The Helford Deal
In a rare instance of universal approval, the greatest mind of the past two centuries, soon to be dust, now ponders its renewal in the form of the rubbery legs kicking in the stomach of one Melanie Gitsel, 22-year-old bearer of Aloisius B. Helford the 2nd, times two.
The present Dr. Helford, now a physically frail 95, but with a mind still as flexible as a fresh-twisted strand of licorice, is arguably the most revered philosopher since Plato, certainly the most popular old codger in history. His two ghosted best-sellers, now night-table/bathroom inspiration classics "Why are we here?" and "Talking to ourself" reduced his abstruse arguments (that won him a Nobel Prize) to levels television producers could understand.
His extraordinary appearance was his making as his trenchant questions furrowed brows around the world. "Why?" he would say, meaningfully into the camera. And a flight of migrating geese accompanied by soulful strings gives us the answer we yearn for. To many, this answer is to buy the soundtrack, and of course posters, screen savers, T-shirts, mugs, etc etc featuring those eyebrows and those eyes. The trademark eyes that say everything, whatever that is.
Helford just makes people feel comfortable in their knowledge, especially because such a brilliant mind tells us to just be. With eyebrows that jump like fishing flies over a pair of blue eyes that tease like over-fed trout, Dr. Helford's marketability has only increased as his physical features look ever more idiosyncratic and his bones turn into a filigree held in place by ever-weakening sinews with the strongest glue being the sheer will to live.
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He didn't like the idea at first. A life-time bachelor, "I want to break the mold when I go," he declared when he was first approached by the delegation.
Now, at the second meeting in Dr. Helford's luxurious library, the group's top salesman sits on a footstool that he dragged to supplicant range. Bowing ever so slightly, "We appreciate," he looks down at the ancient Persian carpet rather than into the unsettling eyes of Old Hell, as producers call him privately. "We appreciate, Dr. Helford," he murmurs silkily, "that you want to be remembered as the pinnacle of human thought potential, as the Weiden ... uh (cripes, what was that word they told me to say) the Weisen ... uh ... the ultimate excellence—"
Crack! Charlie Wannimaker's good luck golf tee snaps from over-fondling in his jacket pocket. This two-year-in-the-making plan looks to be slipping down the drain with this top gun idiot from sales. Great record last year. But no time for reprisals now. Roast this turkey tomorrow, but bag the golden pheasant in that throne of a chair today, or, from what Wannimaker had heard in whispers, the pheasant would fly away soon. Called by someone upstairs for the permanent engagement, it was said. Prostate.
The great Helford doesn't say a word. Just sips his crystal glass of something not offered his visitors (always a connoisseur of the fine life, one of the marketing properties that make him so valuable).
"Professor Helford," Charlie Wannimaker's deep voice cruises into the silence hard behind the punctuated clutziness of Dave, now top sales ex. Wannimaker's voice is as smooth as his judiciously balanced victories/defeats on the fairway . "A clone of you will be a constant reminder to the world of you, the original. And after he is cloned, then you will be even more revered, as each generation will look back and pay tribute to the one and only for all time, original—you. No one can supplant your works, only radiate from them." Where do I get this stuff, Wannimaker asks himself, his eyes focussed inwards to keep the flow running smooth.
His mouth opens to spew out another eruption when "You don't want to be selfish, do you?" leaps from the back of the room. Young Geeb Truro, now almost late for his regular squash doubles, had web-searched Helford the hour before this meeting. "Selfishness" came up in almost every hit down the first two pages. He knew right then—the key to this geezer. Leaving it to these suits, olds at that, had been a big mistake. Do your research and target in—the secret of success: go for the guilt. Works every time. And with selfishness, he has it. The major obsession of this fossil.
Dust arrested in the window's afternoon sunlight beams falls with a noisier thud than the sound of the breathers in the room.
The five men, all vigorous, all ambitious, all waiting.
The one staring for a long moment at each man, till there is just sunlit dust to contemplate.
"Good point, young man," the old man says. "Tell you what. Let's draw up a contract now. For two. Your Miss Gazelle or whatever to carry both at once."
Even Wannimaker can't stop himself high-fiving Geeb Truro, promoted on the spot to VP.
Bottles of bubbly emerge like magic rabbits, and everyone comments afterwards on the extra twinkle champers gave to Old Hell's eyes.
