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Vanessa comes into view, heavily pregnant. She bounces their six-month-old in her arms. Poor bastards will soon have two infants to keep them up at night.
They tried and failed for their own child for a while, so they adopted a baby from a Russian orphanage, and as soon as the adoption went through, Vanessa found out she was pregnant. The universe has a fucked-up sense of humor.
“Dominic, you look like shit. I thought you moved to feel better.” Vanessa places her hand on Rocco’s shoulder and he turns to kiss it lightly.
“Yeah, lovebirds, I’ve only been here for two weeks, so no results yet.” Feel better? At this point I would take any feeling. Something that isn’t the hollow abyss swallowing me now.
“I still don’t understand how moving from Chicago to New York is supposed to reinvent you. Isn’t it a different shade of the same color, asshole?” Rocco says, patting Vanessa’s ass as he talks. With his last word, she rolls her eyes and saunters away.
“The idea was to focus on myself. I wouldn’t be able to do that in Chicago.” I crack my knuckles. I’ve never realized how often I fidget like that. Or perhaps it might be a new habit.
“But since you are clearly going for the lumberjack look, why didn’t you just rent a cabin in the woods? I thought you were stressed out. New York is not a city to find your zen.” He walks over to his sofa, props his phone against something and lies down.
A huge cat immediately jumps up and nestles into the crook of his armpit. I can’t believe how domesticated my friend has become since he met Vanessa. And he doesn’t mind it either.
“The objective is to find new inspiration, to spark desire. I’m not ready to abandon civilization. New York is far enough from Chicago not to tempt me with its familiarity, and routine but urban enough not to drive me crazy.”
“Spark desire? Have you been banned from all the strip clubs?” Rocco strokes his damn cat.
“Fuck you, asshole. Things are not all right with…” I don’t want to admit it out loud, but Rocco draws his own conclusion and starts laughing.
“Let me get this straight—you had an episode resembling a heart attack and now you can’t get your dick up.” He laughs, the bastard. “I’m sorry, man.”
I let out a long sigh. “Yeah, you look and sound sorry.”
“Wouldn’t Viagra solve that problem? I mean, you’re still fairly young, but…” The asshole is laughing his head off.
I crack my knuckles again and consider closing the laptop. Why have I even tried explaining something? He knows I collapsed in the middle of the courtroom. He is well-aware the media had a field day with that. But I didn’t share more details with him.
I don’t tell him how, despite spending time with beautiful women, I can’t find a release. How everything I used to enjoy isn’t cutting it anymore. The thought is too depressing. I won’t verbalize it.
“Any particular reason you called?” I growl.
Rocco stops laughing. He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. “All right, man, talk to me.”
And while he is a dickhead, Rocco da Bonno is the only person in the world I trust with my life, so maybe I can relate some of my shit.
“I haven’t been able to find joy in anything. Work had been dull and tedious, so I took on more. More cases, more challenges, more wins, but the emptiness inside only grew. And the workload sent me to the hospital. I got a new Ferrari. I had the most beautiful women. I even bought a fucking yacht. I played golf, tennis, you name it. There was nothing missing from my life. Yet it’s been empty.
“My therapist thinks I filled my life with so many things and achievements for so long that I’ve lost the ability to desire. Apparently, I’m so attuned to instant gratification that I’m unable to find satisfaction in anything. It’s like a drug—I get my high but immediately hit a low. Only the lows started stretching and seeping into all areas. So laugh all you can, but yeah, even Viagra only helps with the technical issue. Who am I without my libido, man?”
“Shit.”
What else can he say? I partied, spent money, and fucked myself into depression.
“Okay,” Rocco says. “Let’s face it, our lifestyle wasn’t something we could have sustained anyway—”
“Hugh Hefner seemed to go strong.”
“Yeah, if you trust the media. Is that your goal, to stay a playboy for the rest of your life? Because let me tell you, I get little sleep lately, but I have never been happier. Ever since I—quote unquote—crossed to the other side and settled, I’ve found a new purpose in life. I’ve never thought that being with the same woman for five years would only get better every day.”
“Are you suggesting I find myself a wife?” I shake my head.
He laughs. “Dude, no woman would consider ever-after with you. Unless she knows you’re rich.”
“Screw you.” Not that I want to get married, but his lack of confidence in my inability to achieve that pisses me off. And pissed is better than the flat nothing I’ve been mired in.
“Don’t be so sensitive. Get some rest, hit the gym, figure out what you want to do with your life, and then perhaps attempt a relationship.”
