It was another day of frustration. You would think that the life of a self-employed writer would be stress free, but it is not. No matter that I work in my pajamas with the television on in the background. People who tickle a keyboard for dollars enjoy a status somewhere between squat and jack. But the accident threw me out of my job. I was in bed for three months, not very mobile months after that, and there were bills to pay. Fortunately I had a skill to exploit and a laptop in my bed. But things are far from wine and roses in my little world. For one thing, there are the clients.
Some clients just did not get it. The last one, for the third time, requested pitches for pieces for the next month, and you know what? After the first two sets of pitches, I'd given her my best ideas. If she didn't see that I couldn't waste my time with her anymore. I needed money, not endless discussions how I might make that money.
But the truth was, most of my frustration was centered more in my loins than my work. That was the part that got me. Yeah, yeah. I had a bad year. Yeah, yeah, I didn't have enough fun. What if I didn't want to have fun? What if I didn't want to throw myself into the arms of the first guy that I found attractive since the accident? Maybe I had too much hurt to even think about it? Damn, damn and damn again. I couldn't stop my randy thoughts about that guy in the gym.
I pulled up my latest assignment on my computer. Okay, it wasn't due for three weeks. However, if I don't do it now, and waited until it was due, three other jobs would come up wanting to be done "right freakin' now." The subject matter didn't help much. "Sex Secrets--How He Loves to Love You."
This article didn't help my horny thoughts. My hand wandered to my clit.
No! That wasn't enough last night and I couldn't take the hyper-excitement of being partially satisfied.
My cell phone rang.
"Hi, honey," said a silky voice.
Oh geez, it was Jack, my old boss.
"What's up, Jack?"
"I'm in town. Want to get together for dinner?"
"Will there be wine?"
"As much as you like."
"Yeah, sure, you old cheapskate." Jack's parsimony with his cash was the stuff of legend.
"You've hurt my feelings," he said.
"Like you have any to hurt."
He chuckled. "Okay, I'll pick you up."
"Seriously, you'll spring for the gas?"
"Bitch. I'm already here."
I got up from my bed and peered out the window.
"Really, another new car?"
I stared at the sleek black Mercedes with a bit of awe.
"Will you hurry up, or what?"
"What, afraid you'll miss your reservation at Hooters?"
"One," he said.
"Jack, I'm not ready."
"You have to ten, and you are wasting time. Two."
"Bastard." I hung up the phone, and shedding my robe, grabbed a pair of dress black pants, black lacey shirt and one of my sparkly jackets. I had no way of knowing where he'd take me. But this combination worked for most places. I'd wear a dress, but I still needed a knee brace to keep things together for me. I slipped on a pair of pointy black flats, grabbed my purse and cell phone and was out the door.
"Ten," he announced as I climbed into the car.
"Ass," I said. It was always "ten" when I got in his car.
He laughed again. Jack had brown eyes, and was handsome, even for his early sixties. His black hair turned salt and pepper, but I thought it made him appeared more distinguished than he deserved. He was rich too. Oh, not from his own efforts. Daddy made the money. He promptly threw Jack out of the house when Jack refused to takeover the family business. But after Jack's mother died, father and son had a tearful reunion, and all was good again. Jack could have any woman he wanted, but the problem was he didn't want any woman for more than a few nights. And it wouldn't be me anyway. He liked a specific type, very tiny, very thin. Someone his near six-foot frame would tower over.
His clothing, a gray camelhair jacket and black pants and shirt weren't clear clues as to our destination. But it was obvious he'd gone all out for this night. His hair had that close shaven appearance of someone who'd just had a haircut and he was wearing cologne.
"Where are we going?" I said. I was feeling more than a bit suspicious. Something was up.
"Shut up and ride," he said. "Take a nap. We'll be busy tonight."
Okay, my friend was an asshole. The basis of our friendship was that I accepted his abrupt manner and the domineering attitude. It was his essential nature. Oh, with other people he was the polite gentleman. Only with me did he let his guard down. When we worked together I was his office wife, best buddy and sometimes wingman. But that was all. For one thing I was married at the time. For another, and he'd tell you the same thing, he was a heartless dick. He couldn't love anyone and made no bones about it. And that was fine with me.
"Hey, wake up."
I opened my eyes. We were at one of the Connecticut casinos.
"I should have known. Do you have a coupon for the buffet?"
Jack chuckled. "As a matter of fact..."
I rolled my eyes. "They don't have wine at the buffet."
