Vanity and Jesse

With all that wealth could offer, raucous parties were thrown every weekend to hypnotise the human soul from the foundation of WWI. The most popular parties that occurred roared in Yorkshire, England in the grandest mansion on 22 Point Street. The explicit lawn decorated with bushes and trees of dark spring green stretched miles out to the closest road and was like a maze full of men and women who came and went amongst the stars. Inside, the home was another dimension, with buffet tables and a bar stocked with gins and illegal liquors provided by bootleggers that lured in the young and ambitious and made a woman unrecognisable. The high dome ceiling covered in angelic white sheltered the guests who danced freely and tortuously and upstairs on the walls of the main hall was a painting of Echo and Narcissus. The boy’s lost eyes glared down to only meet with the coal eyes of the host, Vanity, the ‘golden girl’. She hovered over her guests and saw some of the most empowered and influential actresses inhaling the dry smoke from their slender fingertips and bursting out a booming laugh.

Both male and female fell in love with Vanity’s tranquilising beauty. As she slithered down the marble steps like a snake her bobbed blonde hair glistened. All glanced at Vanity’s slinky dress of shimmering gold and black that exposed her slim arms and legs. No one dared swoon backwards on her arms, gangsters would squint like mice when her aroma of daffodils danced by. As the rhythm of the jazz music filled the house, one of many butlers for Vanity named Jesse fell in a passionate trance of deep love towards her. He was a penniless, shy young man who stuttered, never letting the alcohol remain in his mouth, which made everyone laugh and razz him. A tall flapper with bright red lips whispered to her lover, “I heard the poor boy was tortured by his mother, for being talkative, quite tantalising.”

 

“What Baloney!” he scoffed and placed the dry cigar in his bland mouth. “Don’t dare associate with that misfit,” he ordered as he placed his wife’s slender arm around his masculine one.

Jesse was obsessively infatuated with Vanity’s sedative beauty. He saw her silver diamond headpiece that mocked the moonlight moving to the front of the house and so he followed through the dancing crowd. He inhaled the summer night air, positioned his navy tie and combed his golden hair, then swiftly strolled pass the automobiles, searching for her amidst the maze.

“Who is there?” giggled Vanity, who let out a minor burp for she was half intoxicated.

Frozen as ice, Jesse was nervous to respond for his speech sunk low, yet he did;

“I’m here!” he squeaked.

“Well I can’t see you behind those trees, come out!” she grinned.

Jesse was thrilled and as he willingly answered, “coming” he ran towards Vanity and placed a tender kiss on her lips.

Vanity pushed Jesse away and yelled in disgust, “You filth! I would rather a bullet in my back than a butler kiss me!”

“I… I… I,” he stuttered and then ran and wept into the darkness.

As days went by Vanity never saw her butler hand another drink to her guests and only heard his name amongst the quiet gossip.

 

 

 

 

It was another night another lavish carnival at Vanity’s plea, where people became once again roaring drunk. Two men discussed how both have flooded tears of anguish for they to have been scorned by Vanity’s undesired love.

“That flapper’s pride is the death of her Sam,” rumbled a lawyer.

 “How unfortunate it is that another man disappears because of her unwanted love,” the other victim stated, “but how fortunate it would be if she to disappeared.” He grew a smirk.

 

On one fine morning, Vanity accustomed to her daily routine of applying oneself makeup in front of the tall mirror that hung in her spacious room. She grabbed her plum coloured lipstick and drew on a heart, inked her eyebrows with black eyeliner and painted both eyelids with a dark grey shadow and become a doll. The morning rays added effect on her already glistening face and she startled at the beautifully planned artwork that she created. As she slowly slid her soft hand down her cream cheeks she was mesmerised by how smooth they were like cotton balls. Enchanted by her physique, she twirled around in her peach robe for she knew she was a diamond. For days and days, she locked herself in her room, ignoring telephone calls and ignoring her duties. The only thing Vanity paid attention to was herself. Tenths of her designer dresses covered her bed and her best high heels glued to the tiles. Her weary sky eyes were fixated on her image. Attracted by her full lips, she felt a desire for their taste. She placed her lips on the glass mirror expecting warmth, yet her lips turned to ice. Her anger turned into endless tears, she never would have expected that the love of her life was her own figure and found herself melting in her reflection. With fury she grabbed a lamp and threw it with such force shattering the mirror to infinite pieces.

She rushed to the ground and then came running down her mascara, “OH NO!” she cried.

Her hands shook as she scattered through the glass pieces trying to find her reflection, “What have I done?”

The door creaked open and her maid hesitantly spoke, “Ms Vanity, the event has ended.”

 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Vanity shouted.

She noticed the palms of her hands were painted in blood and from that moment she yelled so piercingly that the notorious slums of London could hear. Silent footsteps approached inside her room and before Vanity could turn around, a bullet shot by a scorned lover pierced through her curved back and then another shot exploded from a jealous wife straight through Vanity’s heart. She gasped her last breath then fell to the ground, yet still her eyes found her own reflection from a piece of the broken mirror and then turned into a poor ghost that vanished into thin air. Jesse with the scent of a cigar and rage trailed up into Vanity’s room to express his anger. Both killers proudly walked down their hosts illuminating flight of stairs with gold jewels in one hand and a pistol in the other, Jesse’s endless love towards Vanity vanquished his aggravation and raced to her room. The beauty of his lover was sucked off her soft skin. Jesse clinged to her lifeless body and wailed like a desolate wolf rocking back and forth. He tried to speak, yet no words would come out. Vanity’s death was written in the Daily Telegraph and was mourned throughout London. Her previous guests and even the lovers she derided were present at her funeral, for she was a presence that was admired by all. When her mansion was cleared, Jesse was a living dead man who strolled through her shrivelled garden and his red eyes sighted Vanity’s diamond encrusted headpiece hidden within the bushes and kept it to himself for she was his shimmering mirage.