NICEST GUY IN THE WORLD

He moved amongst the group, forthright and smiling. Always ready to shake hands with a newcomer, clasp an arm or punch a supporter with a huge shout of happy laughter, he was the most popular rising politician in the county. Behind him came his secretary, and his driver holding the black-tongued chow on a jewelled leash. Neck-fur brushed into an impressive ruff, its perky forelock tied with a red ribbon bow, the dog walked proudly among them, seeming to know and understand what was going on.

"Atta boy, Charlie," came the repeated accolade, as the men affirmed his pulling power, his charisma and his success. "Wonderful guy, Charlie," said another to his neighbour who nodded in agreement, while a third thoughtfully puffed on his pipe, saying nothing, but listening carefully and nodding to everything that was said.

Then the session was over, and gesturing to his secretary to take the dog's leash, Charlie shook hands with those he could reach, then turning quickly, walked to the curb as the gleaming Cadillac purred quietly to a halt. Opening the door, the driver made sure he was comfortably settled before returning to his seat and, putting the car into gear, pulled out into the traffic.

But back at the office, Charlie's demeanour changed. "Get that damned dog out of my sight. Give him food and water, put him outside and don't let me see him again today!" he roared at the secretary, "and wipe that smirk off your pasty face" he yelled at the switchboard lady, noticing her from the corner of his eye as she popped another winegum into her mouth, hoping it would give her something sweet to chew on when he started one of his rants.

"Dunno know what comes over him", the tea-lady said to the cleaner as they washed the lunch dishes. "Everyone thinks he's the nicest guy in the world, and so he is to his public. But when he comes back to the office he behaves like a complete pig."

"Oh well, dearie, as long as it doesn't hurt us, and our wages keep coming at the end of every week, who are we to worry?"

Busy day over, the chauffeur drove him to his club. He sat at the table closest to the
stage where he could see, and when he wished, touch, the pole dancers; watch their
gyrating bodies and smell their sweat. If one of the girls specially attracted him, he would slip a couple of large banknotes into her miniscule thong, or fondle whichever part of her body he fancied. Sipping a cold beer, nibbling on a ham sandwich, a couple of hours passed as he gave his orders, renewing contact with the grey men who slipped in silently and unobtrusively through a curtained doorway.

Arriving back home after midnight he banged the front door, swept like a tornado through the downstairs roaring for "Mollie, Mollie, where the hell are you, you cow?" and making as much disturbance as possible. Then, pouring himself three fingers of single malt he lay back on the leather sofa. Soon his snores were making the windows rattle as he sank deeper and deeper into a drugged sleep.

Mollie slipped silently out of bed, drew on shoes and warm outdoor clothes, covered her hair with a scarf. Moving as quietly as a shadow, she went downstairs and out through a french window conveniently ajar. Her shoulder bag contained very little; a few items of simple makeup, brush and comb. Even if he woke and, using his usual bullying tactics, insisted on knowing where she was going, and searched her bag, he would find nothing.

She knew him far too well, she knew how he sheltered behind masks. 'Hail-fellow-well-met' for the people who could do him a good turn; 'overbearing boss' for his down-trodden staff; 'suave operator' and 'man-of-affairs' for his contacts in the underworld, and terrorising husband and father when at home. But she'd had as much as she could stand and, now she'd met Doug, she was moving on. Leaving behind the luxurious home with three servants, the smart cars and the holidays in Spain, France and America. None of the wealth meant anything any more. All she wanted was to be treated like a person in her own right; to be respected, to be loved by a genuine man. She was finished with the liar who put on and discarded masks at will.

Several blocks down the road a taxi with tinted windows waited. When they reached the arranged meeting place she changed into a new outfit and brunette wig, and together the two lovers drove to a small airport where a chartered plane waited. Leaving Douglas to cope with the luggage, she stood quietly by the window, musing on what she'd accomplished in the past few weeks.

