JUST DESSERTS
A short story of Greed, Lust, Envy and REVENGE…as it should be served!
By Alan Bromley
JUST DESSERTS is a satirical short story of greed, lust, envy -- and revenge taken by a Forbes writer against his “best friends,” the men for whom greed is a religion, and their wives who marry them just for that trait.
Starting at a small ski mountain in Vermont, a clique of rich businessmen gloat to the Forbes writer that they made “huge profits” on an insider trading deal (from which they consciously excluded him). When he expresses his anger and disdain, the writer is threatened.
The writer decides to call in a favor from the owner of a well-known (Mafia-run) Italian restaurant hot-spot in New York City, who owed him a favor because he did not write a story about the restaurant – and together they turn the greed-driven couples’ lives upside down…
UNTIL EVERYONE GETS THEIR WELL-DESERVED DESSERTS!
The main characters include: Fred, who’s start-up high-tech company is at the center of the insider trading deal, and his emasculating wife Marilyn; Sam, the banned stock broker (whose mother-in-law supports him), and his doting wife Cheryl, and David, the Forbes writer, who’s lust for revenge drives the story. Two other characters occasionally appear -- Moe, a cheap multi-millionaire investment banker, and Andy, a music impresario who regularly pumps iron and women.
About the author: Alan Bromley is a former investigative reporter (most notably including “The Karen Silkwood” story), former business consultant, political columnist (often published in The Wall Street Journal) and lyricist. He lives in Bal Harbour, Florida.
Footnote: the story within the story, in Chapter Five, about the blacklisting of the author because of his investigative work on “The Karen Silkwood” story, is true.
All other names, characters and incidents are designed to blur the truth.
JUST DESSERTS
By Alan Bromley (Copyright Alan Bromley 2012)
THE CHAIR LIFT
Six Bogner suits and one Burberry glided past the ski lines right to the high-speed lift. The Bogners were worn by men in their thirties and forties, one woman and the ski instructor who ushered them around the mountain. The businessmen had bought the instructor his suit, demanding that he had to be properly attired before he could teach them. Having him not wear the usual ski instructor uniform entailed getting dispensation from the ski mountain executives, which wasn’t a problem, as the men owned 30% of the mountain. The Burberry suit hugged a 37-year-old blonde, who giggled at every comment made by the men in the group, except for her husband’s. As they approached the chair lift, they lifted their poles, acknowledging their good friends David and Joan, who were stuck behind 35 people on the lift line.
On the chair, the blonde tucked her poles under her legs, rather than hold them in her hands, allowing her to touch the thighs of both men sitting next to her.
“Marilyn, why don’t you and Fred join us at our East Hampton house this summer for a weekend,” Moe, an investment banker said.
Moe, who is 48 years old, is an investment banker who bought a chain of auto-parts stores, cut costs, turned the 160-store chain into a very profitable company – and sold it for $120 million. Part of the deal was that he remained as chairman for a mere $1 million a year, plus stock options. He and his wife wintered in Vermont, lived in Manhattan and summered in East Hampton, where last year he rented a house for $85,000 after he refused to exceed his budget of $3 million to buy a waterfront beach house.
“We’re always on Fred’s yacht…but maybe we can sail over,” she replied.
“Bring you cutest bikini,” Moe added.
Sitting on the other side of Marilyn was Andy, a music impresario, whose recording studio included Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey. While being married, Andy was known for pumping iron and women with equal repetition. Andy and his wife had a 3-bedroom penthouse apartment with a wrap-around terrace on Manhattan’s upper eastside. His wife, who knew of his proclivities, made sure the apartment was in her name, and she proceeded to strip it almost as quickly as Andy regularly stripped his secretary.
“I’d like to dock my boat in your pier anytime,” Andy said, “hop over to our place first. I’ll cover you in suntan lotion.”
Meanwhile, David and Joan waited on the ski line.
THE HOUSE THAT FRED BUILT
Marilyn was first off the lift, racing ahead of the ski instructor. The trail, appropriately named “Whipsaw,” started with a sharp decline, so steep that when perched atop it you couldn’t see any earth, any snow below. Actually, it was ice, not snow. She never hesitated, flying over the precipice; knowing her tail had become a target for the men who followed…