short story

May 18

She had to always be punctual. What was done in the morning was done with what had been prepared the night before.

Her clothes were hung on hangers neatly, picked out by her specifically, depending on what she had planned to do the next day.

Her food, in the fridge, had been bought for her, by her cab driver. It was fresh produce, prepared into a meal, by her private chef, who had the key to her apartment.

Risky as giving that away was, it was unlikely that anything would get stolen. Ms. Bransdale had an eye for observation, and a pictographic memory(which she frequently prided herself on) allowing her to spot anything being out of place.

Today, she was up and early, as she was every day, but a little angrier. The press surrounding the latest of her fashion shows weren’t what she wanted them to be, and getting to work seemed more urgent, as she felt she was the only one able to save the company.

It was her company. One she had founded with a person she later went on to divorce. He had been a pain in her side, and divorce was the pain killer.

She got up and out of bed, wearing her black cotton pajamas. Her legs slid out from under the sheet, coming down on the left side of the bed, as she sat up.

The alarm clock had already gone off, three hours prior, but that was just a reminder for her to check her texts.

Her room was black. Her canopy bed was black. The leather and wooden bench at the foot of her bed was black. This room was made out of black marble, and so was the bathroom she headed towards, getting to her feet.

“Woman, oh woman…I really do have to redo this place” she said looking around the bathroom. It was her opinion that the bathroom was too small, and flat. But the phone rang in her bedroom, and she had to go back.

“Hello…oh…well I’ll be there when I get there.”

“You better be…these reporters… they’re coming around here like flies!” a voice on the other end said.

May 19

She sat up and went over to the bathroom as usual. Phone rings.

“Fucking hell Mary, it’s six o’clock!”

“Yes, but today, they came early. It’s the day, you know.”

“Of course I know, I’ve been doing this same fuckin’ shit for thirty years. Anyway, I’m going now, bye.”

And the conversation ended. Picking up the pace a little she moved into her wardrobe. It had its own separate room, one that was getting smaller all the time. She walked over to the center of the room and took up the A-lined skirt she had personally designed( to make her ass look better, since, to her, it was small) and the suede pair of stilettos that stood close by. Her top was a leather duster jacket, nothing underneath. She did at least strap the jacket together, exposing less of herself.

Bringing this to the bathroom, she checks the time. It’s six o’five. “Mother…”.

She takes off her pajamas in a rush. Per request the shower part of the bathroom is glass. Why? Well, it had happened that she had been in this apartment ever since she had been married. Her former husband was obsessed with privacy, seeing as though she was always in the spotlight. She wasn’t though. And that’s why, in 1972 she asked that the landlord remove the black marble, and replace it with glass.

In 1973 the project had been successfully completed. It had been a long time of Mr. Bransdale asking to use their next-door neighbors’ shower.

She hadn’t though. Their neighbors, the Mr. and Mrs. Christener were nice to talk to, but a few months before construction on her bathroom started, Miss Bransdale had, in the middle of the night, caught her husband sneaking over to their place, while Mr. Christener was out of town.

“And it was like, ’why don’t you fuck her someplace else besides the next fucking apartment” she would say. Too loudly, during phone calls at the office.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry. Th- That must have been just terrible for you.” the person ease dropping would say.

“You know, you haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, and I can do without your fucking bloody empathy.”

“Well…I-I-I’m sorr-”

“You know, could you by any chance do something for me - go fuc….

May 20

Mary was too early for work that day, as she was every day. Standing in front of the door, she waited for Ms. Bransdale to arrive.

Her hands went to her face. It was something instinctive. She knew Ms. Bransdale would critique something in that section of her body, after one glance.

It wasn’t just Miss Bransdale that arrived at the office that morning though. She was followed by a whole entourage of reporters. Or rather, the car she was in was being jostled by the cars surrounding it. It all depended on which angle you were watching it from.

That wasn’t what had the tips of Mary’s mary jane shoes clicking against each other. Her head switched from the street to her watch. Today was the day. There was rehearsal today.

[the door opens and Miss Bransdale stumbles in, after being pushed by a reporter]

“’Time was, she could walk in here,” the doorman says.

Miss Bransdale doesn’t hear, walking straight towards the elevator. Marys waiting for her there.

“Miss Bransdale, do we have those fittings ready? Mr. Coodrinson, our supplier, needs an answer” Mary asks. It wasn’t usually that she would ask these types of questions, but as of late, Miss Bransdale had been spending more time in her apartment, and going to unscheduled lunches. Among the other ladies at work, popular gossip was that she was seeing someone. But anyone who really knew her knew that probably wasn’t the case.

