Gwynne pursed her full lips. "She's upstairs, packing an overnight bag. She's going to her mother's."

A terrible sinking feeling overtook me. It started in the pit of my stomach and spread to every cell of my body. It was as if my very heart and guts had been ripped out. I felt nauseous, ready to puke. "I'll be right f.u.c.king back," I sputtered, popping out of my chair and heading for the spiral staircase. I bounded up the stairs with a raging inferno burning inside me.

The master bedroom was just off the stairs. The door was locked. I started banging. "Let me in, Nadine!" No response. "It's my bedroom too! Let me in!"

Finally, thirty seconds later, the lock clicked open; but the door didn't follow suit. I opened the door and walked into the bedroom. On the bed was a suitcase filled with clothes, all neatly folded, but no d.u.c.h.ess. The suitcase was chocolate brown with the Louis Vuitton logo plastered all over it. Cost a f.u.c.king fortune...of my money!

Just then the d.u.c.h.ess came walking out of her Delaware-size shoe closet, carrying two shoe boxes, one under either arm. She didn't say a word, nor did she look at me. She just walked over to the bed and placed the shoe boxes next to the suitcase, then turned on her heel and headed back to the closet.

"Where the f.u.c.k do you think you're going?" I snapped.

She looked me in the eye with contempt. "I told you: I'm going to my mother's. I can't watch you kill yourself anymore. I'm done."

I felt a surge of steam rising up my brain stem. "I hope you don't think you're taking the kids with you. You're not taking my f.u.c.king kids-ever!"

"The kids can stay," she replied calmly. "I'm going alone."

That caught me off guard. Why would she be leaving the kids behind?...Unless it was some sort of plot. Of course. She was cagey, the d.u.c.h.ess. "You think I'm stupid or something? The second I fall asleep you're gonna come back here and steal the kids."

She looked at me with disdain and said, "I don't even know how to respond to that." She started walking back to the closet.

Apparently I wasn't hurting her enough, so I said, "I don't know where the f.u.c.k you think you're going with all these clothes. If you leave here, you leave with the shirt on your back, you f.u.c.king gold digger."

That one got her! She spun around and faced me. "f.u.c.k you!" she screamed. "I've been the best wife to you. How dare dare you call me that after all these years! I've given you two gorgeous children. Waited on you hand and f.u.c.king foot for six f.u.c.king years! I've been a loyal wife to you-always! Never cheated on you once! And look what I got in return! How many women have you f.u.c.ked since we're married? You...philandering piece of s.h.i.t! f.u.c.k you!" you call me that after all these years! I've given you two gorgeous children. Waited on you hand and f.u.c.king foot for six f.u.c.king years! I've been a loyal wife to you-always! Never cheated on you once! And look what I got in return! How many women have you f.u.c.ked since we're married? You...philandering piece of s.h.i.t! f.u.c.k you!"

I took a deep breath. "Say what you want, Nadine, but if you leave here, you leave with nothing." My tone was calm yet menacing.

"Oh, really? What the f.u.c.k you gonna do, light my clothes on fire?"

An excellent idea! And I yanked her suitcase off the bed, stomped over to the limestone fireplace, and threw all her clothes on top of a foot of kindling wood that was already there, waiting to be ignited with the push of a b.u.t.ton. I stared down the d.u.c.h.ess; she was standing stock-still, frozen in horror.

Not satisfied with her reaction, I ran to her closet and ripped dozens of sweaters and shirts and dresses and skirts and pants off some very expensive-looking hangers. I ran back to the fireplace and threw them on top of the pile.

I looked at her again. Now she had tears in her eyes. Still not good enough. I wanted to hear her apologize, to beg me to stop, so I gritted my teeth in determination and bounded over to the desk where she kept her jewelry box. I grabbed the box, walked back over to the fireplace, and opened the lid and shook out all the jewelry on top of the pile. I reached over to the wall and placed my right index finger on a small stainless-steel b.u.t.ton, and I stared her down. Now tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"f.u.c.k you!" I screamed...and I pushed the b.u.t.ton.

