by Peter Ralph
Pam felt herself colour, and was about to respond when the waiter showed Kerry Bartlett and his wife, Jasmine, to the table. Kerry was sweating heavily, his shirt was stained, and he looked nervous and uncomfortable. “Sor-sorry wer-we’re la-late. Our ba-babysitter can-cancelled at th-the last min-minute, and we ha-had to find an-another.”
Aspine paid no attention to Kerry, but found it hard not to stare at his wife who, in contrast to her husband, seemed cool and totally in control. She was Eurasian, with large round eyes, a small cute nose and pronounced cheek bones, and the simple cotton dress she wore showed off her slender body. There was just a touch of cleavage, which made Aspine yearn to see more. He thought that she was one of the most provocative and beautiful women that he had ever set eyes on, and felt a stirring in his groin. He wondered what she saw in the pimply faced, nervous Kerry. She sat at the end of the table, directly opposite him. “That’s alright, Kerry, these things happen,” Aspine finally responded, without taking his eyes off Jasmine.
The waiter returned with glasses of mineral water for Kerry and Jasmine. “We’ll order now,” Aspine said.
“So you’re hitting it hard tonight, are you Kerry?” Brad guffawed, and as if on cue Stacey giggled.
“We’re Rechabites, Bradley,” Jasmine said, displaying no sign of admonishment in her feminine sing song voice.
“Wreck a whats?” laughed Brad.
“We don’t drink alcohol. Don’t worry, we won’t try and convince you to join us.”
“I think that’s admirable,” Barbara intoned, wanting to interrupt her husband’s fixation on Jasmine. “Don’t you think so, Douglas?”
“Everyone to his own,” he said, draining the last of his Jack Daniels. “Gentlemen − and ladies − I’d like to say a few words, after which we can enjoy the night. I asked you here tonight to celebrate the rebirth of Mercury Properties. It is my intention to significantly expand the company’s operations, and to double its size within two years. Gentlemen, to achieve this goal I will need the help of you and your partners. You are the key members of my team and, if we work together, we can turn Mercury into a financial powerhouse. You might well ask what’s in it for you. If we are successful in meeting the targets that I’ve set, we can earn so much in the next three years that we’ll never have to work again. Since I was appointed CEO, the share price has climbed by twenty per cent, and yet I’ve barely scratched the surface. Within three years we’ll increase it by five hundred per cent.”
“So we should race out and buy shares,” Brad interrupted.
“No, you shouldn’t. Why spend your money on shares, when I can ensure that you’re granted free options, which have no downside, only upside. But to earn them, you’ll have to work hard, very hard, to drive the company forward. We’ll need to work as a team and support each other when the going gets tough.”
“Greed is good,” grinned Brad.
“How do these options work?” Jack asked.
“Simple. The shares are $2.45 now and, say, the company issues you 500,000 free options to acquire shares anytime over the next three years at $2.60. Assume the share price goes to $9.00, and you exercise your options and buy 500,000 shares for $2.60, and you then sell those shares for $9.00. That’s a profit of a little over three million.”
“Shit! Mercury never had anything like options under Harry,” Jack said. “We got a turkey, a bottle of wine and his best wishes at Christmas. Who issues them?”
“The board issues mine as part of my salary package, and also issues me a number to distribute to you, my key executives. They don’t know it yet, but they’re about to increase that quantity five-fold.”
“Who pays for these options?” Jasmine asked.
Aspine smiled. She might be a Rechabite, but she was greedy, and greed was the key to many other vices, and he already had plans for her. “No-one; that’s the beauty of options, they’re free.”
“I understand that. I have a brother in Singapore who’s something of an entrepreneur, and I’ve heard about deals like this before. Who actually pays the three million profit that Jack’s going to make?”
“No-one. We increase the value of the shares and we’re rewarded for it,” Aspine said condescendingly.
“Yes, but isn’t it really the existing shareholders who are paying the profits on the options, and aren’t you already rewarded by your salary?”
