THE MARS CLUB 

PROLOGUE

The Colony Theater. New York, NY.

Maddi Clemmons had every right to be nervous. She was not an actress or a celebrity, and never in her wildest dreams could she imagine herself on national TV, hosting a Reality show. But here she was, ready to go on stage leading a group of angry women and their soon-to-be humiliated ex-husbands.

She bit back a soft laugh. What a crazy year. The MARS Club started out sane enough, simply a website for women to post pictures of their scoundrels; share their stories, and vote for the scoundrel of the week. His picture would be plastered on the web for seven days until the next scoundrel was named. Monthly chapter meetings were held in the church annex, and the women discussed serious topics such as the calorie intake if you happened to swallow, vibrators versus neck massagers, and their favorite, various techniques of castration.

After much advertising and networking, women came in droves, lining up in the street to get through the doors. In a few short months they outgrew the little church annex, and hired a hall. Now it was a kick-ass club, a teaching seminar, and a reality game show. What next?

The pink neon lights on the TV monitor blinked and flashed Men Are Rotten Scoundrels, Men Are Rotten Scoundrels, over and over. One peek from behind the heavy pulled curtain confirmed it was a packed house--a mad house was closer to the truth. The theater had a seating capacity for two thousand but as far as she could tell no one was seated. Women swarmed the stage, held back by beefy men in straining white T-shirts and tight jeans.

She took several deep breaths and thought about dashing off to the ladies room, just as the young, scruffy-faced crewman shot her the twenty second signal.

Running her tongue over her teeth to erase any hint of bright red lipstick, she fidgeted with the neckline of her dress, wishing for the hundredth time she'd worn something a bit more modest. This low-cut, clinging red number was anything but. It practically screamed; I'm a siren--look at me. She was pretty, but not what you'd call, "hot stuff", nor did she want to be.

Unfortunately, she had allowed her gal pals to bully her into wearing the dress, saying she had an image to portray. They told her to be strong, be sexy, and above all, ruthless, for this one night only. Tomorrow she could go back to playing Mother Teresa, crisis counselor, but right now, this minute, she was a slave master--a tormentor of the damned--a scoundrel terminator.

Five seconds to show-time. The crewman held up five fingers, four, three, two, and one. Maddi checked her appearance in a mirror, and noted how bone thin she'd become. Too skinny, she decided, tugging on the top that wanted to slide down. Not that there was anything to see, but she didn't want a wardrobe malfunction either. Primping for a second, she ran the tips of her fingers through her hair. It'd been lightened from honey to a pretty, shimmering platinum-blonde, and the jagged cut gave her round face more character. She looked sharper, tougher, and gutsier than ever.

Squaring her shoulders, she smiled bravely as the curtains slowly inched back.

The female national anthem, I Shall Survive, played to a foot-stomping, whistling, and fervent clapping crowd. Over the bedlam, she heard Autumn, her step-daughter, announce, "I present to you the first lady of MARS, the founder of the Men Are Rotten Scoundrels Club, Ms. Maddi Clemmons!"

Maddi smiled at her ex-husband. "Are you ready? It's your time to shine." The eight men were tethered by a rope, and David was in the lead.

David snarled, "Anything to get you off my back." Stepping forward, he held his handsome head high. So high he didn't see the wires on the ground until it was too late. Down he went on all fours.

Without hesitation, Maddi ran to his aide, horrified by the shrieking women's laughter. A second before offering her hand, she stopped. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to help restore his dignity, but an entire nation of women depended on her doing the right thing. So she left him on his knees, shoulders slumped, head held low, turned away from the cameras.

Poor, poor David, she thought. This was not his finest moment, although it could well lead to fame.

Maddi nudged him with the toe of her shoe. When his head whipped around, she murmured, "Pretend you're having fun. Your daughters didn't want you to do this, they begged you not to, but you insisted. Now they want you to win."

"I plan on it," David pushed himself up, and whispered back. "I need this, and I'll eat shit if I have to, but I'll damn well win."

"Good. Then put on your happy face."

Flashing his perfect white veneers to the cameras, he hissed under his breath. "You don't have to enjoy this so much, Bitch."

It was the bitch part that got her.

