how I made my millions -- jack edwards

[swing]

?Congrats, you made the front page again.?

The officer chuckled as the paper was slammed onto the table in front of Jack as he attempted to smoke a cigarette with braceleted wrists. Eyes looked down at the horror that was his face on the cover of a daily tabloid.

?I bet you want to read the article.?

The officer moved and opened the page to the article in question where the picture of chaos at the Chelsea Hotel was printed. Estella, with a horrified look as the manager of the hotel comforted her and shot a look at Jack whose face was twisted into something horribly unflattering while two policemen were attempting to pull him out of the room.

<center>?Get Out of Jail Free : One Card Edwards Does Not Have in His Pocket.</center>

January 05, 2004.

By: Bridgett Rafferty.

NEW YORK ? It?s got to be a cold day in hell when someone has to forcibly remove Jack Edwards from their apartment, especially when the force comes with handcuffs and sirens.

Jack Edwards, popular banking mogul, was arrested late afternoon yesterday due to what sources have confirmed as ?a breech of restraining order? when he broke in to the hotel room of Ferris Milton?s leading lady, Estella Havisham. The arrest was made after Edwards reportedly evaded detainment in connection with the assault on his former lawyer, Lorenzo Smith. The police have been reluctant to divulge any information regarding the pending case.

An inside source says that this behavior may be connected with events surrounding the women?s charity bash that was held on Halloween of last year, though this information hasn?t been confirmed. Edwards is currently being held for further questioning in connection with the disappearance of Ferris Milton?s million dollar pooch, Twinkerbell. The dog was reported missing early on in the morning yesterday.

This leaves only one question that needs answering; what was he thinking??

[swing]

Why can?t we just be mates?

That phrase has been mulling over in my brain for a few hours. While Sylvia prattles on and passes me a look in our meeting, I?m checking my watch and sighing. I really can?t handle the dull atmosphere in here today. I can?t stand the way they?re talking about me as if I can?t hear. Oh, my darlings I?ve got a wicked pair of ears.

Speaking of wicked, what does she want? Of course, she says one thing, but you know women. Fickle creatures that they are. She wants something, and when I figure out what it is? I?m certainly not going to give it to her. That would be letting her win, and though I may seem calm on the exterior, I am still completely and utterly outraged. That little twit snapping photographs didn?t even get my good side. It?s bad enough he had to take pictures. I?ll be paying him a visit later, after I see Angela.

Mm, Angela. That is my pretty little plot on Lorenzo ? taking what is most dear and all of that. Aside from this, I think it?s about time I learned a little bit more about Ms. Havisham?Strictly for curiosity?s sake. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I want to run her into the ground with as much force as I possibly can. After all, we?re mates right? Mates trust one another.

I?m smirking now, outright and Sylvia must think that she said something clever. The only clever thing she?s done today is get herself fired.

[swing]

His father was a series of photographs that lined the shelves his mother arranged in the house. These, and a few strewn articles of clothing were the only proof that William Edwards even existed. His son never asked for stories ? it made him more heroic when he swept in and lavished the boy on birthdays with an expensive gift and a handwritten scrawl of words. Seated at the kitchen table, with feet dangling about the floor, Jack focused on the crafting of letters rather than his mother?s arrival.

?Jack! Darling, come and see what I have for you!?

His mother?s saccharine bribe was granted a glance from over a shoulder as the pencil twitched in his hand.

?Not now mummy! I?m working on my letters!?

His distracted voice didn?t daunt his mother in the slightest.

?Jonathon Andrew Edwards, you will come here immediately.?

When his full name rang out, he sighed heavily and slid from the chair. Glossy shoes stomped out tiny notes as he obliged her request of his presence. Instead of being accosted by only his mother, a boy with bright eyes blinked at him. Tiny arms crossed behind his back and he lifted his chin. His mother nudged the dark haired boy forward.

?Jack, this is Gregory.?

The boy fumbled forward and offered a timid hand towards Jack.