The aircraft lifted into the skies and her heart lifted with it, and clasping Douglas's hand she turned to him with sparkling eyes. "Darling it's so wonderful to be with you at last!" she whispered, kissing him lightly on the cheek before handing him a glass of sparkling champagne.

After all these years, she'd finally had the courage to retaliate. She'd emptied Charlie's bank accounts, taken everything from the safe deposit boxes. Stocks, bonds, the jewellery from the robberies committed by his grey men; the valuable coin collection. All she'd left was the string of cheap pearls he'd given her on their wedding day. Now she had everything she'd worked so hard for and he'd never intended she would benefit from. But she'd beaten him at his own game. She was set for life. If Douglas turned out not to be the man she wanted, who cared? There were always plenty of others. An attractive single woman with money could have anyone she wanted.

Reaching beneath her seat, she felt for her shoulder bag. Carefully stitched into the lining was the key to the safe deposit box, the swipe card to the Swiss bank account and a false passport. Never hurt to have a backup strategy.

With an appalling lurch, her heart jumped into her mouth. The bag wasn't there.

Douglas had checked the luggage. If anyone knew where her shoulder bag was, it was him. Why had he not given it to her the moment they boarded the plane? Surely he knew the importance of a woman's handbag?  He must know that without it every woman is lost.

Casually, she turned to face him. "Duggie dearest," she murmured, laying her hand softly on his arm, but with murder in her heart. "Have you seen my shoulder bag?"

Lifting his eyes momentarily from the golfing magazine he was studying, "Hmmm. What was that?" he muttered. "Your shoulder bag? No, haven't seen it, never bother with the ladies handbags, y'know. Fella knows better than mess around with those. Strictly memsahib's territory. Wouldn't touch 'em with a barge-pole", and having uttered this inane remark - totally out of character with the dynamic and 'with-it' Douglas she knew - he closed his eyes and was soon in a deep sleep.

Moving swiftly, she made her way to the pilot's cabin. "Turn this plane round," she
commanded.

"Wha', wha'. What's that?" the pilot stammered, jerking his head as he caught the glint of the pistol in her hand.

"Do as I say," she repeated, "I'm serious. Turn this bloody aircraft around and get back to the airfield or I'll blow your brains out!"

It did not take much persuasion and an hour later they were circling the airfield waiting for permission to land.

Strangely, through all of this, Douglas had been asleep. As they taxied towards the airport buildings, he sluggishly woke. "Are we there already?" he asked, gazing at green fields and buildings.

"You're here, I'm not staying", she snapped. "When the plane stops, go immediately to the departure lounge. Unless you come back with my shoulder bag, INTACT, I'll break this antidote. If I do that, you have 10 minutes to live. Yes, Duggie darling, you thought you were so clever, didn't you? Deliberately leaving my bag behind as a clue for the searchers, together with the flight plan you'd popped into the wallet".

"Well, you didn't realise that for some time I've been thinking there was something not quite right about you. Just to be on the safe side, I slipped a powerful sleep-inducing drug into your champagne. You didn't suspect anything, did you darling? Mixed with the sleeping-pill was a dose of curare. It paralyses the body's "core" muscles, you know", she continued informatively. "Pretty soon, you'll find breathing is difficult and before long, without the antidote, you'll slip into a coma. So just do as I say, Duggie darling, and when you hand me my shoulder bag, intact, I'll give you this ampoule".

People were so devious.

So many masks.

Nobody was what they seemed.

Barbara Durlacher

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Name	Comment	Date
Erna	But what about her children? I enjoyed the way that you peeled off Mollie’s masks, changing her from a fearful, downtrodden mouse of a wife to a cold-hearted piece of work even worse that Charlie! What did the bejewelled, be-ribboned chow do for Charlie’s politician-image? It was puzzling. Does not quite fit the hail-fellow-well-met backslapping man-among-men in the first scene.	2007-11-01