~
The babies' birth is set for 1400 hours today, the exact 80th anniversary to the hour, and doctors have been told to get it right—to the minute—of Dr. Helford's electrifying history-changing gestalt as documentaries with pretensions like to call it. The tabloids call it, "The boiled egg moment". The moment upon which Helford's life's work rests. What exactly this work is, is hard to quantify, but then it would be as pointless as to demand, "Well, what did Einstein do for you?" So this moment has historical appeal, and will be graphically appreciated. Helford originally called this moment "id zero zero." But that is a fact lost in the original monograph.
~
2300 hours. Jubilation, broadcast in every medium. Miss Gazelle or whatever is resting peacefully somewhere obscure as the final part of her contract is being fulfilled, to disappear back into obscurity.
The beloved Dr. Aloisius B. Helford beams from everywhere. There's his lovable, dotty-but-wise smile. His face holds something not quite scrutable as he gazes down at the burden in his arms: two swaddled chrysalises of himself, only 96 years ago.
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CAMBRIDGE, MASS (AAP) —The elusive Aloisius B. Helford clones, now aged four, both reportedly at the intellectual level of university students, are still too young to be interviewed, a spokesman for the DuStar Corporation said today...
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CHICAGO (Reuters)—Shares of techmedia company DuStar Corp. (Nasdaq: DUSTR—news) fell 28.7 percent on Thursday, on a report in the Wall Street Journal repeating rumors of continual problems with the profitability of the core assets of the company. See story "Bond Jitters" ...
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LOS ANGELES (Reuters)—Geeb Truro, President of the DuStar corporation, was hit with a tomato at a feisty annual general meeting of the faltering DuStar Corporation (shares on Friday closed at 17.5 cents, down 46 percent from Thursday.) The firm continues to disappoint investors as it puts off the unveiling of its most important product, the Helford IIs, as they are called, to which DuStar holds all rights. Company spokesmen insist that Helford rumors are wrong, and that plans are continuing for a world launch "at the right bull moment," but that now is not the right time, given the market. It is now eight years since Helfords' inception. The company maintains a total ban on publicity, but sources say the Helfords are "the spitting image" of their famous dad.
At the AGM, Truro spoke about early investigations by the company into an exciting theme park on the outskirts of Dallas. When the lights went back on after a slide presentation, the tomato was thrown at Mr. Truro by a private investor, who has now been charged with assault.
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THE INSIDER—WE BRING YOU THE FACTS—YOU MAKE THE CALL—Cambridge, Massachusetts—December 29—WERE THEY DUDS? In an exclusive interview we get the stuff on The Helford Twos.
Mr. Jesse LeRoy Gleeson, an employee of the DuStar Corporation for nine years, and a former psychiatric nurse for the State Health Services, has been taken into custody as a suspect in the murder of the Helford IIs. Gleeson, carer for both Aloisius B. Helford the II since their infancy, is a burly but quiet man who was only seen by his girlfriend, Lacy Burns, and otherwise kept to a quiet life on the Helford estate.
Lacy would not speak to us, but Evelyn Cleery, fellow waitress at Bay Street Grill told us that Gleeson had spoken of the Helfords "fighting like cats and dogs from corn flakes to cocoa." At another time, Mr. Gleeson reportedly complained to his girlfriend that "Those boys can't agree on anything. Me, me, me, all the dang day long."
It was a busy Christmas for the Cambridge police, who answered a phone call from Gleeson that evening, reporting the deaths. Although the coroner's report is not due till after the New Year, sources tell us that the boys, both ten-years-old, are believed to have died from food poisoning, both oddly enough, upon eating their post-Christmas dinner desserts. One boy allegedly died within a minute of biting into a rum ball, and the other, a marzipan mouse. Investigators' reports will be agonizingly slow at this time of the year, and the public still cannot decide, so we ask you to vote.
• Murdered by Gleeson
• Double suicide
• Double murder of each other
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CNNfn— DUSTAR ORBITS THE PLANET—Box office receipts for the first weekend's coast to coast launch of "Hell Two: Even Creepier" broke all previous records, a jubilant company spokesman for the DuStar Corp. announced. The original summer smash "Hell" raised DuStar from the almost dead, as the company had been rumored to be within days of filing for Chapter 11, just one short year ago. DuStarCorp. shares (Nasdaq: DUSTR—news) soared today, closing 17% above Friday's close. Merchandising spin-offs such as the Kids Kooking Set, and the Kat/Dog Dolls are projected to push profits into the range of ...