“Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, the man of the moment, Mr. Frank Bergenson!”
As wild applause and cheering broke out amongst the alcohol enthused gathering, Frank Bergenson walked up to the microphone, looking more like Superman’s tired grandpa.
In the wings, a subdued Kurt Fitzgerald tried to pull himself together though he was still emotionally shaken up from his public humiliation. His head was a jumble of thoughts. So far, what was supposed to have been a celebratory, triumphant evening had turned into an unmitigated disaster.
Why the fuck would Mistress Angel do that to him? His sexual fantasies were private – between him and the person he chose to dominate and humiliate him. This was nobody else’s business!
Frank began his speech.
“Hello fellow partygoers! I think you all know who I am - I’m Superman!”
The ballroom erupted into laughter and applause. Frank raised his hand to quiet them.
“Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate my last day in the advertising business as CEO of Bergenson & Adler. I’d also like to thank The Beatles for entertaining us and blowing out my eardrums. Been quite an eventful evening that’s for sure. Great to see Channel 5 are still here.”
Frank looked to the wings where Lucy Gerhardt was watching. “Hey, I should send you an invoice for that free ad I just gave you.” Frank waited for the laughter to subside as he switched gears to a more serious tone. “Now I’m not going to bore you to death and ruin the fun atmosphere with one those tediously dull speeches…”
“Thank God for that,” mumbled Clem to Tara, watching from the rear of the ballroom. “Come on, let’s go.” Clem reached for Tara’s gloved arm and tugged her towards a bar-stop exit door. They slowly and silently squeezed through the last layer of guests whose attention was fully focused on Frank Bergenson up on stage.
“Sixty one years in this business has taught me a lot. I’ve worked with some very talented people during my career, most of whom I’ve hired so they’ve got me to thank for their success.” Muted laughter rippled through the crowd. “I’ve worked with geniuses and morons, visionaries and nitwits, so I know talent when I see it and when I don’t see it. Fortunately, most of you here are people I respect though I thought I saw some jackasses earlier though that might’ve just been their costume.”
“Fuck, it’s locked,” said Clem to Tara as he pushed against the exit door. They were stuck at the rear of the ballroom.
Frank paused and looked out at the two thousand or so guests that had come out to celebrate his career. “So, I know you’ve all been wondering who’s going to be my successor and take over the reins of the most successful ad agency in the Mid-West. Well, it has to be someone special. After all, Superman is one tough act to follow. I’ve made my choice from the ranks within the company. This man is indeed a visionary, so I’m very pleased to announce that the next CEO of Bergenson & Adler will be none other than the very talented …..Mr. Clem Drew!”
A loud cheer went up as heads started turning around looking for Clem. In the wings, Kurt Fitzgerald stared in disbelief as if he’d misheard Frank’s announcement. As wild applause filled the room, a spotlight caught Clem in its glare. Tara ducked out of the way. She’d done enough damage already.
“Speech!” someone yelled and before he knew it, Clem was being shoved towards the stage to rapturous cheering.
Lucy Gerhardt looked totally confused as she stared over at the dumbstruck Fitz who staggered past her, almost knocking her over. He pushed his way through a group of men dressed as Minnesota Vikings cheerleaders and hurriedly exited the ballroom through a side door. It slammed shut behind him.
“Elvis has left the building,” said one of the news crew.
Clem made his way up on stage and walked towards the podium. Tara was so shocked and delighted that she started to tear up. The drama of the evening had finally gotten the better of her. It seemed that being in control was exhausting work, even for a real Mistress.
Clem looked across at Frank Bergenson who’d never looked happier. Standing at the podium, Clem removed his pirate eye patch and the red bandana around his head and tapped the microphone. Tara watched proudly between a cheering Marilyn Monroe and Lady Gaga.
“Thank you. Thank you, everyone.” Clem’s voice boomed out across the ballroom. “Thanks, Frank. Wow. Bit of a surprise.” The crowd was with him. “No, really. This is a huge surprise and I’ll tell you all why. A few days ago, Frank here told me he was going to announce to you all tonight that Kurt Fitzgerald was going to be our next CEO.”
