Compelling Science Fiction Issue 15 by Joe Stech & Steve Rodgers & Jessica McAdams & Dominic Teague & Elena Pavlova & Spencer Koelle

Author:Joe Stech & Steve Rodgers & Jessica McAdams & Dominic Teague & Elena Pavlova & Spencer Koelle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Compelling Science Fiction Ltd.
Published: 2020-05-31T20:13:16+00:00

Portrait of a Rogue

by Dominic Teague

The following interview is taken from an unpublished project by Allison Ranger.

The impression one gets upon entering the $12 million dollar 10,000 sq ft southernCalifornia residence of Obed Marks is one of selfishness. You might expect me to write 'splendour' or 'opulence', but those qualities are manifest by reputation alone. No, it's the selfishness of the owner—a materialist who hordes unique objets d'art solely as status symbols—that impresses itself most forcefully upon my otherwise unimpressed mind.

From the $5.7 million Pierre-Josse Perrot rug lining the floor to the $6.7 million Poussin hanging above the mantelpiece—the entire entry hall is an exercise in bourgeois exhibitionism. You might wonder what kind of philistine displays a $20 million Rodin bronze in front of a $33 million Matisse portrait. The answer: someone whose appreciation of their value is purely monetary.

You might further wonder how a journalist like myself, with an annual take home of less than 20k, can so readily recall the financial worth of these items. Well there's no mystery there. Old Obed told me. It wasn't enough to display the spoils of his fortune; he felt the need to elucidate on their value, just to hammer home how rich, boastful and culturally ignorant he truly is.

But what of the man himself? Rarely seen in public and seldom photographed, the world's richest man is surprisingly unkempt. Standing a meagre 5'2", his ignorance of aesthetics is further evidenced in a sartorial faux pas that would make a nudist blush: he's wearing a 17k sports jacket with a Rolling Stones T-shirt, flip flops and a pair of orange and peach Bermuda shorts.

The man is vulgarity incarnate.

"Please, take a seat," he says as his butler leads us to a pair of baroque Louis XIV armchairs set opposite one another beside the marble fireplace. "I rarely conduct one-on-one interviews, but when I do, I like to do it in style."

It takes every ounce of willpower to stop myself from laughing. This trumped-up one-percenter thinks he's Marcello Mastroianni, the epitome of suave. All he needs are black sunglasses and a cigarette to complete the affectation.

But I mask my contempt, pandering to his vanity with girlish smiles and expertly timed oohs and aahs. My fawning demeanour works its magic and I sense his guard lowering.

"Before we get down to your latest tech patent," I say, "perhaps we could take a moment to discuss a few of your more illustrious ancestors."

Obed waves his hand, as if swatting at an invisible fly. "Whatever, babe."

"I was thinking we could start with Dolan Marks, the 19th century author."

"Considering he died over four hundred years ago, you might be better off consulting a history book."

"The point I wanted to raise isn't addressed in any of the history books."

His brow arches. "Point?"

"In December 1860, Dolan Marks published a novel titled The Adventures of Pip. This subsequently became one of the best-selling English language novels of all time. Today it's on the syllabus of every English Lit class aroundthe globe."

Obed nods as I say this, and I can't help noticing a gleam of smugness in his eye.

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