An instant later her clothes and jewelry were engulfed in flames. Without saying a word, she calmly walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her ever so gently. I turned back around and stared into the flames. f.u.c.k her! I thought. It served her f.u.c.king right, making threats at me. Did she think I would let her walk all over me? I kept staring at the flames until I heard the sound of gravel kicking up in the driveway. I ran over to the window and saw the back of her black Range Rover peeling toward the front gate.

Good! I thought. Just as soon as the word got out that the d.u.c.h.ess and I were history, there would be women lining up at the door-lining up! Then we'd see who's boss! Then we'd see who's boss!

Now that the d.u.c.h.ess was out of the picture, it was time to put on a happy face and show the children how wonderful life could be without Mommy. No more time-outs for Chandler; chocolate pudding for Carter whenever he felt like it. I took them out to the swing set in the backyard and we played together-while Gwynne, Rocco Day, Erica, Maria, Ignacio, and a few other members of the menagerie supervised the action.

We played together happily for what seemed like a very long time-an eternity, in fact, during which time we laughed and giggled and carried on and looked up to the blue dome of the sky and smelled the fresh spring flowers. Having kids was the best!

Alas, an eternity turned out to be only three and a half minutes, at which point I lost interest in my two perfect children and said to Gwynne, "You take over, Gwynne. I have some paperwork I need to go over."

A minute later I was back in my office, with a fresh pyramid of cocaine in front of me. And as a way of paying homage to Chandler's fascination with lining up all her dolls and holding court, I lined up all my drugs on the desktop and held court too. There were twenty-two of them, mostly in vials but some in plastic Baggies. How many men could take all these drugs and not overdose? None! Only the Wolf could! The Wolf, who'd built up his very resistance through years of careful mixing and balancing, going through the painstaking process of trial and error until he got it just just right. right.

The next morning was war.

At eight a.m. Wigwam was sitting in my living room, p.i.s.sing me off. In fact, he should've known better than to come to my house and try to expound on the U.S. securities laws-sketching only broad, meaningless strokes. Christ, I might've been deficient in many areas in life, but one of them wasn't U.S. securities laws. In fact, even after three months of basically no sleep-and even after the last seventy-two hours of complete insanity, during which time I'd consumed forty-two grams of cocaine, sixty Ludes, thirty Xanax, fifteen Valium, ten Klonopin, 270 milligrams of morphine, ninety milligrams of Ambien, and Paxil and Prozac and Percocet and Pamelor and GHB and G.o.d only knew how much alcohol-I still knew more about getting around U.S. securities laws than almost any man on the planet.

Wigwam said, "The main problem is that Steve never signed a stock power, so we can't just send the stock certificate over to the transfer agent and get it switched to your name."

In that very instant, as foggy as my mind was, I was still appalled at how much of an amateur my friend was. It was such a simple problem that I felt like spitting nails in his face. I took a deep breath and said, "Let me tell you something, you motherf.u.c.ker. I love you like a f.u.c.king brother, but I'm gonna rip your f.u.c.king eyeb.a.l.l.s out of your head next time you tell me what I can't do with this escrow agreement. You come over to my f.u.c.king house looking to borrow a quarter million dollars and you're worried about f.u.c.king stock powers? Jesus f.u.c.king Christ, Andy! We only need a stock power if we wanna sell the f.u.c.king stock, not if we want to buy the f.u.c.king stock! Don't you get it? This is a war of attrition, a war of possession, possession, and once we gain possession of the stock we have the upper hand." and once we gain possession of the stock we have the upper hand."

I softened my tone. "Listen to me: All you need to do is foreclose on the note pursuant to the escrow agreement and then you'll have a legal obligation to sell the stock to pay the note. Then you turn around and sell the stock to me at four dollars a share, and I write you a check, for $4.8 million, which covers the purchase price of the shares. Then you write a check right back to me for the same $4.8 million, to pay off the note, and that's that! Don't you get it? It's so simple!"

He nodded weakly.

"Listen," I said calmly, "possession is nine-tenths of the law. I write you a check right now and we officially have control of the stock. Then we file a 13D this afternoon, and we make a public announcement that I intend to keep buying more stock and start a proxy fight. It'll cause so much turmoil that it'll force Steve's hand. And each week I'll keep buying more stock and we'll keep filing updated 13Ds. It'll be in The Wall Street Journal The Wall Street Journal every week-driving Steve crazy!" every week-driving Steve crazy!"

