Short Story: Making A Killing

Short Story: Making A Killing

Meet Kyle and Diana Jackson, two grown-up orphans whose love first blossomed when they met as eighth graders at their children’s home. Their love still endures now they’re media stars craving celebrity, fortune and fame.

After abandoning their six-bucks-an-hour jobs as farmhands in Oklahoma they sailed through the heats as contestants on reality TV. Singing tales of young love and lives of devotion they brought tears to the eyes of the nation. Hollywood producers battled to sign them up as the couple rose to every challenge the judges put before them. They shared their past through each and every song and received so many votes that from Malibu to Miami the phone networks crashed. They beat all their rivals at the end of the show, winning their own fly-on-the-wall series on prime time TV. Within twenty-four hours their new agent had moved the couple out west to embark upon the life they’d always dreamed of. The camera crews followed them around the clock as they undertook adventures the audience voted on every week. Within a month of filming the producers launched their hit show, ‘What Kyle and Diana Did Next.’

They loved the fame, they loved the paparazzi, and they loved spending money with almost no thought of tomorrow.

Soon after the producers pulled the plug on their second series Diana received the news that flipped their lives again. All she remembered was her physician beginning, ‘We need more tests, but I’m sorry to say...’

Now, Kyle and Diana, they are doers.

They’re believers.

And, after employing the affirmation techniques they had acquired while living with a cult as part of their TV challenge, they came up with a plan to turn fear into fortune, their fate into gain. See, five weeks of living in the confines among the great prophet Waltilla and his devotees affected them in ways they had never considered.

Resign to the teachings of Waltilla.

Purge all ills and flourish in the face of despair.

Following in the spirit of their recently discovered mystical leader they processed the coming of Di’s news and decided to take a vacation.

The first two days they acted like nothing had happened. They busied themselves by going for beach front walks in the shade of swaying palm trees, sharing memories and taking posterity snaps. They drank cocktails while weighing their options.

On day three the clinic called to confirm what they’d guessed all along. Six months was the prognosis with no more treatment that could help.

Now, Kyle and Diana are fighters.

They’re also media whores.

In their beach front room Kyle checks some app he’s discovered on his iPhone that lists the locations of shops.

‘So, is there a hardware store close by?’ asks Diana, emptying a bottle of capsules that look like pomegranate seeds into the toilet bowl. No point popping those three times a day given what they know of Di’s condition.

‘Says here,’ says Kyle, ‘the nearest is right across town.’

Diana flushes. ‘Want me to go buy that length of plastic tubing to attach to the muffler on the car?

‘I’m not convinced. It’s been done before.’

‘Right. And I guess gassing myself inside your new Volkswagen would accelerate the depreciation and diminish its after-market value. Besides, did we take insurance for that?’ she asks, ‘You know, let’s stick with your idea. It has the drama that will appeal to a wider audience. I’m picturing you earning your next fortune from major corporate sponsorship and giving interviews all over the world. I see giftware and franchises, ‘Dying’s our Destiny by Di.’

Resigned to how the day will pan out Kyle’s employing the tricks he’s learned after two years performing this side of the lens. He’s adjusting one of the digicams they’ve set up around the room. This one on the bookshelf he’s aiming at the center of the bed, rotating the swivel screen to make sure everything is captured in the frame. Diana has chosen her white bikini that best shows off her tan. She climbs on the bed and lies crucifix style on the rubber sheet that’s so black it looks like an oil slick on top of the mattress. Tensing her stomach muscles, she asks, ‘Can that camera see my appendix scar from there? Waltilla says we must always look our best.’

‘Hail,’ they chant. ‘Hail to Waltilla.’

Diana jumps to her feet and throws her arms around her husband, plants a kiss on the end of his nose and says, ‘I love that I can help you like this by capturing my death on tape.’ Having practised their mantras with the rising sun they feel a calm acceptance of their decision to euthanize and make a fortune in the process. Di, smiles and says, ‘Let’s call it Making a Killing; Checking Out while the Going is Good.’

Around the bed are the cameras on tripods, light umbrellas and whiteboxes they brought with them glowing for that much cherished soft focus effect. Kyle’s checking how the light meter works. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘remember series one, episode three, that chapel in Vegas? We did promise for richer or poorer, through sickness and in health.’

Diana sits on the end of the bed practising a look of resignation for when the cameras roll. She’s overwhelmed by a sense of relief. ‘You know, committing suicide as a teenage nobody would have been such a goddam waste. It’s paid to wait. We’re famous now, our public loves us and if I can be sure you’re set up for good, I’ve achieved the kind of positivity our great leader preaches and really made something of my life.’ She makes the sign of Waltilla by licking her fingertips and tapping the middle of her forehead before blowing her husband a kiss. She’s shielding her eyes from the glare that’s crowding the room.

‘Honey, I know dazzling lights help reduce the appearance of wrinkles, but maybe tone them down for me, just a little? At least until we start filming.’

Kyle’s repositioning the lighting to indulge Diana’s dying wish as she reaches to lift a leather tote bag onto the bed. She pulls out the will she drafted the night before, checking it one last time. The bedside phone starts ringing. Kyle says, ‘Holy cow. Must be our agent already.’

‘Tell him to wait. I’m almost done, but I’m still not looking my best.’

