Overnight Sensation: Chapter 7
This is a short chapter that happens immediately after Larry's left hanging at the end of Chapter 6.
Chapter Seven of the Larry Smith Saga -- Overnight Sensation
The computer beckoned. There are times when I feel like I must write because I haven’t in a while, at least for myself, and I do it out of some kind of strange duty. Then there are times like the night that Nadine left me hanging.
It all came out. Months of pointless dating, culminating in tonight’s odd conversation and Nadine’s sudden departure. There was something fundamentally wrong with my approach. I knew how to read cues and say the right thing or make the right move with women. My music collection and massage techniques gave plenty of clues on that count. I listened, I paused, I opened doors, I called the next day. What I didn’t do was listen to my own heart.
Oh dear Lord, I said heart. Have I been watching too much of the Oxygen Network? There was a bit of loneliness in going through the motions. I knew the result and so did she, and so freaking what. Over the past few months there had been too many shes. When I seduced the Starbucks barista, it was the James Blunt CD more than my seduction skills that won the night. I could have been a dozen other guys and ended up in the same place.
The night when Tom dared me to join him in “tormenting” Buckhead, I made the mistake of drinking Scotch like it was Gatorade. How the hell I ended up at Lucy’s, or Linda’s, is beyond me. There might have been a Lucy and a Linda and I wouldn’t have noticed. I had a moment, while washing my face in an unfamiliar sink, when I thought about climbing out of the fire escape rather than going back into the bedroom to retrieve my shirt and shoes. On Monday at some anonymous office building she probably had a laugh about it while getting coffee with the girls.
I was a disposable part in people’s lives. Even Cindy, the tragic Red Sox fan, loved 25 guys more than me. Now that the team had built up its minor league system I was somewhere in the low 100s. Ever since the Yankees swept them in a five-game bloodbath, I hadn’t heard from her, nor did I care.
There was a layer of spontaneity to my evening with Nadine, but in the end I fell into a familiar pattern. Find a location that’s quote unquote romantic, do something that makes her melt, such as my excellent foot massage, and wait to be asked up for a cup of vagina. Part of me was disappointed when she fell for the foot thing like the barista. Then again, for that girl a guy springing for McDonalds was probably a big deal.
For once, the act wasn’t just an act. I didn’t do something to keep from talking to her, because talking too much can get you into trouble. Not talking with Nadine was like not keeping my eyes open during a Jackie Chan movie. Ultimately she did turn me down, and my foolish mind liked her more for it.
So I wrote. My fingers clicked and clacked for hours. I had no need for drink, food, or even blinking for some of that time. Folks came on to chat and I ignored them. I had things to do. There were statements to be addressed, maybe even a mission statement. I had the Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire thing going, minus the latent insanity.
Vince lived 32 years and a few days. He found love. He found God. I wasn’t looking for either, but I sure felt empty thinking about my dead friend and what he left behind. What was even more personally difficult was the fact that he clearly accepted his fate. If I knew my life was to end in 12 hours I’d feel cheated. I hadn’t biked across Alabama, seen two sons enter the world, but I had won at least one fantasy league every year since I started playing. There’s an epitaph for you.
I could have written a novel comparing my love life to drafting a kicker in the last round of a fantasy draft, or the eighth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I was in that kind of mood. Crazy was a good way to describe my state of mind.
I knew what I wanted. That much was sure. Get me off this crazy merry-go-round.
I did think about eating, since that’s how I roll. My gut hung a good two inches over my waist. My legs were asleep and I’m sure that I was a dead ringer for at least two of America’s Most Wanted.
At 7:13 a.m. she opened the door. The makeup had been washed away and the hair was up. The clogs were kicked off onto the hardwood.
“Before we do anything naked, I’d like to say something,” she said.
“I’m all ears.”
“Since we’ve met, you’ve been involved with a few women. I’m sure that you’ve had sex with some, heck, maybe even most of them. I know you’ve been with Cindy at least a couple of times. The girl really should take her panties when she goes home.”
I stayed mute. Cindy wrote her name in every pair of panties. Nadia, my ridiculously hot Ukrainian housecleaner, found them first, two days after baring her breasts for me when I said I hadn’t seen a pair in the flesh in six weeks. The truth was, Cindy didn’t always bother to take off her top, so I had a technicality going for me.
I didn’t know that Nadine saw them. I actually felt bad about that.
“I want you. You really made me feel special tonight. A part of me realizes that what you did tonight probably isn’t much different than the other girls you romance. I get it, though. A man has needs.
“You might get me tonight, and perhaps a few times after that, but if you’re going to continue to pursue other women, it’s going to end very quickly. I thought you should know that.”
“I understand,” I replied.
“I’m ready to sign,” she said.
“Me, too,” I replied.
A handshake settled it.
Naked was established. I took her hand and we fast-walked into the bedroom.
What followed was five, maybe even seven minutes of frenzied lovemaking.
Did we fall asleep in each others’ arms? Not so much. One incompatibility that we already understood was our different sleep patterns. I made an exception since I hadn’t slept all night. I found my side and she found hers. We woke up in the middle of the afternoon. I did get up once around noon, thought about wakng her, but found the view too compelling to disturb. She positively looked wonderful sleeping on my bed. Pajamas just get in the way, and I was glad to discover that Nadine felt the same way.
“So what now?” she asked later.
I gave her the Belushi eyebrow.
“Well duh, but what about after?”
“I guess it’s time to start working on dinner.”
