It's kind of funny how life turns out sometimes. You can be cruising along in your life thinking everything is great, and then life, or God, or Fate or whatever your belief system calls it, just decides to fuck with you. I was moving through life with the wind under my sails, when all of a sudden the wind just stopped blowing. While I waited for the next gust, to blow me back to where I belonged, I had to do something. So that's how I found myself cruising for hookers, in a not so nice neighborhood just outside of DC.
They call it the block. It's a roughly 1/2 mile square area, where one can find almost anything, for the right price. My Screaming Yellow Mustang GT stood out among all of the BMW's and Lexus models I saw slowly trolling the boulevard. It was louder and more aggressive sounding, announcing our presence, with the authority that only nearly 500 horsepower, and several quasi-legal exhaust and engine modifications can muster. When added to her ultra-bright paint, my little pony had a way of making an entrance.
I looked out through the tinted glass, and was revolted by most of the women, and other things that I saw take notice of me. How the fuck did I fall this low? Actually I wasn't this bad; I was just suffering from the HLDs. Heart Broken, Lonely and Desperate, the divorced guy's main affliction.
My name is Jason Burton. I'm currently the Chief Operations Officer for Navarro Logistics. I'm not some stunning Nordic God; I'm just your average guy. Straight down the middle in terms of height and weight. My looks while once again; not heart stopping, also haven't chased too many women away from me. So since I have decent looks, a great career and future, a nice personality if I do say so myself; why the hell am I chasing the lower levels of rental pussy? To put it succinctly, "What's a nice guy like me, doing in a place like this? It's Okay to ask, I'm still confused about it myself. But here's how it happened.
During my last year of college, nope not logistics, I was majoring in business, I met Dana Navarro. Her Father Kurt Navarro used to play professional baseball, and had moved right into business after his sports career had ended. Dana was tall, slender, and hot. The worst thing was; that she knew it.
Her family had more money than some countries and school was basically a joke to her. Everyone knew that she was never going to have to work a day in her life. I was rocking a 4.0 on the Dean's list and working 2 part time jobs to stay afloat. Dana was cruising through parties, with her solid C-/D+ average, and having a great time.
She was one D away from getting kicked out of school, and had run into a problem. Her problem was Mr. McQueen's accounting class. Victor McQueen was a local small business owner, who also taught at the college. He took his subject very seriously, and believed in a serious work ethic. If you worked hard in his class, you did well. If you played around, you failed, regardless of who you were. He had no tolerance for spoiled rich girls, who thought they could get by on astoundingly good looks and donations from Daddy. It was a case of the irresistible force, namely Dana, meeting an immovable object, IE Mr. McQueen.
In our final project for the class, my best friend Tom and I were assigned to work with Dana. Tom hated the idea, "Just watch," he said, "She won't do any of the work, but she'll somehow get all of the credit."
While working on the assignment, somehow, Dana and I hit it off. For some reason she seemed to like me. I just didn't get it, so I took it with a grain of salt. I thought that she was just spinning my wheels to get through the project, and that when it was done, I'd never be able to get within a mile of her again. She'd be back partying with her rich, crazy friends before the ink was dry on the project report.
In the end, even Mr. McQueen was impressed, not only with our report, but he'd actually seen Dana and me, with our heads in the books late into the night, on more than a few occasions. We got an A+ on the project which raised Dana's grade up to a solid D+. Tom and I went out bar hopping to celebrate our A's.
It was one of the few times that we got really drunk. The next morning I was feeling terrible, and luckily for me didn't have classes, so I had no reason and even less inclination to get up. I did have to go to work that day, but not until 3:00 p.m.
At 9 a.m. I thought someone was hitting me in the head with a hammer; in reality someone was knocking on the door. I looked through the keyhole and saw Dana. I opened it and she marched in. I think she noticed before I did, that I only had my boxers and a T-shirt on.
"Where were you last night?" she asked. "I called you at least 10 times, and I left you messages. The least you could do, is call me back," she spat.
"Dana, Tom and I, went out last night," I said. "We wanted to celebrate the end of McQueen's tyranny. So if we were out, I couldn't check the phone to see if I had any messages," I explained.
"Why don't you forward your messages to your cell?" she asked.
"That would be difficult," I began.
"Oh, it's not that hard, I could show you how to do it," she said.
"Dana, it's really hard to forward messages to your cell phone, when you don't have one," I said. "So what happened?" I asked. "Did McQueen change his mind about our grade?"
"Well no," she said looking down.
"Oh, do you want a copy of the project report, for your portfolio?" I asked.
"Does it have to be about the fucking project, for me to talk to you?" she snapped.
I put both hands over my ears, and fell onto the couch. The pounding in my head, was only adding to my confusion. Dana leaned over me, and looked at me with an expression I'd never seen on her face before; it appeared to be concern. "Are you OK?" she asked.
"I have a big time hangover," I told her.
"OK, let's go for coffee," she said.
"Anything, just don't talk so frigging loud," I said. I got up, and started walking towards the door.
"Uhm, Jason," said Dana.
"Yes" I said looking at her.
"Clothes," she said, as if she was talking to a 2 year old.
So I got dressed, and we went to a café on the corner. I got a cup of hot black coffee, with extra sugar. Dana got some kind of fluffy concoction, with caramel, cinnamon and a cherry. She stared at me over our cups of coffee and looked so good that I would have done anything for her at that moment. If I had known then that those two cups of coffee would have led to lies, divorce, blackmail, head games and hookers, I probably would have run out of that cafe like my ass was on fire.
"Ok Dana, what do you need?" I asked taking a sip from my steaming cup. Life was starting to make more sense, now that I had some caffeine in me.
"I don't understand," she said seriously.
"What do you need from me?" I asked again.
"I still don't understand," she said, even more seriously.
"Why did you call me last night?" I said refusing to put a "duh," in front of the question.
"Why do I have to have a reason to call you?" she asked. "Do you have a jealous girlfriend, or some other reason why I shouldn't call you?"
"No," I said still puzzled about why the school's princess would want to call me.
"Then why can't I call you?" she asked.
"Because girls like you, don't call guys like me," I said matter of factly. "Dana, your phone, probably cost more than my car is worth. You're beautiful, you're rich, you're..." I hesitated.
"I'm what?" she asked, "I like the beautiful part, I'm not rich my father is, but what else am I?"