Champagne Wishes and Cold Duck Dreams

by WSBA Bar News Editor Michael Heatherly

I am obsessed with the recession. I believe the plunging worldwide economy will revolutionize politics, economic theory, business practices, and the way we live our lives. To broaden my perspective, I tracked down the one fabulously wealthy person I know, Charles “Capital” Gaines, an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a while. Charles is so rich, Bill Gates owes him money. He lives so lavishly, his chauffeurs have chauffeurs. He has homes around the globe with a full staff and a supermodel stationed at each one.

Before I knew it, Charles’s helicopter was depositing me on the deck of his favorite yacht, the Wild Asset, somewhere in the Caribbean. “Michael, my old chap, it’s marvelous to see you,” said Charles, who is so posh he talks like that, even though he isn’t British. He escorted me to a stateroom where a bottle of Dom Pérignon, a bowl of caviar, and a silver platter of crackers awaited. After some chit-chat, I got to the point.

“Charles, this recession is driving me crazy,” I said, troweling a bead of caviar onto a cracker, which I noticed was embossed with Charles’ initials. “It seems the world has turned upside down. I’m curious to know how it affects someone of your stature. How are you holding up?”

Charles looked stricken. “This will tell you all you need to know,” he said, grasping the champagne bottle and peeling away the Dom Pérignon label to reveal a Cold Duck logo beneath. “By the way, enjoy the caviar and personalized crackers,” he said. “It’s the last I’ll have of either for a while.” I immediately regretted bringing up the subject.

“Everyone thinks people like me are immune to financial difficulty,” he said. “Nothing could be further from the truth. All 12 of my homes are losing value, some by five, six figures a month. I’ve had to downsize staff. I only bring my stylist and masseuse on trips of four days or more. I’m seriously considering putting one of my Van Goghs on the market. We’ve scaled back to 200-thread-count bed sheets. It’s like sleeping on sandpaper.”

I patted Charles on the shoulder and topped off his goblet with a splash of Cold Duck. “Listen, Chuck. We both know the best things in life are free. It’s friends, family, the little pleasures that really matter, right?”

“Unfortunately, in my tax bracket, relationships and finances tend to follow the same trends. Friends who are still doing well avoid me because they think I’m slipping. The ones who are struggling just come by to hit me up for loans. Of course, my love life has gone the way of the Dow Jones. Francesca barely talks to me anymore. Jacqueline and Monique have left me all together. Even Flopsie, my Afghan hound, and Skittles, my Persian cat, have shunned me since I relegated them to eating pet food.”

Now desperate to change the subject, I suggested we go topside and enjoy a round of cigars while we finished our cut-rate bubbly. Thankfully, this idea brought a grin to Charles’s face. A moment later we were standing at the deck rail as James from the galley staff fired up our stogies. “Cuban?” I asked, taking my first draw and exhaling the smoke into the warm evening breeze.

“Honduran. Let’s not talk about it,” replied Charles. “I must say, though, I appreciate your coming by to cheer me up. We always find a way to have a good time.” He opened his arms and we man-hugged awkwardly.

“Charles, I’m here for you whether you’re a prince or a pauper,” I said. This was an outright lie. I never even liked Charles. He was an arrogant, superficial egomaniac. But who else was going to cruise me around on a yacht and get me into parties with movie stars?

Twenty-four hours later I was in a drive-through lane, scouring the glove box of my Toyota for enough change to cover a Big Mac. I’m going to start hanging out at the yacht club lounge again, I decided. 

Bar News Editor Michael Heatherly practices in Bellingham. He can be reached at 360-312-5156 or barnewseditor@wsba.org.