Frank Bergenson shrugged, trying to dilute the awkwardness of Clem’s blunt honesty. A murmur went around the floor. Clem looked away from the crowd and focused his gaze on Superman.
“What happened, Frank? Fitz turn you down?” The room went dead quiet. “I learnt a lot from you over the four years I’ve worked here at Bergenson & Adler. You’re right, this agency has some terrific people. To be CEO of this fine agency was something I’d always wanted and worked hard to get.”
The reflective pirate sucked in a deep breath of air. “Like I said, I’ve got no idea what made you change your mind tonight but I’ve got an announcement to make as well. I’ve changed my mind, too. I don’t want your lousy job!”
Clem beamed a broad smile. A roar of laughter broke out. “I’m serious. I don’t fucking want it!”
Clem was still looking over at an extremely uncomfortable Frank Bergenson. The laughter subsided quickly, as if all the oxygen had just been sucked out of the place. Tara couldn’t believe what she was hearing but her husband wasn’t finished yet.
“And you know why, Frank?” You could hear a pin drop. “Because I’m tired of all the bullshit!”
Two very drunk Klingons at the back of the ballroom burst into applause but were instantly hushed by Captain Kirk. Frank walked over to the podium where Clem was speaking and put his hand over the microphone.
“Jesus, Clem. This is being broadcast live! Why are you doing this to me?”
Clem smiled.
“It’s business, Frank. Just business.”
Clem pushed Frank’s hand away from the microphone and yelled out. “I quit! Thanks, guys! Been a wild ride!”
And with that, Clem walked off the stage back into the stunned audience. A few partygoers applauded but Tara’s hands were over her mouth in shock at her husband’s outrageous speech.
In the wings, Lucy Gerhardt turned to her news crew. “Let’s go, boys. What a cluster fuck this turned out to be.”
As Clem exited to some handshakes and pats on the back, various voices called after Clem wishing him luck and thanking him.
“You go, Clem!”
“Way to tell it!”
“The truth shall set you free!” bellowed a drunk preacher.
As the lights dimmed, a deejay tried to get the energy levels back on track again by playing an annoyingly loud song with a pulsating bass thump. Clem made his way through the now dancing throng towards Tara. He gave her a huge hug and kissed her on the lips with a big smack.
“Okay. Now can we leave?” He grabbed hold of Tara and pulled his confused Fem Dom away. Tara was still in stunned disbelief that all her hard work had been for nothing. They scurried down a hallway and out onto the sidewalk.
“What just happened, Clem? I mean…what were you thinking up there?”
Clem handed his ticket to one of the white-jacketed valet boys and stood on the pavement looking very pleased with himself. Tara wasn’t quite so happy.
“Seriously. What the fuck happened back there?”
Her smiling husband appeared to have a very relaxed aura about him. “Well, I think I just retired from the ad business,” he grinned.
“That was insane! That’s it then?”
“That’s it, I guess.”
“God! One minute you’re depressed you’re not gonna make CEO and when they hand it to you on a plate you tell Frank to stuff it up his ass.”
“Yeah. Felt good!” Cl
em beamed.
“Just how drunk are you?”
“Totally, unbelievably cool man!” a wasted Klingon shouted, as he stumbled out of the Pavilion’s revolving door. Clem smiled and waved back at him. Tara shook her head.
“Well, at least the Klingon empire still loves you.”
“I had two glasses of wine. And one moment of clarity.”
Clem did a goofy little pirate jig. His mood was bordering on exuberant, a far cry from the sullen state he was in on his way to the party. For Tara, the evening had been a completely different experience. Her adrenalin rush of acting out as Mistress Angel had been seriously tempered by Clem’s un-acceptance speech.
“Oh, shit.” Tara shook her head as she looked at her dancing pirate. “What a crazy, crazy party this turned out to be. Sure no one slipped you a Mickey?”
Clem ended his little jig and put his hands on Tara’s leather corseted hips. “Damn, you look good tonight, honey. Y’know, I’ve been thinking a lot over these past few days and a few light bulbs flashed on tonight.”
