Fem Dom

by Tony Cane-Honeysett

  “I’m making the announcement tomorrow night at the party. I hope I’ve made the right decision picking you as my successor.”

  Fitz smiled. “You’ve molded me into your own image, Frank. How can you possibly be wrong?”

  The Lincoln pulled up outside the television studios of WKBO, the local ABC affiliate, where Frank was being interviewed for the six o’clock news segment. The Minneapolis-St. Paul business community had voted Frank Bergenson Business Leader Of The Year. The award was more out of respect for the fact that Bergenson & Adler had become a Minneapolis institution. It seemed a fitting gesture as the old man stepped down and into retirement.

  “Whatever happened to your old agency partner Lewis Adler?” Fitz asked Frank as they walked towards the building. “He vanished without a trace.”

  “I caught him fucking my wife,” Frank said bluntly. “So I fucked his career and married his secretary.”

  “Outstanding!”

  Fitz had learnt more about the man he was replacing in one short car ride than in his two years at the agency. It was really only now that Fitz fully appreciated that he was stepping into the shoes of one bull-headed, hard-ass survivor, and he had every intention of carrying on where Frank Bergenson was leaving off.

  “Where do you want us?” Fitz asked the floor director as he and Frank walked into the television studio.

  “We only need Mr. Bergenson.”

  “This is about me, not you, Fitz. Sit down and shut up,” Frank teased. “I still run the show till tomorrow, remember?”

  “Then why’d you ask me along?” Fitz asked, a little miffed he wasn’t going to get his on-screen moment.

  “Over here, Mr. Bergenson.” The floor director beckoned and pointed to an armchair beside a fake fireplace. Frank wandered over with a glance back at Fitz.

  “I just wanted make sure I was handing over the keys of the house to the right guy, that’s all. By the way, what are your plans for Clem?”

  “Clem who?” Fitz snarked back, still irked.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” said Frank, as he took his seat in front of the cameras.

  A make-up girl dabbed a little powder on Frank’s face as the crew took their places. Lucy Gerhardt, the attractive and leggy local news anchor at the network walked onto the set. Dressed sharply in a navy blue dress suit, she brushed passed Fitz who was standing in the wings. He winked at her and got a flash of a fake news anchor smile in return.

  “Hi. I’m Kurt Fitzgerald.” Fitz gave her a wiggly-fingered wave. “I’m from the agency, too. I handle the Rebakor business.”

  “Oh, am I interviewing you as well?” she asked, seemingly rather intrigued by the slick ad man.

  “No. You’re interviewing my grandpa over there by the fire,” Fitz joked.

  “I heard that Fitz, you sonofabitch!” Frank shouted from the studio where he was still getting powdered. Lucy Gerhardt laughed.

  “You must be Frank Bergenson, the legend!” she called out as she headed over to the fireplace. She glanced over at Fitz who was grinning back at her like the Cheshire cat. The news anchor shook Frank’s hand.

  “Be nice to the pretty lady, Frank!” Fitz called over to them.

  “That’s the jackass who’ll be taking over my agency when I retire next week,” Frank said loudly as he shooed away the make-up girl.

  “And if that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is,” Fitz said to the floor director who could care less.

  “Going live in forty-five seconds!”

  “Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Bergenson.” Lucy Gerhardt walked over to the floor director and whispered something in his ear then headed over to Fitz. The floor director turned to his crew.

  “Hey, we need another chair. Lucy wants to interview these two together. Make it snappy!”

  “I think you should be in this interview, too,” said Lucy to Fitz. “Let’s get you a dab of powder.”

  Fitz walked on the set and sat down next to Frank as the make-up girl reappeared to dab his forehead. Lucy took a seat next to the two agency men.

  “What’s he doing here?” Frank looked seriously irritated.

  “Okay guys, I want to have you, Mr. Fitzgerald sitting here next to Mr. Bergenson because then we’ll have the old guard next to the new guard,” Lucy beamed, pleased with her own idea. Frank wasn’t happy about the new arrangement.

  “Don’t hijack my interview. Who’s retiring? Me! Who’s Man of the fucking Year? Me!” Frank grouched.

  “Going live in fifteen!”

