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The Best Scandal Ever

his delightfully cuddly and happy girlfriend, asleep in his bed. He could chop some wood and think
about dinner later.
“Gotta go, Don, meeting with the new execs.”
“Haha, enjoy that, Sam.”
Sam was off to meet the new investors in his baby, Ragha Health Foods.
Dr Malcolm Swartz shook his head.
“I just don’t understand how they can take it all away?”
Malcolm had just been struck off for over-prescribing medication. All the years he had been an MD,
all the lunches, all the holidays, all the meetings. He had always thought giving people what they
wanted was all he had to do. What people wanted, sick patients and pharmaceutical salesmen alike,
appeared to be as many medications as possible.
“What am I going to do, Celia?”
“Before or after the divorce?” Celia, a well-groomed, well-kept, bejewelled goddess, was not the
most sympathetic of women at the best of times. Now she was furious to discover that instead of
the spoilt Jewish wife of a major earner, she was the wife of a disgraced MD and would not be
attending any more country club lunches. “I’m not kidding, Malcolm.” She dropped her tone to
indicate seriousness.
Malcolm briefly visualised his own suicide before retreating to the white yoga room overlooking the
ocean. He would have to sell his beloved condo, he knew that. It w ould all have to go, pretty quickly
too. Life based on credit was considered good citizenship in Malibu, he had never been a saver.
Celia had big expectations. How could you just lose everything in one day? He adopted the
crocodile pose and as he stretched towards the ceiling, calculated he could possibly hide a few
hundred grand. Enough to scratch a living without working, he supposed, but he would have to find
another way to really live. As for losing her, she was a good hostess and had been a good mother,
but good company she was not. The money was more of a concern, and sleeping in the overwarm
minimalist white guestroom in his own house wasn’t Malcolm’s idea of fun at all.
He had always liked out west, property was cheaper there. He could sit an d think for a while, plan
his next move. For years, contemplating a bleak future with Celia, he had been concealing small
works of Art from promising artists in his fishing lodge. He also had a rather extensive bonsai
collection he could dispose of – she would probably sneer at that too. Celia wouldn’t be seen dead
in a fishing lodge, and so at least that was safe. Yes, he figured, she could take her (several) million
dollarsworth of flesh and leave him with enough to start over. It wouldn’t be a rich living, but he
was sure something would come up. He concentrated on his breathing as he stretched his spine
towards the heavens.