Title: Virtue Strops Our Vice
Author: Susan Young <groobie@verizon.net>
Submitted: February 2019
Rated: G
Summary: Amber Lake reflects on her situation in the aftermath of “Don’t Tug on Superman’s Cape.”
Author’s Note: This story was inspired by the 2019 Kerth Challenge #7: Guest Stars. “Write a backstory for a supporting cast character.”
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We are double-edged blades, and every time we whet our virtue the return stroke strops our vice.
- Henry David Thoreau
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Ah, justice.
The American legal system is a beautiful thing. Grounded on the idea of innocent until proven guilty, predicated on the thesis that it’s better for 99 guilty people to go free than for one innocent person be imprisoned. Though it certainly helps if those guilty people have disposable income and the means to afford high-powered attorneys who can work the system in their favor.
Am I guilty? Tsk tsk. Surely not. I am far too rich to be guilty of anything. My five obnoxiously paid lawyers will ensure it. My husband’s lawyers have already begun negotiating his plea agreement: a $1000 fine and a year of probation for misdemeanor false imprisonment. I have no doubt I’ll walk away with the same deal.
$1000. I laugh. My stock portfolio earned that faster than it took for me to post bail. Lois Lane and Clark Kent should have known better. Today’s edition of The Daily Planet sits on our dining room table, the absurd headline “Perfect Couple Perfectly Evil” boldly splashed above the fold. I only frown at the photo; Tim and I have taken far better candid shots in the past. Still, I’ll hold onto it as Exhibit A for our inevitable defamation of character civil suit. We’ve taken down tabloid trash for less.
I take a sip from my crystal flute, letting the Dom Perignon dance on my tongue. A giggle of delight bubbles like champagne as I think about poor Lois, no doubt oblivious to the fact that I am already luxuriating in my home while she assumes I am rotting away in prison. Had she spent more time in our cage, she might have gotten to know me better. She’d understand our relative places in the world.
The working class believes in justice. They are taught from childhood to be good little boys and girls, to go to school and work hard, to color inside the lines. Find a machine, plug themselves in like cogs – conformity is the key to success. The American dream is a barely affordable rent, 2.4 mildly obedient brats, and 40 hours of mind-numbing work per week. They are collectively scared straight by the local news, which seeks to assure them that people who break the rules will be locked away and polite society will be protected. People get what they deserve.
Wealthy people know better. We are taught that everything has a price, the trick is understanding the necessary commodity to trade. Lines are arbitrary and don’t apply to us; in fact, we are more fervently adored by the masses the more loudly and flagrantly we cross them. We take what we want, live life to the fullest, and apologize for nothing.
That’s how I’ve always lived; I know no other way. My parents were rich, as were their parents, and their parents before. Generations of wealth compounding through time, now sitting in my financial portfolio to do with as I please. I have everything that money can buy, so I actively pursue that which it can’t.
I once asked my father why he named me Amber, why he hadn’t named me after a precious jewel that was brilliant as a diamond, as remarkable as a ruby, or as sublime as a pearl. I remember his smile as he explained that amber has been valued since antiquity. Amber has natural beauty and is all the more beautiful for the inclusions it collects, the objects it traps in its embrace.
Perhaps that’s why I enjoy collecting rare and precious things: the impulse is ingrained into every fiber of my being. I speak words and spread influence like honey, cast resin around that which I choose to hold, and then I preserve those items in my grasp for eternity. Objets d’art, documents of historical significance, novelties that titillate, they all find a place in my home to be treasured and put on display.
My husband understands. He is so like me, the other half of my heart. He too was a child of privilege, and thus childishly believes he can have whatever he wants, that no obstacle can ever truly stand in his way. His single-minded drive in the pursuit of pleasure compliments my ambition perfectly. We met in college, both excelled in learning the mechanics of the business world’s game of give and take, and clicked with every important social connection in Ivy League circles. We climbed together to the heights of fame and became the richest couple in the world, and no minor scandalous setback will tear us down.
Do I regret trying to collect Superman? Of course not. Our scheme was executed to perfection. We pre-planned every step, predicted and prevented potential difficulties, and succeeded at every turn. Lois is a fool if she thinks we intended to hold her forever; the fact that her cage lacked toilet facilities should have been a clue. Surely we wouldn’t treat our guests with less dignity than a common prisoner. We’re not heathens.
No, catch and capture was always the game. The meticulous detailing, the thrill of the crime, the pure joy of boldly enacting such an elaborate enterprise, that was the extent of our intent. Can anyone imagine us caring long term for someone other than ourselves? Absolutely ludicrous. True, I had expected to have time to enjoy a glass of champagne after we accomplished our goal, but I’m finishing it now, so all is right in the end.
Lois and Superman flying free after escaping our coop holds no concern for us. American justice works methodically. It gathers evidence, demands witnesses, requires victims to face their accusers. In what world would they ever take the stand? Would Superman allow kryptonite to sit unguarded in a police evidence locker? Would Lois admit how easily Superman was manipulated into giving up his freedom for her? Would they dare chance the airing of videotaped heartfelt conversations held while in their cages? Ha! Never.
Remaining untouchable was just another part of the game. I’m going to enjoy grinning at Superman’s charity auctions, brushing past Lois at Metropolis’ gala openings, laughing hand in hand with my husband as we flaunt our freedom in their faces. Though even the thrill of our victory over the Man of Steel will fade over time.
No matter. We will seek new diversions for our amusement. We will bask in our adoration of each other and love with wild abandon. We will lead our Fortune 500 companies, serve as board members on charitable foundations, act the part of virtuous benefactors to the city’s downtrodden.
But virtue only strops our vice.
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