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I know what you’re thinking, but no, we haven’t fucked since that last time at the engagement party. Still, we’re trying to make an effort to get to know each other. I mean, it makes sense. Even though we’re part of the same family, we went straight to fucking before we even knew if any of us was allergic to shrimp and shit like that.
Look, I don’t usually do stuff like this. Talking about my interests, having dinner… All that regular shit. I’ve never done ‘regular’, you know? For me an average night out ends in chaos, mayhem and dripping thongs. This ‘dating’ thing is as alien to me as the tampon shelves at the supermarket.
But, just between you and me, it’s not that bad. It’s been interesting to talk with Kim like a regular human being. She’s so much more than just a piece of ass; she’s smart, funny and ambitious. Remember when I complained about the women here in New York? Yeah, Kim has exactly the one quality I was missing—substance. And that’s exactly why I tried to put sex out of my mind for a while.
After her time in the Hamptons came to an end, she convinced me we should put things on hold; we wouldn’t make any decisions, but instead we’d make an effort and get to know each other. Seems reasonable, doesn’t it? Yeah, I thought so too… But now that my balls are as swollen as blue tennis balls, it doesn’t look that fucking reasonable anymore.
The one time I went for dinner with her I could barely concentrate on what she was saying. I lasted half an h
our and, as interesting as the conversation was, my brain then decided to mentally tear apart the tight dress she was wearing.
It’s hard; yeah, it’s fun, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.
For instance, right now I’m sitting in the living room of my downtown apartment, waiting for her call. We agreed to have dinner together again, but she hasn’t responded to any of my texts since 2 PM. I know she’s busy handling some bullshit scandal for the Mayor, something to do with the teacher’s union, but fuck… I’m going insane in here.
Besides keeping an eye on my investments—just to make sure I always have some cash at hand—there’s not much I do every day. I usually sleep until three in the afternoon, get up and go to the gym. And then it’s the same cycle—dinner and drinks, clubbing and drinks… and then sex and drinks. I probably go to bed around five or six in the morning, and then it all starts over again the next day.
So, you know, this change of pace has been interesting. But it’s also driving me fucking crazy. I probably look like I’m a fucking maniac wired up on cocaine right now. I’m switching channels on the TV every thirty seconds, trying hard not to hit the bottle before heading out for dinner. But the clock keeps on ticking and ticking, and still there’s nothing from her. It’s 6 PM already, and I’m ravenous, and the more I wait for her call, the more I grow ravenous for something other than food.
Bzzzzzt, my cell phone buzzes inside my pocket and I reach for it like an overly excited high school girl. It’s a text from Kim, finally.
I unlock the screen and, the moment I read her words, I feel as if someone kicked me in the balls. “Won’t be able to make it today. Sorry!” it reads, and I immediately feel like a fucking idiot for waiting on her. I mean, what the fuck? I’m holed up inside the house like Bin Laden, anxious about going on a date with a stepsister who I’m not even fucking, and then she flakes on me. Hoo-fucking-ray, Cody, way to go.
You know what I need to do? I need to fucking unwind. I won’t be seeing her today, so I guess it’s time for me to get out of the house. I’ll probably call some friends of mine and go out for dinner. Then, who knows?
Now, don’t go looking at me like that. I’m not going to hit the clubs so that I can score some hot piece of ass. My balls might be as blue as the clearest of skies, but that doesn’t mean I can get Kim out of my head. Besides, if there’s the slightest chance I might get to fuck her again… I don’t want to blow it.
But right now I need to do something or I’ll just go fucking insane. I’ve been sitting on my ass all day, waiting for her call, and I need to stretch my legs, which translates as getting the gang together, having a few drinks and forgetting all about Kim, yeah, as if that’s possible, for a few hours.
I exchange my sweater for a nice button up white shirt, put on shoes as black as the night, and then head out.
As I step inside the elevator, my fingers are flying over my cell’s screen.
“Dinner at La Bernadin?” I type, and then send it to my immoral hard-drinking buddies.
La Bernadin seems like the perfect place for my night to start.
83
Kim
I never knew that eating a lobster could be so entertaining. It sure seems like that when the guy in front of me has been battling his for the past fifteen minutes. His plate looks like a battlefield and the napkin tucked on his chest is covered in grease. I told him not to go for the lobster, but he insisted; it’s his first time at La Bernadin, and he wanted to try their famous lobster.
“What the mayor has been trying to say is that this is no way to proceed,” I start, and the lobster-warrior, Hatfield, raises his beady eyes from the plate. He places the lobster down and then, sighing, looks from the Mayor to me.
“Look, if the city doesn’t acknowledge the situation the teachers are in right now, we’ll have no option but to go on strike.”
Crap, there he goes again, mentioning that strike. If the teacher’s union hits with a strike right now, and with the elections coming up so soon, we’re going to have some dark times ahead. And if Mayor Anders loses the elections, I might find myself out of a job too.
I look from one end of the table to the other, eyeing each member of the teacher’s union as I try to find the right words. The Mayor, sitting by my side, is looking at me expectantly; there’s bad blood between him and Hatfield, the union’s representative, so I’m his voice in this negotiation.
“Look, the Mayor and I have been devising a plan that will ensure a continued improvement of --”
“HOLY SHIT, HE DID IT!” A loud shout erupts in the room, breaking our quiet conversation like a boulder thrown into a pond. Everyone at our table turns back to see what’s happening, and our attention goes straight to a table at the far end of the dining room.
There, five young guys are clapping and whistling as one of them throws a bottle of wine into the air and catches it behind his back. I can’t make out who these assholes are, but I already hate of them—rich spoiled kids with too much time and money in their hands, that’s who they are.
I’m trying to cut a deal that will prevent New York’s educational system from being paralyzed for weeks, and these guys are really ruining my mojo.