  Frank’s ego was feeling more than a little bent out of shape. He didn’t want anyone stealing his moment in the spotlight and he was getting even more pissed now that Fitz was blatantly flirting with Ms. Gerhardt. Frank leaned forward in his armchair towards the attractive news anchor.

  “Listen, hot pants. It’s not public knowledge who my successor will be so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it, okay?”

  “Absolutely. Don’t worry, Mr. Bergenson,” Lucy reassured her agitated guest. The intro music to the news program began to play in the studio and everyone on set got very quiet.

  “Going live…..standby….and three…two…..”

  The red ‘live’ light came on. Lucy Gerhardt looked directly into the camera. “Welcome to Twin Cities Primetime Live. I’m your host Lucy Gerhardt and tonight I’m talking to advertising legend, Mr. Frank Bergenson, who is this year’s recipient of the prestigious Twin Cities’ Business Leader of the Year Award, which is given by the Minnesota Chamber of Commerce. Now, Frank. You will be retiring next week after sixty years in the business…”

  “Sixty one,” Frank corrected her.

  “Sorry, sixty one years. And most of that time at the helm of the Bergenson & Adler advertising agency. Frank is Chairman and CEO and, as you’ve probably read in the news, his agency has recently landed the $200 million Rebakor account, thanks mainly to the man sitting next to him, Mr. Kurt Fitzgerald.”

  Back in the Kemp building in his office on the forty-third floor, Clem sat with Justine watching Frank’s interview on WKBO.

  “Jesus Christ, I wanna puke.”

  Clem got up off the sofa and walked back over to his desk to busy himself with some paper shuffling to avoid watching the TV. Justine watched in stunned bewilderment as Fitz basked in all the glory of the agency’s Rebakor win.

  “Why is that asshole even there? This is meant to be about Mr. Bergenson’s retirement.”

  The camera cut to a tight shot of Lucy Gerhardt.

  “What are your best memories of working in the advertising business all these years, Frank?”

  The camera cut to Frank sitting in his cozy armchair beside the fake fireplace, now with fake flames flickering.

  “Creating jobs for thousands of people over the years and bringing in some of the finest advertising talent from all over the country to come and work for me and make my agency extremely successful and me a lot of money.”

  “At least he’s being honest,” Clem said, still refusing to watch but listening to every word. The camera cut to a close-up of Fitz looking even more cocky than his usual self.

  “Ugh.” Now Justine stood up in anger. “I should’ve reported him when I had the chance.”

  “Reported him?” Clem said, turning his attention to Justine.

  “Oh, he’s always all over me whenever he sees me around the agency. He gives me the creeps.”

  “You can’t report him for giving you the creeps, Justine.”

  “Why not? Listen to him kissing up to Frank.”

  Clem and Justine turned their attention back to the television where Fitz was now on eulogizing Frank.

  “….and I just want to say that working with Frank Bergenson has been such a great honor. Personally, I’d love him to stick around for a few more years. We could all learn a lot from him.”

  Fitz’s insincerity sounded totally believable. The camera cut to Frank cracking a smile then cut back to Lucy Gerhardt.

  “Tune in tomorrow
night and we’ll have a Primetime Live camera crew live at Frank Bergenson’s retirement party which seems is going to be quite the grand occasion from what I hear. Thanks, guys.”

  “And out. Break to commercial,” yelled the WKBO floor director as he waved an all-clear sign and wrapped Twin Cities Primetime Live. Frank Bergenson and Kurt Fitzgerald stood up and unclipped their lapel mics.

  “Thanks guys, nice piece,” said Lucy Gerhardt, shaking hands with the two of them

  “I need to take a piss,” Frank mumbled, looking around for a restroom sign.

  “Through that door.” Lucy pointed the way though Frank was already headed off in the opposite direction. She turned to Fitz who seemed enamored by the TV anchor.

  “Pretty impressive, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  “Thanks for getting me the face time.”

  “I meant landing the Rebakor business. That’s huge.”

  “Awwww….I can’t take all the credit.”

  “Hey, why be modest about it? Good for you. And good for the Twin Cities, too. I’m sure we’ll be hearing a lot about you now that you’re going to be the big cheese over at Bergensons.”