[The elevator bell rings, and Miss Bransdale, takes a call]

“Uh, hold on a minute,” she says turning to Mary “tell Mr. Coodrinson, he can go…um, yes I’m still here.” Her sentence isn’t finished, and Mary is left there, while Ms. Bransdale gets on the elevator.

“That woman is going to be the reason Bransdale Incorporated goes bankrupt,” she says taking out her handkerchief and dabbing her forehead, while she looks at the schedule on her clipboard, and then to her watch. “She has a meeting with Ms. Noral today at eight, breakfast with the overseer at nine, a luncheon with the women’s league at eleven, a finance briefing at one, tennis with Mrs. Drysdale at two-thirty, tea with the planning committee at four, and dinner with Mr. Bransdale at five-thirty or…eight.”

[Elevator bell dings as Mary, who has pressed it, waits for it to open.]

May 21

Burt Bransdale was home. His alarm clock hadn’t gone off in time. School had started without him. Or rather, he had started the year without school. High school was where he had left off. There wasn’t any need for it in his mind. There was no career in high school that could make him any richer than he already was.

And mother wasn’t home. He had wanted it that way, but not every day. Not all the time. He is in his bedroom right now. His head is wet with sweat. He’s had another bad dream about someone that wanted his money not him.

[the dog starts to bark]

Burt rolls onto his right side, and missing the mark, rolls onto the floor. His phone’s on the floor. He’s not wearing anything.

“Alright, alright Claire, hold on.”

Burt likes Boogie Nights, except he’s not a Filmogropher. There’s film all over his bedroom’s oak wooden floor. It’s a big bedroom, modeled after his mother’s apartment. People who have been to both would say it’s creepy, but not many people he’s associated with, have been to both. Except for his mother’s former assistant. Who, very recently has become “former”. That had broken up. She was pale. That’s what he thought of whenever he thought of her.

They had met at a club one night in Switzerland, in the mountains, while he was on vacation. He had decided to get a tequila, and she had gotten vodka on the rocks.

“What a girl,” Burt, who was now taking up the bag of dog food remarked, scratching his head. Downstairs he wasn’t alone as the maid had already begun cleaning. She too had learned to get used to his appearance in the morning. Along with the different people who came down the stairs with him. He hadn’t stumbled down the stairs today though, that was a plus. She hadn’t needed to give him a new wastebasket, since the one he was using was full of puke, so that was a plus. She hadn’t needed to take multiple calls from people who had forgotten pieces of clothing from the night before…

Those possibilities, or more like normalcies, were the reason she got paid ten thousand dollars a month, for full time.

He is walking into his black and white marble kitchen. The copper faucet is the first thing he reaches for, along with a glass cup.

The black old-fashioned telephone is close by, and Burt picks it up, dialing Bransdale Incorporated’s phone number with a “9” at the end instead of and “0” for his mother’s office.

May 22

Mr. Bransdale is at the office. Right now, he’s in the middle of being robbed. His head is itching today. Something to do with the cab he took to work.

Today, no one at the office is in a bad mood, which means something is definitely wrong.

Today started like yesterday. He had waited for his cab in the rain. His hair had gotten wet, and the no make-up make-up look washed off.

Arriving at work he’s had too many Brandies. Janet was calling at the wrong time, as always. “Oh, darn” he had said, trying to open up the door at the entrance and find his phone.

Janet wasn’t one to be kept waiting. She had made that clear from the first day they had met. That was a while back though. When her name was Janet Christener. Now it was just Janet.

Earlier this morning they had talked about meeting for dinner, in the condo they shared. They both had their own houses but this condo was their…secret hideout. He had said that he couldn’t make it, and that how it would look bad if he didn’t honor his previous engagement. This hadn’t gone down well with her. The feeling of being second to something.

But he had hung up before getting to the elevator.

“Oh, hello Mr. Bransdale!” the over-excited receptionist had greeted him.

“Hello to you too!” He had replied with his back turned. “Oh, and while you’re at it, why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

“No problem, I think I can do that for you! Will there be anything else?”

Mr. Bransdale had taken an Advil before starting his climb up the stairs.

Reaching the top, feeling dizzy, he had knocked on Kathy Greens door, the lady he always “visited”, leaving with a Snickers bar.

And that’s when it happened. That’s when he was tackled to the ground.

[Footsteps can be heard approaching from inside his office. They’re in the office.]

“You Don’t really expect me to give you any money,” he yells, at gunpoint.

“We know how much you’ve been pocketing” one of them yells back, accidentally pulling the trigger, the bullet fired grazing the forearm part of Mr. Bransdale’s jacket.

“Damnit man! Watch where you’re pointing that thing.”