With a mere snap of the wrist she had him stumbling and colliding with the next scoundrel, knocking them both off their feet. Straightening her shoulders, she shrugged off her guilt. He had it coming. They all did.

The procession of men, wife abusers, adulterers, dead-beat husbands, in other words--scoundrels, had hobbled on center stage, manacled, and tethered by a rope. Now, she thought, they resembled bumper cars, bouncing off each other.

Such a sad sight, were these eight middle-aged men. Once so proud, now so humbled. Their shameful deeds qualified them to be tonight's contestants, but it was their greed that made them willing. Recently divorced, they were now crying poverty to the courts, begging their wives to reduce their alimony, pleading for a break.

It was enough to make a grown woman smile.

The network was offering each contestant free alimony and child support for a year, win or lose, but the real draw was the cash prize. A million dollars would be given to both the scoundrel and his ex-spouse.

Maddi turned toward the audience, hoping through the glare of the bright lights to see her friends. Knowing their seat location, she gave a little wave of her hand and was startled when the manacled men jumped.

Oops!

Her eyes adjusted slowly to the lights. She could see the empty front seats, the people standing. The estrogen induced mob, mostly MARS club members, were jeering, whistling, and screaming obscene suggestions as the men limped past. This spectacle, she realized, was making Jerry Springer seem like PG-rated, family entertainment. The women were pumped, as excited as a night with the Chippendales, only as everyone knew, these men were not sexy stud-muffins to drool over, but bottom dwellers, low-life scum who got caught and had the ultimate price to pay.

And it was their moral and civic duty as members of the MARS Club to see that they did.

Maddi, with her line-up of disgraced men, took centre stage. Autumn, David's eldest daughter, was the emcee for the show. If he didn't want to see a look of pity on her face he had to keep his chin high.

She was a lovely girl, Maddi thought proudly. Always had been, with the exclusion of a few hellish teenage years. But now, here she was, twenty-three, confident and mature, fulfilling her childhood dream. From her earliest years she had enjoyed the limelight and had hoped to make a career on the stage.

It was Autumn who'd gone to battle, convincing a TV network that the show would work, and that she could handle the job. Now, dressed in a sapphire-sequined gown she was not only beautiful and brazen, but up to the challenge.

Raising her hand, she silenced the audience, explaining the evening's entertainment.

"Over the next eight weeks, we will put our scoundrels and their ex-wives through a series of tests that will challenge their bravery, their honesty, their trust, and their humility. On some occasions the husbands and wives will work as teams, other nights they will have separate challenges, but a combined score. A couple who bombs in a competition, may not necessarily lose. The audience has the final say, and the least favorite twosome will be voted off."

Slowly she walked around the men, sizing them up. "We will put these poor devils to the test." She stopped in front of the first contestant. "Tonight is the Moment Of Truth. They have agreed to submit to a lie detector, and face their wives and answer their questions. Dirty linen will be aired, and all their nasty little secrets will be exposed."

Moving on down the line, she eye-balled a thick-necked scoundrel that looked as though he ate tires for breakfast. "They can lie, they can cheat, but they can't fool the nation. The viewing audience will be the judge and the juror. Your votes will be counted. Every week you will decide which couple goes home the big loser."

Autumn, with the help of Maddi, unleashed the men before introducing each with a quick and quirky rendition of their crimes. The booing in the audience grew steadily louder, and she had to raise her voice to be heard.

"Contestant number one is David Clemmons, a man that has had three wives, each one younger than the other. He left Maddi for a pregnant twenty-five-year-old, and after the birth of his son, he dumped her too." She shook her head, sadly. "If I wasn't his daughter, he'd probably not think twice about hitting on me." The TV cameras zoomed in on his crimson face.

Maddi glanced up at one of the four huge TV monitors and was elated to feel nothing. No pulling of the heart-strings, no gut wrenching pain. She could look at him and say yes, he was still a handsome, forty-eight-year-old man, with his salt and pepper hair, and pale blue eyes. But did she love him? No! Did she want him back? Not a chance! And yes, he'd nearly ripped her heart out when he'd left. But now, eighteen months later, she could gaze right into those artic cold eyes without flinching, without hurting, with no stronger emotion than pity. And pity him, she did. He'd lost everything that mattered.

 

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