?Jack, be a good boy and shake Gregory?s hand.?

Jack leaned forward and inspected the boy?s hand with a skeptical stare, before he straightened again.

?His hand is dirty.?

?Jack,? his mother warned.

?I don?t like him mummy, I want my present.?

?Jack, Gregory has been looking forward too playing with you all day, so be nice and shake hands.?
?He?s eaten my present, hasn?t he?? Jack eyed the boy who had dropped his hand and blinked tear-filled eyes. ?I don?t like him. I don?t want to play. I want my present and I want to work on my letters.?

?Jack!? His mother exclaimed, appalled.

?Mummy!? Jack?s foot stomped on the carpet.

?Apologize to Gregory.?

?No.?

?You will apologize to Gregory right this minute!?

Jack squirmed and stomped his foot again.

?Now.?

Jack sighed heavily and eyed the boy, before he straightened and lifted his chin again.

?I?m sorry,? He began. ?That you are a fat, dirty, wretched little boy and that my mummy brought you in my house without cleaning you up first.?

Jack turned his back on his mother?s gaping mouth and the blubbering boy and walked back into the kitchen to begin his lettering again. This happened every week, and he was hoping his mother would run out of little pockets to shove pounds in to.

That?s why his father stayed away. He had heard him say it once ? the only memory of clear words rang out sometimes.

?Rebecca, that boy is intolerable.?

[swing]

Dreary London weather was watched from a face sandwiched between palms. Jack had no desire to listen to Academy instruction, even as his name was rattled off in a sharp pitch. It had been different when he was younger, the repetition of routine wasn?t so cumbersome. He could practice lettering at whim, but here where his feet touched the floor he could do little to keep himself awake.

?Mr. Edwards, this is the last time I will ask for your attention.?

Glass eyes snapped from the window towards the schoolmaster in a glare that was slow in its calculation ? the enemy was sized up before a bored sigh gripped his lungs and was forced out as his eyes slid back towards the window. In the reflection there, he watched the man?s face turn a shade of eggplant as the veins that lined his forehead and neck rippled out of skin just above the starch collar and bland bow tie, dripping towards the nosepiece of round glasses.

This was not his first, nor his last schoolmaster to become so infuriated that the muscles around their eyes twitched compulsively and their hearts weakened in a matter of minutes. No, this man had merely had the most patience with the obstinate boy and all of his defiant games. Jack continued to watch the window, even as the man stalked over and pulled the shade down ? the wind did little to flutter eyelids. The further he pressed, the harder this ruddy-faced man would fall. And he would fall, because Jack always got his way.

Three days passed in this manner ? when Jack was not allowed to see a window, he kept his head pointed towards a book until he was left with nothing but a chair and an old desk to sit at. These measures were meant to inspire the boy to learn and be a productive member of the class, but it proved to only be the detonation of the time-bomb inside the school master. With glasses low on the bridge of his nose and fingers pressing against the space, the man made an appeal to Jack one last time.

?Mr. Edwards will you please just answer the question.?

To his surprise, Jack rose and stood straight with bright eyes angled towards the front of the class for recitation.

?Voltaire said,? Jack began before eyes swung sharply toward his schoolmaster. ?The secret of being a bore is to tell everything.?

The class became an ocean of snickering as Jack?s answer was more a jab at the professionalism of the man who taught them rather than an answer. However, in a counter, the school master posed another question.

?Who are you then, Robespierre or Marat??

?Robespierre, naturally.?

?Really,? The man?s eyes narrowed at the boy as hands crossed behind his back. ?And why is that??

?Marat was a weak fool,? Jack began. ?He was assassinated in his own bathtub by a woman, which is worse than dying for the cause you helped create I think. Besides, all he did was yell and accuse in his writing, I would much rather have been someone active in my society.?

?So you would?ve rather been a tyrant??

Jack lifted his chin and eyed the man a moment before he spoke.

