Author's note:
I’ve always loved the Dickens’ classic about Scrooge and his scratchy quill pen.
But what if Scrooge worked on Wall Street and used a smart phone instead?
Sounds good, I thought, and set my fingers to tapping on my keyboard. I knew the story by heart, even the dialogue with Scrooge complaining about giving his clerk the day off on Christmas and sending the poor to workhouses.
But we live in a techie world with faxes, GPS, and Twitter. I had to update the story. And I wanted my Scrooge to be a sexy hunk. So I let my imagination run wild...and Ebenezor Scrooge became bad boy Wall Street trader, Nick Radnor.
“Nick had a cast iron stomach and tight abs. He was tall, handsome and could wheel and deal with the best of them. Talk on his cell to his bankers with one hand and find his way under the elastic band on his secretary’s black silk panties with the other.”
In the following excerpt, it's Christmas Eve. Nick is still grieving over the sudden death of his business partner, Charlie, last Christmas Eve.
When Charlie’s ghost shows up after a night of wild drinking and sex, we’re off and running. Charlie warns him that three ghosts will make their appearance, just like in the classic story. Three sexy babes who will take Nick on a whirlwind tour of his past, present, and future with each episode tied to his beautiful fiancée, Monique.
Monique is the anchor in my story. She never stops believing in her man, no matter what. It is through her eyes that we fall in love with Nick, all the while hoping that he wakes up before it’s too late and he loses everything.
Including her.
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Excerpt from "A Naughty Christmas Carol:"
“Nick…Nick.”
“Go back to your bottle, Pops,” Nick groaned. His head hurt like hell. Like he’d been punched in the face.
“Wake up, Nick, it’s me.”
“For chrissakes, leave me alone.”
Ring…ring…ring. Was that his cell phone ringing? No, it sounded like bells. Loud brass bells signaling the opening and closing of trading each day.
Doors banging. Opening then closing.
A freezing wind howled, its icy fingers sweeping over him. Scraping his skin raw.
“It’s Charlie, Nick.”
Charlie? His old partner?
A voice that sounded like Charlie’s scratched at the fuzzy part of his brain, taunting him. Then blowing his cold, chilly breath in his ear, sending shivers through him.
The back of his neck prickled. A weird sensation that he wasn’t dreaming made him suddenly alert. Nick touched his cheeks. Clammy.
Nerves. He’d been working too hard.
“Go away, Charlie,” he insisted. “You’re dead.”
A loud moan. “Open your eyes, Nick, and see for yourself.”
Nick clawed at the sheet, clutching the silk. What a f--ing nightmare this was. His eyes hurt like hell, like someone was trying to force his eyelids open with toothpicks.
He gave in to the torment and opened his eyes.
Holy shit, it was Charlie.
Standing at the foot of the bed. Stooped over, hunch-backed.