“That’s my man.”
Chapter Seven of the Larry Smith Saga -- Overnight Sensation
The computer beckoned. There are times when I feel like I must write because I haven’t in a while, at least for myself, and I do it out of some kind of strange duty. Then there are times like the night that Nadine left me hanging.
It all came out. Months of pointless dating, culminating in tonight’s odd conversation and Nadine’s sudden departure. There was something fundamentally wrong with my approach. I knew how to read cues and say the right thing or make the right move with women. My music collection and massage techniques gave plenty of clues on that count. I listened, I paused, I opened doors, I called the next day. What I didn’t do was listen to my own heart.
Oh dear Lord, I said heart. Have I been watching too much of the Oxygen Network? There was a bit of loneliness in going through the motions. I knew the result and so did she, and so freaking what. Over the past few months there had been too many shes. When I seduced the Starbucks barista, it was the James Blunt CD more than my seduction skills that won the night. I could have been a dozen other guys and ended up in the same place.
The night when Tom dared me to join him in “tormenting” Buckhead, I made the mistake of drinking Scotch like it was Gatorade. How the hell I ended up at Lucy’s, or Linda’s, is beyond me. There might have been a Lucy and a Linda and I wouldn’t have noticed. I had a moment, while washing my face in an unfamiliar sink, when I thought about climbing out of the fire escape rather than going back into the bedroom to retrieve my shirt and shoes. On Monday at some anonymous office building she probably had a laugh about it while getting coffee with the girls.
I was a disposable part in people’s lives. Even Cindy, the tragic Red Sox fan, loved 25 guys more than me. Now that the team had built up its minor league system I was somewhere in the low 100s. Ever since the Yankees swept them in a five-game bloodbath, I hadn’t heard from her, nor did I care.
There was a layer of spontaneity to my evening with Nadine, but in the end I fell into a familiar pattern. Find a location that’s quote unquote romantic, do something that makes her melt, such as my excellent foot massage, and wait to be asked up for a cup of vagina. Part of me was disappointed when she fell for the foot thing like the barista. Then again, for that girl a guy springing for McDonalds was probably a big deal.
For once, the act wasn’t just an act. I didn’t do something to keep from talking to her, because talking too much can get you into trouble. Not talking with Nadine was like not keeping my eyes open during a Jackie Chan movie. Ultimately she did turn me down, and my foolish mind liked her more for it.
So I wrote. My fingers clicked and clacked for hours. I had no need for drink, food, or even blinking for some of that time. Folks came on to chat and I ignored them. I had things to do. There were statements to be addressed, maybe even a mission statement. I had the Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire thing going, minus the latent insanity.
Vince lived 32 years and a few days. He found love. He found God. I wasn’t looking for either, but I sure felt empty thinking about my dead friend and what he left behind. What was even more personally difficult was the fact that he clearly accepted his fate. If I knew my life was to end in 12 hours I’d feel cheated. I hadn’t biked across Alabama, seen two sons enter the world, but I had won at least one fantasy league every year since I started playing. There’s an epitaph for you.
I could have written a novel comparing my love life to drafting a kicker in the last round of a fantasy draft, or the eighth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I was in that kind of mood. Crazy was a good way to describe my state of mind.
I knew what I wanted. That much was sure. Get me off this crazy merry-go-round.
I did think about eating, since that’s how I roll. My gut hung a good two inches over my waist. My legs were asleep and I’m sure that I was a dead ringer for at least two of America’s Most Wanted.
At 7:13 a.m. she opened the door. The makeup had been washed away and the hair was up. The clogs were kicked off onto the hardwood.
“Before we do anything naked, I’d like to say something,” she said.
“I’m all ears.”
“Since we’ve met, you’ve been involved with a few women. I’m sure that you’ve had sex with some, heck, maybe even most of them. I know you’ve been with Cindy at least a couple of times. The girl really should take her panties when she goes home.”
I stayed mute. Cindy wrote her name in every pair of panties. Nadia, my ridiculously hot Ukrainian housecleaner, found them first, two days after baring her breasts for me when I said I hadn’t seen a pair in the flesh in six weeks. The truth was, Cindy didn’t always bother to take off her top, so I had a technicality going for me.
I didn’t know that Nadine saw them. I actually felt bad about that.
“I want you. You really made me feel special tonight. A part of me realizes that what you did tonight probably isn’t much different than the other girls you romance. I get it, though. A man has needs.
“You might get me tonight, and perhaps a few times after that, but if you’re going to continue to pursue other women, it’s going to end very quickly. I thought you should know that.”
“I understand,” I replied.
“I’m ready to sign,” she said.
“Me, too,” I replied.
A handshake settled it.
Naked was established. I took her hand and we fast-walked into the bedroom.
What followed was five, maybe even seven minutes of frenzied lovemaking.
Did we fall asleep in each others’ arms? Not so much. One incompatibility that we already understood was our different sleep patterns. I made an exception since I hadn’t slept all night. I found my side and she found hers. We woke up in the middle of the afternoon. I did get up once around noon, thought about wakng her, but found the view too compelling to disturb. She positively looked wonderful sleeping on my bed. Pajamas just get in the way, and I was glad to discover that Nadine felt the same way.
“So what now?” she asked later.
I gave her the Belushi eyebrow.
“Well duh, but what about after?”
“I guess it’s time to start working on dinner.”
“That’s my man.”
posted by Zach Law | 11:57 AM
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