Chapter 9 - Mo and Larry at 21

Larry meets his benefactor.

Chapter 9 – Mo and Larry at 21

“Can you check my tie for me?”

“Sure.”

“Does it look good or what?”

“Excuse me, mister Trump, but haven’t you dressed yourself before?”

I’m wearing a brown cashmere-wool blend suit that I bought the week before. No, I bought it two weeks ago and the alterations were back last week. They actually had to bring it in in the seat. My pant size recently dropped to a 38, and I don’t have to hold my breath to wear my belt in the loosest loop.

“I once wore pajama bottoms to a client meeting and still got the job.”

“What kind of pajama bottoms?”

“Target, I think. Navy blue, although they could have been black.”

“The devil’s in the details, they say.”

“Can I get a verdict?”

“You’ve been testy all day.”

“Well, when you have a client meeting and the client pushes back the meeting twice, you get nervous.”

“Why should you be nervous? This isn’t your only client.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Let’s put it this way. For the past three years I’ve been seeing a lot of different women. Each woman plays a role, but there’s not one who’s so special that I can let go of the rest. They come and go, and I’m OK with that because there’s always someone there to pass the time.”

“This is so fascinating,” Nadine said, suppressing a yawn.

“Then all of the sudden, a friend introduces me to Kate Winslet. We immediately hit it off. I keep in touch with other women. They’re suddenly less important to me. We do some incredible work together. My writing is better because I’m doing it for her.”

“Kate Winslet is married,” Nadine said.

“This job is Kate Winslet.”

“Why can’t you have a crush on twigs like other guys?”

“This is important to me.”

“I know that. Why do you think that I’m letting you out of my sight for the first time all weekend?”

“You’ll be fine,” I said. The straps of her jade green camisole kept slipping off her shoulders. It was beautifully distracting. The pinched look on her face also got my attention.

“Are you somewhere else?”

“I’m good. I have to decide who to blow off tonight. A-Rod or Jeter.”

“They’re both in Tampa Bay.”

“Looks like I’m the sucker.”

I took a step in her direction, gently cupped her chin in my right hand, and looked her in the eyes. “I’m not abandoning you tonight. We still have that rendezvous.”

“It’s not always about you.”

“That’s too bad,” I replied. “Seriously, I need to be out the door in two minutes.”

“I’m worried about my family,” she said, gently moving my hand away.

“Ninety seconds,” I said.

“Bastard,” she replied. “I haven’t been home since I moved to Atlanta. I feel disconnected.”

“Are you going home soon?”

“Unless something happens, not ‘til after Christmas.”

“Do you talk to your family a lot?”

“I talk to my mom every day.”

“Did she give you attitude when you said that you were going to New York?”

“She didn’t. It’s not like her.”

“Ah hah,” the man said with no idea what to say.

“She can pull off the subtle dig like nobody’s business. Lately she’s not doing that.”

“And the digs show that she cares. I can dig it.”

“I’m sorry, you have to go.”

“It’s fine. Sometimes I envy you.”

“Why?” she asked.

I smiled. The real question was why did I say that. “I’ll see you later, kay?”

What kind of moron says “kay?” My kind of moron.

She kissed me on the lips, once.

I paused for a second outside of 21 Club, the home of the $30 hamburger. I took a cab to the restaurant. Most of the other patrons arrived in limos. I didn’t care much for glamour, but my benefactor might have.

I knew nothing about Mo. We talked more this weekend, when he called twice to cancel, than any time before. He called me once when I first got the gig the weekend of the NFL Draft. After that we communicated exclusively through gmail.

We were to meet in the Bar Room. I guess he couldn’t afford the Wine Cellar. I wasn’t intimidated by the most famous restaurant in the city. I liked the idea of going to a prohibition-era speakeasy, and being at a location where every sitting President since FDR has dined. I didn’t like not knowing the man I was to meet tonight, or his purpose.

The nine lawn jockeys guarding the entranceway were a nice touch. A brief conversation with the maitre d led me to a reserved table in the corner. He had his back to me, and didn’t move until I reached my seat.

Mo stood up. He was six feet tall, and looked either Indian or Persian.

“Laser Larry,” he said warmly. He was dressed slightly more casually than me, with charcoal slacks, an indigo blue long-sleeve dress shirt with a pink tie. Despite his ethnicity there wasn’t a trace of accent.

“Mister Mo,” I replied. We shook hands, and neither of us were trying to win. He gestured and I sat down first.

“I hear they have an excellent burger,” Mo said.

“I can dig on some red meat,” I replied.

“I’m a vegetarian,” he said bluntly.

“Oh.”

“I’m kidding, dude,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder. I judged that Mo had five years on me, and I had fifty pounds on him. Maybe 75.

With rare exceptions, I don’t like it when people touch me. Even if Kate Winslet gave me the playful slap on the shoulder, I would have given her the same look.

