Wednesday, October 11, 2006
We were sprawled outon Aviva's bed. Aviva, Alabaster and I. Aviva's apartment is exactly like my old one, except clean. Just being there brings up awful memories that have nothing to do with her.
I'd been drinking for credit since about 2:00. We all agreed that it was to be an early evening since all of us had big days ahead. and what better way to ensure an early evening, we wondered, than finishing off the baggie of coke left over from Aviva's lunch meeting. Alabaster whipped out his Amex and cut lines on the coffee table while Aviva recounted her traumatic weekend over which she had witnessed her pseudo boyfriend hook up with his ex-girlfriend at Alphabet Lounge.
"The worst part of the whole thing", Aviva was telling us, clearly stricken with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, "wasn't having to watch them hook up... the worst part was that she was... she was..." Aviva was too flustered to finish. I blew a line and tried to help, "blonde?" Alabaster followed suit and offered "Wearing legwarmers?" "No! She was... FAT!" Alabaster and I gasp "NO!" in unison. "Yes! She was fat. And she was wearing this outfit... oh my god, I think it was from Joyce Leslie." She collapsed into tears again as I pushed the table closer to her and atempted to comfort her by handing the straw. Aviva down the last two rails with bereft vigor and off we went.
At Aviva's request, we returned to the scene of the crime, Alphabet Loung, but as I assumed, she broke down and cried at the door and we had to drag her away before the police were called. Instead, we go to Dorsia.
Dorsia is also Aviva's choice- she know people there. I second the vote because this amazingly hot guy I've been masturbating to for, like, forever, works there on Thursdays and told me to stop by. Tragically, theres a rediculously long line out front, and I have a strict policy about waiting on lines... which is: I don't. Aviva, however, drops the right name to the door guy, and we're whisked to a table at the back of the club.
Alabaster and I give each other a shared glance of bewilderment when we realize were the only people who aren't models and have a body fat level higher than 2%. Aviva is already on the neon dance floor, grinding with a seven foot tall black dude with dreads. Alabaster and I down three shots a piece and I drag him to back room to find my boy. Sadly he's not there, and since the room is now spinning and it's past midnight we decide to grab Aviva and make a run for the door before any orgies break out.
As we exit Dorsia, Aviva gets a call from her friend Becky. Aviva says Becky wants us to meet her at Rehab, which I think is a bit much since, yes, I like to have an occaisonal drink here and there, but I can stop anytime. Despite my protests Im ushed into a cab. Rehab, as it turns out, is a party on Lafayette.
When we arrive, I realize that this particular party is being thrown at Time Cafe. I have a strict policy about going to Time Cafe; I don't. Time Cafe is the bar where, in high school, my friend Bethany whored me off to her internship boss in hopes of furthering her career. It is also the bar where, in college, in friend Bill sucked some guy off in the bathroom for $200 while I sat alone at the bar and then refused to split the money with me.
I think I'm going to be saved because of the block long line at the door, but Aviva tells us Becky's at a table and we need on;y mention the name of the guy whos paying to be let in. We get to the door, a line of a hundred people glaring at us, and Aviva blanks on the name. "Fuck! We're here with, uh, Billy G?" The bouncer raises an eyebrow, and I slowly start to back away into the street, scanning desperately for a cab. "Timmy E? No? Tony O! We're here with Tony O." With that, I'm being dragged, literally kicking and screaming into Time.
I'm in tears, which my "friends" have chosen to ignore, but moment later we arrive at the table, which is covered in Crystal, Grey Goose and Saphire. Like a drunken kid in a candy shop, I instantly forget my troubles and attach my lips to nearest bottle of vodka, and take stock of the gorgeous suits occupying the table.
Once we're all sufficiently intoxicated, we start scoping prospects. Aviva has been corned by some very Jewish looking guy who, we gaggingly realize, is asking her what her sign is. Alabaster is cruising the most overtly gay dude there, who is standing by the bar, checking out his own reflection in the full wall mirror. That's when I spot him... the hottest man I have ever seen in my whole entire life that night.
He had that whole CEO-Date-Rapist thing going for him that I love so well, he's wearing a Prada suit, and he's looking right... at... me. I look away before I start drooling on myself. Tragically, he's standing next to some old chick. And by old, I mean a few years younger than him.
"Alabaster." I say as I dance up behind him "What's up babe?" "Quick question..." "The hot suit at nine o'clock? That's not his wife." "Oh my god, you are like... ass-psychic! Are you sure?" He looks at me like I'm retarded. "Um, yeah, who brings their wife to a club?" It's a good point. Now all that remains is working up the nerve to talk to him.
