Chapter 188

7.b.iii.

As mentioned previously, The After Hours Lounge was designed to cater to powerful, obscenely wealthy men with outlandish, hedonistic needs.  Therefore the available lodgings for these lust swollen entrepreneurs required a great amount of square footage in which to house all of these seething, nigh ritualistic, orgies that were sure to take place.  A supply of extra beds ensured that, should multiple platforms of sexual conflagration be required, then guests would not be left wanting.

Though the sexual impetus had evaporated, the extra space had not been retroactively converted into additional units or broken up into more useable, or economically logical units.  Current clientele found the ample floor area an enhancement to that superstar feeling they craved and often found the need to host large, post trade parties for select associates in which recordings of the days financial events might, once again, be viewed and appreciated.

Chapter 187

7.b.ii.

“So apparently these booths were used for lap dances in the old days,” said Bull Market squirming around chairs that rode up against glossy leathered walls and crowded around a small table.  “That’s why the room’s so small.  Normally there’s only two or three chairs in here at a time.  It’s not so snug then.  OH!  Here it is.  Look.”

Bull Market gestured to a television screen which hung from the wall like a framed landscape.  On it was a man making a series of complex gestures and emphatic facial expressions.  That man was Bull Market.  Text scrolled across the bottom of the screen displaying financial figures. Pie charts and graphs popped in and out of the upper right corner.

“Watch this.  I dump a tech stock just before the price plummets.  Made a killing.”

The image reset, displayed the same footage, but this time in slow motion.  A voiceover, which was far too excited for the material being shown, offered a play by play of the event and then went on to examine gains figures and percentage yields.  He passed it back over to the studio and three people in slick green blazers discussed the amazing portfolio of the man called Bull Market.

“Awesome!  Wasn’t that awesome?” said Bull Market.  Before any response was made, a waitress, dressed like a very skilled secretary, arrived with food.  The Union, realizing how starved they all were, forwent politeness and etiquette and converged on the platters like chortling pigs.

“Good God, when did you guys last eat?” Bull Market asked.

“Thirteenth floor,” Business Woman replied.

Bull Market looked confused.

“What day is this?” asked Corporate Man.

Bull Market looked even more confused.

“I… I don’t know,” said Bull Market.  Then he smiled.  “I haven’t thought a lot about dates and stuff.  You know, with all this money making I’ve been doing.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.  And we saw you on the instant replay,” said Corporate Man.  “But what is this place exactly?  It looks like Wall Street.”

Bull Market laughed.  “Wall Street’s like a backwater, country road compared to this place.  Everything happens here first.  If the Dow Jones drops, or NASDAQ shows a gain, you can bet it’s because of what we did here the day before.  This is the true stock market.”

“Can you show us?” asked Senior Executive.

“Well, yeah, obviously.  I mean you guys wouldn’t be here if they weren’t going to let you compete.”

“Then let’s go,” said Corporate Man.

“Wait, wait, wait.  No rush.  I’m still eating,” said Business Woman.

This comment spurred a collection of head tilts, deep sighs, eye rolls, grins, and even some nods of approval.  Those nodding followed the gesture with an increased shoveling of food into mouth.

“Market’s closed right now,” Bull Market said.  “It’ll open up again in the morning.”

A moment of silence followed.  As much silence as can be expected while at a table full of heartily eating business types.

“Are there hotel rooms on this floor?” asked Senior Executive.

“Oh yeah.  Hey!  You should all come back to my suite,” Bull Market said.

“That’s tempting, but we should get some rooms and get some sleep,” said Corporate Man.  “I don’t know when any of us has had a chance to sleep recently.”

“No, you got to come.  Besides, these rooms are huge.  We could have them bring in a few more beds and we’d all fit.  With room to spare.”

Chapter 186

7.b.i.

 The After Hours Lounge was initially established in the 1980’s when the typical businessman was typically male.  Not only was the industry of commerce a completely male dominated enterprise, but those males were of a variety whose egos could only be stroked by a steady flow of objectified women and mass amounts of cocaine.  Therefore, when the After Hours Lounge was commissioned, the only logical form it could take was that of a lavish strip club with mirrored coasters and plenty of bathroom stalls to powder one’s nose in.