She was incredibly attractive, and also smart. She was going to be a challenge, and again he asked himself what she saw in Kerry. “No, Jasmine, that’s not right. We have to increase the value of the existing shares, before our options become valuable.”
“We don’t need any convincing.” Brad grinned. “That’s right isn’t it, Jack?”
“I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Can we forget business and just enjoy the rest of the night?” Barbara said.
“Good idea,” Aspine responded. Two of his three key executives had swallowed the bait, but Kerry had hardly said a word, and his wife seemed opposed to the idea of making money. Everyone had a price, a weakness, a desire − he’d just need to find Kerry’s. Right now, even without tension, he had one desire − Kerry’s wife.
The entrees arrived and Aspine popped a Tasmanian oyster into his mouth. “They say these things are aphrodisiacs.”
“God, just as well you didn’t order them, Brad. You’re horny enough as it is,” Stacey laughed, knocking down her fourth beer.
“Settle down, Stace. I’m sure no-one wants to hear about our sex life.”
Jasmine giggled, and Aspine thought at least she’s not a prude.
“How are the prawns, Kerry?”
“They’r-they’re fi-fine,” he stuttered. Jasmine rested her hand on his forearm and squeezed it gently.
“Jasmine, what do you do to fill in the day?” Aspine asked.
“I have the kids, and I’m involved in charitable work,” she said. She was polite but short, and he sensed that she hadn’t been impressed with his little speech on greed.
“So am I. I’ve recently accepted an invitation to join the board of the National Homeless Foundation. Do you know Catherine Lensworth?”
“I do; she’s lovely and she works so hard, and it’s such a good cause. Not many people realize how many homeless people there are in Australia. It’s a shame in such a wealthy country. I’m so pleased to hear of your involvement. Big business is quite generous, but active involvement, like yours, is rare. How did you become involved?”
“Catherine approached me, and I didn’t give it a second thought before accepting. I’m not all about greed, you know.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Jasmine said, blushing.
Barbara rolled her eyes, knowing that her husband never did anything for anyone else unless it benefited him. She was grateful when the main courses arrived, and the conversation turned to the food and the ordering of more drinks.
“Kerry, what are your interests, besides work?” Barbara asked.
“I-I don-don’t ha-have mu-much time wi-with work and all.”
“He loves spending time with our two boys,” Jasmine said.
“I-I do. I wi-wish I had a pla-place in the mountains whe-where I could take them fl-fly fishing, canoeing, hor-horse riding, and whi-white water rafting.”
“That’s easy,” Aspine said. “You can have the best place money can buy in the high country, if we can turn Mercury around.”
“I thought we’d finished talking business,” Barbara groaned.
“I wasn’t talking business,” Aspine growled, stuffing a large piece of barramundi into his mouth.
“Jack’s not going to have to sack anyone else is he?” Pam asked.
“Sorry, Pam, that goes with the territory of being an executive. If Jack’s got people working for him who are underperforming, they’ll have to go.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant sacking three hundred employees for no reason.”
“You mean the retrenchments. No, unless there�
��s a massive slow-down, the retrenchments are over, but you’re wrong when you say that there was no reason. They were people who should never have been employed in the first place. We didn’t create the problem, but we had to fix it. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make,” Aspine said, directing his last comment to Jasmine.
“No more business talk,” Barbara moaned, looking at Stacey for support.
“Yeah,” Stacey slurred. “Are we having dessert or port?”
“We have to go,” Jack said. “We told the babysitter we’d be home by midnight. Thanks for the night, we really enjoyed it.”
“We’re the same,” Jasmine said. “It was lovely to meet you all and thank you, Barbara and Douglas, for your hospitality.”
Aspine escorted the two couples to the door and stood at the entrance leering at Jasmine’s legs and her perfectly proportioned body as she walked down the street. It might take a long time, but he intended to have his way with her.