“…all that cash…what was the excuse, fundraisers?”

May 23

Janet didn’t know why his reason for postponing their dinner plans had been so vague.

She is in a studio right now. This is where she’s been for the past four hours. After waking up today, she’s decided to take a few pictures of herself, with less on, hoping to preserve a “pure relationship”.

That’s what she had told the woman photographing her. She was on her back, with her lips, covered in a dark red matte lipstick, closed around a lit cigarette. In her other hand is a glass of Scotch, half-full, with champagne ice. Her outfit is a red lace bra and underwear, a Baretta strapped to her right legs’ thigh.

“Okay, now flip over onto your stomach” the photographer orders. “Then, lift your chin up just a tad…yep…perfect.”

Janet’s on her stomach, and she thinks What bitch is THAT attractive? Then she tilts her head up some more.

Earlier that day, she had asked herself the same question. Fingering through the phone book, she looked to see if there was any woman’s name she thought she recognized from Mr. Bransdales circle, highlighted or underlined.

Earlier today, she had even followed Mr. Bransdale to work part of the way, just to make sure he didn’t stop anywhere.

[Janet puts her cigar down in a nearby ashtray, and dials a number]

“Hey, uh, I wanted to check in…see what you’re doing” she begins, trying not to sound suspicious.

“I’m actually quite busy right now, I have to g-”

“Wait, wait, wait…you’re at the office though right?”

The person on the other end pauses for a moment. “Of course I’m at the office. Where…else, would I be? Anyway, I’ve got to go.”

“Alright… bye.” She takes another puff of her cigarette, breathing deeply. And then finishes off her scotch.

“Is that it?” the photographer asks, as Janet walks off the set. Right now, there is no reply. Her steps are light but steady, and she keeps her eyes on the mirror wall in front of her, trying to perfect her hip movement.

“You know this is loaded?” she asks, pulling out the Baretta, and turning to face the photographer.

“No…I didn’t.” BAM!-BAM!-BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

May 24

Gary hadn’t made it to the train in time in a week. It had taken off without him. Sleeping in too late.

“They were so soft” he had told his therapist. She had nodded a “yes”. That was her way of saying she understood. To her other patients, it was different things, but she had noticed that Mr. Christener responded most to the nod. In her mind, he had a clinical need for validation. She would have known because that was what her husband had, something that she had failed to cure, no matter how much affection, and “yes’s” she gave him.

The case had been different with Gary’s former spouse. She was the type of person who possessed the very bad combination of being non-communicational and a procrastinator. If he had told her “I want to get a divorce” she would say something like “I don’t want to talk about it right now”. Let that sink in for a few moments.

Their marriage ever since 1985, had been an “I don’t want to talk about it” one. She was a drinker- that wasn’t talked about. She was a blunt roller- that wasn’t talked about. She had, in a drunken rage, run someone off a cliff- but that wasn’t talked about.

And that night…he had never gotten over it.

Gary had left the apartment to go grab a bottle of pop at the convenience store. It was one of those nights when there were too many sirens going off around all around. None in the neighborhood, but enough around it, to know that the world wasn’t getting any better.

That night, as Gary walked across the street, and a few blocks after that, he wasn’t concerned with the world, and all its problems. As far as he was concerned, the world was the problem…

Anyway, this is how it went, that night:

Garry arrives at the drug store. He’s slightly out of breath as he’s just crossed a street. As always, he’s not going straight to the refrigerator. He shuffles, going over to the chips stand, and then over to the produce section, picking up Oscar Meyers ham slices. Then to the bread section. And then he goes to the refrigerator, to grab the bottle of pop.

By now(two full minutes have passed), the store clerk is looking at him suspiciously and starts to feel around under the counter for his gun.

[Clerk puts the gun back down as he sees Mr. Christener coming up to the front]

“It’s so good to see you again, Mr. Christener,” he says. Mr. Christener doesn’t respond, as he gathers up his groceries.

Gary sits down at the front of the store, on one of its stools, looking out the windows, assembling a sandwich. He can see his apartment from here. He can see the window of his apartment. The lights shouldn’t be on. But they are. Gary looks down, but when he looks up he sees a most unwanted shadow. His wife’s involved in “action” with another man. “I knew it! IIIII KNEW IT!” He leaves.

May 25

[It’s nighttime, dark, and 7:10]

Ms. Bransdale puts on her Mink shawl,

Mary packs her pepper spray,

Burt tells the girl he’s with to go home,

Mr. Bransdale runs back in to grab his tie,

Jannet finishes off the bottle of scotch,

and Gary eats the rest of his ham sandwich as he gets into the car.

