Our heroine takes on the U.S. Justice Department as she
tries to rescue Big Frank from his impending jail time.
My arrival in New York, New York, was timely to say the
least. When I reached the final hearing in United States v 39-4-Ever.com, it was not exactly a hotbed of activity. While the
collective members of the country’s primary federal criminal investigation and enforcement agency
were supposed to be debating whether the world’s best online
casino for women on the verge of a Bingo meltdown was used to launder money, actually they were mostly either asleep or sitting
around on their ever-widening asses.
As I took my seat, the Deputy General Assistant Attorney Something-or-other
was waxing lyrical about how the Federal Wire Act prohibits all forms of U.S.
gambling. This was then countered by Hubby #3 who pointed out that it was for
this precise reason that we had been forced to move to the Isle of Man to run
what we were laughingly calling our business. Well, it certainly wasn’t for the
joy of hearing The Bee Gees Stayin’ Alive
being played night and day from memorial speakers in the local graveyard, I can
tell you. Then Big Frank launched into a long and extremely boring exposition
about how the island’s government made it an attractive locale – financially at
least – with all kinds of juicy tax breaks. Though, admittedly, to benefit from
that meant you had to earn enough to actually pay any tax.
It was round about then that I decided to chip in.
“Look, I’m the wife,” I shouted, “so I have a pretty large
stake in the outcome of all this. I also come from a family that firmly
believes the word ‘wife’ is not an acronym for ‘Washing, Ironing, Fu–
Fornicating, Etc’. No, our voice counts.”
Unfortunately, my voice didn’t count.
Still, after sorting out all that contempt of court
nonsense, it was nice to see Wanda,
my NYC girlfriend, in the gallery gracing us with her not inconsiderable
presence. Also saw that her latest tweet was true – ‘Dear friends, it’s #LMLM
Day: Liquid Midface Lift Monday!’ – I don’t know if she wanted to look like someone had taken a
Chippendale wing chair and stuffed it behind her mouth, but her cheeks were now
so pronounced, every ten minutes or so her neck got tired and she had to rest her
face on the seat back in front of her. As you know, diary, I’ve never
been too keen about nips and tucks – which all stems from my years with Hubby
#2, the rhinoplasty surgeon with the hump
removal fetish. Of course, I’ve always wanted to go in for a face lift, but I’m
just too damn petrified at what they’ll find underneath.
Anyhow, never one to miss a money-making opportunity, I sold
my body as advertising space for the Isle of Man Government. When I sashayed
past the cameras with my backless Yves Saint Laurent evening dress and ‘Let’s
All Gamble In The Isle of Man’ shoulder tattoo combo, it certainly spiced up
the closing argument. I mean, I’m not sure what I had originally planned for
Thursday brunch, but bringing down the U.S. Government was not high on the
list.
The resulting hoo-ha saw several barked exchanges, a jury
punch-up in which the prosecutor lost his toupé, and I ended up compromising my
Honour. The New York Time’s headline “Bettiegate Topples Supreme Court,
Plaintiff’s Rug, Into Judge’s Lap” was definitely one for the scrapbook.
