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“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Nikki was sitting at the kitchen counter on a stool running her fingers swiftly across the keyboard of her laptop. “I’m getting requests for media passes for your party.”
“I’m doing the same damn thing that I do for every other birthday. Spending it with Daddy or spending it alone if he’s not around. And he’s not going to be in the country on the eighteenth, so that means I’m flying solo.”
Nikki smirked and kept typing. “Boss Lady, it would be great if you had a party for your big four-O. I put the ballroom at the Georgian Terrace on hold, just in case.”
“So what you’re basically saying
is that you’ve started planning a birthday bash for me, and now you’re trying to be slick and get me to do it because it’s a press opp.”
“I know you don’t care about the media but yes, I have done some preplanning and, if you want, I can make it lovely. All you’ll have to do is throw on a sexy outfit, a pair of fly shoes, and show up as the queen that you are.”
I was making a chopped salad for dinner. I didn’t like what the chef had prepared: Chilean sea bass with fried brussels sprouts and yellow squash. I loved the vegetables, but the sea bass killed it for me. It was often one of the most expensive entrées at fancier restaurants but, to me, it had no flavor. It was so light that it was invisible to my taste buds. No matter what they sautéed, marinated, or sprinkled it in, it did nothing for me. So I was making a salad of mixed greens, goat cheese, red onions, grapes, and Granny Smith apples with low-fat raspberry vinaigrette dressing.
“Flattery usually gets you everywhere with me, Nikki, but I’m not caving on this. Why should I spend a bunch of money to impress people who I don’t give a fuck about and who don’t give a fuck about me?”
“You do concerts all the time.”
“Yeah, but I get paid to perform, and I don’t do phony well. The last thing I want is a bunch of people touching up on me at a party. At concerts, I go onstage, do the damn thing, and bounce. Go to my dressing room, shower, and get the hell out of there.”
Nikki laughed. “And you have that routine down pat.”
“Damn right. I’m the modern-day Houdini, except instead of escaping, my ass pulls disappearing acts.”
“I remember that time when we were in Phoenix and this reporter was checking for you less than ten minutes after the show and you were already ghost.”
“Yes, girl! The shit, shower, and shave military policy didn’t have anything on me that night. They usually get fifteen minutes, but I did my thing in nine and a half and was out in the car in ten.”
Nikki chuckled, got up and took a bowl out the cabinet. “Let me have some of that salad. It looks good.”
I pretended to block the salad bowl. “Didn’t you eat that amazing sea bass for dinner?”
“I didn’t want to hurt Simon’s feelings, but that joint didn’t have any taste.”
“I keep telling you that,” I said as I made a few more chops with the salad scissors and then put some in her bowl. “One of us needs to tell him that he needs to take that out of his recipe box.”
“You’re the boss.”
“And you’re supposed to be the extension of me, so handle that.”
Nikki sat back down by her laptop and started typing. A few seconds later, she said, “Damn, you’re right. They do only get fifteen minutes to shit, shower, and shave in the military.”
“I don’t know why you think I make shit up. I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that you’re like a walking encyclopedia. Sometimes when you start dropping knowledge, it trips me out.”
“When I was younger, I didn’t have much else to do other than read a bunch of shit. The Internet wasn’t even around, so I read book after book and, as I grew older, I still enjoyed trivia questions.”
Nikki took a bite of her salad while she continued reading. She smiled. “They have this one site where men are debating on the order that they should shit, shower, and shave. Some say they shave before they shower and—”
“I hope no one is saying they shower before they shit. If they do that, then they’re just mega nasty. That goes double for women. What sense does it make to come out the shower smelling and feeling pure and fresh and then take a dump and have shit kernels all in your crack?”
Nikki almost choked on her food. “This is such a lovely conversation to have over dinner.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I sat down on the stool next to her with my salad. “Back to your party idea. That’s a negative for me, so stop fantasizing about it. And cancel any preplans you’ve made.”
Nikki sighed in disappointment. “It was worth a try. I just want you to be happy.”