  “Why don’t we grab lunch sometime? Maybe I’ll let you in on the secrets of my success. And call me Fitz. Everyone does.”

  “Okay, Fitz. Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Lucy said with a mischievous grin. “And I’ll be at the big event at the Pavilion, too.”

  “That’ll be very cool. It’s a costume party so look out for the king being crowned king.” Fitz snarled his upper lip Elvis-style then slid his business card in the lapel pocket of her jacket.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was the night of Frank’s retirement party. Clem adjusted his eye patch in the bathroom mirror. The bandana around his head and large ornate belt buckle made him a pretty passable pirate, albeit a rather squeaky clean one.

  “Well, it’s not Johnny Depp but it’ll do,” he said, checking his appearance. “I think we should get there late and leave early, so take your time getting ready.”

  “Oh, I’m ready,” said Tara, calling from the bedroom.

  “So what costume are you wearing tonight? You never told me,” Clem called back.

  “Ready to find out?” Tara shouted as Clem made more minor adjustments to his own costume.

  “I guess so. I just hope you’re not a pirate too because I’ve got this nailed down.”

  “Okay, I’m coming out!” Tara announced. Clem ignored her as he fiddled with his irritating eye patch. The bedroom door swung open and Tara took a step forward into the bathroom. She stood directly under one of the recessed spotlights in the ceiling.

  “So, what do you think, Cap’n Jack?” Tara smiled, presenting herself.

  “Whoa…! Fuck!” Clem did a double take as he caught her reflection in the mirror. He spun around and lifted the patch off his covered eye. “Who the heck are you meant to be?”

  Tara looked like sex on legs and just about the most stunning vision of eroticism Clem had ever set eyes on. Tara knew how hot she looked as she struck a pose for Clem’s benefit.

  “You like?”

  “Like? Yeah, me likey, all right. But seriously, Tara you can’t go out in public dressed like that.”

  “Oh, no? Just watch me.”

  “Where did you get that outfit? What’s with the whip?” Clem ran his eyes over her body from head to foot, from corset to boots to her Catwoman mask to the latex gloves up to her elbow.

  “Well, it sure wasn’t from the same place I found your pirate costume,” she smiled. Clem had never seen his wife looking that hot before and he loved every kinky inch of her.

  “Let’s stay in tonight and fool around. I mean, seriously, you cannot go out dressed like that. You’ll get arrested.”

  “We’re going out and we’re gonna have some fun for once. Heck, we’ll never be seeing any of these people again once you get fired, assuming that’s what’s going to happen to you.”

  “Damn! I’m a pretty boring pirate next to you. Who are you meant to be anyway?” Clem asked, still admiring his sexed up wife.

  “I’m a Fem Dom,” Tara said smugly.

  “Fem Dom? What’s that?” Clem followed Tara downstairs and out towards their garage.

  “You must be a newbie,” Tara teased.

  “A newbie at what?”

  “Female domination. Think of me as a kind of Catwoman with a twist.”

  “Hmmmm….Very twisted.”

  The novelty of a costume party certainly added to the spectacle as hundreds of colorfully attired guests showed up at the stylish Depot Pavilion in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. A large flock of black stretch limos were lined up unloading their fancy dressed invitees. Over the years, Frank Bergenson might have made a lot of enemies but judging by the turn out he had plenty of friends, too. Many of the old money local socialites were showing up along with noted lawyers, academics, pro-athletes and politicians amongst the growing throng. Cameras flashed and locals videotaped.

  By the time Clem and Tara arrived at the venue, the party was in full swing. The valet guys were as busy as all get out but still found a second to smile approvingly as Tara stepped out of the silver Mercedes with her pirate chaperone.

  Inside, a Beatles tribute band were on stage looking every bit like John, Paul, George and Ringo in their collarless suits and mop top haircuts.

  “This is pretty wild,” Clem shouted over the strains of Back In The U.S.S.R. and seeing if he could recognize anyone with his one seeing eye. There were cowboys, witches, ballerinas, several Indiana Jones’s, more pirates and various incarnations of Star Trek and Star Wars characters. Clem counted at least three Harry Potters, two Barack Obamas, eight clowns and someone dressed as Ron Burgundy from Anchorman doing a pretty decent impersonation.

