Ordeal by Cheque

Lucky man, Lawrence Exeter. Philanthropist, a fine job, and an honest man. Never find a man of such refined yet humble nature. Then his wife, worthless. Her presence as lurid as that hell spawn she beget. Born Oct. 3 1903, he sent his mother to St. Peter's gates he did. This devastated Lawrence, he hadn't the heart to raise his child after such a loss.

He suffocated the squirt with luxuries. Toys, food, private school, you name it and he had it plus an extended package. No wonder when the nut hit thirteen he was hauled to the military. Did he learn of his insignificance in the world? Possibly, if his pap hadn't bought the nitwit his own car. Maybe his father was conniving the his son's ignorance of his love life.

Miss Daisy, was her name, sure was the tart of the town. Jr. , the rebel, figured it out sooner or later. He confronted his father, cursed his name in the streets, and soon enough his disposition was as sullied as Miss Daisy's petticoat. Lawrence Sr. sent the boy to abroad, to France, attempting to soothe the miscreant's temper. But Sr. knew he'd never be forgiven, no matter what luxury he handed his son. Now Jr., not the parsimonious type, wasted his money on tulips and daisies. I like to think the military produces men, not hair brained ninnies who sleep in beds of roses!

So maybe he bought flowers prior his big buy on a country club. It was renovated to mimic the Renaissance Age. The jewels he purchased were for a sweet lady love, hopefully. Then just that year the kid got a few bucks from feeble old papa and got hitched on a Hawaiian cruise ship. Jr. was also smart enough to rent a cozy hotel for the jail birds, uh love birds, to nestle. She was nice. With a nice boring name, nice teeth, and a nice stupid mind.

Jr. buys his wife a box of Valentine's chocolates and one for his mistress. How interesting his wife didn't find it peculiar he hid a heart shaped box of chocolates behind his back, moron. Next is the Parisian lingerie that is conspicuously "hidden" under the bed. Curious and curiouser his woman keeps raggin so he needs to get out of the house. He chooses a sport; the roughest toughest manliest most physically demanding sport there is, uh croquet. Yes swinging a wooden mallet in France is considered a masculine thing to do.

He takes it seriously. He wanted to get a word in with the best croquet sissy there was. Then he smashed his skull in. Breathing heavily, thinking caustically, and feeling nauseous he got himself a hit man. Tony Spagoni rid him of his past transgression at the right price. After that it all seemed normal. Buying flowers for his club, jewelery for his mistress Flossie. Then subtly BAM.

I'll never forget this day. Nov. 14 the divorce begins! $5,000 right off the bat, in the next eight months it's over, sombrely over. Miss Marie Wheaton Exeter walks away with $75,000, atta girl. He can pay those lawyers all he wants but no golden coin is gonna keep fate at bay. But a man can try. H hires Tony Spagoni for vendetta on his ex-beloved. Jr. you barbarian, let go of the past!

But this is the turn of events I love to see. The heroine, cornered, shaking in her britches has the great turn of heart. She takes that thug by the neck and bullies him, what a laugh! She forces Spagoni to hit Exeter Jr., free of charge. Just a day later the deed is done. Jr. lay bullied and vruised in his bed. Sr. writes his son an arbitrary check only to have the Dr. receipt as thanks.

After his son's death the last shred of his wife's mark on Earth disappeared. His son disowned him and left his father to his imagination. When he was Buried in the Hollywood Mortuary Lawrence Exeter Sr. glorified Jr.'s grave with flowers. He tought of his wife and this made Lawrence have the same misgiving, same qualm over and over. No matter the radiance surrounding Jr., he was born a gaudy tombstone.