The ugly side of the Australian media manosphere gets a long-overdue comeuppance. The tiresome “celebrity” Donaldson makes a fool of himself and pays for it.
Someone pitched it to a Bollywood company, and by the time the guy had finished talking to them, they thought it was too complicated.
“You like Australia, Mr. Chin?” asked Donaldson, smiling obscenely.
“For the last five generations, yes…..Yes, I do,” said Chin, thoughtfully.
Al heard a not very muted groan from most of those present. The words “Fat fool” wafted serenely past in the following silence.
“You sell Spring Rolls?” asked Donaldson, to whom all comment was apparently praise.
“Not personally. I can get them, though. Would you like a few tons?” asked Chin, now smiling.
That got a laugh, entirely appreciative, from everyone, including Donaldson’s own table. A peal of laughter was also to be heard from Belinda, who was actually holding her sides. Before Donaldson could react, she giggled,
“I think you’ve just made a lot of new clients, particularly me, Mr. Chin. David, we really should move on before the food arrives, if you would?”
Donaldson was sure he’d missed something; at least he looked like he thought he had. Carefully he said nothing much else apart from inviting the remaining CEOs to speak. He returned to his table, demanding in a stage-belch to know why everyone had been laughing at him. Al was rather sorry he couldn’t hear the replies. However, it was a very good dinner, and he had better things to do.
Mingling Time arrived, in which everyone scuttled into the bar and settled in. Joe and Carla had arranged themselves together in a corner where they were inseparable. Sally and Aaron were chatting happily to Al and Dorothy, and Belinda had parked herself and companion between them and Mr. Chin and his very attractive wife. Belinda recognized most of the people Al knew from the States, and was very knowledgeable about some of the markets there. Mr. Chin was openly intrigued, and clearly wanted to know more. Conversation was getting productive, and thoroughly enjoyable, when an altercation broke out.
Al looked up horrified to see that Sally was one of the parties. The other was Donaldson, a lot drunker, with a couple of equally lively stooges.
“What d’yer call that getup, girlie? A slut frock?”
He was very loud now, and drowned out the whole bar. Carla rocketed out of the corner, followed by Aaron, Joe and Al. Sally sneered enough even to get through the dense inert material comprising Donaldson’s brain.
“No, I don’t think you’d fit in one of these. Big fat tart like you needs a few tarps.”
General, truly irritated, agreement was heard from the audience. Repartee wasn’t Donaldson’s strong suit. Self appreciation was, however, and the insult did eventually register. His two paid friends looked menacing, until Al and Joe, who were a little faster than Aaron, arrived. Carla, who’d beaten them by several metres, didn’t wait for an opening.
“Who do you think you are, you bloody fat faggot maggot, abusing anyone about how they look? You look like your butt’s pregnant….”
Joe had caught up with Carla by now, and had been looking at Donaldson like anyone with any sense of hygiene would. Donaldson gave both of them a threatening look, like so many big guys do, with no thought of any reaction. Joe, whose total fighting experience had ended in high school, reacted like any male with a woman usually does; fury. Men tend to dwell on physical situations with other men when a woman is present. Unless they do something about them. Even the mildest man will react.
Several things happened while Joe was undergoing this metamorphosis. Dorothy, who was a little further away, saw Donaldson, now red faced like a clown, raise his fist. Al, closer, saw Donaldson reel back. Aaron felt the two lapdogs stagger as Donaldson sailed back into them, at high speed. Carla saw the large, fat, severely broken, nose. Joe, who was about 50 kg lighter than Donaldson, followed up his head butt with a roar of very creative and very loud abuse. Most of this tirade dealt with the strong possibility of Donaldson returning involuntarily to his grandmother’s womb by whence he came, in the immediate future. (He rarely if ever swore even when alone). The two gremlins promptly dealt themselves out of the confrontation. Into this scene wandered in due course Belinda Greenberg. Donaldson, who had wisely stayed on the floor, looked up at her. She smiled.
“You know, Donaldson, you don’t deserve to be described as anything that ever came out of an animal. I’d heard a lot about you, and I didn’t really quite believe it until now. I think we’ve all seen enough of you. Get out, and take your traveling pigsty with you.”
That happened, and while they were talking afterwards, Aaron said to Belinda,
“That was a bit easy.”
“People like that are pretty predictable.”
Matters were made much more enjoyable when Al discovered that Belinda was Saul’s brother’s goddaughter. It was exactly the sort of thing Saul had been known to do to people he wanted to destroy; set them up and let them do it themselves. The papers and TV news had a lot of fun with the story. Sally’s dress got more publicity than a full scale campaign could have dared to attempt, and the dresses became a sort of female icon, something to wear to annoy men you don’t like. Al called it fate, and got Sally to model her own designs for this line to capitalize on the publicity. Sales were extraordinary.
Donaldson had been clever enough to invite his three biggest clients to the dinner, who now said publicly that they refused to be associated with him. Interestingly, all of them were retailers, and they all sold Sally’s stuff. The idiot didn’t even know whose lines they were running. Al got one of them, Belinda got the other two. Belinda did also become a client of Mr. Chin’s, using his contacts in China to promote her clients.
Dorothy won her bet.