When he returned to the table, Stacey had ordered port and was slurring at the waiter to leave the bottle. Brad looked nearly as bad as his girlfriend, and there were two empty glasses in front of Barbara. “I thought you were driving,” he said, angrily pushing his glass away. “I can’t drink this if I have to drive.”
“Ooh, I’ll have it,” said Stacey, downing it in one gulp.
“How are you going to drive, Brad?” Aspine scowled; annoyed that he couldn’t participate in destroying the bottle of port.
“We didn’t drive. We never do. We got a taxi. Don’t worry about us.”
“You’re smart. Come on, Barbara, we’re going.”
Stacey’s speech was almost indiscernible. “Bu we’re jussss gerring started.”
“I’ll sign the check, Brad. You and Stacey can stay as long as you like, but we have to go.”
“I wanna stay too,” Barbara said. “We never go out anymore.”
“If you want to stay, feel free to, but I’m leaving now.”
“Spoilsport, alright I’m coming. You’re not fun anymore.” Barbara stood up and stumbled, grasping for her husband’s arm, but he pulled away from her in disgust.
Aspine climbed in behind the wheel of the Ferrari, and Barbara flopped into the passenger seat. Despite the alcohol, she had held up well, and looked closer to mid-thirties than forty-four. He wondered whether she was spending his money on Botox, or maybe having fat pumped from her thighs into her face. “What was it like mentally undressing your financial controller’s wife?” she said, her voice angry, but her face sad.
“You’re pissed.”
“You leered at her all night. No female’s safe from the randy Douglas Aspine.”
“Shut up.” He glared at her, taking his left hand off the wheel.
“Are you going to hit me? Just try it and you’ll be in jail in the morning, and this time I won’t withdraw the complaint. God, she wouldn’t be twenty-five and you’re nearly fifty. What do you think she’s going to see in you? You’re a joke,” she said, the anger turning to tears.
He gritted his teeth, pursed his lips, and hit the accelerator hard.
“You’ll end up losing your licence,” she taunted.
He ignored her but as the red monster closed in on 200 clicks he stole a quick glance at her face. It was white, and her eyes were locked on the road and the intersections that they were flying through.
“Slow down. Slow down. I’m sorry, Douglas, please slow down,” she screamed.
He eased off the accelerator, the corners of his mouth imperceptibly turning up.
As he turned into his driveway, a red MGB blocked the entrance. “Shit!”
“Don’t get angry. It’s probably one of Trevor’s or Jemma’s friends,” Barbara sniffled.
Aspine got out and walked over to the MGB, when he noticed one word carved in the side doors and bonnet. It had obviously been done with a coin, or screwdriver. The letters were about thirty centimeters high, and spelt out ‘CUNT.’ The car was locked and there was no sign of the keys. Now he knew why he hadn’t heard from Charlie. Bitch! This was far more effective than phoning to tell him that he was a mean bastard.
“Who’d do something like that?” Barbara gasped. “What does it mean?”
“Probably bloody hoons with nothing better to do.”
“The car must have been stolen, but why would they dump it in our driveway?”
“I don’t know. I’ll get up early in the morning and contact the police, and organize a tow truck.”
“No! You have to get it towed away tonight. What will the neighbours think if they see it in the morning? It’s disgusting.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll phone someone, but I don’t know why it can’t wait until the morning.” He was actually relieved that Barbara had insisted on getting rid of it. The fewer people who saw it, the fewer awkward questions there would be. He would phone the finance company on Monday, tell them where they could pick it up, and also agree to pay any shortfall on the eventual sale.
“Wake up, Douglas, there’s a real estate agent on the phone who says she needs to talk to you urgently.”
“What time is it?” He groaned.
“It’s just after nine. Don’t forget you have to phone the police about that car.”
“Yeah, yeah, pass me the phone, and get me coffee.”
“What did your last slave die of?”
“Hello.”
“Mr Aspine, it’s Karen Phillips from Kaye & Burton. We manage the apartment you’ve been renting.”