Aviva is now being proposed to by the same creepy guy, looking at us with total desperation. Al has gone from staring the guy at the bar to sucking his face off in a matter of moments. I realize it's now or never, so I think up the smoothest line I can muster, walk over to him... and draw a complete blank.
I'm totally speachless, and he AND his non-wife are now staring me down, so I take his drink out of his hands, down it and throw the glass over my shoulder. There's a moments pause... then he's escorting the woman he brought out the door and putting her in cab, and two seconds later we're dancing together.
Actually, dancing is a bit euphamistic for what we're doing. More accurately, we dry humping in front of my friends and his coworkers. Alabaster comes over, mystery boy in tow, takes one look at me, turns to the CEO and says "tell her to call me tomorrow." Now my friends are gone, and the clubs emptying out, and everything I'm seeing has trails. CEO says "let's get out of here" so we get out of there.
The limo ride is ablur, and when I refocus were at the front desk of The Hudson Hotel. The conceirge is saying "Good evening Mr. Unpronouncible Italian Name! Your usual suite is ready for you." CEO grabs the key, and moments later we're standing in his massive pent house Pretty Woman style suite.
Now he's telling me "I don't think your boyfriend liked me very much. He kept giving me dirty looks." I tell him "That's not my boyfriend... and those looks weren't the kind of dirty you think they were. But now that you mention it, were'nt you there with a woman tonight? "Yeah, y friends tried to set me up, but she was fat." She WAS fat. "I know that sounds vain, but I used to be an actor so I feel like I have the right to be vain." "You were an actor?!" I drunkenly slur "that is so cool!" I do not think that is cool. "Yeah, I was on One Life To Live in the nineties. I got to rape Jasmine Bleeth!" "No way! That is awesome!" That is pretty awesome.
"So, do you live around here?" I chit chat as he breaks open the mini fridge. "Yeah, a couple of blocks away actually." "Oh, then why aren't we..." at this point he whips out a baggie full of coke and hands it to me, which is all th eanswer I need. He cuts it on the night stand with his black AmEx, and as he hands me a rolled hundred dollar bill, he asks "do you ever feel like your whole life is just a scene from Less Than Zero?" And I'm in love.
We start making out violently. The kind of making out where it more seems like were trying to suffocate the other one than kiss. He throws me on the bed, complimentary mints go flying everywhere. He throws his Prada suit on the floor, causing me to bug out and scream at him for treating Prada that way. Eventually we're both totally naked.
CEO says to me, falteringly, "So... should I um... get a condom?" In retrospect, I realize that he probably meant 'as opposed to not having sex with you', but class act that I am, I responded "Um, duh, I JUST MET you, I'm not going to have unprotected sex with a total stranger." God. some people! And with that, we proceeded to have the most rediculously coked up, barely concious, bunny rabbit sex known to man.
The sun was rising by the time we realized how late it had gotten. "Oh Jesus!" I say, falling as I attempt to stand "what time is it? I have class in like an hour!" "Uh, you have what?" "Class?" I repeat, pulling Care Bear folders from my bag to illustrate my point. CEO flinches. "How old are you?" he asks as I scramble for my clothes. "Twenty one" "Wow, that's pretty young. I'm 37" "yeah, that's... whatever, do you see my shirt?" He finds it under the bed, and calls for cars for us.
As we make the seven mile trek across the lobby, CEO says "so, can I get your number?" "What, are we... friends now? Ok, tell you what, you tell me what my name is, and I'll give you my number." He smiles, "I'd never forget your name, Melissa." I wince. "Wow, that would be really flattering if my name wasn't Carmella." But he's persistant, so eventually Igive him my number and he gives me his card.
His card informs me that I've just had a coked up fuck fest with none other than a senior vp of bear stearns named Anthony Occhicone. "Oh, wait! I know who you are! We had to use your name to get into that club tonight." "Well, I guess you can thank me for the five bottles of free liquor you and your leach friends downed. I've never seen people drink that much. You guys sure like open bars." "Yeah, we sure do. Well, thank's Tony!" I say getting into my car he's called for me, which happens to be the company limo.
With a company limo at my disposal, going to class seems ill advised. I take tour of manhattan before returning to my house in Brooklyn to pass out till three in the afternoon to eight voicemails. I assume theyre from Alabaster, making sure I'm alive, but theyre actually all from Tony, asking when he can see me again. I wake up in time for the seventh call, which is an invite to dinner that night at Nobu.
We proceeded to see each other pretty much every single night for three straight months. Who knew raising a child required so little effort on the mans part?
Posted by Carmela Machiato at 11:21 PM