The waiter arrived and averted an international incident. He was short, maybe five foot six, and dressed much better than either of us. Victor, as he introduced himself, probably made more money than I did. Mo ordered a bottle of wine. I didn’t even look at the list to see how much it was. I knew the rules. He invited me to dinner.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing.”

“As long as you don’t expect a good-night kiss.”

“That’s a good one. I don’t,” he said, deadpan. I had to watch myself with this guy.

The wine arrived. Mo swirled his glass, took a deep sniff, and had a sip. He nodded at the wine steward, who poured me a full glass and did the same for my dinner companion.

I more swigged than sipped. The wine started bitter, but finished bold.

“Stronger than rent, isn’t it?” he asked. I nodded.

The waiter returned, and we both ordered the burger.

“I saw this place on the Apprentice and had to try it,” he said.

“You couldn’t swing the Wine Cellar?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

“It’s a four-figure minimum down there. Can you swing that?”

“I think I have my car title around here somewhere.”

“You’re funnier in person than you are on the page,” Mo said, offering a smile that didn’t put me at ease.

“I hear that Joe Namath agreed to do Monday Night Football here,” I said, playing evasive.

“I always wanted to make a deal in 21.”

“What kept you?” I asked.

“Would you believe that I couldn’t get out of town? I had nonrefundable tickets too. Now that’s a pain.”

“I hear you.”

“I got tangled up with something. Don’t worry, it wasn’t business-related. I met this lawyer who wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know what that’s like.”

“I never missed a flight because of it.”

“I know, that was unprofessional of me. I did send you here for a weekend. That has to mean something.”

“It does. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Do you have a business card?”

“I might,” Mo said, patting his pockets theatrically. “How come?”

“I want to know what title you give yourself.”

“CEO, of course. Olympia Conceptual is my company. I’m sorry, I seem to be out.”

“So you’re not an agent.”

“I match people to opportunities.”

“Natalie Gibson.”

“Oh yes, I remember her,” Mo said. “Do you know her?”

“She hooked us up.”

“I know that, Larry,” Mo said. “I just wondered if you know her personally.”

“She’s married to a friend of mine.”

“Did she need a green card or something?”

“Excuse me?”

“I have a marriage of convenience feeling about that one.”

“You haven’t even met her husband.”

“I don’t have to.”

Mo wasn’t enamored of Natalie’s beauty, which was plentiful, but her business sense. That was a first.

The food arrived. I have to say, that was one tasty burger. It also went well with the wine.

“You’re from DC, right?”

“I live there,” Mo responded.

“What do you think about the Skins this year?”

“Super Bowl or bust, man.”

“Come on. Brunell is a fossil. Daniel Snyder puts together a nice fantasy team every year, but it never works out.”

“They got that OC from Kansas City.”

“Al Saunders.”

“Plus they got rid of Arrington, which is addition by subtraction.”

“It all starts under the center.”

“Brunell will be fine. All he has to do is put it in Portis’s belly 30 times a game. Plus they signed those two wide receivers.”

“You don’t need much more than Santana Moss and Chris Cooley, really.”

“Who’s your team?”

“Titans,” I said.

“My condolences,” he replied.

“At least my team’s been in the Super Bowl since I reached puberty.”

Mo’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s put some green on the game.”

The Titans traveled to Washington on October 18.

“Do you have season tickets?”

“Club section.”

“No shit.”

“I doubt you get up to Nashville that often.”

“I have a friend who has tickets, but it has been a while.”

I hadn’t thought about Deborah for a while. She “earned” the 50-yard-line, third row, season tickets from her ex-husband in a nasty divorce. In exchange for me taking care of her unusual needs, she let me have them a couple of times a year. The team was so bad last year that I didn’t even think that the drive was worth it, even for no-strings sex.

“What’s the bet?” I asked. I would let him go first.

“Five,” he said.

I didn’t know what he was after with this bet. The Titans were likely to get crushed. Even though they hung tough with the Dolphins earlier in the day, the team was a disaster.

“Give me ten points and I’ll take that action.” How could I back down? I’d never be invited back otherwise.

“Ten’s a lot in the National Football League.”

“It would be if my team had a quarterback, running back, or a clue.”

“Then why make the bet?”

“Keep life interesting, I guess,” I replied. I knew that Mo would be overconfident after Mark Brunell completed 22 consecutive passes in the Redskins’ 31-15 win over Houston. It was the team’s first win of the year.

“You have a deal.” We shook hands.

Mo ordered brandy and I took some coffee, even though I wasn’t a coffee drinker. The cream helped.

“It’s been a good meeting, I think,” Mo said.

“I’m glad that we did this. Now you can tell me why.”

Mo took a small sip from his snifter. “All good things come to an end, don’t they?” He put his elbow on the table and pointed at me. “You’re fired.”