The silver Mercedes pulled up alongside them. Clem handed a few bucks to the valet boy who held open the passenger door for Tara. Within seconds, the pirate and the Fem Dom were speeding through downtown towards Interstate 62. Tara stared over at her seemingly quite sober and lucid husband.
“So please enlighten me as to what these light bulbs were that flashed on in your head tonight. Seems they were more like exploding bombshells.”
Clem seemed so relaxed and happy it was quietly freaking Tara out. “Y’know, it just really hit me tonight,” Clem mused.
“No, I don’t know. Help me out here.”
“Like how much my life was making me miserable.”
Tara looked at him in disbelief. “What? That’s it? That’s your light bulb moment? I could’ve told you that. You were making my life miserable, too. ”
“Exactly,” Clem said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I really don’t know what the fuck happened in Frank’s brain tonight to suddenly pull a switcheroo like that. I mean, he flat out told me that Fitz was getting the job and not me. Then he goes and pulls that dramatic stunt which frankly, I think he’d planned it all along. He did it for the cameras. Wanted drama right to the end. What a prick! The look on his face was priceless though. Fitz can have the fucking job.”
Tara bit her tongue. Her show stopping performance had probably seen to it that the pitiful Sissy Boy Fitz certainly wouldn’t be handed anything other than a pink slip. She had been superb as the controlling Mistress Angel, bringing her hapless victim to his knees, literally and figuratively. But it had been rendered redundant by Clem’s performance up on that stage. For a brief moment though, she finally felt in complete control of a situation and manipulated it deftly. She liked how it felt, albeit for only the few minutes it lasted. Now she was back to being plain old Tara Drew.
“Y’know, I finally realized that I didn’t really want it. Maybe I never really wanted it. I’d turned into some workaholic asshole who ignored his wife and turned her into a jealous nut job. That guy wanted it. But not me. And, by the way, did I tell you how incredibly hot tonight you look tonight?
“Yes. Numerous times.”
“And that I can’t stop thinking about banging your brains out.”
“Thanks, honey. So romantically phrased,” Tara interjected, as words continue to pour out of Clem like a gushing drainpipe.
“Guys were looking at you like…well, I think they were scared and turned on at the same time!”
“Yeah, I know. It felt good,” Tara admitted.
As Clem pulled into Dunkirk Crescent, it was still a warm night. The silver Mercedes turned into their driveway. It had been an evening to remember for both of them and for different reasons. Clem still seemed high on something as they got out of the car in the garage and walked into the kitchen. Tara headed straight to the wine refrigerator and grabbed an ice-cold bottle of Chardonnay while Clem continued his soul-bearing monolog.
“My point is, do you work to live or do you live to work? I lived to work. Your job shouldn’t define who you are. I don’t know…wait, didn’t you ask me that once? Yeah, I think…”
“Shut up.” Tara handed him a glass of vino to calm him down. “Don’t think anymore. Cheers.” Tara clinked Clem’s glass. “We can figure out how we’re going to live when we start the rest of our lives tomorrow.”
Clem kissed Tara on the tip of her nose. “Okay.”
“Of course, there’s still the payment on the house which you’ve lectured me about more than once which we’ll no longer be able to afford even though I’ve now got a job.” Tara told him, then sipped her wine and waited for Clem’s response.
“You got a job? Doing what?”
“Teaching,”
“Really? Teaching what?”
Tara smiled. “They’re like one hour classes.”
“Teaching what?”
Tara slid her arms around Clem’s neck and pulled him close. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.” Tara ran her hand through the back of his hair and messed it up. Clem’s brain was still firing on all synapses but now he was going to focus on his sexy wife’s hot body.
“House is too big for just two people anyway. I’ve never liked it. Wouldn’t hurt to downsize.”
“Damn hard work keeping this place clean all the time, too,” Tara whispered.
“Have to give the car back.” Clem kissed her lips.
“You don’t need a car, you’ve got nowhere to go anymore.” Tara grabbed his butt cheeks and pulled his crotch into her hips.