“I gave notice of termination of lease a few weeks back,” he said, anxious to finish the call before Barbara returned with his coffee.
“I know. We went to do a cleanup this morning, and the apartment’s been vandalized. Do you know anything about it? When were you last there?”
“Christ, you don’t think I did it,” he growled, wondering what Charlie had done. “What’s the extent of the damage?”
“Someone’s used lipstick to scrawl one word on all the walls and mirrors. It’s really disgusting, and difficult for me to say.”
“Then don’t,” he said, impatiently. “See if you can clean it up, but if you can’t, repaint the apartment. Send the invoice to my post office box. You have the address; it’s where you sent your rental invoices.”
“Thank you for being so cooperative, Mr Aspine.”
“That’s alright, but don’t phone me at my home again. I can be contacted at Mercury Properties. Good-bye.” He slammed his fist into the pillow and shouted, “bitch!” He had underestimated what a woman scorned was capable of.
Barbara brought him his coffee as he was finishing the call. “Did that real estate agent say something to upset you?” She smirked.
He grunted and ignored her.
“Don’t forget to phone the police about that car. I still don’t understand why it was dumped in our driveway,” she prattled.
“Me neither,” he lied, “I have to go into the office for a few hours.” At least there’s nothing more that Charlie can vandalise. She had obviously forgotten that he had a very revealing DVD in which she featured. He smiled as he thought about sending it to her mum.
- 14 -
KERRY BARTLETT HAD been a brilliant student with uncanny numerical skills, but he’d never been accepted by his peers at Colac Secondary College. He was awkward, gangly, pimply faced, didn’t play sport, and could hardly put two words together without stuttering. A devout Catholic, he attended Sunday school and church every week, didn’t smoke, didn’t drink alcohol and, unlike most of his peers, had never tried recreational drugs. He wasn’t unpopular, but was ignored and thought of as a nerd.
Midway through year eleven a beautiful Eurasian girl, who had recently emigrated from India, joined Kerry’s class. Her father had been an officer in the British Army, and her mother was a tall, willowy Indian model. Her accent was refined, her command of English perfect and she spoke in a delightful, almost musical form. She had large pale blue eyes, light brown skin, long dark h
air, and a flashing smile that seemed to captivate every boy in the class. She was equally popular with the girls and was always surrounded by a large group of friends. Jasmine George was attractive, charming and charismatic − everything that Kerry Bartlett was not.
Kerry fell in love with Jasmine the instant he laid eyes on her, but the competition for her affection was fierce, and he thought that he had little to offer. The class Don Juans and sports jocks were all over her, but she was dismissive of them, and didn’t find their often crude jokes funny. She was fun, but didn’t like pranks, and had a low tolerance for stupidity and shallowness. Four weeks after joining the school, she attended church with her family, and after the service came over and said, “Hello, Kerry, you’re in my class at school but we haven’t been introduced. I’m Jasmine George.”
His heart pounded so hard that he thought it would burst. “He-hel-hello, Jas-Jasmine.”
“You’re the class brain,” she giggled. “I’ve read about your academic achievements in the school magazines.”
“Un-unfortunately, ye-yes.”
“Why unfortunately? Kerry, God has given you a gift. It’s something to be grateful for, and to be proud of.” She frowned.
“I-I tho-thought you li-liked the oth-other bo-boys at school.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “They’re fun, but they’re fools. I like intelligent people and the more intelligent the better.”
His face flushed bright red. “Th-thanks,” he blurted out.
On Monday he went to the chemist and bought a large tube of Clearosil that he painstakingly applied to his pimples, night after night, with little success.
For the next few months they had brief conversations at school and longer ones every Sunday and, while Kerry rehearsed asking Jasmine out to McDonald’s or Subway, he could never quite pluck up enough courage to get the words out. He need not have worried. “Kerry,” she asked one Sunday, “I’m really having trouble with math, and wondered whether you’d be kind enough to come over to home and help me?”