?Well, I assume you?re playing the role of Louis the XVI. After all, you do nothing for your people.? Jack?s hand gestured toward the hushed room. ?At least I would be doing us all a favor if I signed off for your head.?

During the car ride home, Jack watched out the window as London architecture changed shape the farther they moved from the inside of the city. He scarcely heard his mother?s voice as she choked an enraged question at her son.

?What was wrong with that man! Why did you do that to him? To me??

Jack turned his face from the window and answered simply.

?He was too,? he paused. ?pudgy.?

[swing]

The scene unfolded in a familiar pattern ? pools of designer clothing, jewelry left on a nightstand, a cigarette sparking to life, and the skyline of another chilly morning in metropolis. Jack?s primary focus, however, was on the ceiling as his head lolled onto the back of he chair he had deposited himself in. Smoke climbed toward the ceiling as his cigarette was pulled from his mouth to linger dangerously close to the floor. It was only when the door?s locks clicked quietly back into place that he tipped his head back to face it.

?You can wipe that look right off your face.?

His laughter drawled lazily from his throat at the figure of a woman who, in his shirt, had lost the intimidating quality that she usually carried. She kept a hand poised on a striped oxford swathed hip and blinked expectantly as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and rolled shoulders.

?What?? The question was half-laughed out from his mouth, coated with nicotine smog.

?Don?t ?what? me.? Angela tucked folded papers under an arm as she started across the room. ?You know exactly what I am talking about.?

?Is it wrong of me to,? He spoke with vague gestures of fingers outlining her. ?Admire a woman like yourself??

Angela gave him a look before her words articulated what a darkened slant of eyes couldn?t quite emphasize. ?Admire me, or the shirt I?m in??

?Well, if I?m to be completely honest?? The smug smirk that had unfolded on his features upon her entry only seemed to further itself as he spoke. ?I?d admire you more out of it.?

.?Keep talking like that?? Her tone was a warning bell as she sent the periodicals to collide with his arm in a harsh swat.

?That?s the last time I?m honest with you!?

She shook her head as he laughed and finished off the cigarette. The paper was straightened and pages were flipped through as she stood a safe distance away from Jack. A brow rose slowly as she hummed out a note while the pages were scanned.

?What?? Jack, who had been content to ignore her existence, now turned his attention back on her.

?Hm? Oh, nothing. I just saw something amusing.? She didn?t look up from the paper, but instead turned a page.

?Well, obviously it isn?t nothing if you found it humorous. What is it??

Angela sighed and closed the paper, folding it again before she moved toward the island in the open kitchen. Jack ground his teeth in slight agitation, but rather than voice this he tapped fingers along the arm of the chair content to wait her out.

?I?m not going to tell you.? She crooned her words over the counter as hands blindly searched for coffee mugs.

?Why not??

?Because your head is big enough as it is.?

?Okay.?

Angela backtracked from where she was in the kitchen and stared openly at him. Jack Edwards had never been a man to turn down an ego-boost and she nearly lifted her hand to his forehead in order to see if he was running a fever. At a loss for what to say, she shrugged her shoulders.

?Apparently you did a number on that pretty young thing.?

Jack blinked slowly at her and she sighed.

?Estella.?

?Oh?? The word was a realization as well as a question.

?According to the tabloid, girl?s trippin?. ?

She smirked at him as he brushed past her into the kitchen. To her surprise however, it wasn?t to read the article but to finish setting out the coffee cups.

?That?s interesting.? His words were distracted by the wide smirk he held on his face ? a gloating sort of a glow washed over him as he gingerly filled cups with coffee and offered one out to her.

?Mmmhmm.? She sung absently. ?I know that look.?

?You and your bloody looks.? He rolled his eyes.

?You want to call her, don?t you??

?Oh don?t be ridiculous.? He scoffed at her and took a sip from his mug.

Angela stared at him expectantly until he rolled his shoulders and started to move.

?Is it so bad that I feel a little guilty??

?Jack, guilty is not a word in your vocabulary.? She paused. ?Especially with that smirk.?