Clem kissed Tara again, longer this time. He pulled away and looked at her.
“Shit. Did I fuck up tonight?”
“Oh, yeah. Big time,” Tara said softly. “You’re definitely one of the dumbest pirates I’ve ever known. One of the cutest though.”
“Thanks. No one’s ever called me a dumb cute pirate before.”
“You were a very naughty boy and I’m going to punish you,” Tara teased. Clem smiled. He gently squeezed her boob and ran his finger over her nipple. Tara purred. His hand slid up to the lacing on her bodice and untied the bowed knot, releasing her constricted breasts.
“Y’know, I had no idea I’d married such a kinky woman.”
“You’re right, Mr. Drew. You have no idea at all,” Tara smiled.
CHAPTER 20
In the months that followed Frank Bergenson’s eventful retirement shindig, events at Bergenson & Adler took a decidedly downward turn. Not surprisingly, Kurt Fitzgerald was fired and Daniel Ellerby was hired to find a CEO in place of the three missing amigos, Frank, Fitz and Clem. But the new man couldn’t turn the tide of the growing recession. It was a death knell for the agency. After the live televised debacle at the Depot Pavilion, James Molinaire fired the agency and took his giant account back to the west coast and to its first ever agency, Chiat Day in Los Angeles. And as the economy slowed and retail sales slumped across the board, the ad business was hit hard everywhere. Clients weren’t just trimming budgets, they were slashing them. Bergenson & Adler had to lay off nearly forty per cent of its employees. Even James Molinaire was eventually let go as Rebakor slashed its workforce after the “God Speed” ad campaign bombed.
It took quite a while for Clem and Tara to finally unload their McMansion on Dunkirk Crescent and for considerably bit less than they’d paid for it four years earlier. They had found a nice little two bedroom craftsman style bungalow to rent in the older Minneapolis suburb of Hopkins. It wasn’t as upscale as toney Eden Prairie but now Clem could walk to his new job.
He stood on the sidewalk wearing tattered old blue jeans and a sweatshirt outside a small storefront. He rubbed the two-day stubble on his chin as he stared up at a fat little man on the ladder holding a paintbrush.
“Looks good!” Clem called up to him. It was a wonderfully sunny morning with not even a hint of a breeze. The chubby fellow climbed down the ladder and the two of them stared up to admire the cursive green lettering. The n
ew sign above the store read Bake & Brew.
“What kinda joint is this anyway? Sounds like you can either get stoned or get hammered,” the sign writer joked as he wiped his hands on a dirty cloth.
“Hmmm….never thought of that,” Clem frowned. “Actually, we’re a bakery and a coffeehouse.”
“No beer?” The fat little man sounded disappointed. “When I see brew I think beer.”
“Nope.”
“Then ya shoulda called it Bake & Beans. That’d be a good name for this place.” He collapsed his ladder and laid it flat on the ground.
“But when you say Bake & Beans, it sounds more like bacon beans,” Clem argued.
“Well, gosh darn it, maybe ya need one of them marketing guys to come out here and make a few suggestions. They got all the ideas, ya know. They’re smarter than guys like you and me.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Clem smiled, still looking up proudly at the freshly painted signage.
“Well, good luck with your new business,” said the sign writer packing up his tools. “I gotta little tip for you though.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Clem asked, as he watched him lay his ladder down on his flat bed truck.
“Advertise. That’s the key to success, my friend.”
Inside the store, Tara pulled a tray of banana muffins out of the oven and slid in a fresh tray of chocolate chip cookie dough. The glass-cased counter displayed a variety of baked buns, cakes, muffins and cookies. Taking pride of place on the countertop was the La Pavoni espresso machine, the only remnant from their house on Dunkirk Crescent.
“Hey! Can’t a girl get some service in this place? I need a double shot cappuccino and make it a dry one!”
Clem came running in. “Double shot capp coming right up!”
At the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, a Delta Airlines Boeing 757 was readying for takeoff as Mistress Krystal walked up to the baggage drop and checked in two large suitcases. The attendant printed out two labels and tagged her bags before swinging them onto the conveyer belt.
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