Love, Capitalism, and harsh practicality.

Love, Capitalism, and harsh practicality.

By Rick Wasserman.

I’ve got the world on a string. I’m sitting on a rainbow. I’ve got the string around my finger. What world, what a life, I’m the boss. I have had the most excellent meal cooked especially for me by the second most beautiful woman in the world, also known as my wife. Tomorrow I go on a two-week vacation on my yacht with the first most beautiful woman in the world, who is my mistress. My company just acquired a drug manufacturer who makes the only substance in the world that can treat Markov Syndrome. Once the paperwork is finished, we intend to mark up the price 4000 %. We also acquired a lovely family-owned business. It was responsibly run, has almost no debts and loads of equity. Once we shut it down and liquidate the assets, we should make a tidy profit. The lawsuit against one of our subsidiaries is nicely tied up in court. Win or lose, all the plaintiffs will be long dead and buried by the time anything is settled. All in all, this has been a very productive day.

“Ah, my dear,” I said to my wife as she brought in the coffee. “I feel that I might have overindulged in your cooking. I feel quite bloated.” It was true. I felt bloated and unsettled. But it would pass.

“Well, that is to be expected,” she said, smiling. “You are quite the glutton in all things.”

“And why not,” I said cheerily, “Life is a banquet.”

“Not for the poor, surely,” she said.

“Well, the feast can’t be for them because they are the part of the feast, of course,” I said.

“That is rude,” she said, but with laughter. “You are an absolute monster.”

“Well, if that is the case, then you are definitely the beauty to my beast,” I said.

“Is that why you are keeping me trapped here while you go on your little boat trip?”

“Well actually, it is a rather large boat. But I can assure you that your beauty has nothing to do with my keeping you here. I just need some quiet time alone to recharge the old brain. You know how it is. Like with your spa dates.”

“Uh Huh,” she said.

“I seem to be detecting some doubts,” I said as I got up to look for a cigar. Coffee is nice, but coffee and a cigar is better, or brandy and a cigar.

“Are you sure that you are not just trying to get away from me?” she asked.

I looked at her with a side-eye glance and said, “Gloria, my angel, you are the love of my life. I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”

“Are you sure about that?” she said. “We have been together for ten years now, and all our other friends have divorced and remarried.”

“More like they all got divorced in a circle, took one step to the left, and then married the next one in line,” I said.

She laughed, “I thought it was more like an ornate square dance partner swap.”

“That is why I always come back to you,” I said. “You always take whatever I have and make it better. Besides, have you met our friends? They are dreadful.”

“That they are.” She said. “Even if you died tomorrow, I would not go near any of them.”

“Where have the damned cigars got to?” I asked.

“Oh, you don’t want to smoke any of those,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the idea.

“I most certainly do,” I said.

“Well before you do, I should tell you something.”

I looked up from my search and said, “EH?”

“Angela called the other day.”

With a face trained to provide no clues to how I was feeling, a skill I acquired from many a board meeting, I turned towards her and boldly yet calmly asked, “Who?”

“She clearly thought I was a maid or personal assistant or some such,” she said. “And she was quite surprised to learn that I was your wife.”

I cleared my throat to buy some time, trying to think of what to say next. So, of course, I picked the stupidest and most obvious response.

“Honey, I can explain.”

She took it better than I would have thought.

“No need,” she said. “Angela and I ended up having a nice long talk, and she is actually quite a delightful person. I can see why you like spending time with her.”

I shifted tactics and said, “Well, that wasn’t the main reason.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, having only spoken to her on the phone. But I’m sure we will get to know each other much better over the next two weeks.”

“The next…”

“Yes, that’s right. I am joining you on your boat trip.”

I frowned, and then a light bulb turned on in my head, “So I would be going with you AND Angela on the trip?”

She smiled, “That is the general idea.”

The sun came out from behind the clouds, and I was back on my rainbow again.

“Do you mean that? You are ok with that? Well, this is wonderful!” I said.

Though the moment was a bit spoiled. As I threw my hand up in exuberant joy, I felt a cramp in my side.

“Ow,” I said to no one in particular.

“Ah, yes,” she said, “You might want to sit down for this next part.”

I was about to ask what next part when my stomach took a slight lurch.

“UrP! Excuse me,” I said as I sat back down.

She took a sip of her coffee and said, “Have some coffee. It might settle your nerves.”

I reached for the cup, and my hand was indeed shaking some, “Well, you did just give me quite a start.”

