The garden party was in full swing. People and conversation flowed like wine, which also flowed freely. The lawn had been immaculately cut into stripes and someone had spent some considerable time going over it with a roller. The trees around the outside waved lazily in the afternoon breeze, joined by the hemlines of frocks and hats of the ladies. There was a large marquee at one end, and tables lay off in a large circle down the garden, laden with posies of fresh flowers in the centre. A few of the tables were populated but most people had congregated in the centre of the circle, standing chatting and drinking with others of a similar social standing.
It was kind of interesting to watch the groups form and watch for the alpha's establish control over the others by telling their tired old stories, albeit with authority. Every once in a while one of the group would challenge for the attention of the group by interjecting. Sometimes they would win and the previous centre of attention would take a step back, often literally, blending in with the rapt crowd and other times the alpha would wait until it was polite to regain control and carry on. Those who were most used to having people hang on their words would simply talk over the interloper, cutting them off. Those were the type of people that didn't give a fuck if you thought they were impolite, they were way too important to have someone else grab their audience, even for just a few seconds.
People would peel off occasionally to go to the buffet in the marquee to restock plates with canapés, imported olives, calamari rings and other expensive, assorted nibbles or to refill glasses with champagne. For some reason those who left a group almost invariably never went back to the same one. They would catch sight of someone at another group or get accosted by someone to join theirs. It was called mingling and everyone at this particular party was an expert.
I lay on top of the hillock up from the house, watching it all through the scope. It was every world in microcosm. People meeting up, letting their façades do the talking, keeping everything at surface level. Pleasantries were exchanged, jokes shared and business deals were forged. It was the ultimate 'elephant in the room' situation - not one person showed the slightest shred of sincerity towards one another and they all knew it, but played along anyway. That was the game. Most of the attendees were so used to the schmoozing scene they didn't even realise there was any alternative.
Humans lie. It's something we learn early on. Sometimes it's for self preservation, like when a child tells you they didn't do whatever it is that they've quite obviously done. They're trying to avoid a telling off so much that they end up convincing themselves they really didn't do it. Other times it's a coping strategy. Hell, some people just do it for fun, to fuck with the heads of others for their own amusement, but for most it's just what they see when they're growing up so it becomes second nature. For some strange reason, I'm not built like that. I can only assume it's either due to the culmination of my experiences over the years, having met some of the biggest fakers and bullshitters around, or maybe I was just born this way. Don't get me wrong, I lie sometimes but my first instinct in any given situation is to blurt out the truth, whatever it may be. It's got me into trouble more than once.
See, like I said, most people have this shit ingrained. They talk about being honest and they believe they are, but they hide so much from other people that when they meet someone who is genuinely honest, they actually find it extremely uncomfortable. It's not really surprising, someone that is truly honest exposes you for the liar you are and for a second you have to really look at yourself and decide if you like what you see. It's at this point one of three things happens. The most common is that the person realises that they don't like being like this for the most fleeting of seconds before cognitive dissonance kicks in again and tells them that everyone does it, so they're no worse than anyone else and the façade pops back into place and they carry on as always.
The second situation sees the person realise they don't like being like that and they turn inward and get depressed because they can't be themselves around people. They end up alcoholic or homeless or stuck in a bad relationship and they slowly hollow themselves out with drink or drugs until only the smiling shell is left. Most of the women here have that glassy eyed look. I swear if you gazed into their eyes, you'd find yourself looking at the back of their heads.
The last option is rare. The person looks into themselves and decides that they don't like how they are and decide to make a change.
Now change can be a scary thing. It takes actual courage to admit you don't like something about yourself and it takes even more to actually do something about changing it. This is the process I've been through over the years. I'm not blowing my own trumpet, but for me it's about changing and growing. A lot of people are just too scared to step out of their comfortable bubble. That's not a judgement, that's just the way things are.
A commotion near the marquee snaps me out of my philosophising. I train the scope up the garden just in time to see today's generous and gracious host emerging from the canvas with his lovely wife Katrina and Pepper, his beloved Pomeranian, both trotting along obediently in tow. Katrina air kisses several guests, being careful not to spill any champagne on their finery. She sashays from guest to guest, the same smile fixed in place almost as well as her blonde tresses which bob slightly as she moves but no more, nodding and laughing. I wonder cynically if it should be her wearing the leash. I frown inwardly at my bitter thought before training the scope back on her again. She's wearing a low cut A-line number in cream. Simple, unadorned and very classy. Her only decadence is a necklace in pearls and diamonds. Ah, I realise. That's the leash.
Meanwhile her husband has moved away and I've lost him in the crowd. Sloppy. It takes me a minute but I find him striding away from the drinks table. Following his line of sight I figure out where he's going and subsequently, who he's going to talk to. Of course it takes him almost ten minutes to get over to them, being the host of the party means he's going to have to say a few words to everyone he passes. He's the most interesting to watch. He screams power. He was obviously quite a well muscled man in his younger days but in his middle age that has fallen to a paunch that somehow seems to focus his power. He's so powerful he can afford to let himself go a little.
