For a number of years, Italian businessman turned politician Silvio Berlusconi spent his time in high office, making a fool of himself, causing countless dignitaries to roll their eyes, and chasing much younger women when he wasn't busy getting charged with various criminal charges, abusing power, and running Italy into the financial ground. He finally got turfed out of office, though he keeps musing on coming back and interfering with things. Needless to say, the sleaze isn't one of my favourite people in the world. Dirtbag, clusterdouche, pig, dog, and lecher are words that come to mind where he's concerned.
This decidely short hobbit with a hairpiece and a standing appointment with plastic surgeons (especially these days) rates as one of those jackasses of the first order in the world, the sort of person who you wish would just go away. And given his insatiable appetite for women fifty years younger than him, our boy Silvio is likely to meet his end during... ahem, an intimate encounter with a stripper from Monaco or a debutante at one of his bunga bunga parties.
In writing Heaven & Hell, I stopped briefly in Italy at one point, to examine things from the point of view of another world leader (incidentally a much better human being than our boy Silvio could ever be). In future books, I intend to bring my main characters to Italy at least once. Since the books are meant to have a real world sensibility to them, I've already written unnamed world leaders into this book, and will do much the same in future books. I recently wrote this passage, something that might just fit into some future book down the line. The character is unnamed, of course... but pretty obviously, yes, it's meant to be Silvio the first rate jackass. It's a rough draft, so let me know what you think....
This was living. The old fool smiled, lying on his back in bed, a nubile young woman straddling him, as naked as he was, groaning as she rode him. Whether or not she actually was enjoying the encounter or faking her expression wasn’t all that relevant to him. All that mattered to him was getting what he wanted out of it.
They were at one of his villas, outside Rome, in the master bedroom. Over years, he had amassed a fortune through his various business interests, hiding much of it from the authorities whenever possible, indulging in luxury and whatever temptation might cross his path. Mostly that involved young women, an appetite that had finally driven away his wife and their children. This one, he thought, was at least over the age of majority, though he’d been wrong before.
His smile was broad, not a surprise considering what she was doing to him at the moment, the long dark hair spilling over her shoulders, the come hither look still in her brown eyes. His own hair was partially transplanted and dyed dark, and he’d undergone plastic surgery treatments with increasing regularity, a nod to his rampant ego and an attempt to hold off the ravages of time. The old fool let his eyes wander over her flesh, and fondled her waist with his hands as he listened to her moans. The fact that she was over fifty years younger than he was didn’t matter... though at his age, Viagra had become essential for performance, a fact he jealously kept to himself. I’d never hear the end of it, if the press found out I needed help to get it up, he thought with a smirk.
After business had come politics. He had spent years building up connections, bribing the right officials and politicians through Italy and beyond, finally rising to leadership of a party. After convincing the electorate that he was a man of the people, he had won election to lead the country, and his tenure in office had been marked by rampant corruption, boorish behaviour on the world stage, and criminal charges he had successfully dodged his way out of repeatedly. At his prime, he had waved off all of the allegations against him and the raised eyebrows of other world leaders at his antics, claiming he simply liked to live the Italian way... la dolce vita. If that good life happened to include strippers, prostitutes, and decadence to rival Caligula, so be it.
Finally he had been forced out of office, after trying his luck one too many times. He still harboured a desire to get back into office, and regularly threatened and cajoled his former colleagues- underlings, as he would have properly thought of them- with that very idea. The old fool believed his country would welcome him back, that they wanted a strong hand to lead them forward, despite his abysmal record in office. They have short memories, he told himself as the woman arched her back, her hands coming to rest on his slightly chubby stomach. He reminded himself to get some work done on his belly. His plastic surgeons could work wonders.
He was close to climaxing... he knew it. She knew how to please him, knew exactly what he’d want, and she was good at it. He smiled up at her, ached to wrap his arms around her.... he felt short of breath, and a tension in his left arm. The sweat across his brow was just an effect of the sex, and he felt this way whenever he got in bed with a woman these days. She was groaning in just the right way, her hips swivelling, riding him, bouncing on him in a way that delighted him... So close, he thought to himself. Does life get any better than...
He groaned, felt a sudden vice-like grip on his chest. What...? His eyes widened, and he couldn’t speak, just saw her above him, crying out as he would have expected. It felt like there was a tremendous weight over his upper chest. He drew a hand back from her hip, up to his heart, felt it pounding... Too fast... too damned fast... He managed to cry out, to gasp, and his vision started to fade, to go to black... what’s happening to...?
The girl stopped her groans and sighs, smiling in the way the old man would have expected, a satisfied expression on her face. She knew well how to fake that expression- the old man wasn’t particularly capable of satisfying her, and the fact that he was selfish in bed only proved that. Still, he did spoil her with great regularity, and filled her bank accounts to her heart’s content. For that, she’d put up with the distasteful notion of sex with a man more than old enough to be her grandfather. Besides, if she got bored, she could always see someone on the side...
She gazed down at him, and frowned. “Caro?” she whispered. He wasn’t moving, his eyes half open, not particularly looking at anything. That smug satisfied grin he had after sex wasn’t on his lips. “Caro,” she repeated again, louder. No response. The girl reached a hand up to his neck, found the vein... Nothing. No pulse.
She pulled back from him quickly, felt a wave of revulsion come over her. "Oh, hell,” she muttered.
Explaining this was going to be complicated...