Fifteen minutes later Wigwam was leaving my house, $250,000 richer and holding a check for $4.8 million. By this afternoon it would hit the Dow Jones newswire that I was attempting a takeover of Steve Madden Shoes. And while I really had no intention of doing so, I had no doubt that it would drive Steve crazy-and leave him little choice but to pay me fair market value for my shares. Insofar as my personal liability, I wasn't concerned. I had thought it through, and since Steve and I hadn't actually signed the secret agreement until a year after the underwriting, the issue of Stratton issuing a false prospectus was a moot point. The liability was more Steve's than my own, because as CEO, he he was the one signing off on the SEC filings. I could plead ignorance-saying that I thought the filings were being done correctly. It wasn't plausible deniability at its best, but it was plausible deniability nonetheless. was the one signing off on the SEC filings. I could plead ignorance-saying that I thought the filings were being done correctly. It wasn't plausible deniability at its best, but it was plausible deniability nonetheless.

Either way, Wigwam was now out of my hair.

I went back upstairs to the royal bathroom and started snorting again. There was a pile of c.o.ke on the vanity and a thousand lights ablaze-reflecting off the mirrors and the million-dollar gray marble floor. Meanwhile, I felt terrible inside. Empty. Hollow. I missed the d.u.c.h.ess so much, so terribly, yet there was no way to get her back now. After all, to give in to her would be to admit defeat-to admit that I had a problem and that I needed help.

So I stuck my nose in the pile and snorted with both nostrils at once. Then I swallowed a few more Xanax and a handful of Quaaludes. The key, though, wasn't the Ludes and Xanax. It was to keep my c.o.ke high in the very early stages-within that first wild rush where everything seems to make perfect sense and your problems seem a million miles away. It would require constant snorting-two thick lines every four or five minutes, I figured-but if I could keep myself at that very point for a week or so, then I could wait the d.u.c.h.ess out and watch her crawl back to me. It would require some serious drug-balancing, but the Wolf was up to the task...

...although if I fell asleep she would come for the kids and steal them. Perhaps I should just leave town with them, keep them out of her evil grasp, although Carter was a bit too small to travel with. He was still wearing a diaper and he was still very dependent on the d.u.c.h.ess. Of course, that would change soon, especially when he was ready for his first car and I offered him a Ferrari if he agreed to forget his mother.

So it made more sense just to leave town with Chandler and Gwynne. Chandler was wonderful company, after all, and we could travel around the world together as father and daughter. We would dress in the finest clothes and live a carefree life, while others looked on in admiration. Then, in a few years, I would come back for Carter.

Thirty minutes later I was back in the living room-conducting business with Dave Davidson, the Uniblinker. He was complaining about trading from the short side, that he was losing money as the stock went up. I couldn't have cared less, though; I just wanted to see the d.u.c.h.ess, to let her know about my plan to travel around the world with Chandler.

Just then I heard the front door open. A few seconds later I saw the d.u.c.h.ess walk past the living room and into the children's playroom. I was discussing trading strategies with the Uniblinker when she came walking back out, holding Chandler. My words were coming out automatically, as if on tape-and I heard the d.u.c.h.ess's soft footsteps heading to the bas.e.m.e.nt, to the maternity showroom. She hadn't even acknowledged my presence, for Chrissake! She was taunting me, disrespecting me, f.u.c.king enraging me! f.u.c.king enraging me! I felt my heart beating out of my chest. I felt my heart beating out of my chest.

"...so you make sure that you're around for the next deal," I continued, as my mind double-tracked wildly. "The key is, David, that you-excuse me for a second." I held up my index finger. "I gotta go downstairs and talk to my wife."

I stomped down the spiral staircase. The d.u.c.h.ess was sitting at her desk, opening mail. Opening mail? The f.u.c.king nerve of her! Opening mail? The f.u.c.king nerve of her! Chandler was lying on the floor next to her-holding a crayon, drawing in a coloring book. I said to my wife, in a tone laced with venom: "I'm going to Florida." Chandler was lying on the floor next to her-holding a crayon, drawing in a coloring book. I said to my wife, in a tone laced with venom: "I'm going to Florida."