In contrast to everyone else, who have worn suits, albeit slightly casual rather than full on business attire, he is wearing a pair of light tan chinos and a polo shirt under a bright white cricket jumper. His hair is slicked back over his balding head, which is turning ever so slightly pink in the sun. His shoes are immaculate and Italian and obviously hand made. The fact that he's come dressed more casually than everyone else speaks volumes, especially considering there are some very rich and powerful people here. In fact if one were so inclined, a well placed bomb would take out large chunks of the main banking, judiciary, governmental and heads of business of the city. You could shift the balance of power in this country and you wouldn't even need a particularly big bomb.
That's not my concern though. To be perfectly honest, without a lot of these people being where they are and doing what they are doing, I probably wouldn't be able to make the living I do, although after today all that's going to change anyway.
I try to relax. The knot in my stomach is causing my IBS to flare up and I'm struck with rather sharp pain in my ass which comes from nowhere. How appropriate. Of course it's not too late, I can pack up my position and walk away - but to what? To go where?
As much as I value lateral thinking, I can't imagine what I would do or where I would go. I'm bound to this course of action now, as much as I hate it.
I don't believe in fate or destiny. I don't really even believe in free will as such. I know, that sounds like such a paradox, or at least an oxymoron. I just don't believe everything we do is mapped out beforehand, that sounds like superstition to me and I don't believe we have complete free will, we just make choices from a limited set of options at any given time. I mean, if I had complete free will, I could choose to grow wings and fly. I can't do that because it's against the laws of nature so any options that break physical laws are unavailable to me. Now add to that societal constraints, group pressure and internal conflicts and you're left with a very limited set of choices from an infinite amount of possibilities.
There is a theory that if you could tap into someone's mind and see everything they've ever experienced in their life, you would be able to predict how they would act in any given situation. If you could, would that mean you could see their future or just that you had the foresight they themselves wished they had?
It's such a shame he chose to wear light colours today. I'm pretty sure they are about to be ruined. No amount of dry cleaning will help.
My ass still hurts. It's a weird shooting pain which causes me to tense my legs up, which is not really helpful at the moment. Not much I can do but wait for it to pass from previous experience. I can feel my eyes beginning to water. Great. Now my hay fever is kicking in. Fabulous. The view down the scope looks like those old porn movies where everything is blurred in soft focus. As if I didn't have enough to deal with. I'm about to break my first commandment - my most sacred, to appropriate a religious word. This has me racked with guilt as it is. Perhaps my body is trying to stop me from doing what I really don't want to do anyway. Unfortunately my body doesn't know the full story. Like I said, this is not a choice, it's a necessity.
Pepper circles his feet, entangling his legs in the leash. He has to break off talking to bad moustache guy for a second to free himself and pick the dog up. That complicates things. He can't be holding the dog when it happens, that will fuck everything up royally.
My finger rests on the side, tense. Eventually bad moustache guy pats him on the back and they loudly share a joke and pleasantries once more as the bad moustache retreats back to the group he came from, kissing his wife or mistress on the side of her head and whispering in her ear. She nods, almost imperceptibly.
He puts Pepper on the floor and I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. He heads back the way he came, towards the empty patch of beautifully tended lawn. He's moving slowly, trying to give the impression that he just happens to be heading in that direction for no particular reason and reinforces this by nodding and smiling at people in other groups as he passes, occasionally exchanging a few words and laughs. A trained observer would be looking at the way his shoulders are orientated and the fact that he always keeps one foot pointing to his destination. Whenever he stops briefly to say hello, his body is only half turned towards them, indicating that he's not going to be stopping for long. I see all this but I already know where he's going and unknown to him, I'm going to stop him getting there.
He breaks away from the last nearby group with a pat on the arm for the plump and ruddy man he was talking to and reaches the empty space, the halfway point. This is it. Go time. I line up and take my finger from its’ resting position on the guard. I go through the actions in my head and breathe in slowly. I hold my breath and place my finger.
There is a quiet 'phut' noise from two feet in front of my nose and the air fills with a puff of crimson mist. Pandemonium is the instant reaction, with people running every which way. Some lay down. One or two stand rooted and screaming. From up the garden a group of what were champagne waiters are running, guns drawn to the spot where he is now laid in the mud and grass, covered in blood. It's time for me to leave.
I'm far enough away that it will take them a while to figure out which direction it came from, but I'm not waiting. I carefully pack up and slide down the back of the hillock unseen and run crouched back to the van. I'll be long gone before they come out this way and they can check the tyre tracks all they like - I've hired the van. I slip in and start the engine. I even had the foresight to reverse down the little back gravel lane. It took me ten minutes to do it because the van is enclosed at the back and therefore has no rear view mirror, but it was worth it because now I can pull away easily and drive off.
It's only when I pull on to the main road that I realise I've been weeping quietly since I got in the van.
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