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Desserts

Note: My Substack colleagues

Feasts and Fables

were discussing visual artwork to inspire stories. I brought up Ralph Steadman, then they chose a work that intrigued them. I wrote this story based solely on the image. You can view it by clicking here

The image was originally from Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I think, in retrospect I did a pretty good job ogf capturing the gist of what Ralph was getting at, though he was taking aim at a different group of people.

***

The business application filed with the city of Chestnut Hills read members only supper club.

In the defense of the Argyle Club, they did have a catered dinner once a month, but the club existed for a dual purpose: To enrich the already wealthy members through legitimate and less than ethical business deals, and to get away from their spouses whenever they felt the need.

Most of the men had numerals behind their names, had memorized at least ten racist jokes, and would be leaving a significant chunk of cash to grandchildren who couldn’t be forced to smile at them at gunpoint if they weren’t rich.

An odd codicil had been written into the Argyle Club bylaws: No cosmetic surgeons were eligible to join the club on the grounds that none of the men found it seemly that they might be tempted to swat away the ravages of old age with a friendly scalpel, and that it would be too easy for a cosmetic surgeon to have private time with their wives to divulge any club secrets. They all silently agreed that the latter held more weight.

The club boasted an indoor putting green, a screening room Scorcese would envy, and a vintage municipal drinking fountain from nearby Loufon that still had the authentic “colored only ”  brass sign embedded in the porcelain.

It was their little joke.

That little joke was shared by member Gilliam “Gil” Vernon Van Darrington III. 

Gil’s grandfather made his money with a wide variety of holdings, one of which was Apex Fire Suppression Systems, Inc.

So of course Apex was chosen to install the fire suppression system at Argyle.

And, since Argyle was made up of so many “upstanding” community members, the Chestnut Hill Building Code Enforcement Team was less than thorough with their inspections.

After all, these gentlemen would certainly have the entire place appointed with only the finest architectural and operational amenities.

Except Gil Van Darrington was on divorce number five, child support payments for seven, and had a nasty habit of dropping six figure amounts on hockey shots-on-goal parlays suggested by his masseuse/lover/amateur numerologist, Sven.

Though the sprinklers in the Argyle Club were shiny, yet unobtrusive, they weren’t much good since Gil decided to forego the 16,000 dollar ultraviolet, infrared X5200 sensor that would actually trigger the shiny sprinklers.

After a particularly tense Argyle Club meeting in which they discussed swapping out their custom checked shorts for a more slimming pinstripe design, it seems Edward Collefson “Ward” Berlanger VII angrily stubbed out his fat Cuban in the cushion of the Tonino Lamborghini Valencia sofa and stormed out.

The meeting was adjourned for a later date, a date that would never come, as the Argyle Club, courtesy of one ember imported from Havana found its way into the bowels of the sofa, and turned into a bonfire all the member’s collegiate institutions would be proud to have as part of the homecoming festivities.

The club pointed their fingers at the city building inspectors.

The city building inspectors pointed their fingers at Apex Fire Suppression Systems.

And the internet pointed its cursor at the drinking fountain, which was the lone survivor of the blaze, and was the ember that burned down the reputations of all the men in the hideous checked shorts. 

***