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can Express black card. She loves the trips. She loves the way her friends are envious of her life.
That’s probably it. She’s not really looking forward to people being jealous of me, so much as she’s looking forward to people being jealous of her.
That’s just an ugly truth, but one I’m prepared to live with. It’s not like I haven’t thought it through. And it’s not like any woman interested in me is going to overlook my wealth completely. It’s part of the deal. It doesn’t have to be ugly.
She’s very easy to be around. She is undeniably beautiful. I can feel everyone in here glancing over at us from time to time, the way they always do. They’re probably trying to calculate her age. For the record, it’s twenty-four. And they’re probably judging me for that, at least a little bit. Fuck ‘em.
“Deborah? Is everything all right?”
She startles, glancing back at me guiltily before covering it with a brilliant smile. It happened so fast, I barely notice it. But automatically I look over my shoulder. Nothing really stands out… Just the bar, a couple of busboys, diners huddled together over candlelit tables.
“Oh… I thought I saw my parents,” she explains in a rush.
I glance back again to see if anybody looks like her parents. It wouldn’t be completely strange, since I suppose they could have driven sixty miles for dinner, but also doesn’t seem completely plausible either. The bartender gives me a halfhearted salute which I almost return before turning back around.
“I don’t see them. Are you sure?”
She shrugs and shakes her head, loosening curls from the clip behind her ear.
“No. Just some other old couple. You know what? I think I’m gonna run to the ladies room before the wine gets here. I’ll just be a moment.”
“Certainly, Deborah,” I murmur, standing up when she does and kissing her gently on the forehead before she rushes away.
Dennis returns with the Casanova and holds it out for me. “Would you like to wait for lady?”
“No, thank you. You can go ahead,” I answer distractedly. “Actually, I’m just going to go to the bar and grab a scotch. Please pour. I won’t be a moment.”
Dennis shakes his head, confused. “Sir? I can get that for you.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” I answer as I drop my linen napkin on the tablecloth. “I like to look a man in the eyes when he’s pouring my Scotch.”
The bartender watches me cross the room, polishing a rocks glass with a lily-white cloth. He looks to be about twenty-five, maybe twenty-eight at the oldest. He has that sunburnt look of a golfer. Hair that is thick and sun-lightened, but only for a few more years. It sort of makes me feel good to know that he’s going to have a giant bald spot before he’s forty.
“Johnny Walker Black,” I announce as I come up to the bar. He lays the rocks glass in front of me, giving it a quarter turn before withdrawing his hand.
“Rocks?” he asks.
“Neat,” I answer.
His hands are steady when he pours out the amber liquid into the glass. I down the drink in one shot, savoring the earthy burn at the back of my tongue.
“What’s your name?”
“Josh.”
I look him up and down, trying to imagine what this all looks like. Twenty-four-year-old woman, dating a thirty-six-year-old man. Well, I suppose I started dating her when she was twenty-two. Practically a kid. I didn’t know much when I was twenty-two. I was still very much a kid. I didn’t know anything about anything.
Now she’s been dating this older guy who gives her everything she wants, tells her everything she wants, basically wraps up the whole world in a bow. I can see where that would give someone a false sense of confidence. Maybe even cynicism. I could see how that could ruin a young woman and her sense of proportion.
“How long have you been banging my girlfriend, Josh?”
Josh stops wiping the glass, squaring off his jaw.
“How… How did you…”
I sigh, rotating the glass on the gleaming bar top between my fingers. What am I feeling? Is this sadness? I don’t think so. If anything, I feel a little satisfied, like I just solved a puzzle that had been lingering too long on my to-do list. Suddenly all those faraway glances make sense. The fervent desire to wear a different outfit every day. That all makes sense. I’m sure the longer I think about it, more pieces will slide into place also.
Tale as old as time: gold digger meets wealthy man. But this time, the gold digger will have to find some other treasure.