?It?s just amusing as you said, besides what would I call her for? I don?t want any more trouble with that woman.?

?Oh really??

Jack turned a look over his shoulder as he paused by the window. ?Oh absolutely, the only trouble I want is with you.?

What Angela didn?t see was the awful grin that was sent out to the billboard that had once been occupied by the woman in question. It was his move, and he planned to capitalize.

[swing]

This rainy weather is really doing nothing for me. Jack told me that he'd come by to pick me up from work, but he was conveniently not able to answer his house or cell phone, which leads me to believe two things. One of which, he should probably hope that he's to Nevada by now.

After nearly being splashed by the taxi, I get the doorman to buzz me in because my key isn't working. I'm really not into standing out here and drowning, it works for Halle Berry, but not for me. No, I just look like I've spent all day trying out for Roots II..That wasn't even funny, I think the door man thinks that my blank stare is for him, but it's not. I don't have time to apologize.

The elevator is a nice luxury. I'm really thankful that it's working and that specifically Gary is running it because he doesn't ask lots of questions. I really appreciate that because I've been living with the Spanish Inquisition lately. The doors open and I offer Gary a smile, he salutes me and I go about my business. I like my floor because no one's really loud..

Well, usually.

I knew something was wrong when I heard the sound of glass shattering. I thought that perhaps one of my neighbors was having a break in or an argument and that caused me to hurriedly open the lock. However, by the time it clicked into place I realized that it was my apartment and more specifically, that the muffled sounds of voices were just a faded song and a rather loud voice over it. Immediately I know what's going on.

As I open the door, I see him. Jack. That vain bastard is standing in front of my mirror, singing at the top of his lungs while using what looks like a bottle of champagne as a microphone. I idly kick bits of the glass out of my way and hold a hand to my nose. It doesn't smell like alcohol and really I'm trying not to show him how hard I'm laughing, but my shaking shoulders give it away because he immediately stops and gives me a horrified look.

"Why," I speak as I try to compose myself. "Are you singing Captain and Tennille, first of all. Second of all, why does it smell like cake?"

He scowls at me and stumbles over to the stereo. After fumbling with the buttons which only switches it from one sappy love song to another, he finally shuts off the stereo and glares at me.

"It's not polite to sneak up on someone," He snarls this over the bottle's mouth.

"I live here, it's not sneaking," I counter him easily and shake off my coat.

"I just can't believe it..."

I've ignored him by this point. I'm trying to walk through my own house without being stabbed in the foot by an errant piece of glass. I hope he knows that he's cleaning all of this up and he's paying for new carpet. I'm sure that he doesn't really care though, or he wouldn't be here. I walk away from him to change into dry clothes but I don't really think he even notices that I've gone because he's staring at himself in that damned mirror again, watching his mouth move as he talks. I'm idly skating through the front room when I hear him start to shout, but it's the bottle dropping that stuns me if only because I didn't expect it.

"You would think.. Really, that you would take my advice. I'm not a man who gives things out for personal gain.."

I think about correcting him, but he's drunk. He wouldn't know what I was saying any way.

"I mean, I'm just honestly trying to help. If you're a fat bastard who's as bloody boring as you are sideways, then yes, I'm going to tell you. No, it's not me being jealous about anything, it's me telling the truth. Mate to mate you know? I can't help it that he's a cow and you're getting all wrinkly around the eyes. I mean really, I can see it now already..."

I hope he's not talking about me. I'm thinking about slapping him, but he's raised his hands in some grandiose example. Here we go.

"The perfect imitation of domestication. A few children, which will stretch out the hips, you can count on it. Maybe a dog, although I would think that would be his idea primarily. But... It's still.. I just don't believe it. Is there anything wrong with me? Honestly?"

Plenty, but I keep this to myself because he's already decided that I'm not there.

"I'm young."

No, you're not.

"I'm healthy."

No, you're not.

"And I'm bloody fun to be around."

