PESKY PRIZE #2: The Unfaithful Eight

Every time the phone rings, their pucker factor goes up to Eleven. When their accountants ask about a “couple of unusual withdrawals” in that special account they maintain, they stammer and sweat. When dark sedans circle or cop cars prowl outside their homes, their blood pressure spikes. When “Love Potion #9” plays on the radio, they change the station. When someone suggests “hanging is too good” for Client #9, they change the topic.

“They” are Emperor Club VIP Clients Numbers One through Eight.

The Unfaithful Eight, AKA Eight Men (not yet) Out(ted), are the first anonymous winners of the World’s Most Valuable Award, The Pesky Prize. The second ever Pesky Prize is awarded anonymously because the public-at-large and, more importantly, Pesky Gadabout, doesn’t know the recipient’s identity—yet. And it’s a sure bet they dearly want it to stay that way. But Pesky knows the Unfaithful Eight’s time will, er, come--faster than you can say “just leave it on the dresser.”

For them, it won’t be long before the fit hits the shan. Even as we speak, tabloid editors around the world are bellowing at bedraggled reporters to find fresh meat for the biggest story of sex, politics, and money 2008 has produced. Pesky suspects reporters might find them either enjoying one for the road or in church, thanking the Patron Saint of Sexual Misconduct for picking Eliot Spitzer, not them, to take one for the team. They’re left to wonder how much longer Spitzer will remain the Sole Sultan of Assignation, the Single Swallow of Capistrano, the Lone Arranger of Sexual Danger, the Solitary Subject of the Media’s Sizzling Spotlight.

Soon enough the Unfaithful Eight will have to convince their spouses to get dressed up and stand in front of hundreds of reporters, each thinking the same thought: “that’s the one he didn’t want to have sex with.” And is there a crueler sight than the crestfallen, heartbroken spouse, enticed by the man who betrayed her, standing bravely by his side?

And finally, Pesky wonders, could there ever be a better moment in live TV if, following this sad cheater’s waltz, in the instant after hubby finishes his Mea Culpa, wifey leans toward the mike and says: “For those of you who are interested, and that includes the scumbag standing next to me, I’ve just started doing the pool boy.”