She looked up. "So? Why should I care?"

I took a deep breath. "I don't care if you care or not, but I'm taking Chandler with me."

She smirked. "I don't think so."

My blood pressure hit peak levels. "You don't think so? Well, go f.u.c.k yourself!" And I reached down, grabbed Chandler, and started running toward the stairs. Instantly, the d.u.c.h.ess popped out of her chair and started chasing me, screaming, "I'm gonna f.u.c.king kill you! Put her down! Put her down!"

Chandler started wailing and crying hysterically, and I screamed at the d.u.c.h.ess, "Go f.u.c.k yourself, Nadine!" I hit the stairs running. The d.u.c.h.ess took a flying leap and grabbed me around the thighs, desperately trying to keep me from going up the stairs.

"Stop!" she screamed. "Please, stop! It's your daughter! Put her down!" And she kept wriggling her way up my leg, trying to get a grip on my torso. I looked at the d.u.c.h.ess, and at that very instant I wanted her dead. In all the years we'd been married I had never raised a hand to her-until now. I placed the sole of my sneaker firmly on her stomach, and with one mighty thrust I kicked out-and just like that I watched my wife go flying down the stairs and land on her right side with tremendous force.

I paused, astonished, bewildered, as if I had just witnessed a wildly horrific act committed by two insane people, neither of whom I knew. A few seconds later Nadine rolled onto her haunches, holding her side with both hands-wincing in pain-as if she'd broken a rib. But then her face hardened again, and she got down on her hands and knees and tried crawling up the stairs this time, still trying to stop me from taking her daughter.

I turned from her and ran up the stairs, holding Chandler close to my chest and saying, "It's okay, baby! Daddy loves you and he's taking you on a little trip! It's gonna be okay." When I reached the top of the stairs I broke out into a full run, as Chandler continued to wail uncontrollably. I ignored her. Soon the two of us would be together, alone, and everything would be okay. And as I ran to the garage I knew that one day Chandler would understand all this; she would understand why her mother had to be neutralized. Perhaps when Chandler was much older-after her mother had been taught a lesson-they could reunite and have some sort of relationship. Perhaps.

There were four cars inside the garage. The white two-door convertible Mercedes was closest, so I opened the pa.s.senger door and put Chandler into the pa.s.senger seat and slammed the door. As I ran around the back of the car, I saw one of the maids, Marissa, looking on in horror. I jumped inside the car and started it.

Then the d.u.c.h.ess was throwing herself against the pa.s.senger side of the car, banging on the window and screaming. I immediately hit the power-lock b.u.t.ton. Then I saw the garage door starting to close. I looked to the right and saw Marissa's finger on the b.u.t.ton. f.u.c.k it! f.u.c.k it! I thought-and I put the car into drive, stepped on the accelerator, and drove right through the garage door, smashing it to splinters. I kept driving full speed-smashing right into a six-foot-high limestone pillar at the edge of the driveway. I looked over to Chandler. She wasn't wearing a seat belt, but she was unharmed, thank G.o.d. She was screaming, crying hysterically. I thought-and I put the car into drive, stepped on the accelerator, and drove right through the garage door, smashing it to splinters. I kept driving full speed-smashing right into a six-foot-high limestone pillar at the edge of the driveway. I looked over to Chandler. She wasn't wearing a seat belt, but she was unharmed, thank G.o.d. She was screaming, crying hysterically.

All at once, some very disturbing thoughts began rising up my brain stem, starting with: What the f.u.c.k was I doing? Where the h.e.l.l was I going? What was my daughter doing in the front seat of my car without a seat belt on? Nothing made sense. I opened the driver's side door and stepped outside and just stood there. A second later, one of the bodyguards came running over to the car, grabbed Chandler, and ran into the house with her. That seemed like a good idea. Then the d.u.c.h.ess came over to me and told me that everything would be all right and that I needed to calm down. She told me she still loved me. She put her arms around me and hugged me.