“I’m fired too. The client’s going in-house for their content. They liked what you wrote, but they want more of a right-leaning slant if you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” I replied.

“You have talent. If you don’t have ten jobs lined up like it, that’s your problem.”

It sure was. At the door he offered me his hand. “I thought your stuff was fantastic. That’s why I wanted to meet you in person.”

“Sure beats getting fired over the phone,” I said, trying to keep my cool.

“Hey, do you want to share a cab and go wool-hunting?”

I had to smile. Mo was probably an excellent wingman, unless you had eyes for the same woman as he. “Nope. I have a date at the Empire State Building.”

“Wait a sec, you brought a woman to New York City? I thought I knew you better, Larry.”

“You did get me two plane tickets.”

“It’s all a business expense anyway, brother. By the way, love the hair. Good luck.”

“You too.”

I let him take the first cab.

As we planned, I met Nadine at a bar in the lobby of the Empire State Building. She sat on a bar stool alone, feet barely hanging on to her clogs.

“Miss Kensington, I presume,” I said, taking the chair next to her.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that seat is saved.”

“For someone worthy of your love, right?”

“Hell no, but he’s willing to throw down a hundred an hour for my services. Whaddya got in those pockets, two bits?”

“I missed you, kid,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She knew better than to ask me how the meeting went. I ordered a pint of the Oktoberfest and we watched the Patriots and Broncos in silence for a while.

I had a lovely evening with Nadine. We stood in countless lines just to get to the Empire State Building, and when we finally got to the top, we had to share it with a hundred people who spoke English as well as the governor of California. Steel mesh surrounded the entire viewing area, so the city was somewhat obscured. It was spectacular nevertheless.

We took a taxi back, and upon returning to the hotel room ordered a dirty movie, since Mo was paying. My sides ached from laughter as Nadine recited her favorite lines of dialogue. We raided the mini fridge and washed three-dollar candy bars down with tiny bottles of Jack Daniels. At one point she gave me a fierce look that most men would have mistook for love. We kissed then. Her breath was hideous and mine was worse. We made love, fell asleep, and woke up with hangovers too intense to be quenched by sink water.

“You saved me,” I said as we dined on limp bacon and the most un-New York bagels imaginable at the hotel buffet.

“From what?”

“On draft day.”

“That was nothing.”

I drunk-dialed Nadine on draft day. This was after I yakked into Rick’s basement toilet and spent most of the following hour moaning on his concrete driveway. Nadine could have ignored the call. She didn’t. She also could have just dropped me off and left my sorry, sad ass on the couch. She didn’t. She hooked me up to an IV. It was impressive work since I have bad veins and was severely dehydrated. I lay my head in her lap as she stroked my hair and told me that everything was going to be all right. The bag emptied, she left for work, and I woke up just in time to go to the party.

“I suppose the concierge was out of saline.”

“You were in a sorry state that day,” she said.

“You took care of me, and you didn’t have to.”

“Truth be told, I never had to take care of you.”

“Am I ever going to take care of you?”

“If you think that you haven’t, then you’re not paying attention.”

“We should go take a walk and say bye to the city.”

“What about our bags?”

“We’ll pack later.”

We walked halfway to Battery Park instead of going back to Ground Zero. We held hands, talked when we felt like it, and stayed silent when we didn’t. Half an hour later we were back at the hotel.

Due to our new financial situation I thought about a shuttle bus but remembered Bruce. He was at our door in thirty minutes. We passed on the champagne this time. He gave Nadine a hug and me a solid handshake when we departed. We made it to the airport in time, did the security shuffle and were in our seats and asleep soon thereafter.

I paid the 14 bucks to get my car out of hock, leaving me with 6 dollars of trip cash. It was 6:30, so the evening traffic wouldn’t be a lot of fun.

“I did something, and I want to be straight with you about it,” I said as we merged with traffic.

“What is it?”

“I put some money in your bank account.”

“How did you do that?”

“An identity thief would have a field day with your trash.”

“You went through my trash?”

“Your bank statements are always on that table in the living room. I stole nothing.”

“Why did you do it?”

“You’re broke, and I have money to spare.”

“Do you have some kind of weird sexual fetish that you haven’t shared yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve gone this far on the barter system. I had to ask.”

“Call it a loan.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“I do have one thing to ask.”

“Sure.”

“Spend the night with me.”

“We just spent three nights together.”

“You’ve never spent the night in Atlanta.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t,” she said.

“What is it, exactly, about spending the night?”

“I have to stay up tonight, get back on my schedule.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she replied. There was more but my window to pry had closed.

We kissed once when I pulled up near her building.

“I’ll see you after my Tuesday shift,” she said.

“Until Wednesday morning,” I replied. A little alone time wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Nadine waved once and took her bags inside.