II.
Wealthy dissatisfaction
Despite his apparent smugness over his recent prosperity, Beni only gave Rick a brief tour of the house and took to grumbling instead of gloating by the time he reached the second floor. It all cost too much, according to Beni. The house cost too much, the furniture cost too much, everything cost too much, and it wasn't fair that a rich man like himself had to waste all of his money just to be comfortable. His spirits began to lift when he led Rick outside and onto the front drive, where Rick's run-down car sat beneath the sun, growing more faded by the minute, and he gazed upon the old vehicle with a wicked sort of delight.
"Nice car, O'Connell," Beni said with a sneer. "How old is that thing?"
"It's a 1912 model," said Rick. "Still runs pretty good."
Beni let out a mocking little laugh and tossed aside his cigarette, which he had smoked down to nothing. He pulled out a new one and didn't offer any to Rick. "It is too bad that you didn't marry Lucy, my friend. Then you would not be driving that piece of shit you call a car." He laughed again and lit up his cigarette.
"Why'd you marry her, anyway?" said Rick. "You used to say you'd never get married."
"Yes, but Lucy is rich," said Beni, as if the answer was obvious. "And she has always liked me."
"Didn't realize you guys were so close."
"Oh, yes. She spent a lot of time with me when nobody was looking. But then she got knocked up and so I married her, because she's rich, and the only wife worth having is a wife with money."
Beni hadn't changed at all in two years. Though he wore a nice suit of clothes and lived in a fancy house, he was still the greedy little thief who used to get tossed out of bars because he was always picking someone's pocket or cheating at card games. Money and power couldn't change him because he could never be satisfied, always thinking he didn't have enough. Beni was born to think like a poor man and would think like a poor man until he died.
"It is too hot out here," Beni complained, scowling at a bright patch of sky where a pathetic wisp of cloud had formed. "Let's go into the garage and I will show you a real car."
His car turned out to be an elegant roadster that matched Beni's nice clothes and haircut, but didn't match Beni himself. Rick watched Beni climb into the driver's seat and thought he looked like an accomplished thief who had raided a rich man's garage, rather than the owner of such a fine vehicle, and managed to give the usual empty compliments that Beni expected to hear.
"Where'd you find a car like this?" he asked, unable to help admiring the fancy interior.
"Lucy gave it to me last Christmas," said Beni. "But of course she paid too much for it. They always charge too much for cars like these."
"Well it's not like you guys are broke or anything," said Rick. "Most wives don't go around buying their husbands cars for Christmas."
Beni scoffed at that. "She still paid too much. But she is a pretty good wife, though wives are not much fun after a while, and it is boring to be in that house all the time." He smirked around the cigarette he placed between his lips. "I've got this woman I met a few months ago. She will fool around with anyone, and her husband never suspects a thing. She says he's as dumb as a... what is that expression you Americans use?"
"Dumb as a post," said Rick.
"Yes, that's it. She says he's as dumb as a post."
"What about Lucy?" said Rick, a harder edge to his voice. "She know about this woman of yours?"
Beni laughed so hard, he was in danger of swallowing his cigarette. "Of course Lucy knows about her," he replied, his eyes glinting wickedly. "Lucy hates it that anyone would neglect her for another woman. She is extremely vain."
Rick didn't bother with a reply. He felt uncomfortable standing in that garage, watching Beni sit in the driver's seat of his roadster and brag about his mistress. Rick wasn't impressed with the car anymore and he wasn't impressed with the mistress either; rather, he was sorry that Beni had bought into the popular conception that all rich men drove fast cars and slept with women who weren't their wives.
"Look, uh, it's been great seeing you and Lucy again, but it's getting kind of late," said Rick.
"And we would hate for you to overstay your welcome," Beni said with another one of his mocking smiles.
"Yeah. Anyway, I'm gonna say goodbye to Lucy and hit the road."
"What do you think of Lucy?" Beni asked suddenly. His eyes grew sharp as he stared at Rick.
"I like her," Rick said honestly. "I've always liked her. She's a fun girl."
The sharpness left Beni's eyes as suddenly as it came, and his grin was bitter. "Yes, but the fun girls are no different from ordinary women. That is what you learn when you get married, O'Connell. Once you get married, you have to find your fun somewhere else."
Rick tried not to dwell on those words as Beni took him back into the house, but he couldn't help thinking of them when Lucy called Beni "darling" in that sweet, exaggerated way, as if she was unintentionally mocking every term of endearment that had ever been created. He couldn't help thinking of them when Beni frowned a bit as he kissed Lucy on the cheek, as if affection was a chore. They were a mockery of wedded bliss, playing their roles for Rick's benefit, and he was relieved when he finally said goodbye and headed for the front door, eager to leave the beautiful white house and escape into the fresh air.
"You'll come see us again soon, won't you, Rick?" Lucy pleaded. "It's wonderful to see you and I know it'll do Beni some good, having you around. Isn't that right, dear?" she said, addressing her husband. "Won't it do you some good, staying at home with Rick to entertain you?"
"Sure, but not tomorrow," said Beni. "I have to meet somebody tomorrow."
"It seems like you always have to meet somebody," said Lucy.
"I cannot help it. I am a busy man."
"You're lucky you're not a rich man, Rick," said Lucy. "You wouldn't believe how many responsibilities a man gains when he comes into money!"
Beni snorted but said nothing.
Lucy wrapped Rick in one final embrace and whispered, "Try to come soon!" before she released him and bounced back to her husband's side. Beni gave Rick a cool nod and a goodbye that was just as disinterested as his initial hello, then slunk away with his listless eyes and ill-fitting suit, a picture of wealthy dissatisfaction.
Rick took off in his old car and puttered his way out of the neighborhood, past shops and churches and quiet homes until he reached his own jumble of a street, where mansions stood next to drab little houses and the elite peeped into the yards of the average man. Mr. Carnahan lived in a three-storied monstrosity that looked like it was waiting to swallow Rick's house any second, the kind of mansion that made Rick think of stuffy English tea parties, of croquet tournaments on grassy lawns, of more money than he would know what to do with. His friend Izzy, who had occupied the plain little house while Rick let his restless travels carry him from country to country, had generously allowed Rick to look after the place for an undetermined length of time, and Rick had agreed because the rent was cheap and he was tired of hotels. Izzy, meanwhile, was out in the desert trying his luck at flying planes, having been unsuccessful at building his own automobiles. The garage was still littered with random pieces of metal and some spare tires, leftover remnants of Izzy's numerous experiments, and Rick parked out in the yard, reminding himself to clear out the garage later that day.
He got out of his car and went up the short walkway, aware that the mansion next door provided excellent shade from Egypt's brutal sun. He still saw no sign of his neighbor and imagined Mr. Carnahan as an eccentric old man, the type who spent a good deal of money simply for the sake of spending it. His parties were probably formal gatherings, full of stiff people and unappetizing French food, and the old man was probably hoping that somebody would tear down Rick's eyesore of a home, just to save his guests the trouble of having to see it.
Rick assumed he would be excluded from Mr. Carnahan's parties, since he wasn't part of Cairo's upper crust, but he was surprised the next morning when he received a gleaming white envelope in the mail. At first he thought it was another letter from Lucy, but the handwriting was decidedly masculine, and when he opened up the message he found an invitation to one of the infamous parties next door, held at seven o'clock that evening.
The note was signed Jonathan Carnahan.