And there we stood. For how long I would never know, but pretty soon I heard the wailing of a siren, and then I saw flashing lights. And then I was in handcuffs, sitting in the back of a police car, craning my neck around and trying to catch a last glimpse of the d.u.c.h.ess before they took me to jail.

I would spend the rest of my day being shuttled around to different jail cells-starting with the cell in the Old Brookville Police Department. Two hours later they handcuffed me once more and drove me to another police department, where I was escorted into another jail cell, although this one was bigger and full of people. I spoke to no one and no one spoke to me. There was lots of yelling and screaming and carrying on, and the place was freezing cold. I made a mental note to dress warm if Agent Coleman ever came knocking on my door with an arrest warrant. Then I heard my name being called, and a few minutes later I was in the backseat of another police car-on my way to the town of Mineola, where the state courthouse was.

I found myself in court, in front of a female judge...Oh, s.h.i.t! My goose is cooked now! I turned to my dapper lawyer, Joe Fahmegghetti, and I said, "We're f.u.c.ked now, Joe! This woman's gonna give me the death penalty!" I turned to my dapper lawyer, Joe Fahmegghetti, and I said, "We're f.u.c.ked now, Joe! This woman's gonna give me the death penalty!"

Joe smiled at me and put his arm on my shoulder. "Relax," he said. "I'll have you outta here in ten minutes. Just don't say a word until I tell you to."

After a few minutes of blah-blah-blahing, Joe bent over and whispered in my ear, "Say not guilty," so I smiled and said, "Not guilty."

Ten minutes later I was free-walking out of the courthouse with Joe Fahmegghetti by my side. My limo was waiting outside the courthouse at the curb. George was behind the wheel and Rocco Night was in the front pa.s.senger seat. They both climbed out, and I noticed that Rocco was carrying my trusty LV bag. George opened the limousine door without saying a word, while Rocco made his way around the back of the car. He handed me my bag and said, "All your stuff's in here, Mr. B, plus fifty thousand dollars in cash."

My lawyer quickly added, "There's a Learjet waiting for you at Republic Airport. George and Rocco will take you there."

All at once I was confused. It was the d.u.c.h.ess plotting against me! No two ways about it! "What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?" I sputtered. "Where are you taking me?"

"To Florida," said my dapper attorney. "David Davidson is waiting for you at Republic right now. He'll fly down with you to keep you company. Dave Beall will be waiting for you in Boca when you land." My attorney sighed. "Listen, my friend, you need to get away for a few days until we can resolve this with your wife. Or else you're gonna end up in jail again."

Rocco added, "I spoke to Bo, and he told me to stay up here and keep an eye on Mrs. B. You can't go home, Mr. B. She's got an order of protection against you; you'll get arrested if you come on the property."

I took a deep breath and tried to figure out whom I could trust...My attorney, yes...Rocco, yes...Dave Beall, yes...the dirty d.u.c.h.ess-NO! So what was the point of going home, anyway? She hated me and I hated her, and I would probably end up killing her if I saw her, and that would put a serious damper on my travel plans with Chandler and Carter. So, yes, perhaps a few days in the sun might do me some good. So what was the point of going home, anyway? She hated me and I hated her, and I would probably end up killing her if I saw her, and that would put a serious damper on my travel plans with Chandler and Carter. So, yes, perhaps a few days in the sun might do me some good.

I looked at Rocco and narrowed my eyes. "Is everything everything in there?" I asked accusingly. "All my medications?" in there?" I asked accusingly. "All my medications?"

"I packed everything," said a weary-looking Rocco. "All the stuff from your drawers and inside your desk, plus the cash Mrs. Belfort gave us. It's all in there."

Fair enough, I thought. Fifty thousand dollars should last me a couple of days. And the drugs...well, there ought to be enough of them in there to get Cuba stoned for the rest of April.

CHAPTER 37

SICK AND SICKER

The sheer insanity of it! We were cruising along at 39,000 feet and there were so many cocaine molecules floating in the recirculated air that when I got up to go to the bathroom, I noticed that the two pilots were wearing gas masks. Good. They seemed like nice-enough guys, and I would hate to see them fail a drug test on my account. We were cruising along at 39,000 feet and there were so many cocaine molecules floating in the recirculated air that when I got up to go to the bathroom, I noticed that the two pilots were wearing gas masks. Good. They seemed like nice-enough guys, and I would hate to see them fail a drug test on my account.