Kyle hesitates by the phone. ‘Di my darlin’,’ he says, ‘you know you’ll live in my heart forever, but I’ve been thinking. If we tell him to hold off till tomorrow, we could maybe film multiple takes. You’re a lifestyle guru, an inspiration to all of our fans. You could demonstrate specific techniques - hanging, garrotting, electrocution - before going with your practised method of choice. You know, I’m thinking serious money, one theme a week, another prime time show you can star in even when you’re gone; our own How Diana Died Next.’

Di’s placing a see-through plastic bag on the rubber sheet and patting it to remove any wrinkles. She suppresses a giggle and says, ‘Oh Honey, that’s so sweet. I know Waltilla teaches us life after death but even I can only die once.’

The phone’s still ringing. Kyle picks up. ‘Hey Gerry, we’re almost set, keep those deals under wraps. Go grab a coffee and we’ll call you up when we’re ready.’

From the tote bag Diana removes her bottle of factor fifty suntan lotion and tosses it into the trashcan. Worrying about premature ageing and skin cancer at this stage seems sort of pointless. Like laying new carpets when a tsunami’s on its way. She removes her cosmetics case and dabs anti-perspiration powder over her face and neck, and continues over of her body, from head to toe. Kyle’s checking the cameras; their settings, the angles and focus. ‘Hold it,’ he says, ‘Keep your hands by your crotch. That’s the shot I’ll need to capture your ultimate orgasm on film.’

She twists this way and that, stroking and fingering, and faking like never before. ‘Ooh this is so exciting,’ she says pouting and playing to the cameras. ‘I knew I could make a fortune from movies.’ Before sitting up she reaches into the tote and removes an empty white grocery bag which she offers to Kyle. Chewing her lip she says, ‘Forget it, I prefer the clear. So much better for capturing my facial expressions, conveying my true emotions during the whole process, don’t you agree?’ She stuffs the grocery bag under the bed and says, ‘You got any idea what you’ll do with the money you’ll earn from all this?’

Kyle’s replacing the digital cartridge in one of the camcorders. He says, ‘Well, I’ll make a pilgrimage back to the Waltilla retreat and make a hefty donation to our great leader from us both. But I’ll be so busy with all our promotions, book signings and all, I won’t have much time to enjoy it, not at first.’ Diana’s brushing her hair, the color of rust, that tumbles towards her breasts. Kyle says, ‘Why? Anything you want me to do?’

She quits brushing, looks him in the eye and says, ‘Make sure you marry again. This was fun. Don’t wait too long.’

‘Oh Honey, I shall.’ He scratches his head, frowns and says, ‘Hey, you know what? That could be the next big money-spinning series, What Kyle and Dead Di Wanted Next. Imagine. Your genius and wisdom could flourish forever beyond the grave.’

Di reclines, facing the ceiling on the rubber sheet, with her arms outstretched. ‘Oh Kyle, post-mortem stardom in memoriam. Don’t you love it? Please, let’s do it. Don’t make me wait any longer.’

With Diana’s prognosis spelling a painful end this was a decision they had made together. ‘If you’re happy to go,’ says Kyle, ‘I’m happy too. I figure I’ll call Gerry right after and have him help himself to the tapes. Ready when you are.’ He steps toward the bed and bends to kiss Diana on the lips.

‘Careful,’ she says, ‘no smudging or smearing if the cameras are ready to roll.’

Kyle, he presses the buttons on all of the cameras. ‘Three, two, one. Let’s go.’

Diana reaches for the clear plastic bag and pulls it over her head making sure to leave her fake eyelashes in place. The bag extends down to her shoulders and she pulls the drawstring round her neck cutting off her air supply. ‘How do I look?’ she asks, the bag fogging inside. The room’s dotted with small red lights blinking in a frenzy as each of the camcorders roll. Kyle is stepping around the bed recording on a hand-held camera for that raw Blair Witch Project effect. The bag’s expanding and contracting tight around Di’s face, slow at first and then much faster, her fingers all working her crotch. The bag inflates as Kyle hears her mumble, ‘Remember Honey, cremation.’

She’s fingering and stroking and writhing alone. This is the furthest they’ve gone with this kind of scene and when his wife starts clawing at the bag, writhing and twisting Kyle thinks she’s changing her mind.

The deal they had agreed was for Kyle to stand clear, not to touch. To keep attorneys at bay the decision and whole process must be hers.

With the handheld camera pressed to his face he zooms in on Di’s breasts. Her chest is heaving and her rib cage cracking as she gasps for her last hint of air.

First, one body twitch, then another.

Her head’s like it’s boil-in-the-bag.

When Di’s limp wet fingers and bloody nails slide down her thigh and smear across the black rubber sheet a calm settles over the room.

Kyle wipes the sweat from his face, picks up the phone and calls down to reception where Gerry’s waiting. He comes to the phone saying, ‘So what gives there, big boy? What’s the deal? You going to let me in or not?’

Gerry touted the video tapes to all kinds of producers before the cops arrested him in a pre-dawn raid and later freed him on bail. He fled overnight to Brazil.

Kyle, he disposed of Di’s body back home on the Oklahoma farm.

Gerry now works for cable TV – some community channel’s reality show scouting for talent in Rio’s city slums.

And Kyle, he’s changed his name and followed Di’s wishes by marrying again.

Again, again and again.

He’s made his life with his four new wives behind the high voltage fences and coils of barbed wire at the Texas Waltilla retreat. Meantime he’s their cameraman on a YouTube show their leader preaches on every day. He still hopes for another big media break, and he does front the show twice a week.