  “Looks like a Hollywood back lot!” Tara yelled, making her way through the throng.

  “Where’s the bar? I need a stiff one!” Clem shouted, still trying to be heard.

  “Hey, if we get split up, just look out for my little pointy ears!” Tara yelled back at Clem, just as the errant arm of a flapper girl pulled him onto the dance floor. Clem grabbed onto Tara, dragging her with him just as the song ended much to the flapper’s disappointment.

  “Who’s she?” Tara asked with a teasing expression.

  “No idea. Now where’s the bar?” Clem looked around sounding somewhat desperate.

  As George Harrison changed a broken string on his sunburst Rickenbacker, the decibels dropped to a more tolerable level for a few minutes.

  “Hi, guys!” Justine squealed at Cap’n Jack and Mistress Angel. “Glad I found you two in this madness! Wow, Tara! You look amazing. That is seriously sexxxxxxxy!”

  “Well, y’know,” Tara feigned bashfulness. “And look at you in that adorable….fairy dress?”

  “I’m Glinda!” Justine posed, waving a fairy wand.

  “Who?” Clem asked.

  “Clem, you look ridiculous,” Justine smirked.

  Clem smiled sarcastically. “Gee, thanks. And for the record, I also feel ridiculous standing next to this kinky woman.”

  The bogus Ringo up on stage cracked his snare drum to kick off She Loves You, so Justine led Clem and Tara towards the VIP lounge before all their eardrums took a hit again.

  The volume was much more conducive to conversation in the roped off lounge with its plush red leather sofas and cocktail bar. Several overly large TV screens were looping the Bergenson & Adler showreel playing every commercial the agency had ever produced. Several people were smiling while watching some of the older spots from the late seventies with their dated production values and cheesy acting.

  “I’ll take a Fuzzy Cosmo,” Tara told Clem.

  “Is that a real drink?” Clem frowned.

  “I think that’s more like two drinks,” Justine giggled. “I’ll take one as well then.”

  Justine was fully in the party spirit as she started grooving to the music. Glinda and Mistress Angel sang along to the chorus b
leeding in from the ballroom. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeaaaaah!”

  Tara looked around at all the gussied up partygoers. She didn’t really know any of the faces to match to the names that Clem always talked about. Even Justine was having trouble figuring who was who under all the weird, wild and wonderful outfits.

  “Any sign of this Fitzgerald character?” Tara asked, as the two scanned the room waiting for Clem to return with their drinks.

  “I heard he’s coming as Elvis,” Justine mumbled into the side of Tara’s leather mask. “That’s Frank Bergenson and his wife Lucille over there.” Justine pointed to Superman with a rather old Indian squaw talking to Laurel and Hardy. Clem broke in between the girls carrying their cocktails.

  “This is better,” Clem said. “At least I can hear myself think.”

  The VIP lounge was starting to get busier by the second. At that moment a tall priest walked in with several white-gowned alter boys who were way too old to be dressed so innocently.

  “Who are they?” Tara asked, trying not to laugh out loud.

  “I’ve seen it all now. That’s James Molinaire and the Rebakor marketing department,” Clem observed. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

  “Don’t you want to go and talk to them?” Tara asked.

  “Not really. Let them settle in and loosen up a bit first. Me too, for that matter.”

  Clem glanced around at the growing number of costumed guests entering the lounge as the strains of the Fab Four singing harmonies on I Wanna Hold Your Hand kicked up the noise level seeping in to the large room.

  “Well, no one seems particularly interested in talking to the three of us,” Tara remarked ruefully.

  “I think you’re scaring everyone off in that highly provocative leather outfit, honey,” Clem joked, eyeing his hot wife up and down again. “Let’s go home and….you know.”

  Justine looked horrified. “Awww, no! Don’t go. You’ve only just got here. This is going to be a fun night.”

  “I feel stupid. Why am I at an event where I know I’m going to be publicly humiliated? And in front of the entire agency and clients.”

  “Our crew are all over at the bar,” Justine motioned. “Chuck Svensen was looking for you earlier. Wanna go find him?”