The coffee was sweet and creamy with just a hint of amaretto.

“Do I detect amaretto?” I said.

“Slightly,” she admitted as she took another sip from her cup. “But it could also be the cyanide.”

“Pardon?”

“Poison, Paul. I have poisoned you.” And she took another sip from her cup.

I looked at the cup. I looked at her cup. I looked at her and her utterly blank poker face.

“You are pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

She smiled and shrugged, “I am. The coffee is just coffee with some amaretto creamer in it.”

“You minx,” I said. “You will be the death of me yet.”

“But you are still quite definitely poisoned.”

“Oh, come now, dear, this is getting somewhat vulgar.”

She put her cup down and asked, “Remember the salad?”

I frowned again, “Yes, it was delightful. I was so colorful and slightly peppery in flavor.

“That would be the English Marigolds.” She said.

“Calendula officinalis?” I said. “Alas, my dear, that “marigold” is actually not a true marigold. But it is an attractive companion plant nonetheless. It is also quite edible and entirely not at all poisonous.”

“All too true, but what about the Solanum nigrum?”

“I thought I recognized that flavor,” I said. “But again, my dear, the Black Nightshade can be entirely safe to eat. Much like tomatoes which are of the same family.”

“Unless I substituted Atropa belladonna in their place and used the peppery Marigold blossoms to cover up the taste difference.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, somewhat crestfallen. “Yes, the Deadly Nightshade is quite similar to the Black and quite deadly too if I recall correctly.”

“One or two berries is enough to kill a child, 10 or 12 to kill an adult. How many did you eat?”

“No idea, really,” I admitted. “They were quite tasty though.”

“Then there was the meal itself,” she said. “Remember the steak?”

“But it was so good,” I said. “Surely you couldn’t have put poison in that.”

“I didn’t,” she admitted. “The carrots, on the other hand, were actually hemlock roots.”

“I thought they were parsnips, roasted with fennel.”

“Nope, Hemlock.”

“Aw,” I said. “I quite liked those.”

“Then there was the tiramisu.”

“NO! Not the Tiramisu!”

She giggled, “No, not the tiramisu. I mean, some ingredients might have killed you sometime in the next thirty years by cancer, but they are unreliable.”

My stomach cramped, gurgled, and rumbled like I was looking forward to a severe bout of diarrhea. Sharp, acidic burps crawled up my throat, causing me to cough.

“But why my darling?” Haven’t I been good to you?”

“You have,” she said, “but you have outstanding lawyers and a rock-solid prenup. I couldn’t take the chance that you would leave me in the lurch for sweet Angela, now could I? I mean, if our roles were reversed, would you have done any differently?”

“I can’t fault your reasoning, but I don’t feel right in lauding accolades upon you either.”

“So the plan is for you to die, and then we three leave on the boat for two weeks.”

“And I mysteriously get lost at sea or some such.”

“We were thinking about sending a distress signal and then sinking the boat.”

“Ship dear, the yacht is a ship. The life raft on the ship is a boat.”

“Good to know!” she said with enthusiasm. But I think she was lying.

“Well, it’s a solid plan,” I said begrudgingly, “And Angela is in agreement?”

“Well, she had a more brutal plan in mind. But I thought this one might be a little neater and kinder.”

“I don’t think this next part is going to be too kind,” I grumped.

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong,” she said. “I have a great big hypodermic filled with morphine all ready to go. Especially since you are being such a good sport about this.”

“So you do love me after all,” I said.

“I never said I didn’t,” she said. “Angela is a bit on the fence, but then she would be, wouldn’t she.”

“What does she get out of this?” I asked, suddenly curious. “Mother always said that no one does anything without self-interest.”

“She was only into you for the money, which will all go to me, so I promised her a cut.”

“Well played,” I said. “You always were the better chess player. But if you don’t mind, I think it is rapidly becoming time for that morphine shot.

Gloria and Angela’s plan went off without a hitch, and soon Gloria was placed in charge of Paul’s entire financial empire. Her first order of business was, of course, to get rid of Angela. They became lovers for a time while Gloria worked out the details. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, and all that. Once Angela was out of the picture, Gloria proceeded to dismantle the empire, brick by brick, and she grew quite skilled at removing obstinate men who refused to release their evil hold on the world and its economy. Some historians would even say that she was a driving force towards class equality and a new golden age for all of humankind. Or they would if they had ever heard of her. You see, the reason you seldom hear about female sociopaths is quite obvious.

They are very good at their jobs.