Subsequent generations have all but abandoned the notion of sex and drugs as their ego booster of choice; their primary one at least.  Whether this is to be attributed to the influx of women into the corporate environment, the steady emasculation of the male gender, or the proliferation of twenty-four hour sports channels into popular culture is hard to say.  The After Hours Lounge, however, has gone through similar changes.  Gone are the seedy accoutrements of the flesh trade, replaced by the glitz and hype of the sportscaster set.

Where there once stood a long stage, with dirty dance poles at either end, now sits a repurposed bar area with a bank of plasma screen televisions.  Each private booth, once the abode of indifferent lap dances and other, less reputable jobs, contains a wall mounted, hi-def flat screens.  The bathrooms, likewise, feature high resolution monitors on the backs of stall doors and above urinals.  The overabundance of media screens were provided by management for the express purpose of catering to its clientele’s desire to watch replays and play by play analysis of the day’s trading.

These days, the patrons of The After Hours Lounge would much rather watch themselves make money than see their hard won gains disappear into the g-string of some cheap entertainer.

Chapter 185

7.a.viii.

“Welcome to the After Hours Lounge,” said a man in a very expensive suit.  “Am I correct in assuming that you are virgins to this establishment?”

“This is our first time here, yes,” said Corporate Man.

The well dressed host escorted them into a large room with a very long bar along one side.

“I’m afraid you’re a little too late to beat the dinner rush and a bit too early to benefit from the settling up.  As soon as something becomes available, I will seat you.  I’m sure you will find the bar to be an adequate distraction.”

The host shuffled away and the Union approached the long counter.  An amber light bathed the dark stained wood and brass fixtures.  Recessed in the wall behind the bar were thousands of bottles of various shapes displayed in a rich cobalt light.  Five or six bartenders slid and writhed from customer to customer, mixing up every kind of cocktail imaginable.

“You think there might be some food at the bar?” Demand asked.

“Why don’t you guys find out.  And get us some drinks,” said Business Woman.  “Me and Supply are gonna run off to the ladies room.”

The women quickly strode away, Business Woman muttering something about how she should have peed when they were in that fake gym and that she was shocked her bladder hadn’t burst.

Corporate Man and Senior Executive went up to the bar to get the drinks and make inquiries about food while Commander Credit and Demand sought out and empty space and stools enough to seat them all.

“Junior?  Junior is that you?” a man snorted as Senior Executive tried to flag down the bartender.  The man was large and stout, like an aging football player or an old professional wrestler.  His face was bovine and thick.

Senior Executive looked at the man and then, after a moment, he said, “Bull?  God, what are you doing here?  And it’s Senior Executive now.”

The man tilted his head, eyes rolling, and made an exasperated sound.  “Oh you won’t believe the things I’ve been through in the past few–  Wait.  Is that… Is that Corporate Man?”

Corporate Man smiled and said, “Good to see you, Bull Market.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.  This all started because of you, you know?” Bull Market said, shaking his head.  “These guys in suits came up to me saying, ‘Codename: Bull?’  I said, no.  That it was just, Bull.  Bull Market to be exact, but that, yeah, that was me.  And these guys rough me up, pop me into the trunk of their car.”

Senior Executive gave Corporate Man a puzzled look.   Corporate Man shrugged and said, “I’m sorry you got hassled.”

“No. No.  It all worked out.  They took me to their base and this hard-assed bitch on the east side of town ripped her boys new assholes when she saw me.  Said something about how she’d nearly sent out a report announcing the capture of Codename: Bull.  These guys tell her that I said that I was the Bull and she said, ‘No.  This is Bull Market.  He worked with Corporate Man, but he isn’t Corporate Man.’  Well, I was about to get into it with them, seeing as how we’re teammates, when she dismisses her lackeys and buzzes for a sniveling secretary guy who apologizes to me, assures me that they meant me no harm, and that they’d like to invite me in on a little business opportunity to make amends.  Anyway, long story short, they brought me here and I’ve been making bank ever since.  I see they finally found you and got you involved, too.”

Corporate Man narrowed his eyes and took a slow breath.  Then he said, “Yeah.  Something like that.  What can you tell me about this place Bull?”

“You don’t know?”

“We just arrived.”

“Oh.  Awesome!  Come with me.  I did really well today and booked a private booth in the back.  I’ll explain everything.”

“Wait a second,” said Senior Executive.  “We need to get the others.”

“Others?  Who else is here?  Oh!  Is Business Woman with you?  I’d kill to see her again.”