I was on the run now. I was a fugitive! I needed to keep moving, to maintain. maintain. To rest was to die. To allow my head to come down, to allow myself to crash, to allow my thoughts to focus in on what had just happened, that was certain death! To rest was to die. To allow my head to come down, to allow myself to crash, to allow my thoughts to focus in on what had just happened, that was certain death!

Yet...why had it happened? Why had I kicked the d.u.c.h.ess down the stairs? She was my wife. I loved her more than anything. And why had I thrown my daughter into the pa.s.senger seat of my Mercedes and driven through a garage door without even buckling her seat belt? She was my most prized possession on earth. Would she remember that scene on the stairs for the rest of her life? Would she always visualize her mother crawling upward, trying to save her daughter from...from...what?...The c.o.ked-out maniac?

Somewhere over North Carolina I had admitted to myself that I was a c.o.ked-out maniac. For a brief moment, I had crossed over the line. But now I was back, sane, once more. Or was I?

I needed to keep snorting. And I needed to keep dropping, dropping Ludes and Xanax and lots of Valium. I needed to keep the paranoia at bay. I needed to maintain my high at all costs; to rest was to die...to rest was to die. to rest was to die...to rest was to die.

Twenty minutes later the seat-belt sign came on, serving as a clear reminder that it was time to stop snorting, time to drop Ludes and Xanax-to ensure that we'd hit the ground in a state of perfect toxic poise.

As my attorney had promised, Dave Beall was waiting on the tarmac with a black Lincoln limousine behind him. Janet at work, I figured, already hooking me up with transportation.

Standing there with his arms crossed, Dave looked bigger than a mountain. "You ready to party?" I said buoyantly. "I need to find my next ex-wife."

"Let's go back to my house and relax," replied the Mountain. "Laurie flew to New York to be with Nadine. We got the whole house to ourselves. You need to get some sleep."

Sleep? No, no, no! I thought. "I'll get all the sleep I need when I'm dead, you big f.u.c.k. And whose side are you on, anyway? Mine or hers?" I took a swing at him, a full right cross that landed squarely on his right biceps.

He shrugged, apparently not feeling the sting of my blow. "I'm on your side," he said warmly. "I'm always on your side, but I don't think there's a war. You guys are gonna make up. Give her a few days to calm down; that's all the woman needs."

I gritted my teeth and shook my head menacingly, as if to say, "Never! Not in a million f.u.c.king years!"

Alas, the truth was somewhat different. I wanted my d.u.c.h.ess back; in fact, I wanted her back desperately. But I couldn't let Dave know that; he might slip, say something to Laurie, who would then say something to the d.u.c.h.ess. Then the d.u.c.h.ess would know that I was miserable without her, and that would give her the upper hand.

"I hope she drops f.u.c.king dead," I muttered. "I mean, after what she did to me, Dave? I wouldn't take her back if she were the last c.u.n.t in the world. Now, let's go to Solid Gold and get some strippers to give us b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs!"

"You're the boss," said Dave. "My orders are just to make sure that you don't kill yourself."

"Oh, really?" I snapped. "Who the f.u.c.k gave you those orders?"

"Everybody," said my big friend, shaking his head gravely.

"Well, then, f.u.c.k f.u.c.k everybody!" I sputtered, heading to the limousine. "f.u.c.k every last one of them!" everybody!" I sputtered, heading to the limousine. "f.u.c.k every last one of them!"

Solid Gold-what a place! A smorgasbord of young strippers, at least two dozen of them. As we made our way toward the center stage, I got a better look at some of these young beauties, and I came to the sad conclusion that most of them had been beaten over the head with an ugly stick.

I turned to the Mountain and the Uniblinker and said, "There're too many dogs in this place, but if we look hard enough I bet we can find a diamond in the rough." I craned my head this way and that. "Let's walk around a bit."

Toward the back of the club was a VIP section. An enormous black bouncer stood before a short flight of steps cordoned off by a red velvet rope. I headed straight for him. "How ya doing!" I said, in warm tones.