The Queen Bee Versus The Fountainhead - Part 1

They had wandered along the Appalachian trail, she remembered, that summer, and stood on top of Bear mountain overlooking the Hudson river; she, Oxana and the gang lead by their Ramapough Lenape Nation guide. They’d looked a little like girl scouts in their matching black and yellow uniforms and rucksacks but their only bond was a wonderful friendship and a shared, passionate idealism, all except for Anya Rexic, that is. She had been one of them at first but she had lost her way, become introverted, sullen and alienated from the rest of them and then that day she had got an allergic reaction to poison oak pretty bad, with red bumps all over her skin only, when Constance and the other girls in the Beehive had tried to help her she’d started to get defensive and angry. “You know, I’ve changed my mind about your stupid club. I really don’t want to be a drone in your little beehive anymore, Constance”, she’d said as they were standing on the mountain top, “Drones are selfless slaves and I don’t want to be a slave to any person, man or woman. I have been studying the writings of Nietzsche and Nietzsche says that the individual has to struggle against being overwhelmed by the tribe”. “Nietzsche? That fruitcake?”, Constance had replied, “I prefer our own Walt Whitman. He believed in the worth of the individual too but also in the oneness of all humanity and the equality of all aswell” “It’s individualism that made this country great Constance”, she’d argued, “And collectivism that is destroying it”. “What about those old fashioned Christian virtues of brotherhood and charity that the pilgrim fathers brought over.”, Constance had countered, “And anyway. No one in our club is a slave to anyone else but they use their individual talents to help each other. That’s a normal human instinct, to want to help your fellow human being, Anya, unless your some kind of Psychopath or Fascist”. Angrily, Anya turned and walked off into the woods then, refusing any offer of help in finding her way back , “I ask for nothing and I give nothing”, she said, and that was the last Constance had seen of her for years until just now, at the Beaux-Arts Annual Society Ball She was dressed in a long black, silk evening gown trimmed with white fur around the neckline and she looked stunningly glamorous and beautiful leaning against a balustrade and smoking from a long ivory handled cigarette holder, atleast compared to the gawky teenage girl that Constance had known, but she still had that strange detached, contemptuous air; that look of revulsion in her eyes towards those around her that she didn’t see as her equals. Apparently Anya had become something of a celebrity through writing books about a philosophy that she had invented called Egotism and had even started an organization called The Rexic Research Institute which, she said, existed to help promote Individualism and bring an end to Altruism . “I wonder what she’d make of a millionaire who puts on a costume to fight crime”, wondered Constance, “A bit too altruistic for her I suspect”. Constance also discovered that Anya was at the ball recruiting members for her organization. She wanted to convert all of the most brilliant scientific and creative minds to her strange and ignoble cause and, from what Constance could see, everyone at the ball certainly seemed seduced by this dark-eyed, philosophical femme-fatale because she was soon surrounded by a throng of admiring men, all of whom were noted architechts. “The institute also educates young children in Egotistical ideas but only the most brilliantly gifted children who, I believe, will go forward to do great things unhindered by slave morality”, said Anya to the men as Constance used her skills as a lip reader to follow their conversation. And then, suddenly, another man entered the room, wearing white tie, whom Anya introduced as Dr. Agon, “Dr. Agon is a brave pioneer in the scientific study of the human brain and nervous system. Funded by my institute he has managed to suppress altruism and increase feelings of individuality in both laboratory rats and chimpanzees and very soon he believes that he may be able to perform the same scientific miracle upon the human brain. Think then what could be achieved, an entire world without altruism, without slave morality where individuals of true genius, like myself, could be free ”. “I worship you”, said Dr. Agon, attempting to kiss Anya. “Back”, yelled Anya, slapping the doctor hard across the face, “You are not worthy to kiss me yet, you worm. Only when you have proved yourself worthy, by getting the Anti-altruism formula ready, shall you be worthy to kiss me” Constance had heard enough, “A world without altruism?”, she thought, her heart sinking, “That sounds like a hell; think what chaos would be unleashed if no one cared for their fellow human being”. There was no doubt that Anya and her organization were a potential threat to the safety of innocent New Yorkers and perhaps even the world and so, leaving the ballroom of the Hotel Astor and stepping out through the front exit of the hotel into 44th street and broadway, she got into her waiting stout scarab mini-van driven by the ever faithful Oxana and, behind opaque black windows, began to change into the costume of her crime fighting alter ego, The Queen Bee before asking Oxana to take her to Rose Hill where the Rexic Research Institute was located. The Institute building was one of those weird pieces of modern architecture, made of glass and shaped like an enormous dollar sign. Constance had always loathed modern architecture. Modern buildings had less individuality, they were like the kind of grim, beautiless buildings that she would expect a totalitarian regime to build. Just like a statue of any dictator, they were designed to suit the tastes of the powerful; not of ordinary people and, despite being an heiress, Constance felt that she had the heart of a common person. “One fortunate thing about these modern glass buildings though”, thought Constance looking at the transparent building and security guards inside the foyer, an idea brewing in her mind, “They do let the light in, sometimes too much light”.