"To be or not to be"

“I’m sorry about Onkel,” Irina said as she leaned against the railing and looked out towards Connecticut.

Hamlet was standing next to her, but he could have been a thousand miles away. He was gazing towards Connecticut as well, but it was moving northeast towards Boston, Cambridge, and Andover. Another world, a better one where Senior wasn’t dead.

“He was a real man,” Irina continued as her hair fluttered in the breeze.

“Hyperion to a satyr,” Hamlet replied.

Bruce stood near the bar wondering when a good time would be to leave. He was trying not to be too judgmental but the atmosphere made him uncomfortable. Gertrude’s late husband had always reminded him in an odd way of his mother. It had made him respect him but he’d also never found it in him to like him. Though it was difficult to not feel some sympathy for the dead man seeing how this fundraiser was panning out. 

“Not a fan either?” He asked only to pause as he looked him over. “You’re Hamlet aren’t you?” Well that explained the comment at least. Maybe he’d stay a little longer, to try and work out some of what this family’s secrets. 

“The one and only,” Hamlet replied.

He looked at the other man. He knew his face, but he couldn’t really place it. He was a lot older than his classmates at Andover and Harvard had been, but he carried himself like one of them and he looked like he came from old money, too,. 

Realizing that he was probably talking to someone important. Hamlet’s face became more solemn now. 

“That’s me,” he said. “And you are?” 

The family shipping business, Norden, reached its zenith during Senior’s long reign. The American branch consistently outperformed its European cousins during that time and brought in the lion’s share of the revenue. As the years and decades passed, Senior was able to invest his money in magazines, newspapers, and internet platforms as well. Even though he never owned any of these concerns outright, he owned enough shares so that he could bend the boards and the companies’ executives to his own will if he was so inclined.

Hamlet sat at the bar and watched as Claudius and Gertrude made the rounds, shook hands, and thanked everyone for coming as a swing band played Glenn Miller. Even though this was a fundraiser, it felt more like a wedding reception. The only thing that was missing was the bride wearing white and the groom’s best man standing there and making off color jokes.

My father isn’t even cold in the ground and they’re making merry, he thought as he reached for a Scotch. It’s almost as if they don’t care.

And why should they? Senior had been the one thing that had been blocking Gertrude and Claudius’s current marital happiness and now that he had been sent to the other world, they could do as they well pleased.

Hamlet shook his head in disgust and downed another drink. He lifted his glass to a man standing nearby. “Cheers,” he said sarcastically. “To the happy couple.”

Hamlet can spend hours in a place like this just watching the people, overhearing their conversations, and reading a thick book. Sometimes, he talks with the people on the couches nearby, but, mostly, he just keeps to himself and takes in the view.