8:00 is the time they have to arrive. Being late, according to Emily Post’s Etiquette, signaled that you had better things to do, and that would only prompt the question, upon entry, of “Why ever were you late”, which none of them wanted to answer.

“Women, oh women, the fucking traffic!”

“Jan, can’t you finish putting that on inside!?”

“Oh well, I didn’t want her anyway!”

“Ms. Bransdale Inc. ! No, that’s BRANSDALE. “B”, “R”, “A”, “N”, “S”, “D”, “A”, “L”, “E”!

“Well, I’m telling you, tonight YOU DON’T HAVE TO STOCK HER!”

[They make their way out of their cars]

“Very nice to see you Ms. Bransdale,” the butler at the door says. Right now, she enters the Per Se, a restaurant in Columbus Circle, New York. This is a place she’s never been.

“Very nice to see you Mr. and Mrs….Smith.” Jannet and Mr. Bransdale enter. Mr. Bransdale has never been here before, but Janet frequents this place for drinks often.

“Very nice to see you Mr. Bransdale”. Burt enters, giving the Butler his coat. He needs a drink. Break-ups aren’t easy on him.

“Very nice to see you Mr. Christener.” Gary enters, ignoring the Butler. His hands are finding their way into his pockets, looking for breath mints.

[The table Ms. Bransdale heads over to is 13, a table near a corner, with no lights]

“Hun, when you come out, our table is thirteen,” Mr. Bransdale says over the phone.

“That can’t be it… that dark table!?” Mary exclaims.

“No independence at thirteen” Burt remarks, making his way over.

“Hopefully the cards on that table have some luck” Gary grumbles, dodging someone’s scootch-out.

[All of them arrive at the table]

“Give me a Gin Tonic” Ms. Bransdale orders a waiter. She is pulling out a cigarette.

“I’ll get that,” Mr. Bransdale says, pulling out his lighter.

“No, no, that’s really okay. I’ll do it.” Ms. Bransdale is short with this man, not looking up.

Mr. Bransdale takes a seat on the other side of the table, across from her.

A place that annoys Ms. Bransdale. She puffs a little faster, as her drink arrives on a tray.

“Hey, Gary,” Mr. Bransdale says standing up.

“And how’s my wife?” Gary asks with vigor, steering him back down into his chair.

“Burt, darling, how are you,” Ms. Bransdale says, turning to her son as he gets seated.

“You wouldn’t know mother darling,” he replies, “but it’s getting harder to hold on.”

“To your girlfriends or to my money?”

Jannet is leaving the bathroom, goes over to the bar, before coming to the table with a Rum and Coke in her right hand, and a lit cigarette holder in her left.

“Ha, wow, what a table” Mary gasps. “I guess it’s all for the better though.”

“And why’s that?” Gary asks, in the shadows.

“Well, because now at least I don’t know who you are.”

“Touche.”

Mr. Bransdale stands up and kisses Jannet on the cheek as he pulls out her seat for her. It looks like they’re whispering something and her right eyebrow raises up. She peers into the darkness, but can’t see anyone, and sits down in defeat.

[The smell of smoke is in the air, and no one speaks]

What do all these people who sit in darkness have in common?

Well, here it is, this is how:

On May 20th, Mary makes a good point that Miss Bransdale hasn’t been to the office as much as of late. This is suspicious, but what she doesn’t know is that Miss Bransdale has been planning for the last two weeks, a robbery. She carries out this robbery on the 22nth. The reason Mary gets to work early though is because she has to wake up early. You see, Mr. Bransdale and her have been sleeping together, and he wakes up early, to get back to his public partner, before she misses him. Burt’s maid hasn’t seen any of his “friends”( who he crawls out of bed with) in the morning, because for a while now he’s been mingling with Jannet. Who leaves early in the morning(for the last time on May 21), so as to not be missed by her public partner, Mr. Bransdale. His maid has seen a lot though. She knows things. Things about Ms. and Mr. Bransdale’s split. About why they split. About who specifically played a role in the split. One of those people she knows is Jannet. Gary, one day, upon meeting her during his commute to work on the train, learns that she is the Bransdale’s family maid. Wasting no time, he offers to pay her, if she could only stock Ms. Bransdale, posing as a reporter in the morning, as he fears that Ms. Bransdale might do something violent to Mr. Bransdale before he can.

What Mr. Bransdale has whispered to Jannet a few moments ago is that he knows she is having an affair with Burt due to cameras capturing her intimate interactions with him in the Bransdale Estate, cameras which he still has control of.

[Everyone is still silent]

“What can I start you all off with tonight?” the waiter, who’s come up to their table, asks.