Dickerdom! cried Lorenzo as he carried his guinea pig Alistair.
Assholitude! Bastardry! He paced across the study with a fretful look on his face. His velvet robe had recently been cleaned. A soup stain had marred the impeccable fabric. It would not be tolerated.
Gerardo Menzel had dealt him a crushing blow. His reputation among the members of Bard & Beards was tarnished by innuendo, a sly ploy fueled by a dark rumor. Apparently, Gerardo had let fly to Monsieur DePardieu that Lorenzo's finances were in disarray. Had it not been for a recent audit such a claim would have had no credibility. In truth, the audit was standard operating procedure for the steam plant.
Why do they mock me, Alistair? To his chagrin, Alistair did not honor his query with a reply. Lorenzo paid him no mind. His attention was focused elsewhere.
Geraldine, his personal assistant paged him on the two-way talkbox. Your soup has been prepared, sir.
I will take no soup! I require medicine. You hear me, Geraldine? Medicine.
Geraldine opened the right door of the two-door entrance to the study. It had been a recent addition, though necessary. Businessmen would often bring their remarkable wares and Lorenzo would prefer the presentations in the more intimate chamber. As Geraldine smartly crossed the room, she approached him from the side, a polite custom, a subtle gesture of her proper nature.
Shall I get the doctor? Are you ill, sir?
I am ill. Fetch me a brandy.
Sir, it is only 10 O'Clock in the morning. Are you sure...
Brandy! And a cigarette. Do not lecture me on the hour, Geraldine.
I will still my tongue, sir.
If I am harsh, it is because of the dire circumstances. But I will not apologize.
Gerardo Menzel had cut to Lorenzo's very sensitive core. He abhorred public embarrassment. The inner chamber of Bard & Beards would never let him live this down. The proper organization of one's personal finances was a trait held in very high regard amongst the social circles in which Lorenzo commonly associated himself. This stain was now a blight he would not soon overcome.
Geraldine entered with his brandy. Leave the bottle, Lorenzo told her. His face still burned with shame even now. His response had to be swift, and exact.
Assholitude! Bastardry! He paced across the study with a fretful look on his face. His velvet robe had recently been cleaned. A soup stain had marred the impeccable fabric. It would not be tolerated.
Gerardo Menzel had dealt him a crushing blow. His reputation among the members of Bard & Beards was tarnished by innuendo, a sly ploy fueled by a dark rumor. Apparently, Gerardo had let fly to Monsieur DePardieu that Lorenzo's finances were in disarray. Had it not been for a recent audit such a claim would have had no credibility. In truth, the audit was standard operating procedure for the steam plant.
Why do they mock me, Alistair? To his chagrin, Alistair did not honor his query with a reply. Lorenzo paid him no mind. His attention was focused elsewhere.
Geraldine, his personal assistant paged him on the two-way talkbox. Your soup has been prepared, sir.
I will take no soup! I require medicine. You hear me, Geraldine? Medicine.
Geraldine opened the right door of the two-door entrance to the study. It had been a recent addition, though necessary. Businessmen would often bring their remarkable wares and Lorenzo would prefer the presentations in the more intimate chamber. As Geraldine smartly crossed the room, she approached him from the side, a polite custom, a subtle gesture of her proper nature.
Shall I get the doctor? Are you ill, sir?
I am ill. Fetch me a brandy.
Sir, it is only 10 O'Clock in the morning. Are you sure...
Brandy! And a cigarette. Do not lecture me on the hour, Geraldine.
I will still my tongue, sir.
If I am harsh, it is because of the dire circumstances. But I will not apologize.
Gerardo Menzel had cut to Lorenzo's very sensitive core. He abhorred public embarrassment. The inner chamber of Bard & Beards would never let him live this down. The proper organization of one's personal finances was a trait held in very high regard amongst the social circles in which Lorenzo commonly associated himself. This stain was now a blight he would not soon overcome.
Geraldine entered with his brandy. Leave the bottle, Lorenzo told her. His face still burned with shame even now. His response had to be swift, and exact.