Sure, if you think that being around a child every day is fun. Really though, don't get me wrong. Jack's a great person, when he wants something from you otherwise? He's a seven year old who's balding around the temples. It's a shame really, he probably could've been really attractive if he wasn't such an asshole. I'm considering telling him about that intern he's got working for him now, his name's John, but I don't know if I want that kind of drama right now. He looks like he's going to cry.

"Why would you come to me to tell me something like that?"

"Jack, what happened?" I have to interject because this looks serious. "You act like someone died."

He stops and looks at me for a long minute before he breaks out into a grin. "Angela," he begins. "You're a bloody brilliant woman."

"Jack, you're not serious."

"Why not?"

"Because that's just fucking stupid. You're drunk and irrational, I'm not even going to continue talking to you. Get out of my apartment."

"You can't just...You can't just kick me out like this!"

"Jack, leave." I don't know why I'm being so mean, but I think it's just so I can have a good laugh in private, because honestly. His face is the color of an eggplant and I'm fairly certain that the vein in the middle of his forehead is going to pop out at any moment. I point a finger toward the door before I decide to use my leverage. "Oh, and Jack darling..."

He trudges toward the door with an indignant look on his face like he can't believe that I'm kicking him out. "What." His voice slurs out a sharp note and it really just makes this easier for me.

"I'm sleeping with John."

"I know," He smiles and that worries me. "He gave you the Clap."

If I had something to throw at him, I would.

[swing]

This woman is absolutely boring and her voice reminds me of the incessant chirping of a pigeon. I had intended to come to Las Vegas to avoid talking, but apparently she's missed the memo. I suppose that this is punishment for leaving the professional world for the professional world, if you know what I mean. She's prattling on about something, so I reach over and take her hand in mine, surprised at its dexterity for someone as stiff as she seems.

"I really feel like we have a connection."

Oh God woman, are you really that base? I feel like screaming at her that the only connection I want involves the removal of clothing. However, in the spirit of being couth I simply offer her a smile and trace a pattern with my thumb over her knuckles. She stills my hand and leans forward. I catch myself peering into the shadows that are created by the dip in the fabric of her dress as she does this, but she doesn't seem to notice my distraction.

"Jack," she sighs my name with the cotton candy sound of her voice. "I want you to open your soul to me."

What in the bloody hell is this woman on about?If I recall correctly, the only one who should be opening anything is her. I retract my hand and swipe it across my brow as if I have something to say that I just cannot. It incites a kind of concern from some women, the kind who have a problem and are in most need of my services. Repression is a terrible thing, a kind of hell that I wouldn't wish on any woman.

"What is it? You can tell me anything, baby, I promise."

I can hardly control my laughter as she smoothes her hand over my shoulder and slides closer to me. This woman wants a sensitive caring individual and I need to get laid, so I suppose that for the time being I can sacrifice my dignity.

"It's just.." I trail my words, partly because I'm scrambling for something sensitive to say. "Really hard for me right now."

"Oh, it's okay! You can let it out, darling. I'm here for you."

Oh are you now?

"I just.. Things have just been so...hard for me with the recent events. You know? I just feel so lonely."

She wraps an arm around me as I sigh a conflicted breath.

"What is it, Jack? You can tell me."

"It's just.." I sigh again, and drop my hand to splay fingers over her knee. A brazen move I know, but I need to make sure I have her complete attention. "Those bombings in London might've killed my parents, my sister who is half-retarded, or possibly even someone I know and I'm just really..." No subject is taboo when it comes to sex.

"Ohhh, it's okay! Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!"

She's fumbling for something to say, so I decide to envelope her in a hug and press my mouth against her ear.

"I just feel really close to you right now.." Meredith? Marissa? Melody? Maxine? "Melanie."

"I feel really close to you too, Jack."

"I just wish we could be closer, I wish that our souls could intertwine in this communion that we have together."

I feel like I'm going to vomit, luckily she says the magic words.

"Come with me."