Plastic Gods, A Rich Coleman Novel Vol 2 Page 4

  ***

  Lynn watched as the studio crew milled around while they waited for the shooting to begin. She smiled as she watched make-up being applied to Matt's face. Personally she didn't think he needed any make-up as he was quite handsome and photogenic. He was tall, trim, and had golden brown hair—thick like his father's. She thought he looked at home on the TV set. Finally, the director snapped his fingers and the set became still. Matt got up and walked over to the podium set up before a live audience. The director nodded and a man stuck a board in front of the camera and said, "Scene two, take three."

  Matt looked out into the audience and said, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Matt Coleman and what I'm about to tell you is going to make you very angry. I'm here to reveal to you a vicious lie, a deception that has devastated the lives of millions of Americans. Yes, from the day you were born, each and every one of you have been carefully manipulated into becoming slaves. Yes, carefully programmed robots who go to work every day and then religiously send seventy to 80 percent of your wealth to your masters, the big corporate giants of Wall Street and the government bureaucrats in Washington."

  "Think about it. From the day you are born, you're told that good credit is your ticket to the American Dream. You can have all the luxuries and modern conveniences of life right now, on credit. Why wait, they say, when you can have it now."

  "Think about it. Let's say you're a middle-class family with annual income of forty thousand dollars a year. If you work forty years, you'll earn 1.6 million dollars. If you're a typical family you'll buy a hundred and fifty-thousand-dollar home, a car every four or five years and have a half dozen credit cards maxed out very early in the game."

  "Now the enemy here is compound interest. It's common knowledge that you'll pay nearly $315,000 over thirty years for that $150,000 home. The cars will cost you double their initial cost and you'll be paying the minimums on your credit cards until you’re dead and buried."

  The camera zoomed in on Matt as he pointed to a chart he had prepared. "Now if you subtract 25 percent of your income for taxes that leaves you with $1,200,000. Subtract $314,000 for what you actually pay for your home, including all the interest, and now you only have $806,000. By the time you subtract $360,000 for your automobiles you have only $446,000 left to live on for 40 years!"

  The crowd broke into excited chatter. Matt paused a second until they quieted down.

  "That's only $11,150 a year for food, clothing, utilities, property taxes, insurance, recreation and your kid’s education. It's no wonder the average person is broke all the time—barely making ends meet! It's no wonder it takes two bread winners nowadays to survive! It's no wonder the divorce rate has gone to the roof and suicides are at an historical high!"

  Someone in the crowd yelled, "That's right! Those bastards have made us their slaves."

  "That's exactly right," Matt continued. "But there is a way out. There is a loophole they can't close. There is a way each and every one of you can get free!"

  "Tell us what it is!" A lady screamed. "Tell us the way to salvation!"

  "It's bankruptcy, my friends. That's right, bankruptcy."

  The crowd was silent.

  "Now most of you think bankruptcy is a bad word, right?"

  "That's right, a bad word," a lady said.

  "Who told you it was a bad word? Was it your mother and father? Your teachers in school, perhaps? Did you hear it from your friends and relatives? Well, the men up on Wall Street want you to think bankruptcy is a bad word. They want you to think if you file bankruptcy that you're a failure, a deadbeat, and a loser. They want you to feel this way for two reasons. Number one, if you go bankrupt you're going to be set free from the tyranny of compound interest. You won't have to line their pockets with your hard-earned cash anymore. And number two, if you file bankruptcy, you'll have bad credit and that will mean the goons on Wall Street won't be able to put you back on the compound interest treadmill!

  “Ladies and gentlemen, bankruptcy is not a bad word, it's a sweet melodious word! It should fill your heart with gladness and joy for it is your salvation!"

  The crowd stood up and gave Matt a standing ovation. Lynn ran over and Matt put his arm around her as they stood and waved to the crowd. The camera focused on their smiling faces and they panned around the crowd clapping and yelling wildly. After the session was over, the director came over and met with Matt and Lynn.

  "That worked out quite well, don't you think?"

  "Oh yes," Lynn said. "It was wonderful, but it was too long for a commercial."

  "I know. What I would suggest is that we have a five-minute infomercial on Sunday night. Then all week we'll feature ninety second segments with a short intro beforehand and then flash the name, address, and telephone number of your company at the end."

  "Oh, I see," Lynn said. "That should be very effective. What do you think, honey?"

  "You two are the experts. Whatever you think. But I don't mind telling you it felt good being out there saying what I did. Did you see how riled up the crowd got? . . . Now I know how it feels to be a politician. I could feel the power."

  "Yes," the director said. "I think it will be a dynamite ad campaign. You did a fine job, Matt."

  That night Matt and Lynn went out to dinner to celebrate. It was around eight when they were seated at the Outback Steak House in Addison. A waitress quickly appeared.

  "What can I get you to drink?" she said.

  "Two margaritas, please. Big ones," Matt said.

  "Coming right up," the waitress said with a smile and then left.

  "I think you hit a home run tonight, honey," Matt said.

  "Me? You're the one that whipped the crowd into a frenzy."

  "True, that was a lot of fun, but if you hadn't come up with the words I wouldn't have known what to say."

  "You sounded like you believed what you were saying. Nobody will even guess it was just a script. Everybody's going to think you're some kind of consumer advocate or something."

  "Who cares as long as the business rolls in, right? We're going to make a mint. Won't my father be surprised."

  "He'll be jealous when he sees you making more money your first year out of law school than he's making after twenty-five years."

  "No, you’re wrong about that. Dad won't be jealous. He makes a lot of money on the stock market. He'll be glad if what we're doing makes us happy and we're taking good care of our clients."

  "Oh, I don't know. I bet he'll be a little jealous."

  "Maybe," Matt said and then noticed the waitress coming with their drinks.

  "Here you go. Two margaritas."

  "Thank you,” Matt said, and then handed the waitress a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

  The waitress smiled and said, "Thanks," and then left.

  Matt lifted his glass and proclaimed, "I want to make a toast. To the beginning of a very lucrative law practice. Honey, I couldn't have done it without you. I love you."

  "I love you too," Lynn said, and then they touched their glasses together and took a sip of their drink.

  "Hmmm. These are good margaritas," Matt said.

  Lynn nodded and took another sip. "Yes, very good."

  After dinner they went to a nearby club, danced a little, talked, and continued to drink. By the time they got home, around midnight, they were feeling quite amorous so they went straight to the bedroom. They undressed each other quickly and jumped under the covers. They made love for hours until every ounce of their energy was spent.

  When Matt awoke the next morning Lynn was still wrapped around him. He smiled and took a deep breath. Her smell was so sweet he pulled her up close and squeezed her gently. He had never felt so content—so happy. He had it all now—everything he had ever wanted.